
The Country Omega

Part One of the Downing Cycle

By Penelope Peters

Omega Ethan Downing doesn't want a mate. He wants to play his piano and travel the world. But with his acceptance to a prestigious musical conservatory hanging in the balance - and an ex who won't take "no" for a hint - Ethan's father arranges a bonding with an alpha neither of them have ever met.

Alpha Antonio Valdez's life is perfect. He has the career, the money, the looks. In fact, he'd be perfectly happy never to bond at all. When his overbearing father arranges a bonding for him, he's ready to find every excuse in the world not to go through with it.

One meeting changes both Ethan's and Antonio's minds.

Too bad their fathers have also changed theirs.

Now Ethan and Antonio have to fight for something they never even dreamed they wanted: each other.

# Table of Contents

A Note From the Author

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Thank You

Also by Penelope Peters

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Sneak Peek at The Country Alpha

Copyright

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# A Note from the Author

To reflect the different presentations within the Omegaverse, my Spanish-speaking characters are using different gendered endings to some of their Spanish words. For example:

Male alpha - querido

Male omega - queride

Female alpha - queridu

Female omega - querida

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# Part One: Ethan

The train sped through the outskirts of the city, where the tree branches hung high over the tracks and the houses were spread far enough apart that Ethan Downing could catch glimpses of the gardens and lawns surrounding them. His book lay forgotten on his lap as he looked out the window; beside him, his father read the newspaper and huffed quietly to himself, unconcerned with the passing landscape. Ethan couldn't even fake nonchalance long enough to manage a pretense of reading, nor quell the churning, nervous feeling in his stomach.

You wanted to live in the city, he reminded himself when every jerk of the train made his breath catch. Well, now you're going to, no sense in being homesick before you're even there yet.

Home, thought Ethan longingly, and thought of his mother kissing him goodbye for what they both knew could be the last time for a long while. His brother and sister, watching solemnly from the stairwell, uncertain in their own skins what they were meant to do. The trunks already packed in his bedroom, waiting for word that it was all right to send them after him.

The false, jaunty walk to the station with his father, through the town that had no idea they might be seeing him for the last time, to the station where he'd board the train that would finally, finally, whisk him away from their heavy expectations.

Ethan took a deep breath, and was pleased that it didn't catch or stutter. He'd told himself he could be small and frightened in the safety of the train compartment, where only his father would witness it - and Robert Downing was unlikely to tell anyone if Ethan chose to have a nervous breakdown. But it was still good to know that he wasn't a complete mess.

Even if he was leaving everything he knew and loved behind, to bond with a strange man in a strange city. It was still better than the alternative.

The train slowed as the houses became smaller, closer together, with the gardens gradually disappearing from view behind tall brick walls. The trees thinned out, with spots of green leaves only visible in the distance; the walls that lined the train tracks now were ugly, painted over with graffiti. Litter lined the gravel passageway, rustling in the breeze of the passing train.

"We're there," said Ethan, and his voice sounded almost normal, even to him.

Robert Downing shook his newspaper as he glanced out the window over Ethan's shoulder. "Not quite," he said, and went back to the sports page, unconcerned. At least he didn't start spouting platitudes, thought Ethan grimly, well aware that Robert could spout with the best of them. The look on his father's face as Ethan had shuffled through the alpha profiles the bonding pool matchmakers had sent to them was similar to the expression he wore now. As if he wanted to reassure Ethan of... something. Safety, maybe. That everything would work out fine.

As if Robert had any control over that at all.

The city beyond the ugly train tracks was at least something of a better sight - tall buildings, stately brick or gleaming metal, silver-blue and white marble, looking clean and crisp against the blue sky. Ethan imagined, just for a moment, all the people who populated them. Hundreds - thousands, he thought, each one sitting at a desk or on the phone or at the stove, going about their day, completely oblivious to the lives around them.

Somewhere in the imagined, controlled chaos, his alpha was waiting for him. They had spoken on the phone, briefly; Ethan had seen a photograph of him once, a week before, but now the figure he imagined was faceless, an unknown entity, and Ethan could barely even remember what his voice sounded like. Was he reading a book, or getting a last bit of work done, or puttering around the house, glancing at the clock, impatient for Ethan to arrive? Was he in the room that would become theirs, pulling their bedsheets taut, ensuring they had all the supplies they needed for the coming days, as he claimed Ethan over and over again, marking him as his?

The train plunged into a dark tunnel on its final descent into the station. Ethan sat back, heart pounding, the blush just rising on his cheeks, though whether it was the idea of that bedroom, or the completely ridiculous symbolism of the train going into the tunnel just then, he had no idea.

Beside him, his father folded his newspaper. "Almost there now," said Robert, his tone anticipatory in a way that Ethan supposed he ought to have felt himself. "Get any sleep?"

"No."

Robert shook his head. "Your mother said you didn't sleep a wink last night."

"Nerves," admitted Ethan, and turned away from the window. There wasn't anything to see in the tunnel, not really; every so often a flash would illuminate the bricked walls, but apart from the odd stripe of paint, they were bare. The train rocked back and forth even harder, despite its slower pace. Ethan tried to smile bravely at his father. "It's all right. I feel fine."

"You'll be needing your strength," said Robert with a ridiculous and lascivious waggle in his eyebrows, and Ethan groaned and closed his eyes. "When an alpha claims his omega - it can be a very... long, protracted, arduous process."

"Fa... I do not want to have this conversation with you."

"All I'm saying, you should have slept."

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me," said Ethan. He opened his eyes and leaned into his father's shoulder. "I will. I will."

Robert patted his son's knee, solemn and comforting, and didn't say anything.

The pair sat quietly as the train pulled up to the platform, and then came to a stop. The car continued to shake gently back and forth - the other passengers, no doubt, as they rose and gathered their belongings in the other compartments, and after a moment, Ethan could see the stream of them through the window, heading in a massive exodus into the station itself.

"We should go," said Ethan watching them, and Robert let out a sigh, before giving his son's knee a last pat.

"Yes," he said, regretfully, and pushed against Ethan's leg in order to stand.

There wasn't much for them to collect. Robert's dog-eared newspaper, the book Ethan had ignored, Ethan's knapsack which carried only a change of clothes and a few toiletries. The CD he'd made especially for his alpha fell out as Ethan slung the bag over his shoulder; he quickly picked it up, heart hammering, and slipped it into his jacket pocket instead, where his fingers curled around it protectively.

It had been too dangerous to bring the rest of his things with them; carrying the trunks to the train station would have alerted the entire town of his departure, and the last thing Ethan had wanted was for Alan Clark to catch wind of what he planned to do. Even now, as he and Robert alighted from the train, he glanced up and down the platform, as if expecting to see Alan glowering at him, tall and bearded and wearing the darkest possible frown from the Alan Clark Scale of Frowns.

"Ethan," chided Robert gently, watching him, knowing exactly what Ethan was doing.

"I know, but...." Ethan shifted the knapsack on his shoulder. "Habit."

"Mmm," said Robert, too dark to be thoughtful, and they joined the crowd of people walking through the dimly-lit tunnel of the platform, a bit like salmon heading downriver to spawn.

Ethan had been to the city once before, for the audition to the music conservatory - but his mind had been so befuddled on that trip, and so taken up with his own private affairs that he hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings. He barely remembered any of it at all. Now, though, he focused so much on what and who jostled around them that he was barely aware of himself - everything was loud and fascinating, lit in shining chrome and Technicolor, and Ethan couldn't tear himself away if he'd tried.

Robert had secured them a compartment near the front of the train, so it wasn't until they entered the station itself that Ethan realized his first assumption of hundreds of people had been sorely off the mark. Even thousands didn't feel quite accurate, not when there were surely a thousand people crowding the main room of the train station around them, and still most of their train struggling to enter from behind. The noise was deafening, with voices and footsteps and the squeak of rubber shoes echoing off the marbled walls and high ceiling, everyone busy with their own personal tasks, buying tickets or checking the clacking signboards for their platform, or purchasing food and drink and magazines.

Robert took no notice of it; Ethan stopped in his tracks and was nearly bowled over by the crowd of passengers behind them, eager to get off the platform and go on with whatever they had come into the city to do.

"All right, stand over here if you want to gawp a bit," said Robert, amused at his son, and pulled Ethan to the side, where they stood against a wall, more or less out of the way. Robert busied himself with checking his phone - undoubtedly reassuring himself of directions to their destination - while Ethan stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, a veritable country bumpkin in the city for the first time in his life.

Ethan almost felt like a country bumpkin. He suspected he looked like one, too, staring at the station around them.

Or rather, at the people. And oh, God, there were so many people. Men in suits and ties, women in dresses and skirts, alphas in their bright colors and determined steps, betas with amused glances and distracted airs, and once in a while, omegas in their greys and tans. All crowded together and paying no attention to each other in the slightest. Paying no attention to him, either, just going about their day as they presumably did every day, as if their days didn't include momentous, life-changing events.

Ethan watched as they streamed this way and that. He wondered why they stood in the long lines for one coffee stand when another coffee stand had no customers at all. He watched two alphas argue, laughing, gesticulating wildly, while their omegas stood behind, shyly looking at each other but saying nothing. He watched a beta nanny walk briskly through the benches, her charges following her like ducks, all of their heads held high with chins in the air.

And the smell. Ethan's nose, like all omegas, was good at picking out a scent, but after twenty years of the same familiar smells, he'd forgotten what it was like to scent something new. The station's scent was almost overwhelming: rich and thick like pudding, thin and sharp like motor oil, all the familiar and unfamiliar scents that Ethan both did and did not recognize. Coffee and sugar and cleaning fluids, the round undertones of people crammed into a small place, with faint whiffs of the individuals who walked briskly by, sending brief waves of their individual scent as they went.

Ethan couldn't decide if the combination was delicious or horrific. He wanted to keep breathing it in until he'd made up his mind. School had been bad, once they'd all started presenting, but there'd been perhaps two hundred students, all told. This was something else altogether.

And then he caught sight of them - just to the side. The bright happy smile of an omega woman, her face flooded with joy as her alpha mate stepped through the doorway from the train Ethan and Robert had ridden. The indulgent smile on her beta companion, who took a step back as the couple embraced, their noses pressing into each other's necks in a public display of affection and bond affirmation that made Ethan blush. When the couple pulled apart, the omega was pink-cheeked and shy, her eyes lowered as if she was a bit embarrassed by their brazen behavior, and her companion laughed along with the alpha, as the alpha nuzzled her hair, and then pulled her along, chatting amicably with the beta, obviously eager to continue their homecoming in private, but content for the moment to catch up on the news.

Ethan watched them go, the odd twist of uncertainty rising again in his stomach. It wasn't the affectionate greeting between long-lost lovers - his first meeting with Antonio wouldn't be like that, of course not. Not today. Maybe not even in a week or two. That was affection borne from years of being together, of a life lived and shared together. If Ethan were lucky, he'd have that someday.

It was the beta, really, that gave Ethan pause. The way she was the one who spoke with the alpha, as the omega held herself back, half a step behind, without joining their conversation.

"I think I have it now," said Robert briskly, as he slid his phone back in his coat pocket. "Ten minutes walk. Or we could take a cab?"

The idea of being bundled into a cab, with only a quick glimpse of the city itself, smacked so much of overprotective, that Ethan stiffened almost involuntarily. It shouldn't have done; Robert was hardly the stereotypical overprotective alpha father, and Ethan knew that the suggestion hadn't been meant because he wanted to keep Ethan from the world, but because he wanted to spare tired feet from the concrete sidewalks.

"I can walk," said Ethan, and Robert chuckled indulgently.

They began to wind their way through the crowd to the entrance. Robert seemed somewhat distracted as he glanced continuously at the signs pointing the way, each suggesting a different exit for a different destination. "Don't want to miss a minute of the city, do you?"

"Don't know when I'll get another chance," said Ethan quietly, catching sight of a group of omegas, all huddled together around a ticket kiosk, nervously pressing each button, as if they weren't entirely sure what they were about. There wasn't a beta or alpha in sight near them, though plenty of people were giving them wide berth and indulgent, almost pitying looks.

Robert stopped, right in the center of the room, to look at Ethan with a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ethan couldn't meet Robert's eye. "It's not like we've signed the contract yet. He could take one look and decide I'm not what he wants after all. Or...."

"Or...?" prodded Robert.

"How many omegas do you see by themselves here?" Ethan demanded. "Maybe it's true, maybe city omegas are only allowed out with an escort. Sure looks like it anyway."

Robert snorted and rolled his eyes. "Five minutes in the city and he's an expert. Give me a little credit, Ethan. Do you really think so little of me that I'd bond you to an alpha who will lock you up and never let you go? This family isn't like that. They've agreed to let you finish school, they've agreed that you can perform after graduation. It didn't even take an argument - do you really think if they were the type to guard your every move, they'd agree to rules like that?"

"No," said Ethan slowly. "But...."

"But nothing," said Robert firmly. "I didn't raise you to be a wilting flower, and I don't give a shit how city alphas treat their omegas, if they wrap them in cotton wool or let them swing naked from the flagpoles. If this boy doesn't want you, then more fool him." Robert took a step closer, and rested his hand on Ethan's shoulder. It was warm, heavy, thick - a comforting weight that Ethan could remember from childhood, resting on his back after the dark of a nightmare, settling him back to sleep. "Ethan. You don't have to do this, if you don't want. We'll find another way."

"There isn't another way, Fa," said Ethan softly, still scanning the station for omegas walking alone, and finding none. "If there was, we'd have figured it out months ago."

Robert made a frustrated noise. "Antonio Valdez would be a fool to reject you - but if you want to reject him, then I promise we'll find another alpha, another city. Ethan, I'm your father. It's my job to keep you safe. You have to trust me to do it."

Ethan looked up at the high, vaulted ceiling of the train station waiting room. The crowds flowed around them, a current of people and smells and destinations and desires. The kinetic and constant energy of the place ebbed and flowed around them, and he wondered, if the anchor of Robert's hand let go of his shoulder, would he be caught up in the current and pushed downstream to the ocean.

Salmon on their way to spawn, thought Ethan bitterly.

Ethan thought about the sleepy little town he'd left behind that morning, two hours away by train, and his sleepy little life, where everyone knew him, and everyone held the same expectations of him.

He'd never have the sleepy little life he'd grown up with again, no matter what happened. But Ethan had realized that weeks before, and no matter what Robert swore, there really were no other options for him.

"I know, Fa," said Ethan, because sometimes, his mother had always said, it was the omega's job to let the alpha go on thinking they really could make everything well again, even when well was unreachable. "I really do."

He didn't think Robert would buy it - but Robert nodded briskly, and turned to continue through the station. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

* * *

THE AIR ON THE STREET was hot, a muggy wave that threatened to push Ethan back into the coolness of the train station, but the tide of people behind him, as well as Robert's retreating back and assurance that Ethan was close behind, pulled Ethan on ahead.

It wasn't difficult to stay near Robert; as crowded as the sidewalk was, people seemed to make way for them, without once breaking stride or looking particularly put out. Ethan didn't think they even noticed him, really, beyond what was clearly a standard assessing glance: Young Omega, with Alpha Father, and then they were back to their conversations and coffee and navigations.

Robert walked briskly through the crowd, as if he knew exactly where he was going, had done it a thousand times before. Ethan followed, only giving his father's progress as much attention as he could spare from the rest of the scenery. Everything was fascinating - a little bit like walking through a motion picture set. None of it felt real, not in the same way that walking along the street at home felt, as if he'd blink, and he'd suddenly wake up at home, the entire journey having taken place days or weeks before, and really was nothing more than a fond memory.

It was the smell, more than anything, that made it less of a dream. The air smelled hot and stale, with occasional bursts as they walked past air conditioning ducts blasting acrid air onto the sidewalk. Whiffs of the passing musky alphas and crystal cool betas, the yeasty smell of baking bread from a bakery, the leafy scent of the tobacconist's shop as they went by. Dreams didn't smell anything like that - or at least, not all at once. So many sensory cues; Ethan didn't wonder why he felt light-headed and removed. He would surely have a headache if he took in too much of it for too long.

The buildings - the people - the traffic - the lights - the store signs and advertisements and bus bays and fire hydrants and... well... everything. It was busy and exciting and everything moved so fast and it was just as wonderful as Ethan had always thought it would be.

Ten minutes was all it took for Ethan to fall in love with it.

If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.

Before Ethan was used to the heat and the scent of the street, Robert turned down a quieter side-street, where the sidewalks were just as wide, but there were fewer pedestrians and only the occasional car. Trees dotted along the concrete, small ones barely larger than a very tall man, stunted from having to fight for sunlight and air with the tall buildings surrounding them, and each one ringed by metal fencing. Ethan breathed in as they passed, but instead of the familiar burst of oxygenated air that he was accustomed to smelling in heavily wooded areas, he only smelled the somewhat lessened scent of car exhaust and humanity.

"Almost there," said Robert, glancing up at the numbers on the buildings as they passed. "All right, Ethan?"

"Yeah," said Ethan, looking around. The buildings here were smaller, less grand than the opulent, shiny buildings on the main road. "It's a lot quieter here."

"Residential area," explained Robert. He glanced up at the building next to them and then nodded his head briskly before he began to go up the steps leading to the door. "Here it is."

Ethan almost stopped in his tracks. "Wait - are we going to his house?"

Robert glanced over his shoulder. "I doubt he has a house in the city - he lives with his parents for now, though they've assured me he has an apartment which will be ready within a week. I think he wanted your input on design, apparently it's unfinished. Ethan?"

Ethan blinked and shook his head. "We're going to their home?" he repeated, his heart now pounding with the change.

Robert took a step closer. "I tried to convince them we'd be more comfortable in a neutral space, but... I guess this is the way they do things in the city. Maybe there just aren't suitable places available."

"They don't have restaurants?" Ethan took a breath. "All right. Just...."

Ethan looked around, hungrily, taking in every last detail of the street he could. It was devoid of people, quiet except for the distant sound of traffic from the nearby main road, and sterile with concrete, brick, and mortar.

And even with Robert's assurances that his new family would let him take part in life, to finish his schooling and perform in public and everything he'd wanted when he still thought he had his own future... Ethan remembered the strange mix of people on the main streets, the alphas and betas who filled them, and the only occasional omega among them, skittish and self-conscious, and never, ever alone.

How long would it take, if he were not careful, wondered Ethan, before he became just like them?

"All right," said Ethan finally, and followed his father up the steps.

The lobby was cold, and after the heated scents of the city street, smelled stale and lifeless. It was dark, with potted plants and a single leather bench under a row of metal mail boxes, each marked with a number and a name.

No doorman, but a concierge of some type sat at a desk on the far end of the lobby. She stood when Robert and Ethan entered, and her face had an odd sort of expression, as if she tried to hide the annoyance she felt at their intrusion and mask it with a friendly air. Her nostrils flared as she glanced at Ethan, which was clue enough that she knew what he was.

"Can I help you?" she asked, with bored exasperation, and the edge to her voice indicated that despite the words, she really would rather have not lifted a finger.

Robert took no notice, and walked confidently across the lobby. "We have an appointment with the Valdez family. The penthouse, at eleven."

The concierge's eyebrow went up, and she glanced down at the notebook open on her desk. She shuffled a page, and this time when she looked up, it was directly at Ethan, scrutinizing him. Ethan swallowed, and thought he saw his own photo on her desk - the same one he'd included in his own profile for the bonding pools.

"Mr. Downing, of course," said the concierge smoothly, and reached into a drawer. "The elevator is located directly behind the mailboxes; you'll need to use this card to access the penthouse. Please return it before you leave."

Robert took the offered keycard. "Thank you, Ms.--"

The concierge blinked at him; Ethan could tell she was having trouble processing the question. "Tyler," she finally said, and remained standing while they went around the corner to the elevator bay.

Ethan couldn't look at Robert; he stared up at the numbers above the elevator doors, watching them blink on and off as the elevator made its way down to the ground level to pick them up.

This is it. I'm going to meet my alpha in just a few minutes. He's in this building, upstairs, waiting. Is he pacing? Is he looking at his watch? Is he impatient? Bored? Was he watching out the windows to see when we'd arrive? Has he seen me already, when I didn't see him?

Does he feel as scared and anxious as I do?

The elevator arrived with a ping; it was mirrored and quite luxurious inside. Ethan tried not to hyperventilate as the doors closed, and Robert slid the keycard into the slot; the P button automatically lit up. He glanced over at Ethan, who was pressed into a corner, staring resolutely at the numbers again.

"The first time I met your mother," said Robert, his voice thick and echoing in the small chamber, and then he broke into a grin that reflected a dozen times in the mirrored walls. "Well. You're not the only one nervous of what's on the other side of the door, son. That's all."

"If you say so," said Ethan, and Robert chuckled.

"I'll stay as long as you want."

Ethan managed to tear his gaze from the numbers to look at his father's face. "You're only meant to stay for an hour. Long enough to sign the contracts and ensure I'm... um, settled."

Robert scoffed. "Says who?"

"That's how it works, Fa. And your train leaves in two hours."

Robert shrugged. "Trains run all day. As long as I leave by suppertime, your mother won't worry."

"They might not let you."

"There was a perfectly comfortable bench downstairs, and Ms. Tyler seems to be a lively conversationalist," said Robert, and Ethan barked out a laugh. "Good. For a moment I thought you'd forgotten to pack your sense of humor."

"Fa...."

"I will stay," repeated Robert, in the tone Ethan long remembered being used for childhood scoldings and irritable store clerks, "as long as you want me to stay. Rules be damned. Understood?"

Ethan's throat was too thick and dry to speak. He nodded, biting his lips, and then the elevator doors opened onto a small foyer, with a single door opposite.

The penthouse.

The foyer was nondescript, clearly public property to the building, though there was a black wrought-iron table next to the door, topped with bright geometric tiles. An intricately hand-carved wooden box sat on top of the table, with the smiling figures of a man and woman on either side, facing each other. Ethan thought Robert would walk confidently up to the door and knock without pause - but the elevator doors closed behind them, and he heard the faint whirr of it descending back down the shaft to carry someone else before Robert even lifted his fist.

"Fa?" asked Ethan gently.

"In a moment," said Robert, staring directly at the door. He was completely still, barely even breathing, and Ethan wondered why Robert was waiting. Maybe Ethan himself should be the one knocking on the door instead? It was disconcerting, to see Robert so completely still, when all morning, he had been moving steadily forward with great confidence and resolve, and now that they were nearly there, to wait....

Just as Ethan realized that his father was actually nervous, Robert let out a shuddering breath - all the better to breathe in some courage - before he lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

The knock's echo hadn't even faded before the door opened. Light spilled from the brightly lit interior into the dark and dim foyer. For a moment, Ethan couldn't even see who was standing on the other side of the doorway, but then it didn't matter, because the tiny foyer was suddenly full of life, of cheerful chatter and effusive greetings, the ring of heels on the marbled floors, the flash of diamond earrings and the sudden overwhelming scent of perfume and cologne and something under all of the chemical scents that Ethan couldn't quite place, but wanted to sniff again, just to figure out what exactly made it so enticing.

"Ah, you've arrived!"

Hector Valdez Mendoza was larger than life, his smile infectious and beaming. His dark hair was slicked back, his brown eyes glittered and gleamed. His voice boomed, echoing in the tiny chamber, though Ethan wasn't entirely sure that was for effect, or just because it was his natural volume when excited.

"Yolanda, where is Antonio? He should be here greeting our new family."

Hector reached for Robert as if they'd known each other for years instead of only the month or so since the match had been made. He wrapped Robert in an unexpected hug that was clearly strong enough that all the air in Robert's lungs was pushed right out in a huff. For a moment, Robert looked a bit like a blowfish that had lost all of its air, and Ethan wanted to burst into a near-hysterical giggle of nerves.

When Hector released Robert - who appeared completely dazed and off-kilter, he slapped him on the back so hard that Robert almost fell over, but managed to catch himself in time.

"What a fine thing it is that you are here at last. Please, come in, we have been waiting."

Robert was clearly taken aback by the effusive show of friendliness; Ethan could see the hair on the back of his neck, the wariness in his shoulders under his coat. It wasn't entirely natural for an alpha to welcome another alpha into his home, much less a strange one. Yet Hector seemed as comfortable as if he'd known them his entire life. "We aren't late, I hope."

"Not at all, of course not! You know how it is, when you are anticipating someone, the time moves so slowly. It has been five to eleven for the last seven hours at least."

Robert laughed, the tension slowly ebbing, and Ethan saw him relax, though the wariness did not entirely go away.

Ethan's head, on the other hand, was reeling from the influx of new scents that Hector and Yolanda had brought with them into the foyer. Floral and dry and full of sand and sea, all mixed up with something else, something more familiar that made his mouth water. He wasn't sure where to look; his eyes swept the room, desperate to find the source of the scent he couldn't quite place, but nothing seemed right. He didn't think he could see quite properly, anyway - his heart pounded completely ineffectively in his chest, he was light-headed and cold and the absolute reality of the moment - this is it, this is really it, I'm really about to meet him, oh God - came crashing down on him.

Fear - honest to goodness fear, because it was all happening. He was going to bond with someone, and that would be it. And it was happening now.

Ethan was off-centered, breathing shallowly, lost in the commotion. They were moving - everything was moving. Robert was following the Valdez patriarch into the apartment, laughing and smiling as though handing his son off to nearly-perfect strangers was a perfectly natural thing to do. Ethan could have been floating - he might have been floating as he followed his father in, trying not to think of lambs to the slaughter.

Don't be ridiculous. You're not a lamb. Antonio's not the wolf looking to have you for lunch. There haven't been wolves in centuries. Evolutionary quirks and survival of the fittest and oh God, now I'm babbling in my own head.

Somehow, moving into the apartment only made it worse - as if the very air prevented Ethan from thinking properly. Or perhaps it was the dark paneling, and the strangely colored masks on the wall, the barefoot gods with their mouths open in silent screams.

Maybe I'm having a heart attack. Ethan tried to focus, opened his mouth to speak, desperate to catch his father's attention - but Hector and Robert were still talking animatedly with each other.

"Was your trip into the city smooth?"

"Very much, thank you. Your directions were excellent."

The front door to the apartment closed behind him. The deep, echoing thud it made as it shut was probably Ethan's imagination, as no one else seemed to notice. The strange sense of being caught, however, sent a deep shockwave through Ethan, and he had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing.

It's all right. It's all right.

I hope Fa's right. I hope Antonio is better than Alan. He certainly can't be worse.

There was a gentle touch on his arm, enough for Ethan to jerk himself out of his attempt at a calming moment.

"Oh, mije, you must be overwhelmed," said the person next to him - a slender, beautifully dressed woman perhaps twice Ethan's age, with honey-blonde hair done up in a twist, and diamond earrings that sparkled on her ears. Yolanda Veracruz de Valdez, Ethan realized - Antonio's mother. Her smile was comforting, her hand was particularly warm and gentle on Ethan's arm, and there was a familiar scent about her, warm and safe and so much like Ethan's own mother's that he nearly wanted to bury his head into the crook of her neck. "I did tell Antonio to keep to his own rooms, he was pacing like an impatient wolf all morning. I have no doubt the entire place reeks of him."

Ethan took a breath without thinking, and then stopped halfway through, his eyes bulging, his lungs already burning with the strange, strangled feeling of desperately wanting more air, and not being allowed to have it.

Antonio's mother chuckled, and patted Ethan's arm. "Come, mije. Come and meet him."

If Ethan had felt oddly disconnected in the foyer - and again in the front hall - then it was nothing compared to what he felt when he stepped into the sitting room and breathed in the scent that had been eluding him for the previous five minutes. It was unlike anything else Ethan had ever experienced before. The scent was almost alive, in the way it crept through the room and wrapped itself around Ethan. It sent his heart beating frantically, his blood racing through his veins. His head, already nervous and distracted, suddenly felt light and thin and Ethan blinked, trying to dislodge the feeling, and only felt worse. The room didn't so much spin as it simply faded, from Ethan's sight and hearing and consciousness. Everything simply melted away.

Almost everything.

That's him.

Antonio Valdez Veracruz, twenty-five years old, the alpha to whom Ethan would shortly be mated, stood on the other side of the room, half turned to the windows that looked out onto a balcony. He didn't see Ethan - not at first - and for a moment, Ethan wasn't at all sure that it was Antonio, because the young man looked completely irritated by the noise and commotion in the room, and utterly oblivious to Ethan's presence. His hands twitched as if he'd have rather been smoking a cigarette, his foot tapped to an impatient beat, and he glared at Hector and Robert, who were still talking and laughing with each other. Their initial enthusiasm had not exactly abated, but become more subdued as both men smiled and exchanged the sort of pleasantries shared by people who did not know each other, but anticipated becoming well-acquainted.

Antonio was tall, with nut-brown skin that didn't come from working outside all day. His hair was swept back from his face; Ethan thought it might be long, if he didn't have product in it keeping it from falling forward. He wore a white dress shirt, open at the collar and without a tie, and his neat dress slacks were perfectly pressed with a sharp crease down the front. It was casual but still polished, and Ethan felt his heart flutter at the idea that Antonio had likely taken such care with his appearance, for him.

Ethan stared at that triangle of skin at his neck, the divot where his collarbone dipped, and the prominent Adam's apple above it. Just looking, Ethan thought the scent grew stronger. Imagination, of course - but all the same, staring at that bit of skin on Antonio's neck, knowing that if he were to bury his head just there, that he'd smell nothing else... Ethan could taste it, nearly.

It took supreme effort to pull his eyes away from that triangle. But it would have been rude to keep staring. Ethan moved his eyes upward: the chiseled jaw, the cleft in his chin, the slightly opened lips - and the dark brown eyes, which were now staring right at Ethan, as though Ethan was entirely and inexplicably unexpected. As if he was just as surprised as Ethan at the odd pull between them.

Ethan felt his breath catch. Somewhere on the other side of the room - or maybe the other side of the city, or state, or galaxy for all Ethan knew - their fathers continued talking. Ethan didn't know. Ethan didn't care. Ethan didn't remember that anyone else in the world existed, except for the two of them, standing on opposite sides of the room.

Walking from the other side of the room, actually. Antonio moved, step after careful step. He ran his hand along each piece of furniture as he passed, as if he was uncertain of his balance, and at one point, he almost fumbled and knocked over a lamp, but it didn't stop his advance. Each step brought not just his face into sharper focus - but something else, too, the strange twist to Ethan's gut, the sharp pull he felt toward the other man. The strange, unfamiliar longing and the warmth that blossomed when Ethan realized that Antonio's focus was squarely on him. Because for all of Antonio's uncertain steps, there was something completely predatory about the way that Antonio looked at him, a bit like a wild animal that had every intention of playing with its prey to see what made it tick, before eating it up.

Maybe the legends were true, thought Ethan. Maybe they really did descend from wolves. And maybe they weren't entirely extinct after all.

"Ethan," said Antonio, standing in front of him, easily within touching distance. Ethan nodded, automatically standing a bit straighter. The stretch of his muscles felt good, he almost sighed with it, as if his entire body was opening up to sunlight. Antonio's voice wasn't nearly as deep as it had sounded on the phone the previous week; it was brighter, somehow, a bit breathy, as if the butterflies in Ethan's stomach were splitting their time between the two of them.

And yes - the scent that had him so discombobulated - that was definitely Antonio, and he smelled even better close up. It wasn't anything Ethan could name, exactly - just spice and warmth and something rich and thick and lovely, like deep roasted coffee or popcorn dripping with butter. It made Ethan think in musical notes - a swirling, animated song that rose higher and higher, oblivious to anything else. Ethan wanted to breathe in deep, drink down the scent and music until it filled him up.

"You are Ethan Downing?" Antonio said, with a barely pointed edge to his voice now.

"Oh," said Ethan, eyes widening. "Um. Yes. Hi." Ethan's head was spinning, but he was perfectly aware he sounded a bit like an idiot just then.

If Antonio noticed, he at least had the grace not to dwell on it. "Hello."

"Um, sorry. Can we start over?"

Antonio's eyebrows went up a bit. "That bad?"

"No, just... I'm not actually an idiot." Ethan closed his eyes, and tried not to groan. "Oh, God, I said that."

"I'll acknowledge your non-idiot status, if you acknowledge that I can cross a room without tripping," said Antonio. Ethan's eyes popped open to see Antonio blinking very fast as he bit his lower lip.

Nervous, realized Ethan. Oh, God, he's as nervous as I am.

"I thought you crossed the room very well," said Ethan, and Antonio's eyebrows went up.

"You must have blinked," he said.

"You didn't lose your way or sit on anyone's hat, so that's a start." Babbling out loud now, that was definitely worse than babbling inside his head. And Antonio hadn't cracked a smile once, not really. Did the man have any sense of humor at all?

"Did you sit on someone's hat?"

"My grandmother's, once. I was eight. It had feathers."

Antonio snorted a laugh - snorted, and the tension in Ethan's neck suddenly released. He grinned back at him, just a bit more hopeful that perhaps this wasn't the worst decision in the world. With a predatory look on his face, Antonio was frighteningly aloof and unobtainable - larger than life and as imposing an alpha as Ethan had ever seen, the music surrounding him full of oboes and drums. But when he laughed - he seemed to collapse in on himself, become smaller, simpler, younger, flutes and violins, and Ethan thought he might actually learn to like the laughing Antonio, even if he remained nervous around the predatory version.

Ethan was determined to keep Antonio laughing. As long as Antonio laughed, he'd be able to go through with it. Everything would be all right.

"Boys!"

The single word from Antonio's father made Antonio freeze for a moment, and then the bright, companionable look was gone from his eyes, as the smile became something a bit more rigid and formal.

"Papi," said Antonio, his tone suddenly as austere as his expression. He hadn't spoken English with an accent, but Ethan could hear it with the switch to Spanish, and he stood a little straighter as he wondered what Antonio might whisper in his ear in the dark of the bedroom.

Stop that, he told himself firmly.

"I see you've met each other," said Hector, the large smile belying the tone: exuberant, though Ethan had the idea there was a steel rod somewhere that was ready to strike. "Roberto, mi amigo, the photographs you sent of your boy, Ethan, were mierda. He's even lovelier in person."

Hector rested his hand above his heart, and bowed to Ethan. The most formal of greetings from an unrelated alpha to an unattached omega caught Ethan by surprise - he'd only ever seen it done once or twice, and he hadn't ever expected to be on the receiving end himself - particularly since he only had a few hours of being unattached left. A quick glance at Robert showed that his father was equally taken aback by the gesture, though the odd expression might have been confusion over whether or not the comment about the photographs had actually meant to be a compliment. Regardless, Robert seemed to catch himself faster, and quickly motioned Ethan to respond, somehow.

"Uh," said Ethan, every rule of proper conduct flying right out of his head. He decided to just repeat the gesture, though not quite as deeply, and with another quick glance at Antonio, wondering what he made of it. Antonio's face was still stoic, though Ethan thought he could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched Ethan perform his odd genuflection.

"Ethan," said Hector, quite seriously now. "Allow me to welcome you to my family. I have waited so many long years for my son to find his mate. Truly, I thought I would wait a lifetime before he found a suitable match. So many potential matches he rejected out of hand."

"Papi," muttered Antonio under his breath, and Ethan tried not to giggle at the obvious annoyance he caught in Antonio's tone, even as he wondered about what Hector was saying. Many long years? How long was Antonio in the bonding pool, anyway?

And why?

"But that was the past, I will not focus on it," continued Hector. "Such a handsome young man you are! Yolanda, don't you agree?"

"Very much so," agreed Yolanda, sounding almost amused by her mate. She did have an accent in English, though only a slight one, just enough to make her words sound richer and more meaningful, as if she chose them with care. "And they look so well together."

"An excellent addition to our family," said Hector.

"Thank you," said Ethan, unsure how to respond. "I... I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Hector, with a booming and somewhat sly laugh. "Enough. Antonio, show your young man his new home while we discuss the arrangements. If that is all right with you, mi amigo," Hector added to Robert. "It is not so much longer before we sign, after all, and Yolanda can supervise, if you are worried for propriety."

Ethan felt his face go warm as his body went a bit stiff. It was one thing, talking to Antonio in a room with their parents in attendance. It was another to be sent off, alone, having only had a few words between them....

Robert's glance was comforting. "I think that would possibly be best," said Robert, with a knowing smile. "Though perhaps for their peace of mind, rather than ours."

"Of course, of course," soothed Hector, and waved at Yolanda without even looking at her. "Go on then. Start with the kitchens. Roberto! Come, we have contracts to sign and celebratory tequila to drink."

Yolanda's hand was cool in Ethan's, as she tucked his arm under hers. "We'll go through the balcony, I think," she said, and led the way through the double doors onto the balcony, overlooking an inner courtyard of the building, and beyond that, the city itself.

The fresh air on the balcony was a relief, crisp and cool and with a light breeze far above the heat of the city streets. Yolanda led Ethan straight to the stone railing surrounding the balcony, and let his hand go. Ethan wrapped his long fingers around the edge, desperate to keep himself from spinning straight up into space. The clean air was delicious, and Ethan closed his eyes and breathed in until his lungs hurt with it.

"Better?" Yolanda asked, amused.

"Yes," Ethan sighed. "Thank you."

"God, that's good," sighed Antonio from behind him, exhaling loudly and sounding just as grateful as Ethan was to be out in the fresh air.

"As if you didn't spend the morning marking your territory," said Yolanda, amused.

"Mami," groaned Antonio, perturbed. "That's not what I was doing."

"What did you think would happen, pacing up and down like a worried lab rat?" scolded Yolanda gently. "It'll take hours to air out the front hall properly."

"There's no need to be crass about it."

"Who's being crass? You are rather a lot to take in, Toño," said Yolanda, but she sounded more amused than actually upset. "Ethan, I trust you do not give one whit about the kitchen."

"No."

"Of course not. The lovely thing about the balcony, Ethan, is that it is accessible not only from the library, but also the kitchen and the bedrooms. Quite a clever arrangement. And I really should look in and ensure that lunch will be ready for us when we are ready for it. I will return in exactly ten minutes."

Ethan opened his eyes just in time to see Yolanda smile knowingly at him, before disappearing behind a door on the far side of the balcony, and taking her comforting motherly scent with her.

Ethan took a deep breath of the clear, clean air, scented only by the faint warmth of the city below, and the oncoming autumn. He looked over his shoulder at Antonio, who stood a few paces behind, his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. His eyes were closed, and his face was tipped up into the sunlight, his nostrils flaring as he too breathed the fresh air.

He looked just as relieved as Ethan felt, to be out of the pheromone-filled rooms. His shoulders were loose and relaxed; the tension was gone from his face and his neck. He didn't look predatory or stiff in the slightest - in fact, he looked rather... carefree. Easy. Friendly. Approachable.

Ethan was still staring at him when Antonio spoke, without opening his eyes. "Your father's nice."

"He didn't say anything."

"Exactly," said Antonio dryly, and when he opened his eyes, he caught Ethan's gaze before turning abruptly away. "Here, we can sit down, if you want - there's probably more of a breeze near the edge, though. There's agua fresca, with melon. And tea. If you want something stronger, I'd have to go back in for it...."

"No," said Ethan, swallowing. His mouth was dry; swallowing was somewhat tricky. "The melon's fine."

Antonio nodded, and walked to the nearby table, where a tray with the pitcher of pale orange agua fresca and several tall glasses waited. He poured out a glass and brought it over to Ethan. The ice sang merrily against the glass as he handed it over; Ethan's fingers brushed Antonio's as he took it, and the sudden touch was a bit like an electric shock - hot and fiery, straight to his stomach. Ethan jerked back, still clutching the glass. The drink sloshed a bit over the edge, and Ethan quickly drank a bit, just to hide his embarrassment. It was cool and sweet and a bit grainy on his tongue, and if he hadn't been so nervous, it might have been delicious.

"Sorry," he muttered. Antonio hesitated for a moment, and then leaned against the balcony's railing, looking out, next to Ethan. "If you want something stronger for yourself, though--"

"Not enough to go back in there," said Antonio firmly.

Ethan stared at the ice in his glass. "Do you drink?"

"Like a fish, when I was in college," admitted Antonio. "A glass of wine or beer now, every so often. And never alone," he added firmly.

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. "Half the alphas I went to school with swear they'll stop drinking after their college graduations. I'm not sure if they even believe themselves."

Antonio laughed, and the hard caution slipped from his tone a bit. "I said the same."

Ethan turned the water glass in his hands, and then glanced over at Antonio. Yolanda had been more clever than he'd realized, bringing them out to the balcony. It was easier to see Antonio clearly here, where his scent was not quite so firmly entrenched, and the breeze kept him from being overwhelmed. Still, standing so close - Ethan could still catch the faint hint of him, and he wouldn't have minded if Antonio stood just a bit closer, where perhaps their bodies might touch, rest against each other... Ethan could lean over, settle his head against him, press his lips to that smooth skin on Antonio's neck....

Oh, God, being outside wasn't helping one bit. He had to think of something to say. Anything.

"Um. You... you live here. With your parents."

"I have an apartment," said Antonio. "New construction, near the water. Getting to actually live in it is meant to be something of a bonding present from my parents. Anyway, I've never really had a chance to do anything with it, so it's a blank slate. Needs paint, floors, lights - you know. Won't take two weeks to finish it, if someone ever makes a decision. Maybe you can do that. I mean, you'll be spending a lot of time there, you might as well like it."

"Oh," said Ethan, flustered. "I... I don't actually know anything about interior decorating."

Antonio shrugged. "What's to know? Paint or wallpaper, carpet or hardwood. It's not like I'm going to spend a lot of time there, work keeps me traveling pretty frequently."

"Oh," said Ethan, unsure what else to say. Antonio wasn't really looking at him; in fact, he seemed to be more interested in what was happening inside the apartment, the way he kept glancing over to the windows. It was difficult to see inside through the gauzy curtains, but Ethan could make out their fathers, sitting at their table and going over the contracts, line by line. Robert was wearing his glasses, a clear sign that he was being particularly careful. It ought to have made Ethan feel more secure - somehow, it didn't. "Um, sorry, I forgot what it is you do?"

"It's a trading company - I'm one of the buyers, so I do a lot of overseas travel. It sounds more interesting than it really is, honestly, you'd be bored stiff if I started in. People stay away from me at parties."

"Tell me anyway."

"Your funeral," said Antonio with a shrug. "We import food - spices and sea salts, mostly, and a few other things that aren't grown here. Shelf-stable things, though we're looking to expand into perishables, like fruits and vegetables, and I've been in Australia for most of the last year, working on a new contract for beef."

"What's wrong with our beef?"

"Well, it's not Australian, among other things. Every time I go, they feed me up with it, I think they're trying to turn me into an addict. They're asking the moon for the contract, and the rules surrounding imported perishables is completely asinine, it's probably not worth the effort. And the logistics, trying to move a couple thousand pounds of goods that need to remain chilled and get them through customs in a timely manner... sorry," added Antonio. "I told you it was boring."

"Not really. It sounds complicated, more than anything," said Ethan quietly. "You must like it."

Antonio looked at Ethan, and Ethan felt his heart jump a bit. Antonio smiled, as if thinking about the work. "I do. Even with the travel."

"I always wanted to travel," said Ethan, a bit wistfully, and then he bit his lip, before deciding just to say it. "I could go with you. If you didn't mind."

Antonio's expression changed, as he suddenly looked at Ethan - really looked at him, instead of around him. "You... you'd want to come with me?"

Antonio sounded as if he'd never even thought of the possibility - that the idea of Ethan wanting to travel was completely foreign. The fresh air helped, but Ethan wished his head was a bit clearer, because he couldn't quite tell if Antonio liked the idea of Ethan traveling with him or not.

"Yes," breathed Ethan, stepping a bit closer to Antonio. "I'd love to see Australia. I've never been anywhere. And you could come to my concerts with me."

Antonio frowned. "Concerts?" he repeated.

"When I'm a world-famous pianist. You can buy spices in all the places I'll play. Maybe you'd follow me around the world instead of the other way 'round."

"Right, piano," said Antonio, as if he was just remembering - which, Ethan supposed, he probably was.

Ethan dug into his pocket. "Here, you asked for a CD of me playing," he said, struggling to pull the forgotten CD out of the slightly too-small pocket. "It's not very long - only four songs, I didn't really have time to record more. But they're my favorites, I hope you like them."

Ethan couldn't resist the temptation to hold onto the CD case a little longer than necessary, hoping for another brush of Antonio's fingers against his.

It didn't happen; Antonio was careful taking the case, and Ethan tried to squash the disappointment while he studied the hand-written description on the home-made lining. "Ethan - Piano. A self-titled first album, of course."

"I like to keep it simple."

"Hmm! What did you play for me?"

"I wasn't sure what you'd like. Beethoven. And Gershwin. And Philip Glass - most people don't like him, he's too repetitious, but he's really not, if you're paying attention. And it makes him something of a challenge to play properly."

"That's three - what's the fourth?"

Ethan bit his lip and cast his eyes down again, suddenly nervous. "Um. Me. I mean - I'm playing all of the music, but I composed the fourth one myself. It's not very good, my tutor says it's clearly a copy of Rachmaninoff and not a very imaginative copy at that, but--"

"I'm sure it's fine," Antonio interrupted him, but it wasn't the comforting words that brought Ethan's rapid-fire excuses to a halt. It was Antonio's hand covering Ethan's, a simple gesture that had anything but an innocent effect, and was a thousand times more everything than the brush of fingers had been.

Antonio's hand was hot. Not just pleasantly warmer, but hot - electric, in the way that Ethan's tingling skin suddenly came alive under it. His chest twisted and rolled; the light-headedness that Ethan had experienced inside came back full-force, with the Earth slowly moving under his feet.

And God, the smell of Antonio - it hit Ethan like a tidal wave with that touch, despite the cool breeze that lifted their hair and kissed along their cheeks. Thick and rich and delectable, walking into his mother's kitchen and smelling the best dinner after having not eaten in hours. A perfectly brewed cup of coffee, first thing in the morning after a long night's sleep. Freshly mown grass on a summer's day, the sun beating down on the back of his neck. Ethan found himself leaning into the scent, wanting to surround himself in it, wrap himself up with it, or better still, with Antonio himself, press his nose at last into that tempting triangle of skin at his neck....

Antonio's fingers curled around Ethan's hand; Ethan watched the movement in slow motion, and then dragged his eyes up to Antonio's face, now curious if Antonio felt the same as he did at their touch. Antonio's eyes were half-lidded, also focused on their joined hands, and his breathing was just as erratic as it had been before, stilted and shallow. His mouth was open in surprise or shock or befuddlement, Ethan couldn't quite tell. But it was obvious from the way that Antonio's fingers held Ethan's hand fast that he had no intention of letting him go.

Antonio's hand moved along Ethan's fingers, before curling under and lifting his hand entirely from the stone, using a gentle pressure that made Ethan tense and relax all at once. Ethan's hand lay palm-up in Antonio's, long fingers slightly curled, and then Antonio shifted against the balcony to face Ethan, all the better to take Ethan's hand in both of his. He pressed his thumb into the curve of Ethan's palm, and began to roll it slowly in a circle.

"Oh," breathed Ethan. He'd had hand massages before - any good piano student knew a thing or two about giving them, and therefore received them in turn - but this? This was something else. Ethan felt as if he were falling forward, into some kind of fog, and he didn't want to come back out.

"Carajo," said Antonio, breathy and surprised, and Ethan's heart flipped in his chest; his entire body clenched, as if his body understood the meaning behind the Spanish, even if his head did not. "I didn't think... is this all right?"

Ethan could only nod. He was still focused on his hand in Antonio's, though he could see Antonio's face out of the corner of his vision, soft-focus and far away, still shocked, and still staring at Ethan's hand as if it was the only thing in the world.

"Good," said Antonio, and Ethan thought he could hear the relief - and pleased pride, maybe - in his voice. "Because I really don't want to stop."

Ethan sucked in a breath, the idea of breaking contact a cold icicle straight to his stomach. Antonio's low laugh melted it straight away.

"Jesu Cristo, I want to...." muttered Antonio, with a brief glance to the apartment, but he didn't finish the sentence, nor did he stop his thumb from moving slowly across Ethan's palm. "Digame," he urged, almost an order instead of a request. "Por favor, acerca de todo. Just... talk to me."

Ethan had to breathe in a few mouthfuls of air before his brain could think of anything to say. Antonio's scent was like a drug, clouding his mind to anything that wasn't the feel of their skin together. The soothing massage, as well as the tingling feel of Antonio's skin, wasn't helping.

"I've been playing piano since I was eight," said Ethan. "Mom taught me, at first, and I played with various school groups, and until a few months ago I was in the community ensemble. I've been taking formal lessons for the last two years."

"Why not before?"

"No music conservatory in the country allows unbonded omegas," said Ethan quietly. "The formal lessons were meant to fill in time."

"Ah." Antonio glanced up at him, a curious expression on his face - almost as if he wanted to ask something, and then changed his mind. "Why piano?"

Ethan blinked. "I... have no idea. I can't remember."

"I'm impressed you can remember your own name right now," said Antonio. "But only because I'm not sure I remember mine."

"I'm not sure I remember that either," admitted Ethan, sheepish, and Antonio's chuckle warmed the bits of him that weren't already blazing. The tips of his hair, maybe. "I was lucky to get into the conservatory here. It's very selective."

"And then after your year of schooling? What next?" Antonio's hand changed motion; instead of the warmth of skin pressed to skin, Antonio now drew the tips of his fingers along the back of Ethan's hand, leaving behind a cool wake on Ethan's skin. Ethan's head spun, particularly when Antonio's fingers reached his wrist, and then drew back, going no further. It was going to drive Ethan mad, not having Antonio's fingers continue their journey up his arm, to have Antonio's fingers anywhere that wasn't his entire body.

"I'm not sure," said Ethan, and with Antonio's hand on his, around his, it was easier to say the words without being bitter about them. Still, Antonio paused, briefly, and Ethan almost moaned in disappointment. "That is - I know what I'd like to do, I just hope I have the opportunity. A second year at conservatory, but that's not offered to omegas very often. I want to play in concerts with leading symphonies and learn from pianists all over the world, while you're buying your cinnamon and cayenne and salts."

Antonio looked very serious as he gently pinched the tips of Ethan's fingers, with a small twist that made Ethan's heart jump. "You'd really want to travel so far? What about the children? They'd have school."

"That's years away," said Ethan, dazed. "And travel would be good for them. Seeing other places, the other ways people live. Other cultures - the whole world their classroom. I would have given anything for something like that, when I was young."

Antonio's mouth turned up in the barest smile. "I like your imagination."

"I like what you're doing to my hand," said Ethan boldly, and then blushed.

"I like you," said Antonio, and his eyes went wide, as if he couldn't quite believe he'd said something so hopelessly corny. Ethan laughed gently, and ducked his head to hide the blush rising on his cheeks.

"Good," he said, suddenly shy, and glanced up again in time to see Antonio lick his lips as he gently pulled on Ethan's fingers.

Oh good God in heaven... thought Ethan, almost despairingly, as he felt the twist and pull of his body, wanting desperately to push himself toward Antonio.

"Tell me about the apartment," he blurted out.

Antonio took a breath, as if he needed the air to steady himself. "Big."

Ethan swallowed hard.

"There's a room for the piano. Looks out on the water. Three bedrooms." Antonio's breath went shallow. "Ours has space for a king-size bed, and the windows look right out onto the water, so there wouldn't be anyone looking in. We could open them and stay in bed all day, naked in the sunlight, and no one would ever know."

Ethan thought about simply throwing himself at Antonio, to hell with their fathers on the other side of the glass. Robert Downing had never much cared for tequila anyway.

"I don't think talking is working very well," said Ethan, with a strained laugh.

Antonio moved his thumb across Ethan's palm, long slow strokes toward his fingers, which he circled as he continued to draw the pressure outward. "Such long fingers."

"Pianists' fingers," explained Ethan. "Gives me a good spread."

Antonio's hand stilled, and then his hand suddenly tightened on Ethan's. "Dios mio, I give up," he groaned, and pulled Ethan away from the balcony railing, out of their fathers' line of sight, and into the far corner of the balcony, where it was shadowed and cool.

The kiss was sudden, with Ethan's back pressed up against the sun-warmed brick wall. Antonio's mouth on his, pressing until Ethan's lips opened, pressing until Ethan's muscles relaxed and gave way, pressing Ethan into the bricks, pressing pressing pressing, until Ethan felt as though Antonio was touching every last inch of his skin, trying to melt them together. Antonio's mouth was dry and warm and delicious, his tongue licking inside Ethan's mouth, one hand on Ethan's waist, the fingers curled around the curve just above his waistline. The other hand still held Ethan's hand, their fingers entwined, up against their cheeks.

Their bodies were pressed so tightly together, Ethan could feel the rise and fall of Antonio's chest as he breathed, the hard square of his belt buckle, and lower, the hard expanse of his cock, pressed so close to Ethan's own that he wasn't entirely sure which was which. Both were solid and thick, and even with the layers of cloth between them, it felt so good that Ethan had to push his hips back against Antonio. The groan from Antonio's throat was reward enough, and if Antonio hadn't been holding him up, he might have let himself slide right down to the ground and spread his legs on the spot.

Antonio breathed into Ethan's mouth, and Ethan let his head fall back against the brick, eyes closed. He could feel Antonio's mouth move down his jawline, to his neck, the smooth expanse under his ear. Ethan's breath caught in his throat, the closer Antonio came to the curve of his shoulder.

The place where Antonio would leave his bite when they first coupled, bonding them together as alpha and omega.

It was increasingly difficult to breathe, and when Antonio rested his lips against the skin, pressing only lightly, a pale imitation of the bite he'd eventually (soon) leave, Ethan thought his heart would stop.

"What are you doing to me?" whispered Antonio into Ethan's skin.

"Same as you're doing to me," said Ethan, dazed.

"Fuck," breathed Antonio, and Ethan let his head fall forward onto Antonio's shoulder, before turning his head to nuzzle under his chin. Antonio was just a bit taller, or maybe he'd slumped down enough that Ethan had to turn his face up in order to lick at the skin over Antonio's Adam's apple, which jutted out and jumped and jerked as Antonio struggled for control. "I didn't expect you."

Ethan pulled back, just a bit. Antonio's eyes were screwed tightly closed; he almost looked like he was in pain. Ethan's heart stuttered. "Didn't you?"

"No!"

The word, so forcefully and angrily said, made Ethan freeze in shock, before he realized that Antonio hadn't said it at all. Antonio's eyes flew open, equally surprised and shocked, and for a moment, Ethan wondered if he hadn't said the word himself, before he heard the voice continue from inside the apartment.

"That is completely unacceptable. We did not agree to that clause. I would never have agreed to that clause."

Robert's voice, Ethan realized.

Antonio sucked in a breath, staring at Ethan, the shock draining away from his face and leaving... something else, something just as worried and worrying, though Ethan couldn't quite figure out what it was. Antonio's hand gripped Ethan's tightly; the hand at Ethan's waist curled in, as if to hold him fast, but instead his fingers dug painfully into Ethan's skin.

"Nonetheless, this is what the contract specifies," Hector replied, and he sounded just as calm and nonplussed as Robert sounded incensed.

"Antonio, what are they talking about?"

Antonio couldn't meet his eyes; he was back to looking anywhere but at Ethan, and Ethan wanted to shake him. He did shake him, a bit, but even then, Antonio kept his gaze focused elsewhere.

"Ethan is already enrolled for the new semester at the conservatory," continued Robert. "We paid the first tuition installment ourselves on good faith - you can't simply decide that you don't want him to go, especially when you specifically agreed that he could finish his education."

Ethan stopped breathing, and stared at Antonio, who had suddenly started to look somewhat desperate.

"He has finished his education," said Hector. "Why should we pay for an additional year of school when he can practice his piano in his own home? Even by your admission, he has done wonderfully with his tutor - and there are far better tutors here. There is no reason to think he would not continue to improve."

The doors on the far side of the balcony opened, and then the click-clack of Yolanda's heels on the concrete. "Boys," she said, sharp and worried and without rebuke, and it was enough to snap Ethan out of the fog.

Ethan pushed against Antonio, and it took less effort than Ethan would have supposed. Or perhaps it was that Antonio was expecting it, and he stepped away with only the barest of hesitations, though he did not let go of Ethan's hand.

"Antonio," said Ethan, and the high pitch to his voice sounded odd and entirely unlike him. "What are they talking about?"

"Antonio," said Yolanda, "do let go of Ethan's hand, if your father sees...."

"Ignore them," said Antonio quickly, quietly, ignoring his mother and holding so tightly to Ethan's hand that he thought his fingers might break. "It doesn't matter."

"They're talking about my education, what do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"--not just practice. You can hardly expect Ethan to hold his own as a concert pianist without the educational background to support him - he needs to create a network of contacts, people in the industry who know him and he won't get that with tutors."

Hector shrugged. "As you say. I don't expect Ethan to become a concert pianist. As a Valdez, he can hardly be allowed to perform in public."

"Allowed? Allowed?" sputtered Robert. "Are you going to lock him up and never let him see the light of day?"

"Of course not," said Hector, clearly affronted. "I'm hardly a barbarian. He is my son's mate and the mother of my grandchildren. But you must admit - he will be too busy with his family to pursue such notions."

"Antonio, they will be outside in a moment!" repeated Yolanda, and she reached for her son's shoulder, even as he shrugged it off.

Antonio's hand squeezed Ethan's again. "Don't listen to him," he said, quickly.

"But--" began Ethan.

"Antonio," repeated Yolanda, and even through his own confusion, Ethan could hear the concern in her voice. "You must come away from Ethan."

"He's only twenty," snapped Robert, "he has plenty of time for both a career and children."

"Of course - provided he has his career and produces an heir within four years, or we retain the right to dissolve the bond with no restitution or repercussion."

Ethan breathed. It was the only sound he could hear - not the birds, not the cars far below them. Even Yolanda had fallen silent, behind Antonio, who stared at Ethan with the same expression on his face.

Fear, Ethan realized. Antonio looked... afraid.

"Oh, come now," scoffed Hector. "This is surely not a surprise. The average age of menopause for male omegas is ten years younger than their female counterparts, and Antonio is not getting any younger. There is no sense in them waiting. This is simply a measure to protect them--"

"Protect who?" snapped Robert. "It doesn't protect Ethan. You'd deny him an education, a career - for what? To dissolve his bond and send him home in disgrace? He wouldn't be allowed to re-enter the bonding pools. He'd never have another chance to find a mate. You'd be condemning him to live a life without an alpha's comfort."

"A remote possibility. We've had his medical charts examined by the most skilled obstetricians; despite his late estrarche, they agree he should have no problems conceiving."

There was another silence from inside the apartment. "You did what?"

Hector kept talking, but Ethan no longer wanted to listen. Antonio was still looking at him, and Ethan didn't want to return his gaze. He pushed away from the wall, and walked past him - but the clasped hands connecting them dragged Antonio behind.

"Ethan," said Antonio.

"No," said Ethan, shakily. He looked frantically around the balcony, hoping for some respite from all the eyes that were on him; but even Yolanda watched him, pity and concern etched on her face. "I can't...."

He took in a breath, and stood next to the balcony railing, where the breeze was the strongest, and breathed, desperate to get the scent of Antonio out of his skin.

"Toño, of course, is in the best of health. Really, four years is more than sufficient. I'm sure we will never have reason to activate the clause."

The words were a dim buzz in the back of Ethan's head. He closed his eyes, and breathed, and imagined them inside the library. Hector, leaning back affably on his chair, comfortable and confident and smiling as if he expected his words to ring with logic and good sense, and for everyone to simply fall in the line he marked for them.

And Robert, sitting quietly, listening to all of it in his quiet, contemplative way, though with the flushed face and puffed-up chest typical of an alpha whose pride was under attack.

When the door to the library opened, and Antonio finally dropped Ethan's hand, Ethan wasn't the least bit surprised. Not at his father's step onto the balcony, nor the rush of cold air on his palm, where before there'd been the comforting warmth of Antonio's skin.

"Ethan," said Robert. "It's time to go."

"No," said Antonio.

Ethan breathed, and tried to ignore the sudden hurt in his chest.

"You won't sign," said Hector, flatly, frighteningly.

Ethan recognized the steel in Robert's voice, even if no one else did. It was the same sort of tone he used when he was so angry, he went cold. It wasn't a tone that fought for dominance so much as it was one that simply assumed it. "I would never sign a contract that treats my son as disposable."

"I will of course report this as a broken bond," said Hector, and Ethan felt light-headed and faint before he remembered he was meant to be breathing. Bonding agents took broken bonds very seriously; a history of broken bonds could render an omega as completely unsuitable for any potential mate, for the rest of their life.

"Try, if you like," said Robert mildly. "But there's nothing to break. The boys haven't even so much as scented each other."

"No," confirmed Yolanda, her voice shaking.

"Ethan. Ethan," hissed Antonio, almost frantic, and Ethan realized that he'd probably been calling his name for a few minutes. He opened his eyes and turned to stare at Antonio, his entire stomach and chest hurting. It was hard to breathe without also breathing in Antonio's scent - which still sent Ethan's head into a foggy spin. "Just... let me explain."

"Why?" asked Ethan, dazed.

"Because...." But Antonio faltered.

"Ethan," said Robert, just behind Ethan's shoulder, and his voice was much more gentle now, the alpha power behind it gone. Ethan blinked, trying to dislodge the strange fog in his head. "Come along, we should be able to just catch the next train home."

"Ethan!" urged Antonio, but Ethan somehow turned away from him - he was never sure how - and faced his father.

"Let's go home," said Ethan, not really seeing or hearing or thinking anything, because if he did that, he might have fallen apart at the seams. Instead, he put one foot in the front of the other, because that was the only thing he could do, until he found himself standing on the pavement outside, his father close behind.

* * *

THE TRAIN WAS SLOW through the city, but Ethan could feel every lurch and shake, every spike in the rails below. He imagined there was a rubber band stretching between him and a fixed point in the city, getting thinner and thinner, and he held his breath, waiting for it to finally snap.

"We're going home," said Robert, unnecessarily, except Ethan thought he might have been saying it to reassure himself. It didn't reassure Ethan one bit. "Christ."

He buried his face in his hands for a moment, utterly still, and Ethan closed his eyes, felt the remembered electric warmth of Antonio's hands on his, felt them run up his skin under his shirt sleeves, over his shoulders, down his back, across his chest, in movements Antonio never made, but Ethan felt them just as surely as if he had spent hours doing nothing but stroking every inch of Ethan's skin.

Twenty minutes, Ethan thought to himself bitterly. You couldn't really fall in love with a person based on twenty minutes. Lust, sure - as if Ethan didn't know enough about that.

A basis for trust, maybe, though the jury was still out on that possibility. Ethan knew as well as anyone that trust easily earned could just as easily be broken.

"Ethan," said Robert, dropping his hands and looking up at the roof of the compartment. He hadn't looked at Ethan once since they'd left the Valdezes' apartment. He had barely touched him, though that might have been a blessing; all Ethan could feel was the memory of Antonio's touch on his skin, and he wasn't quite ready for it to fade under his father's well-meaning fingers. "What happened back there--"

It's fine, Fa, Ethan should have said. I know you were trying to protect me. That's what you've always done. That's what all of this has been about. I know. I know. I know.

Ethan knew. It didn't make it hurt any less.

Robert took another breath. "I should have asked for them to send over a copy of the contract first, so we could review it before meeting them. We could have avoided all of this..." Robert waved one hand in a circle, a bit listlessly. "Mess."

And then they'd have lied in that contract, too. Ethan winced, and stared out the window, as the city skyline began to drop away, and the graffiti was left behind. Smaller houses, smaller streets, smaller people going about their smaller lives.

The train began to pick up speed. Ethan's imagined rubber band didn't even tether him in anymore; he felt as though the train might shake him out onto the floor.

Robert fingered the cell phone in his pocket; Ethan had no doubt he ached to call home, to hear the comfort of his mate's voice. To share the terrible news.

"I'm just going to splash my face with water," said Robert. "You'll be all right?"

"Yeah," said Ethan, surprised how well he sounded. "I'm fine."

"Good boy," said Robert, and slowly pushed himself to standing, pausing a moment as he balanced in the speeding train before exiting the compartment. Ethan watched through the window, as Robert stood quietly in the corridor. He looked... older than he had that morning. His back bent, the lines in his face deeper. After a moment, he headed off to the end of the car, and Ethan stood up to close the curtain over the window.

The train was going through the suburbs now. Ethan stared out at them, blankly, without really seeing them. It was almost too tempting to pretend that the day had never happened; that they were speeding toward the city, toward Antonio, instead of away. Back home. Back to the life he'd nearly escaped.

Back to Alan, thought Ethan, before shoving the thought crossly back into the corner and steadfastly ignoring it.

The door to the compartment opened softly.

"Ethan."

The rubber band around Ethan's chest, forgotten, snapped back into sharp focus. Ethan sat up straight, his breath a sharp knife. He didn't dare look away from the scenery outside window. He felt the seat dip as someone sat on the other end.

Not really someone. Ethan knew that voice, though the relief and exhaustion and desperation were new to it. He knew the smell that accompanied it, knew the way it would feel if arms wrapped themselves around him, pulled him close against the other man's chest, face pressed in Ethan's hair and against Ethan's neck and simply breathed. Ethan knew it all, and waited to actually feel it... but instead there was nothing.

Perhaps he'd dreamed it, both the voice and the memory. He turned around.

Antonio sat on the far edge of the seat, as though nervous to come too close, but unable to stay further away. He stared at Ethan, the predatory look back in his eyes, along with the fear and the longing and a certain intention of... something that Ethan recognized.

Ethan's stomach twisted. His breath caught and he moved toward Antonio before he was even aware of it - and then he caught himself, and fought the instinctual need to press himself close to Antonio, instead pressing himself against the uncomfortable arm rest under the window.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and for a moment, he wondered if Antonio might have come to steal him away. The idea was both nerve-wracking and wonderful.

"Where is your father?" asked Antonio, eyes narrowed.

Oh God, he really is going to kidnap me. "He went to call my mother. He'll be back in a moment."

Antonio's eyes darkened. "He left you alone?"

Ethan's cheeks went hot. Possessive, predatory Antonio was one thing; possessive, predatory, over-protective Antonio was another. The fantasy of being spirited away melted just as quickly as it had formed. "Well, since he doesn't actually view me as a generic breeding companion, but as a person, he trusts me to be all right for five minutes on my own."

Antonio flushed and his mouth softened. "I... that's not what I meant."

"Wasn't it?" Ethan turned away and stared out of the window again; the landscape seemed to be moving faster now, or maybe that was just his eyes refusing to focus. Everything that wasn't Antonio was a blur. "I don't know why you're here--"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"It's a waste of time. And money. I'm not just some ditzy omega who only exists to bear your children, Antonio."

"I know that," groaned Antonio, and he ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "Why do you think I agreed to this bonding in the first place?"

"Interior decorating, I thought," said Ethan, grumpily, turning back to the window, but Antonio reached out and grasped his arm. The warmth of his fingers bled through Ethan's shirt.

"Do you really think I had anything to do with that contract?"

"Well," faltered Ethan, focused on Antonio's fingers. "Yes."

"It's not even about you. My father wrote it up with his lawyers five years ago when I first entered the breeding pool. It's been sitting in some lawyer's office waiting for me to find someone so he could spring it on them. I suspect even he forgot the particulars, until your father read them today."

Ethan let himself breathe a bit, before answering. The rise and fall of his chest was... reassuring, in a way. "Oh."

Antonio's breath caught. "You believe me?"

"You still knew what was in it, though," said Ethan, thinking hard. He shifted on the seat so that he faced Antonio, one leg hitched up between them. "You acted like you knew what they were arguing about. Before they even said it."

Antonio sighed, and pulled his arm away as he fell back on the seat. "Dios mio, you're clever for an omega."

"Gee, thanks, that makes me feel so much better about this relationship."

"We don't have a relationship," snapped Antonio. "We have a contract your father refuses to sign."

"You chased down my train and you're talking to me now," Ethan pointed out. "I'd say we have something."

Antonio let out a pained laugh. "Fine. Yes, I knew. Sort of - I knew five years ago that he'd written up the contracts, and he's been on about heirs since I presented. Of course he'd put in a clause about it."

"And school?" persisted Ethan.

Antonio shrugged. "I don't think it occurred to us that an omega would want to finish school. I mean - you have to admit, most don't. Or if they do, they don't do anything with it." Antonio turned his head to look at Ethan. "I don't think he objects to you finishing your education, Ethan. Just... he doesn't understand why you'd want to continue after the children are born."

"But it's not him I'm bonding," said Ethan. "You said you liked that I played piano. You made me think you'd be all right with me attending the conservatory, performing in public, and traveling with you. I don't want to stop just because we're going to have children someday."

"I do like it. I am all right with it," insisted Antonio, shifting a bit closer to Ethan. When Ethan pulled back in response, his face fell a little bit. "I wasn't lying. I don't mind if you want to do those things. I don't mind if you want to stop. Whatever you want - I'm all right with all of it."

"Then take it out of the contract!"

Antonio shook his head. "My father would never allow it."

"And my father won't sign anything that includes it."

"Why?" asked Antonio, wretched. "It doesn't matter what the contract says. It's just to make my father happy. He won't try to enforce it. It's just... words."

Ethan laughed hollowly. "I don't know your father very well, but somehow I doubt that."

"He's not so terrible."

"Antonio - he gave my medical records to doctors to determine my fertility. Without telling us he was doing it!"

"All right, maybe that was beyond the bounds of propriety or privacy--"

"Maybe?"

"...But they said we wouldn't have any problems. And isn't it better to know in advance? Ethan--" Antonio reached out, and touched Ethan's arm again. It was just as warm and soothing as it had been before, and Ethan could feel himself relax immediately. He had to close his eyes and take deep breaths in order to keep his head from spinning. "You said yourself. You're not bonding my father, you're bonding me. And I'm telling you - I'm not like him. I won't dissolve the bond, no matter what happens or doesn't happen in four years."

Ethan could already feel the fog of Antonio's touch seeping into his thoughts. Even so - he couldn't help but wonder why he was even still listening - why he'd want to agree and accept anything Antonio told him. Why his father was taking so damn long talking to his mother.

"I can't trust that," said Ethan, his voice unsteady. "I can't trust you. I don't even know you."

Antonio was quiet for a moment. "I know you've played the piano since you were eight, and that you practice every day, without fail. I know you had a cat until you were twelve, your favorite book is Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, and that you want to travel the world, and see Australia."

Ethan swallowed. "That was all in my profile."

"I know you like Philip Glass. And that you won't back down from a challenge, even when others think you should. I know you will do anything to get what you want, even when you're told you can't have it."

Ethan looked at Antonio. "Are you a challenge?"

"Maybe. I just know - I'm the same. And you're mine."

Ethan swallowed. "You don't have any siblings. You're allergic to dogs. Your favorite way to spend the evening is to curl up with a mystery novel and a cup of tea." Ethan paused. "You entered the bonding pool five years ago. That's twice as long as the next longest waiting alpha." Ethan cocked his head. "Why?"

Antonio's gaze was steady. "I never wanted to bond. Not really."

"Why are you here at all, then? I'd think this would be your dream come true, if you didn't want to bond in the first place."

"Because I never expected you," said Antonio.

Ethan's breath caught.

"Ethan," said Antonio, urgent, and then his hand was in Ethan's hair, against the back of his neck, pulling Ethan closer.

Antonio smelled like sweat and salt, the leftover dirt and exhaust of the city. And something else too - something that made Ethan forget that he was really very angry and upset with Antonio, that he was supposed to feel betrayed and hurt and want to push and shove him away.

Ethan didn't push and shove him away. He let Antonio draw him closer, and the last thing Ethan saw, before Antonio's lips descended on his, was Antonio's brown eyes closing, and the impossibly thick and straight lashes that adorned them.

"I can't--" said Ethan, confused, and then Antonio kissed him, lips soft and careful, swallowing the rest of Ethan's protest in gentle suction.

"I want you," whispered Antonio, as he pressed a series of butterfly kisses over Ethan's lips, "to finish your schooling."

"I--"

"I want you," continued Antonio, and he shifted closer to Ethan on the seat, until they were pressed thigh-to-thigh, and Ethan could feel himself drawn into a tight embrace, warm and safe and secure, "to play the piano anywhere you go, for anyone you want, public or not."

"Antonio--"

"I want you," said Antonio, his voice rough now, and his hands moved to Ethan's hips, where he pulled Ethan onto his lap, and held him there. Ethan's head spun, his lips were open as he tried to breathe, but Antonio had only been kissing the surface. Ethan's heart pounded in his chest; he could barely breathe for the tension, wanting not only the platitudes and assurances that Antonio thought were important, but also for Antonio to just fucking kiss him already.

Antonio leaned back, and looked up at Ethan, who was just a bit higher now, for sitting on his lap. His eyes had gone dark, the pupils blown so that Ethan could barely see the brown ring around them. "I want you to be mine," he said, almost a growl, his fingers digging into Ethan's hips. "I want you in my bed and in my kitchen and in my living room and in my bathroom. I want you, Ethan," he said, rolling his hips so that Ethan had no doubt of the nature of Antonio's wanting.

"You haven't even kissed me properly," whispered Ethan. His hands rested on Antonio's shoulders, fingers just lightly pressing into the muscle there, keeping balance.

"Because I won't be able to stop."

"Oh," said Ethan faintly, unable to breathe for a moment, and if anyone else had said it, he might have run cold and pushed them away. But something kept the momentary frisson of fear from being any more than just that. The strange way the words pulled him in, maybe; the way the idea of it being Antonio who never stopped kissing him sounding so exactly perfect. Ethan pressed the tips of his fingers into Antonio's muscles again. "That's... good to hear."

And then, feeling bold, he leaned in, rested his weight on his hands, and pressed his lips to Antonio's.

For a moment, Antonio was still - shock, Ethan thought, and then Antonio's arms were around Ethan's chest, pulling him in, closing around him. Ethan felt small, warm, safe. Nothing terrible could happen, not while Antonio held him. Nothing could go wrong, not while Antonio kept him close, let him feel the beating of their hearts together.

Lost in the sure safety of Antonio's embrace, Ethan almost didn't notice when Antonio's mouth opened, until Ethan suddenly found himself kissing Antonio, a proper kiss, the inside of his mouth mint and wine and something sharp and peppery, sweet chilies and spicy cinnamon. It sparked and burned and set Ethan's entire body aflame, drew Ethan in until Ethan couldn't think of anything else he wanted to taste so much as the inside of Antonio's mouth.

"Mmm...." Ethan couldn't help the appreciative sound from his throat, and Antonio's responding chuckle vibrated through them both. Ethan pushed closer, anxious for more. He ran his hands up Antonio's neck and into his hair - thick, stiff with wax or pomade or whatever made it slick and sticky. The movement was enough to send scent wafting through the air - grapefruit and coconut, the same sort of thing that his sister liked to use.

There was something else, too - something not so manufactured, something more earthy that made Ethan's gut clench in eager anticipation, made his body move closer to Antonio's in a strange desire for more. As if he wasn't already taking more than his due, as if his father wouldn't shout when he returned from calling his mother....

The thought of Robert walking in on them was enough to make Ethan draw back. Antonio didn't loosen his grip, but he let Ethan pause the kiss, staring up at him with unseeing eyes. They were both breathing hard.

"You're mine already," whispered Antonio.

"Yes," said Ethan, and felt something settle with the words. Antonio might have felt it too; his arms tightened around Ethan, and he pressed his face into Ethan's shoulder, breathing more deeply than Ethan had seen all day, as if just hearing Ethan's assurances were all he needed. Ethan ran his hands through Antonio's hair, feeling the sticky slickness transfer to his fingers, the way the ends wanted to curl around them. Antonio was relaxed under him, his breathing slower, and the shackles around Ethan's heart hurt just a bit less.

He wasn't sure why he did it - he wasn't even sure that he did it at all. But somehow, Antonio's head with Ethan's hands on it moved just a bit, so that his mouth and nose were right over Ethan's neck, the sensitive bit of skin that smelled the best. When Antonio breathed in Ethan's scent, Ethan's breath caught, and he closed his eyes, heart hammering in his chest.

Yes, he thought, pressing Antonio's head closer, as Antonio's arms around him held him tighter. Yes, this, just like this.

He knew what he had to say next. He wished he could put off saying it, just a bit longer. Just to keep the moment from ending. But Robert had to be nearly done with the phone conversation - surely he'd open the door at any minute, and if he found them in such an intimate embrace... well. Ethan didn't like to think about it.

"That's why I won't ask my father to sign the contract," said Ethan, eyes still closed because he didn't want to see the pain flash across Antonio's face. He felt Antonio stiffen, then push away. Antonio was surely looking at him, angry and confused, as the tension returned to his shoulders.

"What? The contract--"

"The contract doesn't make me your omega, Antonio. You said yourself - the contract is more for your father than for you. If my father signs it, I'm your father's omega - not yours. No matter where I sleep or who bonds me." Ethan opened his eyes cautiously, and saw the shock on Antonio's face. "Antonio?" he ventured, nervous.

To Ethan's surprise, Antonio began to laugh, shaking and bowing his head. He rested his forehead against Ethan's chest and let out a long sigh. "I can't change it."

"And my father won't sign unless you do."

Antonio went quiet, but his arms were no less tight around Ethan's waist. Ethan kept running his fingers through Antonio's hair. The more he did, the more the curls at the tips wound themselves around his fingers. Ethan wondered how curly Antonio's hair really was, without the ridiculous product in it. He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to find out, or if this would be all he'd have to remember Antonio by.

"It doesn't matter what the contract says," said Antonio, softly. "I won't let him take you away, no matter what. How can I convince you to trust me?"

"Convince him," said Ethan, just as softly, and Antonio looked up at him again, his chin sharp on Ethan's chest. "It's easy for you. You don't have anything to lose. Me - I could lose everything."

Antonio frowned. "I--" he began, but then went tense. "Your father is coming."

"Go," said Ethan, but it was a fight to push himself off Antonio's lap, especially as Antonio tightened his grip in that last moment.

And then he was gone, leaving only a trace of remembered scent behind, and Ethan sat next to the window, looking out onto the passing countryside, shaking with the sudden chill on his skin.

The compartment door slid open and closed again, and Ethan saw his father's ghost-like reflection in the glass. Robert Downing sat back down on the seat across from his son. Ethan thanked his lucky stars - had Robert sat next to him, he surely would have caught Antonio's scent. Ethan wasn't sure how he didn't anyway - all he could smell was Antonio, the remembered scent of him etched into his skin.

"I bought sandwiches in the cafe car," said Robert. Ethan's stomach rolled - not from hunger. Ethan didn't think he could eat anything, really. He might have been relaxed and comfortable sitting on Antonio's lap just a few minutes ago, but now, knowing that Antonio was somewhere on the train, the words between them - would Antonio really fight Hector for Ethan? Ethan didn't know. Ethan was too tightly wound to eat anything at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan saw Robert start to unpack the thin plastic bag. Two sandwiches wrapped in plastic, appearing to be mostly bread. Two bags of chips, appearing to be mostly flat. Two bottles of water, appearing to be mostly room temperature. But there were two chocolate bars, and when Robert lobbed him one, it was icy-cold. Just a plain bar of chocolate, and already Ethan could taste the way it'd melt on his tongue, so sharply sweet and waxy that it'd make his teeth ache. He started to unwrap it.

"Thanks," said Ethan.

"You should eat a sandwich first."

"I'm not that hungry."

"Ethan--"

"No, Fa. Please."

Robert sighed, and dropped his hands to his lap. He stared first at the sandwich he held, and then out the window. "I'm sorry. I'll know for next time."

Ethan looked up sharply. "Next time? Fa--"

"Over my dead body will I let you bond with that monster," growled Robert, the anger rolling off him in waves, and Ethan's stomach clenched.

"Antonio's not a monster."

"Not Antonio," said Robert shortly, but it didn't make Ethan feel much better, thinking about Alan.

Ethan took a breath. "I know, Fa. I know."

Robert nodded shortly, and then lifted the sandwich to take a bite.

"There's not going to be a next time," continued Ethan. "I'm going to bond with Antonio."

Robert looked up sharply. "Ethan--"

"There isn't enough time for a next time, Fa. Classes begin in three weeks. And in two weeks--"

"Their contract--"

"I know, Fa. I'm not saying you have to sign it. I don't want you to sign it. But... I'm going to bond with Antonio."

"Oh," said Robert flatly. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you fell in love with him at first sight and that you trust he won't actually make you live to the letter of the contract, because he loves you and respects you too much?"

Ethan felt a pang in his heart, but he lifted his chin anyway. "Fa...."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into the city today, Ethan," said Robert coolly. "It was my mistake. There are a few profiles on my desk at home, I can start the process immediately in contacting them, seeing if they'd be amenable to a more accelerated schedule."

Ethan wanted to laugh. "As if any alpha would agree to the sort of schedule we need at this point? And Fa, I don't want to meet any other alphas...."

"I know you hate this, Ethan," said Robert gently. "The bonding pool, the process, choosing a mate by paper, contracts and negotiations. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this is the only way. Sometimes I think you forget what's at stake."

Ethan flushed. "No. Trust me. That's the last thing I forget."

"We'll find another alpha," said Robert, as if it were a mantra.

"In two weeks, Fa?" snapped Ethan. "You really think you can find an alpha willing to bond me in the next two weeks?"

"Eat your sandwich," said Robert, and Ethan stared out the window at the passing countryside.

Two weeks, Antonio. Please convince your father... fast.

|  |

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# Part Two: Antonio

Antonio wanted to run.

He'd stepped off Ethan's train at the first station, and by sheer luck, there was a train headed into the city waiting on the other side of the platform. Antonio ought to have boarded it immediately - God knew when it'd actually leave - but he couldn't, not yet, not while Ethan's train waited to pull away.

Not that Antonio expected Ethan to come running after him. To hell with the contract, to hell with their fathers, to hell with propriety. No. Of course not.

All the same.

Antonio's body was still quivering from the kiss they'd shared. He could taste Ethan on his tongue, the salty-sweet sweat of him, the press of the smooth line of his jaw on his lips. Ethan's scent lingered on his skin, as if he'd embedded himself into him. The sensations were so vivid, Ethan might have still been pressed up against him.

When Ethan's train did start moving again - the chug of the motor and hiss of the steam and screech of the wheels against the tracks - it took all of Antonio's will-power not to run after the train, straight down the platform, exactly like in the sappy movies his mother watched on Saturday afternoons. That was what one did, wasn't it? Run alongside the train, maybe leap aboard at the last moment to make some kind of sweeping, amorous declaration, just before The End appeared in fancy script and the end credits rolled?

Happily ever after. Yolanda would sigh and wait for the next movie to begin, but they'd always left Antonio dissatisfied. How could anything be happily ever after, when the real story was just beginning? Was the evil uncle really vanquished, did the winning lottery ticket really pay out, how could they trust what the lawyer had told them? What happened next, when the lovers went home to their cold-water apartments and had to share a bathroom, couldn't pay their bills on time, when the children started coming and the terrible relatives were still terrible?

"Watch an American soap opera, if you want continuous tears," Yolanda told him, and turned back to her cherished happy endings.

Antonio wanted to run.

But running after Ethan's train was pointless. Ethan probably wasn't even looking. And Robert Downing was unlikely to be swayed by a running alpha, particularly one who still carried his son's scent on his skin. Antonio lowered his head to the collar of his jacket, breathed in the scent that showed no sign of fading. Every muscle in his body responded to it; his muscles vibrated with desire, and Antonio felt dizzy with want.

Ding dong, sang the bells of the train behind him. Doors about to close, heading into the city. Antonio watched Ethan's train as it finally pulled free of the platform, before he turned and boarded his own train, just as it started to pull away.

"Left it a bit late," scolded the conductor. "Ticket?"

"Here," said Antonio, and handed the man a few folded twenties. The conductor pocketed the money and performed whatever ministrations he needed to do on various slips of paper before handing a punched ticket to Antonio, who went to find a seat on the already crowded train.

It was a long ride, made longer by the fact that it was taking him further from Ethan. Antonio felt tenser by the moment. The train rattled and shook Antonio back and forth, but it couldn't shake Ethan's scent from Antonio's nostrils, or the aching desire to push every one of his muscles past the breaking point, until he reached a plateau where he couldn't think of anything at all.

It was mid-afternoon when Antonio stepped out onto the city street again. He stood in the center of the sidewalk, in the center of the flow of traffic, and felt the rush of people heading in either direction. They brushed by, busy enough not to bother with a strange alpha standing and glowering and on edge; likely, none of them noticed, which was aggravating enough. Antonio would rather someone had come by and told him off for throwing off pheromones, for being a public menace, for putting innocent omegas in danger.

Then he could at least have the satisfaction of an argument. But no one said anything, and Antonio finally stalked off toward home.

Walking should have felt good - actually moving, even if it was in the wrong direction. It didn't. It only emphasized how tightly wound he felt, how restrictive everything surrounding him was. Every step sent shock waves through Antonio's body, made his muscles curl more tightly around his bones. By the time he reached his street, he could barely unclench his fists.

He didn't plan to go into the garage under the apartment building. It was just where his feet took him. He climbed into the sleek black coupe parked in his spot on automatic, without really thinking about why he glanced into the backseat to check that the work-out bag was just where he left it.

He was about to buckle his seatbelt when he felt an odd shape in his jacket pocket.

Ethan's CD, with a hand-written list of songs on the back. There weren't many - just four, but Antonio couldn't focus on the words. He remembered the press of Ethan's hand as he gave him the CD, the shy smile on his face, the hint of pride and accomplishment in his eyes. Antonio didn't really know music - not the type of music Ethan was sure to play, anyway - and he probably wouldn't have known Ethan's playing from any random person on the street. All the same... he carefully removed the CD from the case and slid it into the player.

Antonio had not purchased the Jag coupe with an eye to the stereo - though certainly the car boasted a very good one. Within a moment, however, he was entirely grateful that Jaguar didn't cut corners. Beethoven, sweetly played, each note as crisp and clear and vibrant as if Antonio was sitting in the piano itself, and not his own car. Antonio recognized the music, though he couldn't have said which piece it was, and he found himself humming along absently, tapping his hands on the steering wheel as he pulled through the city traffic.

Despite the calming melody, however, Antonio could feel himself growing tenser, as if every nerve in his body was being wound tighter and tighter, a rubber band poised to snap at any moment. It was nearly impossible to keep the car within a reasonable approximation of the speed limit; every inch of him urged him to go faster, faster, harder, faster, more. He barely noticed when Beethoven segued into Gershwin, segued into Glass.

The traffic ebbed and flowed around the car, through the endless stoplights and pedestrian crossings, the odd push and pull of a city that didn't entirely rely on vehicular transportation. Antonio half-listened to the piano's repetitious swirling sounds, his thoughts agitated and every muscle in his body taut and tense. By the time he reached the empty high school parking lot, he was so anxious that he nearly left the engine running in his mad rush to strip out of his finery and into the shorts and tank in the workout bag, dig his running shoes from the trunk of the car, where he always kept them, and get to the track that circled the football field.

The track was deserted, but Antonio wouldn't have cared if there'd been people there. He was on the track, and running, in less than a minute, his feet pounding the surface at the same pace as the music that still seemed to play in his mind.

Antonio ran. Every step, his muscles sang out, stretched out, worked themselves into familiar patterns. He wasn't even halfway around the track before he hit his stride, felt everything click into place, just as it always had when he ran, and then... then he was able to forget, and just be. Just run.

He ran, and everything - Ethan, the contract, his father, the circuitous music in his car - everything fell away, became less important. There was only the feel of the pavement under his feet, the smack-smack-smack of his shoes hitting the ground. The sound of his breath, staccato in his chest, quick-in-quick-out. The feel of the sweat rising on his forehead, under his hair, and then the tickle as one single drop wound its way down his temple.

The scent of the freshly mown grass, the red dust from the track as he kicked it up. The far-off scent of metal from the bleachers, the remembered sweat of generations of students who had run this track before and after him, sour and salt in a way that wasn't anything like the strange scent of Ethan, cumin and parsley and sage. It followed Antonio around the track; if he ran faster, maybe he'd lose it entirely.

Antonio sped up, regretting the potential loss of sensory memory, but needing the fresh air more than he needed the memory of Ethan's touch.

Night fell; the lights around the stadium powered themselves on with a hum and a buzz, almost invisible in the fading sunlight, and then glowing yellow against the red-and-orange sky. Antonio kept running, focused on the curves ahead of him. It was easy to pretend that he was ten years younger, still in high school, still just a kid, still long before his father came and said, "It's time you were bonded."

Antonio had never wanted to be bonded. Tied down to an omega, who'd want children and attention and a house in the suburbs. Who'd want the safety and comfort of a happy ending, a Grand Caravan, and family vacations to Disneyworld. God, no.

The omegas that he'd met in the bonding pool... they hadn't really changed his mind about what omegas were like. Needy and desperate and vapid. All wide eyes and smiling lips and hollow insides, wanting him to fill them up. Depending on him to be the one to fill them up, because there wasn't anything in there to start.

Until Ethan. Who had his own life, and his own dreams, and his own activities, already arranged and set in motion. Who wasn't going to sit around the apartment waiting for Antonio to come home, because he had other goals that had nothing to do with Antonio at all. Who was fiercely, strongly independent, and clearly unwilling to give it up just for the sake of his alpha.

Ethan, who tasted of... peppermint and cloves and cumin and the bite of a cool breeze on a hot day.

Antonio pushed the thought of Ethan out of his head. Christ, just thinking about him brought back the remembered scent. He didn't want to think about Ethan, about the way he'd stood, nervous even with his back straight and head held high, as if he really didn't realize that it showed off the smooth expanse of neck all the better... fuck, stop thinking about that, Toño.

Antonio ran harder, until he was pushing himself to the brink, to where it felt like his very skeleton was trying to run straight out of his skin. Every muscle burning, moving at peak performance, pumping, rotating, the blood rushing through his veins. Antonio could feel the sweat on his shoulders, his arms, the backs of his knees where it tickled and trickled down to his socks.

Don't think don't think you don't want it you never wanted it. Don't think don't think just don't don't don't....

The way Ethan's eyes had widened, when Antonio touched his skin. He smiled as they spoke, his breath easy and at ease, and then... not. So not. Ethan's fingers in Antonio's hair, the half second before their lips met, the beat of his heart as Antonio rested his head against Ethan's chest, his shoulder, his neck, the softness of his skin as Antonio breathed him in, filled himself to capacity with Ethan's scent....

Chinga tu madre.

Antonio stopped so suddenly, he nearly fell to his knees. He bent over at the waist, hands on his legs, and breathed heavily for a moment, muscles desperate for oxygen. He breathed so hard, he could barely scent anything at all except his own disgusting sweat, the rank musk that would have driven off anything with olfactory senses.

It was only when his lungs no longer felt like they were burning that he caught it: the faint scent of salt and sweat and sweet that he remembered from a stolen moment on a train car not so long before.

Antonio screamed once in frustration, and then began to walk slowly around the track, letting his legs find the pattern they'd lost, until he could walk without feeling as though he might fall over.

By the time Antonio was back at his car, he was exhausted, but his brain was blissfully empty and still.

He sat in the silent car for a long moment, hands on the wheel, and then started the engine.

He forgot about the CD in the player. It was still Glass - the repetitious swirl of anger and speed and confusion, and Antonio, in frustration, reached to turn it off, and missed, hitting the next track button instead.

The music changed. It wasn't Glass, or Beethoven, or Gershwin anymore. It wasn't anything Antonio recognized.

It was low, simple, a repeating sort of drumming of keys. It continued, stable and consistent, a bit like a heartbeat, or a quick sprint down a clear track. Antonio found himself anticipating the beats as he drove the car away from the school. It was late enough that the traffic had abated, and Antonio's mind still felt blissfully clear from his run.

And then there was a second refrain: similar to the first in structure, but just a few beats off, a bit faster, higher-pitched. It was off-beat only enough to be somewhat discordant, but not altogether off-putting, and Antonio frowned every time it repeated itself, found himself willing it to go a bit slower, a bit sooner, no, that was too soon. And not quite slow enough....

Then they matched up. The high and the low, playing together, perfectly, for a few refrains. Antonio breathed a sigh of relief.

The music began to change. He couldn't decide if it was the higher notes that altered first, with the lower following, or vice versa, but either way, the now-familiar refrain slowly shifted into something more complicated, more intricate, more intimate, in a way, and Antonio couldn't quite anticipate where it was going, only that it was going. Once in a while, the notes would all climb higher; then they'd go lower, but almost always in accordance with the other.

Almost always. The high notes would go off on a tangent, spinning higher and brighter and faster, while the lower register continued its steady thrum, eventually drawing the high pitches back to their combined rhythm again. And sometimes, the low notes would do the same, going deeper and deeper until Antonio could feel them vibrating in his bones, while the high tones kept their steady and relentless cheerful tone, until the low notes climbed back up to join them once more.

Antonio drove into his parking spot long before the song ended. He shifted into park, and turned off the engine, but let the music continue, without moving, because the song wasn't over, and he suddenly, quite without reason or rationale, wanted to know how it was going to end.

The notes danced, the low registers in time with Antonio's heartbeat, and when the higher registers dropped off entirely, Antonio found himself almost keening for them to return.

And then they did, alone at first, and then rejoined by the low registers, and the song ended, and Antonio could breathe again.

¿¡¿Que chingados?!?

Antonio picked up the CD case, and found the hand-written list of songs on the back. Beethoven, Gershwin, Glass....

Untitled, by Ethan Downing.

Antonio let out a huff of breath that was half laughter, half incredulous sigh. Ethan. Of course, Ethan.

Antonio had never intended to leave the bonding pool. Not really, anyway. He saw other alphas, the exhaustion and sort of stunned surprise on their faces when they found their omegas, the way they stopped thinking about anything except sex. They forgot about everything else important in their lives for a while: family, friends, work, responsibilities, and instead became slaves to their mates, trapped in some kind of lust-filled haze of knotting and the babies that followed.

Antonio never wanted to become that alpha, the unreliable pendejo who wouldn't come into work for days at a time every couple of months. "Oh, sorry, Timmy's having his heat. I have to help him. You know."

Antonio didn't know, didn't want to know, reveled in the fact that he hadn't a clue, and when alpha friends were bonded, he thought about sending them massive dildos as bonding presents.

(He never did. It was sorely tempting, but he had the idea they wouldn't have been received in quite the same spirit in which they were sent.)

Ethan's profile came at the right time, when Hector was losing patience with Antonio's indecisions and rejections and procrastinations. When Hector had threatened everything, from cutting Antonio off from the family money to disowning him outright, to ensuring that Antonio was never allowed back in the country again, forever forced to travel on endless searches for salt or pepper or cinnamon. Which probably would have suited the bonded alphas in his office to a T - they'd have been able to stay home and fuck their omega mates whenever they liked, without worrying about who did the actual work. Not that they ever worried anyway.

Ethan intended to finish school, even wanted to do something with what he'd learned. Nowhere in Ethan's profile was anything about children - family - being "a good omega to the right alpha". Ethan had a life and was desperate to keep it.

Which was how Antonio felt, too, when it came down to brass tacks.

The deep heartbeat in Ethan's song still reverberated in Antonio's chest. He closed his eyes, and pushed back into the seat, as hard as he could, inhaling so fully that his chest nearly hurt with the air-conditioned chill in the air.

And with it - the remembered scent, the taste of Ethan's skin, the feel of Ethan's fingers as they pressed into his ribcage. The ghost of his breath on Antonio's hair, and the now-familiar craving for more of it, continuously, immediately.

Ethan. It was Ethan, it had to be Ethan.

Antonio was about to get out of the car, when he had a second thought, and went back for the CD. He slid it into his pocket as he went to the elevator and pushed the button for the penthouse. He only realized that his hand was still resting against the CD case as the doors opened directly into the foyer to his parents' apartment, and he quickly yanked it out, though he doubted either of them was watching the monitors.

Antonio held his breath at first when he went in - but even with that, he could tell that his mother had been true to her word and had surely thrown open every single window in an effort to air out the heavy scent of pheromones. All Antonio could smell was lemon floor wax and the faint vestiges of city air. In a way, it was almost a relief; the idea of walking straight back into a room that smelled of nothing but Ethan was daunting.

Also somewhat tempting. Antonio shoved that pleasant thought straight out.

The apartment was dark and quiet, except for the distant sound of the television coming from the sitting room, where undoubtedly Yolanda was knitting as she watched her telenovelas. He could hear the swelling music as he walked through the dim hallway, shoes squeaking just a bit on the parquet floor. Antonio didn't bother ducking in to say hello to her; it was out of his way, for one thing, and besides, she always claimed that interruptions made her drop stitches. Instead, he headed down the long hallway to his father's study.

Antonio had always had free access to Hector's study. There had never been a time in which he was not allowed to enter, even when Hector was not in it. That some children were not allowed in their father's studies or offices came as a shock to Antonio, when he played at their apartments and houses, and learned that there was such a thing as "off-limits."

Antonio would come home from these excursions, and slip into his father's study, curl up on the leather armchair, or hide behind the heavy curtains that hid the window seats overlooking the park. He'd examine the dusty bookshelves that lined the walls, the heavy leather-bound books that crammed in every available space, in languages Antonio could and could not read. When he was very small, he'd play with the knick-knacks strewn on the shelves, things Hector had picked up and pocketed on his own travels, only to deposit on a shelf and ignore. Familiar trinkets from Mexico, of course, but other things as well. Intricately carved figurines of animals both domestic and wild; a fragile, porcelain milkmaid painted in bright colors; an ivory sphere, with a dozen such spheres nestled inside and no visible seam, having been carved exactly as they were, and completely independent of each other.

If Hector was in the room, he would glance at him, but continue working - aware of Antonio's presence, but undisturbed by it. And he never asked Antonio to leave, for any reason.

This was how Antonio came to understand that his undisputed admission to Hector's study was a privilege, and not a right. That he had somehow earned it, or that Hector had deemed him worthy of it by some unknown means.

The study doors were closed when Antonio reached them - and for one, brief, frightening moment, Antonio wondered if this would be the one time he found them locked.

The knob turned easily, and Antonio went in. For a moment, he couldn't see a thing - after the darkness of the hall, the room seemed almost ablaze in light. Antonio blinked, trying to let his eyes adjust.

The curtains, as always, were closed. Natural light had no place in Hector Valdez Mendoza's study, but there were lamps next to every chair and workspace, and every one of them was burning, which in itself was somewhat unusual; Hector generally preferred only the closest lamps to be on. Antonio imagined him pacing the room earlier that day, perhaps a sign of his own frustration, and turning on every lamp he passed, in a vain attempt to find solace somewhere.

"Ah, you're home."

"I went running," said Antonio. There was enough light in the study to actually see some of the dusty, heavy-framed portraits of relatives Antonio didn't recognize that hung between the bookshelves. Each one wore a stern expression on an already dour face, wearing clothes that grew increasingly uncomfortable in direct proportion to the size of the collars.

"You should shower," said Hector, a bit disdainfully, but then he picked up a folder from the large pile on his side of the desk, and tossed it to the other side, where Antonio could pick it up. "Here, look at this."

A few of the papers inside the folder had slid out as it fell. A photograph paper-clipped to one showed a young and pretty blond boy, with dark roots and dark eyes, smiling shyly under his thick eyelashes.

Antonio stared at the photograph for a moment.

"What is this?"

"He's a bit older, but he'll be a bit more desperate that way. And you're older than the average unbonded alpha, so maybe it's just as well. Or there's this one--"

Another folder landed on the first. Antonio's hand slipped back into the pocket with Ethan's CD.

"Go on, open it. He apparently speaks Greek."

"I don't speak Greek," said Antonio flatly.

"As a second language. ¡Valgame, Dios! Use tu cabeza, Toño."

Antonio's jaw tensed as he considered the numbers of ways he could respond to his father just then, and finally settled on, "You're wasting your time. I don't want them."

Hector sighed. "We are not going through this for another five years, Toño."

"That's true enough," agreed Antonio. "It won't take nearly that long to rewrite the contract with the Downings."

Hector looked up sharply, and stared at his son with narrowed eyes for a long moment, before giving a short shake of his head, and returning to the folders. "No. Here, this one is handsome enough, but not so much that he'll steal your thunder."

Another folder landed on the first two.

"I wasn't aware that was a qualification you wanted."

"We aren't rewriting anything," said Hector shortly. "Those three, Toño. Choose one, and I'll make the call."

"I already made my choice," said Antonio, curling his fingers around the CD.

"That choice rejected you. Choose again."

"No, he didn't reject me, he rejected your contract. Which is why--"

Hector rose, staring hard at his son. "Which is why you are choosing again."

"Papi--"

"This is not an option, Antonio," snapped Hector. "I will not play games with the future of this family by allowing some upstart omega with aspirations and daydreams of grandeur to waste his best childbearing years just to--"

"To what, Papi?" said Antonio, angry but cool enough to refrain from actually shouting. "Have a life? To have a career? Omegas do that now, Papi, haven't you noticed? And Ethan's talented. He could be a brilliant pianist if we let him."

"Talent," scoffed Hector. "What does your generation understand about music?"

"He should be allowed to try, Papi. I don't want to stand in his way."

"So don't. Choose one of them," said Hector, waving his hand at the three folders on the desk. "You care so much for Ethan's future career - let him have it. What do they say, if you love them, let them go?"

"This isn't the same thing, Papi--"

"It is entirely the same thing," said Hector coldly. "He will not sign the contract. Therefore, he is out of contention. End of discussion. Forget about him, and choose someone else."

The CD case's edges cut into Antonio's hand. Hector stared at his son, unmoving, unflappable, relentless.

"No," said Antonio, wondering why it felt like such a betrayal, and left the room.

* * *

...HANDS RUNNING OVER his skin, long fingers brushing lightly, tapping out a tune that Antonio couldn't hear.

"What are you playing?" Antonio asks, laughter in his voice as Ethan works his way up from his upper thigh, over his hip and across his stomach.

"Nothing. Just music."

"Sing it for me."

Ethan laughs. "No. I sound like a crow when I sing."

"Please."

Ethan presses his mouth to the small divot in Antonio's hip, and looks up at him, eyes sparkling, seductive and playful. Antonio cups the side of his head in his hand, lets the straight strands slide through his fingers like silk. "You asked, remember."

Ethan continues playing, this time singing just under his breath, wordless notes that rise and fall in discordant patterns, all the way up Antonio's stomach, following lines only Ethan can see. Ethan's body is warm and naked against him, moving lightly as he travels with his fingers, up Antonio's body, past his ribcage and around his nipples, cocks warm and thick with heat but sated for the moment. It's lazy and slow, sensuous and tender, and when Ethan is close enough to kiss, Antonio pulls him in, presses their lips together, as Ethan's song is lost in their mouths.

Ethan laughs into the kiss, wraps his arms around Antonio, straddles him, and when the kiss is broken so they can breathe, ducks his head to nuzzle Antonio's neck, the same spot where Antonio's bite appears on Ethan's own neck. "Like it?"

"Yes," breaths Antonio, arching his neck, wishing Ethan could mark him, the same way he can mark Ethan. It's a very un-alpha thought, even if he'd be content for Ethan to try. He stretches out his neck as invitation, hoping Ethan gets the hint.

"Good," says Ethan, and pulls up to smile at Antonio. "It's you."

Antonio reaches up to catch Ethan's head again - but his hand never touches him. Instead, it moves straight through Ethan, as if Ethan is a ghost, a figment of imagination, and then Ethan is smoke, gently fading into the air, the feel of him fading as Antonio scrambles in the bed, trying desperately to gather the wisps back into a cohesive whole again.

"Ethan... Ethan...."

"...Toño...." whispers Ethan's scent, surrounding Antonio, wrapping around him like an embrace.

Antonio woke with a start, disoriented and confused, the bedsheet wrapped tightly around his legs. The room was dark, and silent, and cold. His pillows were missing, the moonlight streamed through the open windows, and when he sat up, he saw he'd yanked the fitted sheet clean off the mattress below him, and pushed the pillows off the bed in his sleep.

He breathed out a sigh, and when he inhaled - Ethan. Instantly, every nerve in his body was on alert - aching, needing, desperately wanting, yearning for some kind of relief that he knew he couldn't have.

"Mierda," he said in the empty room, and fell back on the mattress, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His hand strayed toward his cock, which lay heavy and hot, but his dry hand offered no relief.

Antonio closed his eyes, thought of Ethan, pressed against him, his wet mouth against Antonio's lips, the whisper of breath on his skin... and the frisson of pleasure was so strong, so sweet, that Antonio was shocked when he didn't actually come. Instead, he closed his eyes, and breathed in the remembered scent of Ethan, and somehow, slid back into the dream.

"Antonio," whispered Ethan, and Antonio smiled, and slept.

* * *

THE OFFICES OF RUIZ Bailey and Mason were in one of the older buildings in the center of the city. Outside, it looked quaint and historical, exposed brick and climbing ivy, window boxes full of flowers under windows that could have been just a few degrees crooked.

Inside, however, it was sleek and sophisticated, with accents and furniture so highly designed that Antonio suspected that no one had ever actually touched any of the magazines so artfully spread on the coffee tables in the waiting area - much less sat on one of the waiting chairs, which looked only vaguely more comfortable than a torture rack. The lobby was a particularly long corridor directly off the obviously wedged-in and noisy elevator, meant to give the receptionist plenty of time to assess the client who had just walked in the door before he or she reached the desk to make their request. Antonio saw the receptionist frown as she stood - but instead of stopping to explain why he was there, he simply breezed on by her, as if he belonged.

"Sir... sir, you can't just come in--"

"Yes, I can," Antonio responded, and kept walking to one of the middle offices. The Bailey name on the masthead wasn't for Larissa, so she didn't warrant a corner office. Not yet, anyway. Antonio thought it was only a matter of time. Larissa wasn't so sure, but then, Larissa had always been a bit of a pessimist, even in school. It was what made her an excellent lawyer; she prepared for every horrible contingency.

Antonio walked right into her office without knocking, the receptionist on his heels, still protesting. Larissa was on the phone; she glanced up with a glare, and the moment she saw Antonio, her face softened into something like resigned acceptance.

"I tried to stop him," hissed the receptionist, and Larissa waved her hand at her, as if to excuse her inadequacies, and then with a rather annoyed glare at Antonio, pointed at a chair on the far side of the room.

Sit, the point said, with an alpha's assumed arrogance and expectation of obedience. Antonio, now that he'd gained the admittance he sought, settled himself on the chair, stretched out his legs and crossed his arms behind his head. Submissive to alphas like his father was one thing; submissive to Larissa was another thing entirely.

The receptionist closed the door softly behind her. Larissa spun in her chair to look out the large picture window, and put her stocking feet up against it. Her feet were slender, the toenails painted a brilliant red that shone through the shimmery stockings, which gave a luminescent glow to her mahogany-colored skin. Apart from the bare feet, Larissa was dressed impeccably in a perfectly tailored Brooks Brothers suit, a somber brown but with a paisley scarf for some color - and undoubtedly a pair of shoes under the desk that were impossibly high. Her tight curls were carefully styled, but Antonio could still see a pencil where she'd absentmindedly stuck it at some point during the morning - an old habit that Antonio remembered from their high school and college years.

Larissa, true to her nature, ignored Antonio entirely. There was attorney-client privilege... and then there was Larissa and Antonio. She continued her phone call in what Antonio knew was the exact manner in which she would have done had he not barged into her office.

"The problem is, Mr. Williams, I've moved the court date four times already," said Larissa with a measure of patient aggravation. "If I petition to move it one more time, all we're going to have is the same court date and a very annoyed judge." Larissa paused, listening, and slid down in her chair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "If that's what you want me to do, of course I will do it. I'm here to serve you, after all. But I just want you to be aware, there is a high probability that it is not going to work in your favor. I would strongly advise against it." Another pause. "Of course. Yes. I can put the petition in today. Within the hour, as a matter of fact. And I'll call you as soon as I receive a response. Absolutely. No, thank you, Mr. Williams."

Larissa pressed the disconnect button and dropped the phone on the carpet next to her with a thunk. "Thank you for not listening to a word I say," she grumbled at the window, and wiggled her toes against the glass. "Asshole."

"I'm amazed you didn't throw the phone across the room."

"Only because I've broken two phones in the last two weeks already," said Larissa. "If I break another, I have to pay for it, and Ruiz buys the fucking most expensive phones on the market."

"Charming."

"Every single horrible client I have has been calling me with the most ridiculous requests. Those phones deserved what they got." She turned to frown at Antonio. "And now you're here. My day has improved by a thousand percent, and it's not even lunch. What do you want?"

"I need you to write a contract for me."

Larissa groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. "Of course you do. What small, international business start-up are we purchasing this time?"

"That's next week. This week, I need a bonding contract."

Larissa went still, and then slid her arm down to stare at Antonio. "Christ, that was yesterday, wasn't it? The omega."

"Yes."

"I thought your father had the contract done ages ago."

"He did. It's terrible. I want a new one."

"Are you insane?" Larissa pushed off from the window and dropped her feet to the floor, facing Antonio. "Do you want me to be fired? I'm not touching your father's contract. I actually like my job."

"No, you don't. You hate all of your clients and you wear terrible shoes."

"Fuck you, my shoes are fantastic. Leave my shoes out of it. I love my job because it means I can afford my shoes, thank you," snapped Larissa.

"Sure, you'd just love it a lot more without the clients."

"Of which you're the worst."

"That's why you love me the best, Larissa," said Antonio, with a shit-eating smile, and he leaned forward. "I'm not asking you to touch the existing contract, Larissa. Just to... write me a new one. I won't even tell Papi who did it."

"Oh, please, as if he wouldn't know," snorted Larissa. She spun to her desk and reached for a pen and paper. "So, what? Your omega wants ten percent more allowance? That's not a new contract, that's a rider. Or maybe he wants a bigger diamond bracelet at anniversaries?"

"He wants to finish school."

Larissa stopped writing mid-word. She glanced sideways at Antonio. "Are you robbing the cradle, Valdez?"

"He has one year at his conservatory, he wants to finish."

Larissa bit her lip.

"He's a pianist."

"Fucking damn hellnation, Toño," grumbled Larissa, and she leaned over and yanked open a drawer, pulling out a folder of paper. "I hate you."

"I'll buy you lunch next week."

"You'll buy me lunch for a week, I'm gonna be fired for this," snapped Larissa. "All right. These contracts are fairly standard, you just have to fill in the blanks. Name?"

It was another five minutes of back-and-forth information as Larissa started filling out the boring parts - names, dates, addresses. Antonio was nearly comatose, answering automatically, while Larissa in turns typed and wrote, flipping back and forth between the paper and her computer screen.

"All right, here's the meat of it," she said finally. "'Omega will be permitted to finish his higher education at Williams Conservatory, which will not take more than two years from date of bonding--"

"He'll be done in a year."

"Shut up, I'm allowing for contingencies, all right?" snapped Larissa. "Shit happens. What's he going to do with a piano degree, anyway? Do you even get degrees at conservatories?"

"Perform, of course."

Larissa snorted. "I can imagine what your fa said about that. All right. Omega will be permitted to perform in public with suitable supervision not more than six times per annum--"

Antonio frowned. "What? Supervision?"

"Standard language. You can use a coat rack for supervision, I don't care, and neither will anyone else unless something goes wrong. If union does not produce viable offspring in four years, Alpha's family reserves the right to declare this contract null and void...."

Antonio shot straight up. "No."

Larissa looked up from the computer. "What?"

"No," said Antonio firmly. "Leave that part out."

"I can't leave that part out, it's standard language."

"I don't care, I don't want it."

"Standard. Language," repeated Larissa, only slightly more annoyed by the interruption than she was the challenge. "Every bonding contract has something like this in it."

Antonio's gut went cold. "I don't care. Take it out. Delete it. Put a bunch of X's over it. I don't want it in the contract."

When Larissa rolled her eyes, she tended to put her entire body into the gesture, falling back on her chair as if the entire world was simply too idiotic for her to bear. "I don't know why I bother. I really, really don't."

"Larissa--"

"What part of fucking standard language do you not understand, Toño? I can't take it out, it's hardwired into the contract. It's not something I can take out. I remove that phrase, and the whole contract is null and void. You might as well write it on toilet paper."

"Nice, Larissa."

"Truth. Is that why your omega didn't sign daddy's contract? He's gonna have a rude awakening next alpha he meets, and they want the same thing."

The idea of Ethan and another alpha smiling at him, hands touching. Their skin growing so blisteringly hot, the odd fluttering need in their gut, Ethan's breath skittering over another alpha's skin - the thought of Ethan having any of that, with anyone other than Antonio, sent a hot flush of possessive anger through Antonio's head.

He didn't realize he'd stood up and moved toward Larissa until he felt both of her hands smack either side of his head, and sat right back down on the carpet, ears ringing.

"Oh, no. Don't you dare get territorial on me in my office, Toño," snapped Larissa, standing above him, and she was furious. Antonio could still feel the rush of anger, but it was lessened what with the ringing in his ears, and the strange dizzy sort of feeling in his chest as he tried to regain equilibrium. "I don't want your omega. I don't give two sticks for your omega, except in that you clearly want this omega, and I'd like to make sure that whatever damn fool contract you want written isn't going to be turned over when you file it in court."

"His father won't sign with that phrase."

"Then I guess you don't have anything to worry about, do you?" snapped Larissa. "Since that phrase is standard language, and he'll never be able to sign a contract without it. God. I wish clients would listen to me. My life would be so much fucking easier."

Antonio rubbed the side of his head. "Did you have to hit me that hard?"

"Perk of the job," said Larissa, and sat back down at her desk with a sigh. "What's daddy's problem? Is the kid barren or something?"

"There's nothing wrong with Ethan," snapped Antonio.

"Fine, fine, whatever," said Larissa, waving her hand. "I don't actually care, but seeing as it's you, I'll look into what I can do about it, if there's some kind of legal loophole. There's standard, and then there's standard." Larissa glanced over at Antonio as he gingerly stood up, still rubbing his head. "I thought you'd always said you didn't want to be bonded."

"I didn't," said Antonio shortly.

"So what's up with the change in opinion? Don't tell me I actually hit you that hard."

"Just look for the loophole, Larissa," snapped Antonio, turning to go.

"Oh, Christ," said Larissa, and her voice was softer now. "You actually like him, don't you?"

Antonio stiffened, his hand on the door. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Larissa let out a wry laugh. "I can't believe it. Antonio Valdez, in love."

"I'm not in love," snapped Antonio.

Larissa's eyes flashed. "Don't fucking lie to me, Valdez. I've known you since before we presented, and I have never seen you act like this about anyone: omega, beta, or otherwise. Shit, you've had dozens of them throwing themselves at you since we were sixteen years old, and you never once gave any of them a second glance. What makes this kid so special, huh? Is his ass made of sugar candy?"

Antonio slammed his hand into the door, so hard that the resulting crash startled him right out of the rage he'd almost found himself in. His hand barely hurt, but he stared at it, the skin slowly growing pink as the capillaries burst underneath.

"Oh, Toño," said Larissa softly. The wonder and sadness in her voice was real enough, and it broke through Antonio's reverie. "You are. Even if you don't want to admit it yet."

"I didn't realize," said Antonio, dazed, and he turned back to Larissa. "He was alone in the train compartment, and I... I just wanted to talk to him. He was alone, Larissa. His father had gone and left him alone, it wasn't safe."

Larissa nodded, her eyes and mouth softer than Antonio could ever remember seeing them. "Yeah," she said softly. "I know. That's how I found Chris, when we bonded. They left him alone in the bedroom. It's biological - we're alphas, you know? We're hardwired to want to protect an omega, and we find one alone and...." She shrugged.

Antonio breathed; he could taste the dust and the leather from the books in the air. He could taste the faint hint of Larissa's overly flowery perfume. He could even taste the vinegar and wax used to clean the office - and under all of that, he could taste Ethan's salt and sweat, feel the way his eyelashes had brushed against his skin.

"There's a loophole," said Antonio. "There's got to be one. You have to find it, Larissa."

Sympathy, realized Antonio. That was what he tasted in the air, coming off Larissa in waves. Sympathy - and the idea that Larissa, of all people, actually felt sorry for him, might have sent him off in an annoyed and sulking huff.

Except he was almost inclined to join her sentiment.

"On it," said Larissa, sounding very much like a promise.

And then the sweet, friendly, mild-mannered Larissa was gone, replaced by the Larissa he remembered better. "Now get the fuck out. I have work to do, and you're annoyingly clingy."

"Oh, fuck off," said Antonio, almost glad that something was a bit back to normal, before he left Larissa to work.

* * *

"Mijo," said Yolanda Veracruz de Valdez as she rested her hand on Antonio's bedroom door. Yolanda was dressed in a simple blue silk suit, completely devoid of any jewelry except for her customary pearl earrings and the diamond ring on her left hand. She eyed him critically. "You aren't dressed."

Antonio supposed bare feet counted as undressed to Yolanda, particularly when compared to her own outfit.

"Is there a reason I should be?" asked Antonio, closing the book he'd been reading. Or trying to. It was something recent about the history of the pepper trade; he ought to have been fascinated, but couldn't manage to keep his mind on the words long enough to let them form cohesive sentences.

Yolanda's gaze was thoughtful. "You showered this morning, si? The blue shirt, I think. Do wear shoes, mijo. Dinner's in half an hour."

Antonio frowned. "Oh, God. Tell me he didn't invite guests for dinner."

"Don't forget the shoes," called Yolanda as she wandered back down the hall.

It wasn't worth the effort to find something other than Yolanda's suggestions for clothes. Antonio pulled the blue shirt on without bothering with an undershirt; he checked the mirror long enough to ensure that his hair was at least vaguely presentable and that there weren't odd lines on his face.

Larissa's the best at what she does, Antonio told his reflection in the mirror. She'll find that loophole, and I'll have a new contract, one the Downings won't hesitate to sign. And the minute Ethan's mine - we can move to that new apartment across town and I'll be out from under my father's thumb at last. We'll sleep in sleeping bags on the floor if we have to, and order in for meals.

Antonio thought about the apartment. He'd spent a good hour with the contractors that afternoon, trying to convince them that he did not care about colors or design elements, just that he wanted the unfinished rooms to be habitable by the end of the week. The rest could come later. As it was, it'd be bare bones in terms of furnishings, a kitchen which boasted a microwave and cold running water, a bathroom with a single stall and a toilet. But the location was perfect, in the best of areas, and the floor plan was flexible. Antonio had even checked - the structure was more than adequate to support a piano for Ethan, provided he didn't want anything more impressive than a baby grand.

Antonio could imagine what the apartment would look like, when he and Ethan were done decorating it. How beautiful, how comfortable, how bright and friendly and completely unlike the tomb his father and mother lived in.

"You can move out when you're bonded," his father had always said. Antonio was tired of living in the dark.

The doorbell rang as he was tying on his shoes. Antonio could hear the voices, cheerful and friendly greetings and introductions, and wondered what client his father intended to wine and dine that night. He'd probably been expecting to boast of his newly bonded son, perhaps even show Ethan off on the piano, use him to gain some kind of influence, or favor, in one direction or the other.

The laughter grew louder as Antonio headed into the living room. He could see the light spilling out into the otherwise darkened hall - of course, Hector only turned on the lights for company.

Going from the dark hall to the relatively bright lights of the living room, it was difficult to make out anyone there. Antonio fixed the smile on his face, and heard his father exclaim as he stepped inside, "Ah, here he comes now - let me introduce you to my son, Antonio."

"A pleasure," said Antonio automatically, too accustomed to Hector's functions to behave in any other way.

It was only after he spoke that his eyes adjusted to the light and he was able to see who waited for him in the library.

"Indeed a pleasure," said the man - an alpha, though a rather short and rotund one, with a shining bald head. His moustache was sufficiently large enough that Antonio had no doubt he was compensating. "And let me introduce my son - Ned, dear, come and meet your potential mate."

Antonio's blood froze as the young man approached. Antonio recognized him immediately from the photographs Hector had shoved at him the other night. The boy was lithe and blond, with a ready smile and bright blue eyes. He had the clear and innocent appeal of a young omega, just starting out, and when he approached Antonio, he immediately ducked his head in what was surely meant to be a sweet and endearing way.

Not at all like Ethan - but close enough that Antonio remembered the wide-eyed way Ethan had walked into the same room not so long ago. Clearly Hector intended to smooth the way; instead, the resemblance stung, and made the longing Antonio already felt so much worse.

"Hello," said the boy, shyness tinged with eager anticipation. He held two glasses of wine in his hands, and immediately offered one to Antonio. "Are you Toño?"

The use of his shortened name grated on Antonio's ears. He could see their parents nearby, all of them giving each other knowing smirks, as if pleased with their handiwork, already congratulating themselves and naming the grandchildren. The air was a strange mix of candlewax, the floral perfumes from the mothers, the heavy aftershaves of the fathers, and over that - the simple salt and sweat of an omega.

Just not an omega named Nate or Nick or Ned, or whatever this infant's name was.

"Is it all right if I call you Toño?" continued the boy, and the words seemed to break through the odd rushing in Antonio's ears. He could hear the clink of glasses, the laughter from their parents, and whispers and plots and plans already taking place.

And the music, in the background. Antonio didn't know if it was Beethoven or Bach or some random person off the street - all he knew was that it was classical, and utterly devoid of a piano, and that was all Antonio needed.

Antonio took the offered glass of wine, careful not to touch the boy's fingers.

"Tell me, Nate, what do you do?"

"Ned, actually."

"That's nice. Do you go to school anywhere?"

"Oh, no, I finished ages ago," said Ned, laughing. "Only required to attend through sixteen, you know - I never had a head for school."

"Mmm," said Antonio. He swirled the wine in the glass, and paced his next words carefully. "What do you have a... head for, Nick?"

Ned blinked; Antonio wondered if the innuendo had been lost on him.

"Ah, it's Ned," said Ned again. "I... like to... clean?"

"Fascinating. Do you play an instrument? Paint? Write poems? Embroider ridiculous sayings on scraps of fabric that people will graciously accept and then toss in a closet, never to again see the light of day?"

"Er... no?"

"Oh, Neil," sighed Antonio, and almost took a sip of wine - and stopped, just as the liquid was about to touch his lips. "What good are you, exactly?"

Ned cocked his head to the side, and through the bowl of the glass, Antonio saw his facial expression shift.

"You know," said Ned slowly, and the innocence seemed to be gone from his face, "you're a bit of an asshole. Has anyone told you that?"

In another lifetime, Antonio might have been impressed at the glimpse of backbone. At the moment, however....

"Well," said Antonio, "does that mean yours is off-limits?"

Antonio wasn't a bit surprised when Ned dumped the contents of his wine glass on his shirt. Nor was he surprised when the dinner party came to an abrupt conclusion before it even had a chance to begin, as the guest of honor and his parents left in huffs, with loud exclamations and pointed remarks, as Hector hurried in an attempt to appease them as they made their way out the door.

Yolanda held her wine glass aloft, staring at her son, and slowly shook her head.

"That was rather rude, Toño," she said, and took a sip of wine.

"So's springing a suitor on me when I told him I didn't want one," snapped Antonio, and dumped the glass of wine into one of the potted plants before going to fetch a fresh one.

"Oh, Lord, are you that paranoid? He doesn't have access to a love serum, you know."

"I'm not taking chances," said Antonio dryly. "Why even bother having me meet them? He could just sign a contract with someone and be done with it."

"That's not how it works."

"Might as well, for all the good my opinion is," grumbled Antonio, and drained the fresh glass of wine before making a face. "Ugh. What is this, it's terrible."

"It's $150 a bottle."

"What a surprise," said Antonio, and poured out some more. "It'll still get me drunk at the same rate as the cheap stuff, though."

Yolanda's eyes narrowed. "There's something different about you."

"I've grown a backbone?"

"No," she said slowly, still sweeping him with her gaze, as if examination alone would diagnose what ailed him.

The door opened, and Hector, flushed and clearly angry, stormed in. "You."

Antonio lifted his glass into the air. "And I'll keep doing it, too, for as long as you bring in anyone who isn't Ethan."

Hector ripped the glass out of Antonio's hand. "I know you met with your pet lawyer - I'm sure she told you that the fertility clause is non-negotiable. It's there, Toño. Whether you like it or not - it's not coming out."

"Bit like the wine in this shirt," agreed Antonio. "Oh, wait. I think there's a trick with salt and vinegar...."

"I will not be made a fool of!" roared Hector. "And I will not rewrite the contract! You will choose another omega to mate, and that will be an end to it!"

Hector didn't even wait for a response; he spun on his heel and stormed straight out of the room. A moment later, Antonio heard the slam of a door - undoubtedly to his office.

Antonio had been thinking very strongly of getting drunk on the wine, despite it tasting foul. Now he wondered what else he could use to induce a massive hangover.

Instead, there was a loud sniff right beside his ear, and Antonio jumped back to see his mother standing next to him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Hmm," said Yolanda. "Curious."

"What?" asked Antonio.

"Oh, nothing. Good night, mijo. Your father keeps the better tequila in the back of the bottom shelf. And do try to vomit in the toilet; it's so difficult to get the smell out of the carpet."

Yolanda wandered out of the sitting room, her wine glass still held aloft in her hand like a scepter. Antonio watched her go for a minute, wondering what the hell had just happened.

And then he went for the tequila.

* * *

ETHAN'S LIPS TICKLE his ribcage, or maybe it's the way he laughs as he follows the line of Antonio's bones, from his sternum around his chest to his side. It shouldn't tickle; it shouldn't feel as good as it does, to feel the length of Ethan pressed up against him, one leg flung over Antonio's to hold him immobile on the bed, his belly pressed up against Antonio's already hard cock.

"You're terrible," says Ethan, and it's almost a promise, the way he says it, especially when he flexes his stomach, sending a warm wave through Antonio's groin.

"You love it."

"I meant Ned," scolds Ethan lightly, resting his cheek on Antonio's chest. "What did he do to you?"

"He showed up and tried to be you."

Ethan ducks his head, and it's too much like Ned's playacting shyness. Antonio bends his leg, which shifts Ethan up, so that he can catch his mouth in a kiss. He fits so well like this, tucked up against Antonio, his face cradled in Antonio's hands.

Ethan moans a bit, an eager sound, and he's getting hard himself, Antonio can tell, can smell the citrus-sugar-salt musk of him as he kisses Antonio. Antonio's breath quickens; his heart and gut ache with a powerful need to bite, to remind himself as much as Ethan that they're bound together. He abandons Ethan's mouth and starts to kiss along the smooth jawline, heading down his neck to the fresh mark left there only hours before.

"It couldn't have been pleasant for him, knowing he was second choice," says Ethan, breath coming quicker now.

"He was never a choice."

"He's going to be my friend," says Ethan, and pushes against Antonio, the first resistance that he's given. Antonio lets him have it, though mostly to get a look at Ethan's expression. It's a good one, worth the pause in loving, because Ethan looks quietly serious and more than a little sad, for all that his eyes are a bit glazed over and his lips a bit too red. "Do you think any of this is of our choosing?"

Antonio's heart flutters. Not lust. Fear.

"You chose me," says Antonio, insistent, and his nerves are only soothed by Ethan's smile.

"I did. Every time." Ethan shifts again, and Antonio's cock slips in the slick wetness of Ethan's thighs, as Ethan shifts and rises above Antonio, enveloping him in heat and soft and warmth and....

BZZZT, rang Antonio's alarm.

Antonio, without even opening his eyes, reached a naked arm out of his bed, batted around his side table until he found the offending clock, and threw it against the wall with a satisfying crash.

In his dream, Ethan laughed at him, and Antonio kissed his throat in response.

* * *

WHEN HE DID FINALLY wake, Antonio had a hangover.

Larissa didn't call.

And there was another omega and his family over for dinner - a flimsy little thing that didn't look like he was much older than eighteen, and Antonio, still suffering from his hangover and completely annoyed with Larissa, wondered how fast he could make him cry.

Less than five minutes, as it turned out.

The evening didn't improve much after that.

* * *

ETHAN'S BREATH AGAINST his ear, short bursts tinged red with longing, the small noises from the back of his throat, his fingers digging into Antonio's arms....

Antonio mouths the bondbite on Ethan's neck, the blood welling under the surface, already clotting and thickening. It tastes of sweat and copper and Ethan moans with it - or maybe it's laughter, Antonio can't tell. The vibrations shoot straight through him; he moves against Ethan a bit faster, more insistent, demanding and desperate and the bite isn't enough to mark Ethan as his.

The bite isn't enough to mark Antonio as Ethan's.

Ethan's legs open, spread and curl around Antonio, and Ethan rests his mouth against Antonio's shoulder, the thickest bit where muscle lays over bone, and Antonio presses into him, with mouth and cock and he can hear Ethan's shuddering gasp, the high-pitched cry that isn't pain, Ethan assured him it wasn't pain, it's something beyond pain entirely, and then Ethan's teeth graze Antonio's skin and he's lost in the rut, closes his eyes--

And wakes in the dark of his bedroom, cold and wet and wrapped up so tightly in his sheet that it's almost more trouble than it's worth to work his way out. The night is silent, except for his own labored breathing, and Antonio stares up at the ceiling, smelling his own come on the sheets and his skin, and closes his eyes--

"Stay," murmurs Ethan, the sweat cooling on his skin, head resting now on Antonio's chest. They're sated, both of them, damp and limber with exhaustion. "Please stay."

"Yes," says Antonio, and kisses Ethan's hair, and doesn't dare close his eyes again.

* * *

ANTONIO WAITED UNTIL noon to call Larissa.

"Hello, you've reached the office of Larissa Bailey. Please leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible."

"Fuck you, Larissa, I know you're there and I know you saw it was me and you sent me straight on to voice mail, you're a hard-nosed bitch and I can't stand the sight of you. What's my loophole, Larissa? I need my loophole. You have no idea what I'm dealing with over here, this is getting absolutely imposs--"

Beeeeeeeeep.

"Please press 1 to hear your message played back to you. Please press 2 to record again."

"Larissa, this is Antonio, but you know that already because I know you saw my number on caller ID. You're avoiding me, Larissa, you can't avoid me forever. I will track you down, I will sit outside your office, I will camp out on your doorstep, Larissa. I want my loophole and I want it--"

Beeeeeep.

"Hi, Larissa, this is Toño. Have you found the loophole yet? Please say you've found the loophole. Come on, it's legal mumbo-jumbo, no one can read that stuff and actually retain their sanity. Whoever wrote it can't possibly have closed off every possibility. There's got to be something¸ you have to find it, please, Larissa, I'll fucking give you my first born. I'll buy you a new pair of shoes. The ones with the red on the bott--"

Beeeeeeep.

"He's bringing omegas home for dinner, Larissa. He's going through every fucking single omega in the city. I think he's starting to import them. There are piles of profiles on every flat surface in this apartment. I think he's going to lock me in a tiny room until I give in. You've got to hel--"

Beeeeeeeep.

"I'm dreaming about him. Every night. I can still smell him, no matter how much I shower. It's not fading, Larissa. It's still just as strong as it was when we kissed. God. Was it like this for you with Chris? How the hell did you stand it? I... I don't know how much longer I can hold out. Please, Larissa. Help."

* * *

ANTONIO TOOK A BREATH before he went into the sitting room. He could already hear the chatter and the clink of glasses - not quite as cheerful now, though. A bit strained, really - like the guests weren't entirely sure they wanted to be there at all. It was already Saturday night; he'd been at this since Tuesday. The rumors of his insanity were surely making their way around the city by now.

Well. Best get it over with.

"Here he is," said Hector, but now the introduction was flat, as if Hector was only girding himself for the explosion that was sure to follow. "My son, Antonio."

Antonio focused on the wine in the glasses. White, out of deference to the rug and the propensity for it to be dumped over his head with alarming frequency.

"The pleasure is all mine," said the woman in the blue cobalt suit. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Veronica. Ron, darling?"

Antonio sighed. Oh, Lord, a female. He's changing tactics now.

The girl in question stepped up, all wide-eyed blonde innocence. At least she was pretty, thought Antonio. She was slender, at least a foot shorter than he was, and her white eyelet dress only accentuated what was undoubtedly a sweet and endearing veneer. Her hair was pulled back in a jaunty, almost sporty ponytail, and she looked hopefully up at him.

"Hello," she said, with only the barest hint of shyness, and quite a lot of friendliness. "Are you Antonio?"

"No," said Antonio flatly. "I'm an interloper who looks exactly like him and I'm hoping to rape and murder all of you before ransacking the entire apartment of valuables. You're first."

Veronica blinked. "Wow. Bit over-confident, aren't you, telling me your plan?"

"Yeah, well," shrugged Antonio. "In my experience, forewarned is not entirely forearmed."

"Mmm," agreed Veronica. "So, are you going to take me on the carpet here, or by the couch? Because I have to tell you, that couch is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat in my entire life."

"Oh, well, if you'd prefer the floor," said Antonio.

"Might as well get started then," said Veronica cheerfully, and reached around to the back of her neck, as if about to unzip her dress.

Antonio was momentarily speechless. "Um...."

Veronica's elbows pointed up past her ears as she paused. Her face was just as open and innocent as it had seemed at first glance - but now her eyes were sparkling with laughter. Antonio wasn't entirely sure the laughter wasn't aimed at him. "Unless you need a drink first. I mean, it can't be pleasant to have someone call your bluff."

Antonio scowled. "I wasn't bluffing."

"I never said you were bluffing. I was speaking in generalities." Veronica lowered her arms. "I can get you a glass of wine - there's only white, though."

Just the thought of wine made Antonio's stomach almost turn in remembered abhorrence.

"Actually," he said, "there's a really good whiskey on the bottom shelf. Back corner."

Veronica grinned. "Much better."

Twenty minutes later found them both curled up on the deck chairs on the balcony overlooking the nighttime sky. The lights of the city twinkled below them, the dark river snaking in between the roads that lined either bank, and there was a breeze in the air that was just enough to keep the air cool.

Veronica was still sipping her wine - she'd refused the whiskey, but was happy enough to hand the bottle to Antonio and leave him to it.

"Definitely a good way to start out a robbery," said Veronica, as she settled comfortably in the chair. Antonio could almost hear her purr with pleasure. "This wine is delicious, are you sure you don't want any?"

"Positive," said Antonio with a grimace.

"More for me, then. Not that I'm a lush, mind."

"I never said."

"You didn't need to, I'm drinking wine like a fish on your balcony, just before you have your wicked way with me and toss my broken body to the wolves. Though I suppose that's reason enough to drink like a fish. You'll have to tell me how it all goes. I mean, assuming you don't murder me afterwards."

Antonio had to look at Veronica; she was so matter-of-fact about all of it, he wasn't entirely sure who was bluffing whom. It wasn't until he saw the sparkle in her eyes, and the way she was grinning at him, that he realized what a good time she was having.

In any other circumstance, he might have liked her. Certainly he would have let himself flirt back.

And honestly - he was just so tired of being sour all the time.

"You got the whiskey, you're somewhat useful," he replied, putting on a begrudging tone that made Veronica's grin wider. "I'll probably let you live."

"Oh, good. So what prompted you to this life of crime? Is it revenge? A burning drug habit you're trying to appease? Or just bored?"

Antonio snorted. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you're a bit crazy?"

"Just so you know," said Veronica, still cheerful, "telling a potential mate that she's crazy is not exactly going to endear her toward you."

"And telling her that you plan to rape and murder her and her parents is?"

"Touche," said Veronica, and raised her glass in acknowledgement. "And by all reports, you're much smarter than that, so... why the charade, Antonio?"

Antonio stiffened. "What charade?"

Veronica shifted on the chair; it creaked as she moved. The playful tone was gone now. She almost sounded sympathetic, even if the words were accusatory. "Your parents parade you in front of every eligible omega in the city every night for nearly a week, and you completely destroy all of them in turn."

Antonio took another gulp of whiskey.

"You do know we talk, right?" asked Veronica, gently. "You were terrible to poor Ned. I mean, you were right, he really doesn't have any redeeming features whatsoever except a pretty smile, but honestly, you didn't have to say all that to his face."

Antonio groaned, and fell back on his chair.

"Actually, that's not entirely true," mused Veronica. "He can mix a hell of a drink, Ned can. If you'd been nicer, he would have made you something that could have kept you drunk for an entire week."

"That would probably be preferable to this conversation right now."

"I'll just bet. Just because your little omega from the country rejected you--"

Antonio sat up so quickly, he banged the bottle of whiskey on the nearby table. The liquid sloshed dangerously inside. "He did not reject me."

"Stupid little minx, really," said Veronica, examining her nails in the moonlight. "Obviously with no taste or knowledge - then again, what can you expect from some omega from the back of beyond? Was he even wearing shoes? He was probably inbred, you're better off without--"

Antonio was on his feet in a flash, standing over Veronica, baring his teeth as if he was about to rip her throat out. His hands gripped the armrests, the bottle of whiskey forgotten and spilling out on the ground. Veronica stared up at him, and for the first time all evening, he thought he could see a measure of fear in her eyes.

"Ethan. Is. Not. Stupid," he growled. "He's a better and more worthwhile omega than you or your little cronies could ever hope to be."

Veronica stared up at him, her pulse fluttering in her throat. For a moment, Antonio thought she was going to scream - and then the realization of what he was doing, where he stood, slammed into him, and he staggered back, breathing hard.

"Oho," said Veronica quietly, and now she did sound sympathetic, as if she felt sorry for Antonio. "You love him, don't you?"

The world spun a little bit.

"I..."

I love him.

Antonio swallowed hard, and fumbling, sat back down on the chair next to hers. He looked blankly around before spotting the whiskey bottle, and then scrambled to pick it back up. There was perhaps half a cup left. "Fuck."

"Antonio," said Veronica gently, "I'm so sorry he didn't want you."

"You don't even know me," said Antonio to the empty bottle.

"Everyone deserves a fairy tale ending," said Veronica firmly. "You just have to tell your father to give you a little more time, and someday, you'll be ready to find an omega who won't reject you--"

"He rejected the contract," Antonio corrected her. "Not me. So you can squash any other rumors on your omega network, thank you very much."

Veronica frowned and sat up a bit straighter. "The contract? Goodness, why? I'm sure he wouldn't have had anything better from anyone out in the sticks?"

"Good Christ, he's not a redneck. People who live in the suburbs are perfectly normal, you know."

"Thank goodness I don't," said Veronica frankly.

"It's the fertility clause," said Antonio glumly, and then glanced at Veronica. "Ah - you know about that, right?"

"Mmm," said Veronica, swirling her wine glass. "Is that all? Honestly, what a silly thing to worry about. Is there more wine?"

"It's not silly. He wants to finish school, and have a career, and four years isn't nearly enough time to--"

"A career? Why?"

Antonio was about to scream. "Because he actually wants to contribute something to society other than his genes?"

Veronica groaned. "Oh, lord, not his jeans. He probably wears something horrible and generic like... I don't know, where does one even buy generic jeans?"

"The point is," said Antonio through gritted teeth, "his family won't sign with a fertility clause."

"Then they'll have a very hard time finding him a mate," said Veronica. "Four years, though, that's quite generous. My sister's contract only gave her two."

The sounds of traffic below continued to float up to the balcony. The party between the parents - who were undoubtedly prematurely celebrating the union of their offspring - was in full swing, with laughter and music filtering through the glass windows. There was even an airplane overhead, a distant roar as it prepared to land at the nearby airport.

"What?" said Antonio, completely unable to conceive of any scenario that did not involve Veronica repeating herself, except this time actually making sense.

"She kicked up such a fuss, but honestly, she was pregnant within the year," said Veronica, taking another gulp of wine. "With twins. Beastly things. Every time I hold them, they spit up on me. I think they plan it."

"It doesn't have to be four years," said Antonio, dazed.

"I think four is standard," said Veronica, gesturing wildly with her wine. She wrinkled her nose up to the sky. "I don't know why. Three is a nice number. Five has a certain roundness to it."

"It doesn't have to be four years," repeated Antonio, insistent, and he scrambled to his feet, and ran to the edge of the balcony, suddenly giddy with excitement. His head was spinning - though that might have been the whiskey - and he shouted straight down to the street below. "It doesn't have to be four years!"

"Think about the number five, really," continued Veronica, as if Antonio had not completely lost his head. "I mean, the number even looks pregnant."

"Veronica," said Antonio firmly, "you're a genius."

Veronica refocused on Antonio. "Thanks."

"No, really," said Antonio, firmly. "You are the smartest, most beautiful omega I've met this entire week, Ethan aside, and thank you for--"

But Antonio couldn't finish - his mind was already moving far ahead of him, trying to plan out exactly what he was going to do, and the words just didn't seem to want to catch up. And besides, Veronica looked at him as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing, and had there not been an Ethan waiting at the end of a train ride, Antonio thought he might have been happy to settle down with Veronica, and try to make a life with her. It might even have been bearable.

Fuck it, he thought. You only live once, and it's not like Ethan and I are exactly promised yet.

Antonio leaned over Veronica's chair, and without even stopping to consider any further consequences, kissed her, square on the mouth, with his hands on either side of her face.

For a moment, Veronica didn't do anything - but as soon as she recovered from the shock, she kissed back.

And it would have been a fantastic kiss - the best of kisses - because clearly, from the way that she moved up toward his body, and rested her hands on his arms, using him as leverage, Veronica was a girl who knew exactly how to kiss someone - except that the moment her tongue touched Antonio's, his stomach twisted and turned, and he had to push her away in order to become violently ill in one of his mother's potted plants.

"Oh my God," said Veronica.

Antonio slumped next to the plant; his stomach was still rolling, and he felt incredibly light-headed. He blinked, trying to focus on Veronica, still sitting in her chair, staring at him with her hand over her mouth.

"Um," said Antonio, and winced as he tasted the foulness on his lips. "Ugh. That wine is awful. And I think the whiskey turned."

"Whiskey doesn't turn," said Veronica, eyes wide on him. "And this wine is delicious."

"It's foul."

"He scented you, didn't he?" Veronica demanded.

Antonio spat into the plant, but the taste still lingered. "What are you talking about?"

"Scenting! Oh my God, don't they teach alphas anything? Did you smell him? And not just smell - I mean, inhale his scent until it fills up every part of your body, until it's all you can smell even when you're in the best-smelling kitchen in the world."

Antonio inhaled sharply - and tasted it, the rich baked-bread waxy flavor of Ethan, cumin and coriander, parsley-salt-water scent. Just the memory of the scent, and Antonio could feel Ethan lean up against him, a warm solid pressure against his body, and he felt his own blood quicken in his veins in response.

Shit.

"Maybe?" said Antonio cautiously. "It was an accident."

Veronica let out a squeal and clapped her hands together.

"Oh my God," she said, clearly tickled. "I mean, I'd always heard that could happen, but how many alphas and omegas scent each other and then go around kissing other people? None, that's who."

"Hey, now!" protested Antonio, and he tried to get up, but slipped on the flagstones and fell back down.

"That explains so much. Why you don't like the wine, and why you were so cruel to Ned - you really ought to apologize, he's a wet blanket but he does mean well."

Antonio remembered his mother giving him a questioning sniff the first night - and her cryptic comment afterwards. Good God - had his base scent already changed? Did she know?

"Wait - is that why I threw up when I kissed you? Because Ethan and I scented?"

"I should hope so," said Veronica cheerfully. "Otherwise I'd be horribly insulted. I mean, honestly, Antonio, you can't go 'round kissing people and then throwing up, you're not likely to get a second kiss."

"Fuck," said Antonio, staring blankly ahead. He looked up at Veronica. "Is he going to know?"

Veronica shrugged. "Is he likely to kiss anyone else?"

The idea of Ethan even being in the same room as any other alpha sent a powerful spike of hot anger straight through Antonio. He was on his feet and growling, teeth bared, before he even realized.

"Down, boy," said Veronica, alarmed. "Look, I don't know much - I mean, until five minutes ago I thought the whole thing was an old wives' tale. But from what I remember, it wears off after a while unless it's reinforced periodically - or turned into a bond."

"How long?"

Veronica shrugged. "I don't know. A week? When did you scent each other?"

"Five days ago." Antonio frowned, and then headed for the door leading back into the apartment. "I need to call my lawyer."

Veronica twisted to watch him go, rising to her knees on the chair. "Antonio!" she called, laughing. "It's nine at night. On Saturday."

Antonio turned to grin at her. "Lovely meeting you, Veronica. You'll forgive me if I say that I'm very glad you're not the last omega on earth so I don't have to bond with you."

Veronica grinned at him, and Antonio was certain - he would have liked Veronica a great deal, in another life.

But Ethan had claimed him first.

"Likewise," said Veronica, and raised her wine glass as Antonio slipped through the door that led directly to the living quarters of the apartment, thereby skipping the parents, still happily celebrating. "And I better be the first to meet him!" she called after him.

"Give my regards to Ned!" Antonio called back.

* * *

"LARISSA, THIS IS ANTONIO. I know what to do. Call me back, immediately. I've just made your job a hell of a lot easier, and as soon as you're done, I've got a train to catch."

|  |

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# Part Three: Ethan

The train rumbled over a particularly rough stretch of track as it approached New Belford station, shaking back and forth with its customary sway. To most of the passengers on the train, this was expected and ordinary, and those who wished to disembark had long since learned how best to stand and gather their belongings without falling over each other. Those who remained on the train used the motion to mark their time left aboard.

Robert Downing moved with the train, standing and reaching for the knapsack that rested on the rack above his son's head.

Ethan, who hadn't expected to feel the familiar sway again - at least, not that day - simply rode it out with gritted teeth, and waited for the train to pull into the station. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the particularly tricky fingering in the third movement of Dimitrov's latest assignment. At least, it was easier than thinking about anything that had happened that day in the city - the wonder of meeting Antonio, the thrill of actually talking and liking and wanting him... and then the kiss, on the train, which Ethan didn't dare even remember for fear that the blush would give him away to Robert.

"Best to start on those alternate profiles immediately," said Robert as the train began to screech to a halt. "Did you want to review them again, or--"

"It doesn't matter," said Ethan, a bit listless, as he stared out of the window at the passing buildings. He could recognize every single one of them, and had been mentally ticking off the people who lived in them as he went, as a sort of reflexive mental game.

"Ethan--"

It was only a glimpse of red hair on the crowded, grey platform, but it was enough. Ethan sat up in his seat instantly. "Mom's on the platform."

Robert sighed behind him. "I told him to stay home...."

The train was impossibly slow as it finally pulled into the station; Ethan was out of the compartment before Robert, the prospect of his mother on the platform too tempting to wait any longer. It seemed like the entire train was getting off at New Belford, which was completely ridiculous, no one wanted to get off at New Belford, but finally Ethan managed to step out of the train and through the crush of people, trying to get his bearing and determine just where his mother had been standing when he glimpsed the distinctive red hair from the train....

"Ethan!"

There. Ethan let out the breath he'd been holding in a great whoosh of air, and collapsed in his mother's arms, burying his nose in Benjamin Downing's scent.

Ben's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace; Ethan felt his mother drop his head and press his nose behind his ear, an old comfort that he remembered from childhood nightmares. It ought to have felt safe and secure.

It didn't. Inside, Ethan's heart fluttered and his stomach twisted and even knowing that Ben was safe - he was still restless and aching and curiously empty.

"Oh, Ethan," whispered Ben, his voice both soothing and sorrowful, his arms around Ethan's back.

Ethan hoped his mother wouldn't say anything else - not pity or sympathy or even words of comfort. Luckily, Ben was clever, and simply held him.

"We weren't even gone a day," chastised Robert lightly, coming up behind them. "You didn't have to meet us."

"I didn't intend to, but my errands took a bit longer than I expected, and it seemed silly not to wait the extra five minutes to walk home with you." Ben released Ethan, who found he was ready to be released, and gave his mother a shaky smile.

Robert snorted. "Or carry home what you'd purchased."

"Well," said Ben with a bit more cheer, with a pat to Ethan's cheek that might have lingered a moment too long, "there's that, too."

It was odd, standing on the still platform after two hours of constant motion on the train. And the strange sense of floating calm was back too - Ethan recognized it, even if it did feel a bit different now. Maybe it was Antonio. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the uncertainty about what Antonio would do in the city - would he actually manage to convince Hector to change the contract?

Or was it a lost cause?

Both Ben and Robert were looking at him; Ethan tried to remember if they'd spoken to him, and what they might have said. He couldn't think of it. "I guess I'm home in time for Mabel Epstein's piano lesson after all."

"Then we should hurry home so you can drum the proper way to play a chord into her head," said Ben, as they headed off the platform and through the small station house, which was barely large enough for two benches and a ticket window. It was nearly empty, except for a few stragglers from the train, and a bored-looking clerk behind the ticket counter. "Robert, tell me you didn't buy sandwiches on the train."

"I did not buy sandwiches on the train."

"Ethan, is he lying to me?"

"I didn't eat a sandwich on the train, Mom."

Ben sighed. "You're both terrible. Robert, you know the meat in those sandwiches gives you heartburn."

"Luckily for me, it was mostly bread."

"Humph," snorted Ben, and pushed out onto the street. The station was on the far end of the village green, which every main business circled, including the library, the police station, and the church. What wasn't directly on the green was only a block or two away from it. On a bright, sunny day, the green would be filled with pedestrians, bright blooms lining the flower beds, and the sound of children as they played some sort of game on the grass.

Today was not a bright and sunny day; it had turned grey and soggy, with dark clouds hanging low, and most of the people on the sidewalks walked quickly, their purses and purchases held close to their bodies, as they glanced up at the ominous clouds overhead. The pavement had dark swashes across it from an earlier rain that had not entirely dried, and it was clear that more rain was expected.

Sure enough, they hadn't gone more than ten steps from the building when the skies opened and it began to pour.

"Oh, bother," groaned Ben. "My umbrella's in one of the bags, unless I left it at the grocer's."

Ethan saw Alan Clark as his parents rummaged through the shopping for the wayward umbrella. He stood on the other side of the street, just at the corner of the town green, staring directly at Ethan. As bold as anything, uncaring if anyone saw him do it or not.

Mine, he said, even if Ethan couldn't hear him. As if Ethan could possibly forget.

Ethan's heart gave a frantic thump, and then he straightened his back and turned away.

"It's not raining so hard, if we hurry, we'll be home before the worst of it," he said firmly, and started walking, hoping his parents - and no one else - would follow.

* * *

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

Someone had to take down the streamers. The other students had gone home immediately after the party, laughing amongst themselves, completely oblivious to the decorations they'd only been too glad to help put up a few hours before.

Ethan knew what they'd say, if he called out to them as they left to ask for their help. "Omega's work!" they'd jeer at him - well, jeering was the wrong word, it implied that they were mean about it. None of them meant to be mean, it was just... well, they were alphas, weren't they? And probably none of them would have even thought to stay behind and hold the ladder for Ethan as he pulled down the crepe paper they'd stapled to the ceiling.

Last year, Ethan had company as he'd cleaned up the detritus of paper plates and napkins and plastic red cups. Jessica and Justin and Bea had all been there, and they'd had more fun, just the four of them in the band room, than the actual party to see off the graduating students and the omegas leaving to enter bonds. This year, though - Jessica and Justin and Bea were all leaving. Jessica was going to be bonded the next week; Justin had several suitors and was sure to be bonded before the end of the summer, and Bea... Bea just wasn't interested in continuing school.

"I'm sixteen," she'd protested when Ethan tried to persuade her to stay. "No one's going to force me to keep attending school, and Mom's already working on my bonding pool profile."

"You can't even enter, you haven't had an estrus yet," argued Ethan. "Come on, Bea - you can't leave me alone like this."

"You won't be alone; there's two omegas coming up from the middle school next year."

"You're missing the point."

Bea's eyes had flashed. "So are you. I don't want to stay. Okay? It's easier for you, you're smart, all the teachers like you. No one's going to miss me if I'm not in class."

"I will," said Ethan, but Bea didn't hear, and didn't register for classes, either.

Sixteen might have been the legal leaving age for omegas - as well as the age of consent for omegas, too - but Ethan wasn't going to leave until they pulled him out by force. It wasn't so much that he liked school, or was even particularly good at it, despite Bea's theory of his intelligence. It was the social part, really. Being able to see and talk to other people every day, having the excuse to talk to anyone, even if it was only about trig or physics or what last night's homework entailed. Ethan liked waking up in the morning and having somewhere to go, something to do, and just as Bea said - knowing he'd be missed if he wasn't there.

Just as well he hadn't had his estrus yet. Once he did, the pressure to enter the bonding pool would start. Not from his mother, he didn't think - Bea's mother probably did have her bonding packet all completed, whereas Ethan's mother never mentioned it at all, and in fact made a point of avoiding it in conversation. But from his father, surely, and definitely from the rest of the family. His grandmother began every conversation lately with, "And Ethan, bubbuleh, how's your temperature?"

"Still here?"

Ethan looked over his shoulder at Mr. Clark, the band instructor, who was examining his desk in the far corner of the room with a frown. Mr. Clark was always frowning, but he'd told them once that it was his default expression, and didn't really mean anything. "Also, it looks better with the beard," he'd explained, and it was true - Mr. Clark's close-cut beard did complement the frown very well. Too well, Jessica had always said, with a long sigh and a mischievous expression.

If Mr. Clark frowned so much solely because of the beard, though, the reason he had the beard in the first place was because it at least made him look older than his students. He never admitted his age to any of them, but one of the alphas worked in the school office, and had reported back that Mr. Clark had graduated from college only two years before. And certainly he seemed to know all the current slang and music, which only made the class like him that much more, despite the frowns - of which there were four basic types, with varying levels of frowniness.

Mr. Clark was using Frown #1 just then: the vaguely annoyed one that other students had dubbed "Marge Simpson Has Entered the Building." Ethan had a good idea this particular frown was caused by his desk, still covered in the remains of the punch and cake they'd had during the party.

"Sorry, Mr. Clark, I'll get those in a minute. It's taking longer to clean up than I thought."

Mr. Clark's frown deepened a bit. Still Marge, Ethan noted, just a bit more Marge. "You're doing this alone?"

"Well," said Ethan, matter-of-fact. "I'm the only one left."

Mr. Clark gave Ethan a somewhat intense look, before realization dawned. "And your classmates won't help because they're alphas," he said.

Ethan shrugged. "Or assholes. Uh... sorry."

Mr. Clark chuckled. "If it's any consolation, most of them will outgrow the superior-alpha outlook before they're twenty. Or twenty-five. Or a hundred-and-twenty-five. Might take longer for the asshole part, though."

"Oh, great, can't wait," said Ethan dryly, and startled when Mr. Clark picked up the cake box. "No, it's okay, Mr. Clark, I can get it--"

"Don't worry, I can throw out a cardboard box well enough," said Mr. Clark dryly. "Without even harming my alpha pride."

Ethan laughed as he moved the ladder a few inches to the left. "There's still cake left, if you want some."

"Heaven forbid anyone should throw out perfectly good cake."

"I didn't say it was good."

"I should have given you a budget as well as use of the room," said Mr. Clark, as he moved the leftover cake to a plate. "Was it a good party?"

Ethan started to climb the ladder again. "Yep. You could have come."

"And watch all of you decimate my room? No. I suspect you had a better time without my supervision." Mr. Clark lifted the cake box. "Anything else I can throw out with this?"

"Bag by the door?" The bag was fairly heavy, but Mr. Clark lifted it with ease. "Uh - thanks."

Mr. Clark grinned at him. "I just want my room back."

Ethan laughed as he left, but couldn't shake the thought of Mr. Clark's smile as he climbed the ladder to the top. Mr. Clark had smiled before - when the class had won a regional competition, at the end of a particularly exciting football game, and once, for no particular reason that anyone could discern at all, when the class was being far noisier and disruptive than usual. Ethan had glanced over, expecting to see Frown #4 ("Satan Plotting Evil Things, Like Twenty Minutes of Nothing But Scales"), and instead seen Mr. Clark grinning as if he was having the time of his life.

The grin that had been on Mr. Clark's face just then was similar. And it had been just for Ethan - or at least, it was all for Ethan's benefit, even if it hadn't been for him exactly. For some reason, that made Ethan feel a bit lighter as he climbed up the ladder.

Should have been balloons, thought Ethan wryly, balancing precariously as he tried to pull down the streamers. The band room's ceiling was particularly high. He would have liked having someone spot him. He would have liked balloons better; he could have used the drumsticks as darts and tried to pop them down to the ground. Pulling on the crepe paper didn't do much good, and a few of his bandmates had been overly enthusiastic with the stapler; a sharp tug might bring the whole ceiling down.

Then again, so might a drumstick.

It was while he was in the far corner of the room, trying to get a bit of streamer that had been fixed into the corner where he couldn't quite reach, that it happened. The only chance he had to get to it was to stand on the top step of the ladder - something every sensible ladder warned against doing - and trying to balance himself on the lockers that ran along the side of the room. The paper was just out of reach, even so - probably put there by Thomas, who had particularly long arms, which was why he played trombone. Ethan stretched as far as he could reach, and could just brush the edges of the soft paper with his fingertips, when he heard the band room door open.

"Oh--" said a voice. It might have been Ethan himself, because when the door opened, the noise startled Ethan enough that his foot slipped on the ladder.

For a heart-stopping quarter of a century, Ethan was absolutely convinced he was going to fall six feet straight down to the industrial-carpeted floor. No, correction: he was going to fall on top of the black metal music stands, which surely had sharp edges and would hurt quite a lot, assuming they didn't immediately slice his head off. Or worse, his fingers.

And then he would tumble to the industrial-carpet floor, which had been beaten into submission by three generations of overly enthusiastic high school students.

That's the end of any career I might have had, thought Ethan bitterly, even as he tried to scramble for a handle anywhere, and didn't find it, and then he was falling, his shoulder banging hard against the metal lockers, and his foot knocking over the ladder so that it tumbled down the raked steps.

A crash, a shout, something like chairs being knocked over (or maybe that was the ladder), a bang that sounded far too close to his head (that would be his shoulder on the lockers, surely), and then instead of the quick and brutal landing Ethan expected - a pair of arms, wrapping themselves ungracefully around his torso, and another person's head being knocked somewhat forcefully against his elbow.

"Oof," groaned the person, and Ethan didn't stop falling, exactly, because whoever caught him proceeded to fall right down onto the ground, though he managed to hold onto Ethan, and kept them from rolling down the steps. Cold comfort, considering, but still something to be glad about.

Ethan felt a bit dazed. It was one thing to expect to die from falling off a ladder in the school's band room while cleaning up the end-of-year party. It was another to be saved from death and land in the arms of... well, someone who was a bit larger and a bit stronger and had a familiar scent that Ethan couldn't quite place yet, but was distinctly alpha in nature.

As far as meet-cutes go, this is pretty good, thought Ethan, and seeing as he was still somewhat dazed, happened to glance up at the corner of the room, where he saw the offending streamer still hanging.

"Damn," he said, annoyed. "I missed."

"Oh, I think you hit me pretty well on target," said his savior, and having heard his voice, Ethan froze.

"Mr. Clark?" Ethan's voice was high-pitched, even to his own ears.

"Ethan," said Mr. Clark, and he sounded almost amused, if a bit out of breath. Then again, Ethan was laying with his stomach across his lap. The position might not have been actually suggestive, but even if Ethan was still completely innocent and unpresented, he was still sixteen; it didn't really take much.

"Oh, shit," said Ethan, and all of his senses snapped back into gear. He scrambled up from the floor and tried to breathe deep to cool his suddenly flushed face. "Sorry, sorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to fall on you. Or at all."

"I hope not," said Mr. Clark, and winced as he tried to stand. "Are you all right?"

"Oh God, you're hurt," exclaimed Ethan, and without thinking, reached up for the cut on Mr. Clark's forehead. It was just beginning to ooze, the blood running in a thin stream down his forehead.

It was stupid, really - reaching out to touch an alpha like that. Reaching out to touch a teacher like that. The moment Ethan's fingers rested on Mr. Clark's skin, he realized it - but by then, it was too late.

It was magnetic, the shock of Mr. Clark's skin under Ethan's fingers. Mr. Clark had been about to speak, but the words were lost in the moment as he stared at Ethan, his mouth still open, his lips dry and a bit cracked. His beard was close shaven, and Ethan had never really thought much about it before, but now he was close enough to see how thick each hair really was, how close together, and he wondered, briefly, how soft they might be against his own skin. Or would a kiss be more like a bristle brush, scraping him raw in all the right ways?

The thought made Ethan's stomach twist.

"I--" he started, but it was lost when Mr. Clark rested his own fingers on Ethan's arm, just below his wrist.

"Ethan," he said, his voice pitched low, a low thundering drumbeat.

Ethan wanted to pull away. Ethan wanted to lean in closer. Ethan wanted... fuck, Ethan didn't know what he wanted, didn't know if he could even move one way or the other, and then it didn't matter what he wanted, because Mr. Clark leaned forward, and that was Ethan's decision made.

He leaned into Mr. Clark, without hesitation or second thought.

The kiss, when it came, was soft, despite the dry lips, despite the way Mr. Clark's beard and mustache pricked at Ethan's skin. Just the barest touch of his lips to Ethan's, more breath than anything else, and then Ethan opened his mouth, and Mr. Clark pressed in, closer, his mouth taking more of Ethan, insisting on Ethan joining in, taking as good as he was getting.

Ethan complied, settling on his knees but still close enough to Mr. Clark that if he'd wanted to wrap his arms around Ethan, he could have pulled him in, so easily. The only place they touched were their lips on each other's, Ethan's hand on Mr. Clark's forehead, Mr. Clark's hand on Ethan's arm.

It was enough, and not even close to enough. Ethan was aching for more, for the touch of a hand on his neck, the rasp of a beard on his cheek, the feel of a body pressing down on him, holding him fast. The kiss was delicious, but the feel of Mr. Clark's lips on his wasn't enough. Ethan longed to bury himself in Mr. Clark, forget where his body ended and another began, and he could feel the heat pooling in him, creeping out from his gut and up through his chest.

It was instinctual, more than forethought. Ethan pulled away from the kiss, dragged his lips across the beard, along Mr. Clark's jaw, which wasn't rough this way, but rather silky and smooth. The hair stopped at Mr. Clark's throat, and Ethan leaned in, pressed his face against the skin there, hot and thin and pulsing with every staggered breath Mr. Clark took, and it smelled so fucking good. It smelled of strength and resolve and lust and alpha, better than any of Ethan's classmates, better than mochas on cold mornings, almost better than the scent of new sheets of piano music.

Ethan breathed in it, and felt that peculiar heat from his gut and torso start to leach out to his limbs.

"Oh, fuck," he heard, dimly, from a distance, and then he felt a strange pressure against his own neck - Mr. Clark burrowing in, pressing his own mouth and nose to Ethan's neck.

Ethan's heart thundered. His entire body vibrated, opening, his head falling to the side, stretching out his neck.

Now now now, thought Ethan, feeling the hot wet breath on his neck, waiting for the close of teeth on his skin....

And then it was gone, all of it, as Mr. Clark pushed Ethan away, and held him at arm's length. Ethan's eyes sprang open. Mr. Clark's breath came in short gasps, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark.

"Ethan," he said, strangled, and whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he looked at Ethan. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and then he shook his head.

"No," said Mr. Clark, gently, even though it was clearly not what he wanted to say. He pushed Ethan away, a little further. "I can't. We can't. You have to go."

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest, suddenly hurting. He wasn't entire sure why; all he knew was that he was being rejected. Shoved away, put aside... but he could still hear Mr. Clark's hard breaths, still see the flush on his face, and feel the flush on his own, the way his entire body yearned for more.

He wanted to breathe Mr. Clark in.

"But--"

"Go," Mr. Clark repeated, harsh and hard, and he shoved Ethan away. Ethan stumbled against the steps, and with one last, longing look at Mr. Clark - who might have reached out for him, pulled him back in, if he waited just another moment - Ethan fled.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, HE DREAMED.

Ethan was sixteen, he'd had those types of dreams before. He'd woken up with the obligatory teenage wet pajamas and damp, sticky sheets, and Ben had, in his customary nonplussed way, taught Ethan how to use the washer and dryer, without ever actually acknowledging why it was a good thing to know.

But usually Ethan didn't remember the dreams, apart from the vague sense of pleasure and a faint ache deep in his gut that merely palming himself off didn't quite touch.

No, this dream was different. This dream was vivid, as if he was remembering something instead of merely inventing it. This dream was heat and touch, it was full of the scent of sex and sweat and alpha pheromones, the taste of salt and skin and the dry sort of sweetness of someone else's kiss.

And the person Ethan dreamed of wasn't a faceless entity at all - he was tall and broad and bearded, he had kind eyes and a quick wit for music, he thundered as he covered Ethan, laughed as they kissed, and when his mouth closed over Ethan's neck, Ethan shivered and shook and cried, felt all of him flow out and become liquid. He was soaked, wet and dripping, and desperate to remain as solid as the bit of skin in Mr. Clark's mouth, and when he woke up, he nearly sobbed with the longing that remained in his gut.

He'd never quite had a dream like that. He would have thought he was in estrus at last - except that despite the damp sheets he slept in, his skin was dry and he didn't have a fever. And the longing faded, somewhat, as he got up to change his sheets. He could function, and he knew enough from watching his mother's heats to know - he shouldn't have even been capable of that much.

Ethan made his bed again, and wrapped himself up tight in his comforter. The cool fabric quickly warmed - but it wasn't the same. It wasn't nearly enough, not what he wanted, not even close, and Ethan shivered, wishing the fabric was skin instead, wishing he wasn't quite so alone.

Wishing he didn't feel so guilty and terrible and wretched, for wanting so badly what he couldn't have.

He fell asleep, and fell into the dreams again, and it was better for a little while, until he woke again in the morning.

* * *

TO ETHAN'S RELIEF, Friday started out much like any other, with the exception that Ethan didn't have school, and could sleep in. Not that he slept in very late, anyway - he never really could - but even so, when he did finally wake up, he could hear Becca and Jake eating their breakfasts, if the noise of spoons scraping against bowls was any indication.

Ethan lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, and was all too aware of the way the mattress cradled his body, the way the sheets settled on his skin, the way his cock, half hard, lay on his groin. He didn't feel as if he was about to go into estrus. He wasn't feeling particularly warm, or restless, or consumed with lust. He felt... sort of strange, though. Floaty, though he couldn't quite say why. As if his limbs had been fastened together with string, but not actually tied into place.

He couldn't shake the feeling, either, not as he washed or dressed, though it was easier to ignore it once he reached the kitchen, where Jake and Becca were just about to set off for school.

"It's not fair," complained Jake. "You're off today."

"I have to play at graduation tonight," said Ethan as he rummaged in the pantry for breakfast. "Free labor, no pay. What are you going to do, watch a movie?"

"It's school."

"It's the last day. I doubt you're taking a test."

"Boys," said Ben mildly. "Ethan, your sheets are in the dryer."

"Oh," said Ethan. "Thanks, mom."

"Oooo," sang Jake, determined to be as annoying as possible. "Did widdle Ethan wet his bed wast night?"

Ethan smacked his brother over the head as he carried the bowl of cereal to the table.

"Don't hit your brother," said Ben. "Even if he deserves it."

"Mom!"

Ben pointed at the door. "School. Now. Go."

Jake was still complaining on his way out the door; Becca, because she was still young and sweet and not entirely jaded, leaned over to give Ethan a kiss before she left. When she pulled away, she had an odd look on her face.

"You smell funny," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"I smell like unwashed Ethan," said Ethan, and tapped his wet spoon against her nose, which made her laugh.

"Go," said Ben. "If you're late on the last day, they make you clean all the blackboards."

"We don't have blackboards anymore, Mommy," said Becca patiently, but went anyway.

"I hate when they remind me I'm old," said Ben, and ruffled Ethan's hair, before leaning in to give the top of his head a kiss. Ethan couldn't see his expression, but he felt his mother's hand on his head pause. "Did you use my shampoo?"

"No?"

"Hmm." Ben patted the side of Ethan's head. "What time do you have to be at the school tonight?"

"Four. I was going to work on the Rachmaninoff today."

"Good idea. Remember your pedals."

"I know."

"I'll come get you when your sheets are done."

"Thanks."

Ethan had almost forgotten the strange, untethered feeling he'd had when waking up; it came back full-force while he played. It was problematic, at first - his fingers kept slipping on the keys, and sometimes he'd hit a wrong note entirely - but then he settled into it, became used to the loose feeling in his limbs, and it was long after lunchtime when he looked up to see Ben leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with interest.

"Wow," said Ben, impressed, and Ethan leaned back and laughed, feeling fairly wow himself.

"Yeah," he said, pleased. "That was better, I think."

"Summer vacation agrees with you," said Ben.

Ethan flexed his fingers; they didn't feel particularly stiff or sore or anything but loose and long. It was a sensation Ethan hadn't felt before - but he liked it. He liked it a lot. "I... I don't think it's summer vacation."

"Well, whatever it is, keep it up. I was going to see if you wanted to blow this popsicle stand and go have one last, leisurely lunch before the kids are home all summer, but I'm not sure I want to break your momentum."

"I'd like that, but...."

Ben smiled. "I understand. Try the Scarlotti, you've been having trouble with that one."

Ethan did.

It was perfect.

* * *

THE STRANGE, LOOSE sensation stayed with Ethan all the way through the afternoon. He felt light and cheerful, and everything was comfortable and easy. He finished his practice with a confident air. He ate three sandwiches for lunch, because he was starving and they tasted delicious. He taught a few ten-year-olds how to play trills perfectly without once losing his patience.

The sky was bright and blue, there was a soft breeze on the air, and Ethan grabbed an apple for the walk to the school, before realizing after a single bite that it'd somehow gone bad on the counter overnight, and now tasted all mealy and bitter. He tossed it into the nearby woods for the deer to find.

The good mood stayed with him right up until he entered the auditorium where commencement would take place, and saw Mr. Clark standing on the edge of the stage, leading the rest of the orchestra in their warm-up.

Ethan thought his heart might have stopped. Certainly his lungs ceased to function. And possibly his brain, because it was stuck repeating a single memory from the day before, the way that Mr. Clark's beard had felt, scraping slowly against his lower lip.

But no, his heart was definitely still working, because all the blood in his body went straight to his cock, and it had to get there somehow.

It wasn't until Mr. Clark turned and saw him that Ethan really felt the blood moving in his veins, filling up all the loose and empty spaces he'd enjoyed all day with something much darker, thicker, hotter, rolling and pulsing as it surged through him, carried him down the aisle to the orchestra pit.

When Mr. Clark broke eye contact, Ethan snapped back into focus. He blinked hard, and stared at the piano in front of him.

"C, if you please, Ethan," said Mr. Clark. His voice was... strange, to Ethan's ears, tense and raspy, as if he was struggling not to show his rapid breath. As if he was struggling not to give in to the same desperate feeling of want, the rolling need for Ethan to walk up to him and wrap himself around his body, breathe in the now-remembered (oh God, how could he have forgotten?) scent of Mr. Clark's skin.

Mr. Clark focused on the sheets of music on his stand, as he made notations and answered a question from one of the other students. His fingers around his pencil were thick, the knuckles even thicker and bulbous... and white, from how he gripped the pencil tightly. His arm nearly shook with it.

Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He rested his fingers on the piano keys, and without even needing to check their placement, played C.

* * *

HIS FINGERS DRAW DOWN along Ethan's skin, warm trails that make Ethan laugh and squirm, wriggle against the sheets, rumpled and warm under him. The weave of the cotton is rough against his buttocks as he shifts against the man atop him, the beard grazing along the sensitized skin of his neck. Ethan arches his back, throws back his head, the laugh caught in his throat as he feels the twin abrasive surfaces caress him, work against him, bring the flush to his skin.

He reaches up, wanting to hold it in, and--

Held onto nothing in his bedroom, as he woke up with a gasp. It was a shock, coming out of the dream into the dark quiet of his room, the silence bearing down on him, pressing him into his slightly damp sheets. The strange and lovely light feeling he'd felt all day was long since gone; now there was only the aching need, a deep emptiness that left him gasping, feeling not so much loose as falling to pieces.

Ethan closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and just like that--

The rasp of breath, under his ear, the faint groan as his lover slowly sinks into him, filling and stretching and completing him, and now Ethan can breathe, his entire body relaxing into the embrace, even as his blood speeds up, even as the lonesome yearning turns into something more focused, something that makes Ethan's hips rock and sway.

In the dream, he's not alone.

Ethan didn't wake again.

* * *

SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED much as Friday had, with the exception that this time, Ethan had to suffer his brother a bit longer than before.

"It's summer vacation," said Jake, as if Ethan was not three years older and had known the seasons since before his brother was born. Or maybe his alpha brother just expected that Ethan's omega brain couldn't comprehend the difference between hot sunny days and cold snowy ones. "Why are you going to the library?"

"To get books," said Ethan patiently. "And read them."

Jake stared at Ethan. "Summer," he repeated, even more slowly than before, "Vacation."

Ethan patted his brother on the head. "Yes, very good, Jake. And if you study hard, maybe someday you'll learn what winter vacation means, too."

Jake stared at him for half a minute before turning and shouting to the back of the house. "Mom!"

"Ethan, leave your brother alone!" Ben called back, but didn't sound particularly bothered.

"I'm going to the library!" Ethan called.

"Pick up some milk on your way home, please!"

Jake hung out the door as Ethan headed out. "You are completely missing the point of summer vacation!" he shouted after his older brother, and Ethan rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Ethan had lived his entire life in New Belford, and had long since grown immune to the charms that seemed to captivate visitors. Not that there were many - but there were enough that every so often, a local would run across a starry-eyed person who couldn't stop going on about how quaint and sweet the place was. Ethan didn't think of New Belford as quaint or sweet - he thought of it as small and staid. The sort of place where, if an omega wanted to keep going to school past the age of sixteen, the secretary wasn't quite sure what to do with him.

It was a pleasant walk to the library, and Ethan, despite the restless night, was feeling particularly alert and cheerful. The strange lightness was back in his limbs - he walked with a spring in his step, and a friendly and open smile on his face. Ethan had lived in New Belford (population 5,432) his entire life, and was well used to knowing every face he passed as he walked from one place to the other. Today, it seemed, he ran into the entire town, and while smiling and greeting people were par for the course, today everyone's smiles seemed just a bit... brighter, somehow.

Maybe it was just the day, thought Ethan. Impossible to be despondent about being the only omega left in his class on such a beautiful day. Or maybe it was that he'd finally managed to play the Scarlotti straight through, without a mistake.

"Keep it up," Ben had said over dinner, "and Dimitrov will have to accept you."

Ethan had dropped his fork with a clatter.

Jake had scowled. "I don't know why you'd want him as a piano tutor. He's horrible.."

"He's brilliant," breathed Ethan. "He was soloist for the Moscow Symphony for twenty years, and the London Philharmonic for five. He's on every major compilation in the last two decades and he's the only classical pianist who was even allowed to tour outside of the Soviet Union in the early 1980s. He's been teaching at the conservatory for the last fifteen years and he never takes students. Ever."

Jake scowled. "Then why'd he take me, pea-brain?"

"Because you have talent, even if you don't want to admit it," said Ben. "And he's taken an interest in you."

Jake shrugged and speared a large piece of chicken. "Ethan can have my lesson. Two hours round trip on a train once a week just to have him yell at me in Russian? That's two hours I could be skating, Mom. All he ever makes me do is scales."

Ben reached over and smacked Jake's hand as he lifted the entire hunk of chicken straight to his mouth. "Which is very smart of him, seeing as you never actually do them. And cut your chicken before you eat it, please."

The idea of studying under Yuri Dimitrov made Ethan feel lighter. It was something he'd wanted since he was fourteen and had heard him at a recital at the musical conservatory. The conservatory itself was out of the question for the time being - they didn't accept omegas unless they were bonded, which wouldn't be an option for Ethan until after his estrus. But private tutoring was always acceptable, and Ethan knew Ben would support him, if that was what he wanted.

And oh, how Ethan wanted. He could still remember sitting in the plush seat in the brightly-lit theatre, the way everyone around him was talking and the terrific noise of hundreds of voices, and then when the lights lowered, the instantaneous hush that descended, before the stage lights came up on the piano on the stage, and the silence broke into applause the moment the tuxedoed man stepped onto the stage.

And the music - while Dimitrov played, Ethan hadn't been sitting in a room full of people, on a plush seat that rocked and squeaked. He hadn't even been alone, not really - it was him, and the music, and the man playing the music, just the three of them, and the transported feeling hadn't left until the applause broke in, as the lights came up at the end of the performance.

Ethan wanted that. Every time, all the time. He wanted it so badly he could taste it. And he wanted the man who had played it to teach him how it was done.

The library was on the edge of the town green: new construction, which had caused its own angst at any number of town hall meetings, but now that it was complete, most everyone agreed it was a fine looking building. Brick and concrete and glass, with bricks that lined the sidewalk, inscribed with names Ethan recognized from town. There was a brick with his and Jake's and Becca's names on it, off to the side by the bicycle racks. Becca liked to check that it was clear of dirt and debris.

The library was cool on Ethan's skin, thinly warm after the walk from home. The librarians glanced up when he entered, and smiled their greetings but said nothing, already busy with Saturday morning book clubs and reading groups and schoolchildren freed to read as many comic books as they liked without any nonsense about age-appropriate vocabulary or reading comprehension.

Jake, it seemed, was alone in his definition of summer vacation.

Ethan skipped the computer terminals with the catalog, and went to wander the stacks. He had a pretty good idea where the books he wanted were, anyway. Besides, there was the chance that someone would look over his shoulder and see what he was researching at the computer, whereas if they just found him in that particular aisle, he could claim he was looking at the books on the other side, or even that he was lost. At least the library offered a bit more privacy than trying to look it up at home with Ben wandering in and out, and Jake and Becca interrupting at every turn.

QP 251.3. Reproductive Biology for the Omega Male.

The aisle with the appropriate books was toward the back of the stacks, in a corner that didn't have windows on either side - probably just as well, even if it meant that there was more artificial light in that corner than anywhere else in the library. Ethan walked slowly, reading the endcap signs as he went. There wasn't much of a rush. He had all morning; Ben was taking all the piano lessons until after lunch.

Ethan's heart was thumping as he approached the aisle. The light, free feeling was still there, but it was feeling... thicker, somehow. He could feel every step he took, the closer he got, the weight of his foot hitting the floor, the strange way his blood coursed through his veins. His head had begun to swim, feeling a bit thick and strange. Dizzy, almost. Ethan wondered if it was happening already - but he didn't feel warm, or wet between his legs, and there wasn't the overwhelming, heavy-but-empty feeling that everyone said they felt when they experienced estrus.

Just a little further, thought Ethan. Just a little further, and then he'd be surrounded by all the books on male omega sexuality that he could hope for, and maybe one of them would have a more clinical explanation of estrus. Maybe one of them would explain what he was feeling, and tell him that he was all right, that everything was perfectly normal, that it would all be over soon.

It wasn't until Ethan turned down the last aisle that it hit him - the musky, sour-sweet scent of Mr. Clark, who stood exactly where Ethan was going, a book open in his hands. Mr. Clark stared back at Ethan, mouth open, breath shallow and going fast, eyes dilating.

Ethan leaned against the bookshelf, and swallowed hard.

"Of course you'd be here," said Mr. Clark, and Ethan nodded.

He took a step closer. He couldn't not - there was something drawing him in, pulling him toward Mr. Clark as surely as if there was a tether between them. Mr. Clark's eyes opened wide, and he swallowed again, watching him.

"I should go," said Mr. Clark, distressed, but he took a step toward Ethan as well. "I shouldn't be here. Not with you. Not alone."

"Why can't I smell the books?" asked Ethan, his voice shaking. "Usually that's all I can smell in here, all the dust and paper and ink and - I can't. All I can smell is you."

Mr. Clark swallowed again. "It's... this is my fault. I'm so sorry, Ethan."

Ethan sucked in a breath. "My estrus."

But Mr. Clark shook his head. "No. Scenting. We... scented each other. It's why you're drawn to me now. It's why you can't smell anything else. It's why--" Mr. Clark swallowed again as Ethan reached him. Standing so close, he could see the two-day stubble on Mr. Clark's neck, the sweat on his brow, the half-buttoned shirt. Mr. Clark trembled, flushed and pale all at once, and when Ethan breathed, he could taste him, the dry-paper-music scent of him and the nervous way Mr. Clark kept stroking the book he still held.

It was heady and powerful, seeing Mr. Clark at such a loss. Ethan could feel his own body trembling in response, but instead of feeling lost and detached, he felt... strong, in control, even if he wasn't sure what it was he actually controlled, or what would happen if he listened to what his body wanted, and reached up to touch Mr. Clark, to wrap his hand around the back of his neck, to nuzzle there against the sandpaper skin under his chin. To rub his scent into him....

"It's why I can't stop thinking about you," said Mr. Clark, low.

Ethan's gut twisted at the words, and his breath caught as he felt the surge of adrenaline. "So... we're bound together."

"No," said Mr. Clark quickly. "Not exactly. It's not permanent. It'll fade over time."

Ethan shook his head. Lose the feeling he'd carried for two days running - the lighter-than-air, can-do-anything confidence? "I don't want it to fade."

"It's for the best," said Mr. Clark, but he sounded agonized. "Ethan, you don't understand."

"No," said Ethan roughly. "I don't understand. You want me. I know it. You said it."

"You're my student."

"Tell me you want to let this fade," insisted Ethan.

"You're not in your right mind," said Mr. Clark, but he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Tell me you don't want me!"

"I can't," hissed Mr. Clark, and with a groan, crushed the book between them as he stepped forward to kiss Ethan, a brief, rough, spiky kiss that caught up any lingering argument. Ethan relished it, tasted the coffee and cream and sugar in Mr. Clark's mouth, smelled the rich scent of his skin, and melted into his arms.

Mr. Clark broke the kiss, breathing heavily, but didn't release Ethan just yet. His lips hovered over Ethan's, his breath tickling as it brushed lightly over wet skin.

"When can you meet me?" he whispered.

Ethan smiled, relieved. "Anytime. All the time."

"Monday," said Mr. Clark.

* * *

HE SAID TO CALL HIM Alan, when they were alone, when they were sure they were alone, and it took Ethan a while before he could stop thinking of him as Mr. Clark, because he'd done so for three years so far, and the habit was hard to break.

The scenting was an evolutionary remainder, a bit like a spleen, or so Alan explained on Monday, as they sat, nestled in a corner of the band room, breathing each other's skin. They were fully clothed, it was all very innocent, apart from the fact that Ethan was curled up in between Alan's legs, his head resting on his chest, the beard brushing back and forth on the top of his head. Alan didn't want to push it further.

"Not yet," he said. "You haven't even had estrus yet, you're still too young."

"I'm old enough," said Ethan, but Alan shook his head, and since he seemed somewhat determined, Ethan let it go. "I'm sixteen, anyway, I'll probably have estrus soon enough."

"You will," agreed Alan.

It was a way of laying claim, really - not a bond, because it wasn't permanent, and there were no physical markers on either of them, nor would there be. But having scented Alan, Ethan had basically imprinted on Alan's olfactory senses, which meant he was the only omega to whom Alan would respond, physically, and the same was true for Ethan, since Alan had scented him.

"So much for my crush on Thomas Bernecke," said Ethan jovially, snuggling into Alan. "Guess that fantasy about the locker room after a football game isn't in the cards anymore."

"Thomas Bernecke?" responded Alan, incredulous. "That overgrown mollusk of an alpha?"

Ethan poked a finger into Alan's stomach. "He's very tall."

"I'm very tall."

"And not nearly as hairy."

"Hush, you," growled Alan, and buried his furry beard into Ethan's neck, making Ethan shriek with laughter.

Assuming they didn't renew the scenting, it would fade - within a week for Ethan, since he was young. It would last longer as he grew older, if he didn't bond first.

"You're so old, it'll probably last a year for you," said Ethan, still so comfortable and warm against Alan that he didn't even realize the insult until he felt Alan stiffen under him.

"I should let it fade," said Alan, more to himself than Ethan, and Ethan held him tightly, not daring to say a word. "I should let you go. Be with Thomas Bernecke, if you want him. I'm too old for you."

"No," said Ethan, and shifted up a bit, looking Alan in the eye. Alan looked... calm, quiet, accepting. Ethan wondered if he even stood a chance at changing his mind. "Thomas Bernecke thinks that Bach is something a chicken says."

Alan's mouth quirked.

"And anyway, it won't fade for another week, not for me," continued Ethan. "So... maybe... just let me keep it? Please."

"I..." said Alan, but his eyes were already glazing over, and Ethan took the chance and pushed himself up just that little bit, resting his lips on Alan's throat and breathing in.

Alan's skin tasted like clean soap, the minty dryness of shaving cream, the sharp alcohol of aftershave. Ethan smiled against the smooth skin; he'd shaved, then, and done it carefully. Alan could protest all he liked; if he'd taken this much care with his neck, it was clear he'd wanted Ethan to do this again.

Ethan nuzzled at the skin, suckling it into his mouth, thin and warm and slippery. He tasted Alan under the faded, acidic-sour flavor of his shaving cream. Alan gasped under him, and Ethan felt the vibrations as he groaned. Ethan kept his breath steady, letting the smell and taste of Alan fill him up, settle into his muscles and bones and mind, until he couldn't remember the scent of anything else.

Alan held him close, one hand splayed on Ethan's back, under his shirt. The other circled lazily between Ethan's shoulder blades, a sort of tickling repetition that would eventually become uncomfortable, but just now, in the moment, it kept Ethan centered and secure, certain that Alan was getting as much pleasure as he was in his scenting. His hand on his skin was a warm rush, straight through his spine to his groin, and before Ethan could think twice, he found himself rubbing his half-hard cock up against Alan, whose sharp gasp made Ethan stop and flush.

"No, it's... it's fine," said Alan, a bit strangled, but that might have been because of the skin still in Ethan's mouth. Alan's hand moved down from Ethan's lower back to cup his buttock - even so, Ethan released the bit of skin on Alan's neck, and pressed his face into his shoulder, too embarrassed to continue, so turned on that he thought if he thrust again, he'd come right then and there.

In the band room.

On his teacher.

"Hey," said Alan, tipping Ethan's face up with his finger. "Whatever you're thinking - don't. It's all right."

"Sorry," mumbled Ethan, still blushing hotly. "Just... I'm new at this."

Alan leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "Me too."

Ethan pulled back. "You... too? But... you're older. And you went to college."

Alan laughed softly. "You don't learn everything in college, you know."

Ethan tucked his head back down into Alan's shoulder; Alan's arms automatically wrapped around him again. Ethan listened to Alan's heart beat, felt the rise and fall of his chest. It was quiet and comfortable, and surrounded by the scent of Alan, the feel of Alan - Ethan felt safe.

"I might never get to go," he said finally. "They only let omegas in if they're bonded. And maybe I'm not good enough for one of the music programs."

"Don't sell yourself short."

Ethan poked Alan's stomach. "You're biased."

"Nothing to do with it."

"Anyway," continued Ethan, "I'd rather go on thinking that you learn everything there is to learn in college, if that's all right."

Alan's arms tightened around him. "All right."

Ethan closed his eyes, and thought about the conservatory: a year or two to do nothing but learn music, play music, breathe and sleep and eat music. Steep himself in the piano, without any distractions.

Well. Almost without distractions.

Only omegas who are bonded are allowed to attend and participate in school activities, said the literature, and that was assuming he passed the auditions. Ben was confident he could; Ethan, not so much.

At any rate, it was still at least a year off, and Ethan hadn't even had his first estrus yet. Bonding was still a long ways off. There was plenty of time.

* * *

YURI DIMITROV DID NOT look particularly Russian, at least not in the way Ethan pictured Russians, which was thin and bald and bearded, with sharp edges and narrowed eyes that found fault with everything.

No, Dimitrov looked squat and red and fat, bespeckled if not bespoke, and he had a head of hair that stood straight out on end, two inches from his head, as if his hair had aspirations of an Afro without the curl. He did have the pointed glare, however, and it was aimed directly at Ethan, standing in his doorway.

"Well? Come in, come in," said Dimitrov, impatient. "You sit, you play."

"It's Scarlotti," Ethan blurted out, and Dimitrov howled with fury.

"Did I say speak? Nyet. I say, you sit, you play. If you have to tell me what you play, you have no business playing it. So? Play! And not the Scarlotti."

Ethan blanched. "But--"

"Sit!"

Ethan sat down, his back to the piano master, and for a moment, had no idea what he was meant to do next. He and Ben had been working the Scarlotti every day for weeks; even Alan had helped in turn, listening and offering his own advice. Ethan could barely remember how to play Chopsticks, let alone anything Dimitrov would want to hear.

"Play!"

Ethan took a breath, and put his hands on the keys. Not the Scarlotti. Not Chopsticks, either.

Becca had been playing the song on repeat for weeks. Every time Ben had driven anywhere, the song had been playing on the radio. There was a piano in the song, of course, playing chords that kept the song moving - but it wasn't what people remembered. They remembered the voice, deep and rolling and strong. They remembered the beat of the drum, slow and steady. They remembered the chorus singers clapping along, a small Baptist revival in a power ballad.

Ethan began to play. The sound of the piano filled the small room, sure and strong and rolling straight on into the conclusion. He played the chords. He played the drum beat, the voice of the singer that served as a thread tying it all together. He played the hands clapping in time, the sure satisfaction and growing confidence, and he forgot all about the man sitting behind him, listening to him play.

The last note faded away, and Ethan closed his eyes, his fingers resting gently on the piano keys. The room was utterly silent. Somewhere, on the other side of the door, Ben was surely dying an agonizing death, wondering what the hell had happened to the Scarlotti.

Well, thought Ethan mournfully, that was a nice dream. Being tutored by Dimitrov, until I have my heat and can attend conservatory properly.

There was a shuffling sound behind him, as if Dimitrov was paging rapidly through a book.

"You will be here Thursdays at 11:30 until 1:30," he said brusquely. "Promptly. There are no breaks for food, so do not expect them."

Ethan's mouth dropped open, and he spun on the piano bench to stare at Dimitrov. "Wait - what? Are you serious?"

Dimitrov looked up from his appointment calendar. "Do you want me to be joking?"

"No! No! I'll be here. Thursday. 11:30. Absolutely."

"Good. Your fingering is terrible, we will work on that."

"Yes, sir," said Ethan, and couldn't help but just grin at the piano tutor, too pleased to be bothered about his abrupt dismissal.

* * *

"IT WAS fantastic," Ethan said, stripping off his shirt and straddling Alan's legs. "I can reach a whole other octave now."

"Just because of the way he had you hold your hands," said Alan, amused. He spread his own hands on Ethan's waist, and smiled up at him. Ethan grinned down in response.

"I can show you," said Ethan, mischievously, and he pressed his open palm against Alan's chest, over his heart. "See, I've been holding my hand like this. But if I just turn it this way...."

Ethan twisted his wrist, letting his fingers brush one-two-three over Alan's nipple, still under the thin cotton of his shirt, and Alan sucked in a breath.

"C'mere, you," said Alan, gruffly, and with one hand firmly on the back of Ethan's neck, pulled him down until they both had their noses buried in each other's necks.

Ethan exhaled softly, breathing in Alan's scent, feeling the rush of endorphins from Alan breathing in his own. "I wish you needed to scent me more often," he murmured into Alan's skin.

"Better this way, pet," said Alan, stroking his hair. "If I scent you too often, it's... harder to stop."

Alan's skin tasted just the same - aftershave and shaving lotion, and the dry clean soapy scent, and then his own delicious, salty-sweet flavor. Ethan nuzzled into it. "You don't have to."

"Until you have an estrus, I do," said Alan gently.

Ethan fell silent. "I'm seventeen. It'll happen eventually."

"Of course it will," soothed Alan, and gently mouthed at Ethan's neck, without breaking the skin.

* * *

"I'VE MADE AN APPOINTMENT for you next week," Ben called out as Ethan headed back to the studio where the piano was kept.

Ethan frowned and turned back to look. "What appointment?"

"With Dr. Carson. Wednesday, nine-thirty."

Ethan shook his head. "I can't - the orchestra is rehearsing for the high school musical, it's the only time Bea can be there--"

"Mr. Clark said it would be all right if you gave it a miss," said Ben over him.

Ethan's mouth dropped open. "You... you called Alan? Mom!"

"Alan?" repeated Ben, frowning. "You call your band teacher by his first name?"

"He's not my teacher anymore, Mom. He's--"

"He's still your elder."

"He's not that old. You could have just asked me my schedule."

"Which is what I did the last two times I've made this appointment, and each time, you've found an excuse not to go," said Ben patiently, if exasperated. "Ethan, you're eighteen, and you haven't shown any signs of going into estrus. I know talking to a doctor is going to be uncomfortable, but you can't avoid it forever."

Ethan shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. "I know, Mom, but... I mean, it's not unusual to be late. You were seventeen. Aunt Harold was nineteen."

"Aunt Harold also had scarlet fever," Ben reminded him. "And don't think your grandmother didn't drag him off to the doctor himself." Ben frowned and reached for Ethan's hair, tucking a bit behind his ear. "Ethan - I thought you wanted to go to the conservatory."

"I do!"

"You can't until you're bonded, and you can't bond until--"

"Until I have an estrus, I know, Mom." Ethan squirmed under Ben's hand, but didn't quite move away. Feeling his mother's fingers in his hair was soothing - not quite the same as when Alan stroked him, after a scenting, but... still. Nice.

Alan, and the way he kissed the back of Ethan's neck while Ethan played on the piano at school. It was hard to concentrate, when he did that, but Ethan liked it all the same.

Ben kept touching his hair, frowning. "Do you really want to keep going on like this, a one-hour round-trip train ride twice a week for a single lesson, and teaching beginning students on the side, when you could be studying full-time? When you could be playing in your own concerts, with your own audiences, instead of supporting an orchestra that's supporting a bunch of high school students singing off-key?"

"No," said Ethan slowly, feeling a bit wretched. "But I haven't been out of school that long - only a few months. There's plenty of time for me to have my estrus and bond - and lots of people take a few years before conservatory, anyway."

Ben worried his lower lip. "It's not always that easy, finding the right person. I don't want you to make a hasty match to the wrong alpha just because he lives in the city."

Ethan's heart clenched. "The city?"

"Of course the city - unless you want to ride the train for four hours every day. When would you practice?" Then Ben's eyes narrowed, and his face twisted a bit, as he considered Ethan. "Unless... Ethan? Is there someone here? Other than Thomas Brenecke?"

Ethan's heart squeezed like a vice. "Mom. I haven't liked Thomas Brenecke in years. And he's in California."

"Not answering my question."

"I have to practice," said Ethan, and managed to escape.

Ben didn't follow, which was just as well. Ethan was surprised he let him go so easily - and the way his heart was thumping madly in his chest, it wouldn't have taken much for Ben to worm Alan out of him.

It wasn't as if it was wrong. Not anymore, anyway. Ethan was eighteen. He was legal. Had been legal, really, from the very beginning. Even if Alan had been Mr. Clark, his band teacher, and Ethan a student. They were of age. It was fine.

Ethan wasn't entirely sure his parents would see it quite that way, though. He already knew that Alan didn't see it that way. When you're a bit older, he said. When you've been out of school a little bit longer.

When you've had your estrus. Then we'll talk about telling them.

"You told my mother it was all right if I skipped rehearsal," Ethan accused Alan a few days later. The town hall was empty and somewhat cavernous, a great lovely room surrounded by windows, with perfectly horrible acoustics. Ethan didn't much care. It was his chance to play before people, every other month on a Saturday afternoon, when the small community orchestra - led by Alan Clark - played a selection of songs for anyone who cared to listen. The crowd usually included the typical selection of retirees, young mothers with rambunctious and sometimes behaving children, and Ethan's own piano students, who wanted a chance to see him miss a note.

(Sometimes he did, just to see if they'd catch it. If they did, he'd give them candy during their next lesson.)

Alan was setting up the chairs on one half of the room. He didn't stop moving, even to talk. "He said it was important. And you're the only person in the orchestra who hasn't missed a rehearsal yet."

"He wants me to see a doctor," said Ethan pointedly as he unfolded chairs for Alan to position.

"Good, that cough is worrying me," Alan said absently.

"The cough is fine. It's almost gone. It's not the cough," said Ethan. "I haven't had my estrus yet."

Alan glanced up. "Ah. I see."

Ethan waited for a moment, but when Alan didn't continue, he spoke. "Mom's worried about the bonding pool. That it'll take a long time to find an alpha who'd want me."

"Is he now."

Ethan sighed heavily. "Alan. He's worrying for no reason. I'm not going to have trouble finding an alpha, once I've had my estrus, because I've already found him."

"Oh?" asked Alan, glancing up. "Has Thomas Brenecke come back from California?"

"Oh for - would everyone stop bothering me about Thomas Brenecke already!?!" howled Ethan, dropping a half-folded chair in his agitation, and Alan laughed before reaching out to touch his neck, in the most sensitive spot, just where he rested his lips when he scented him.

"Don't worry, pet. It'll be fine. You'll have your estrus when it's time for it."

Ethan exhaled, long and slow, placated and calmed by Alan's fingers on his skin, but refusing to be comforted. "Just... I'm eighteen. Everyone else my age is bonded already - or almost, anyway."

Alan stroked his fingers along Ethan's neck. "Are you worried?"

"No," said Ethan, reluctantly. "Yes. I mean... you don't think what we've done - you don't think that's delayed it, do you?"

"Of course not," said Alan, soothingly. "Half your class was probably scented to the other half - and like you said, they all had their estruses and are happily bonded now. And you always said your family were late bloomers. Don't worry about it, pet. It'll happen."

Ethan sighed, and closed his eyes to turn his face into the palm of Alan's hand, now cupping his cheek. "I guess you're right," he mumbled, and he could catch the faint hint of Alan's scent - the sour cotton candy scent of it slowly comforting him, whether he liked it or not.

Alan pressed a light kiss to his temple. "We could let it fade, if it makes you feel better. Just for the appointment. It might be better that way, give the doctor a clean slate--"

Ethan thought of the performance that weekend, and the particularly difficult piece Dimitrov had given him to practice. Of the pleasant, lighter-than-air feeling that a recent scenting gave him, how clearly the music in his head translated to his fingers on those mornings.

"No," he said quickly. "It's fine. It'll be fine, like you said."

Alan chuckled, and pressed Ethan close. Ethan could hear his heart hammering in his chest, and marveled that Alan had been so distressed at the thought of the scent bond fading. "All right. But you'll tell me what he says after, right?"

"Of course," said Ethan, and couldn't help a quick scent, before they had to break away when the others began to arrive.

* * *

"NORMAL," SAID DR. CARSON from behind his desk, his hands resting on the folder with Ethan's name printed on the cover. His entire medical history, from birth to age eighteen; it was fairly thin, for all that. Ethan hadn't ever posed much of a medical mystery.

Until now, at least.

Ben frowned, sitting uncomfortably on the leather chair next to Ethan. "He's eighteen."

Dr. Carson shrugged. "I don't disagree, he's somewhat old for estrarche, but delayed estrarche is not entirely uncommon, particularly among omega men who are on the thinner, more physically active end of the spectrum - and Ethan is certainly quite slender and tall for his age and presentation. The blood work came back within normal parameters, and the pelvic exam showed no irregularities in his anatomy. All other areas of his growth have been perfectly normal."

Dr. Carson folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "Mr. Downing, I know you're concerned. I understand that you are anxious for your son to begin his own life, with his own mate and household. But I assure you - there is nothing I can see that has impeded Ethan's reproductive status from natural maturation."

Ben sucked in a breath. "Wait - are you saying that something could stop an estrus from happening?"

Dr. Carson sighed and rested his head on his hand. "Ben...."

"Frank...." Ben mimicked him. "You know I could assign David to play Chopsticks for the next six months, right?"

Frank Carson groaned. "Of course there's ways to circumvent an estrus. But none of them apply to Ethan. He's not on heavy drugs, he's not suffering from a serious illness, and he's not malnourished. He has normal responses to stimuli, including scents. I'm sorry, Ben," said Dr. Carson, throwing up his hands. "I don't know what you want me to say. He's fine. He's just late. There's really not a lot I can do, unless you want me to throw him in a locked room with a half dozen alphas already in rut and throw away the key!"

Ethan swallowed. "Um. No."

Ben sighed, exasperated. "Maybe next year."

"Mom."

"Joking."

"No, you're not," said Ethan, leaning away from him.

"It'll happen, Ben," repeated Dr. Carson firmly. "And I'm happy to set Ethan up with birth control in the meantime, so that when estrache does happen, he's ready."

"Oh, God," said Ethan, almost hyperventilating.

"Excellent idea," said Ben firmly.

Dr. Carson turned to Ethan and spoke sternly. "If you can't discuss birth control, Ethan, you are not ready for the activities that require it."

Ethan swallowed. "Okay."

Dr. Carson nodded, all gentle and caring again. "You know you can come and talk to me at any time, without your parents, right? If you have any questions or concerns."

Ethan swallowed hard. He'd known Dr. Carson his entire life; had spilled the beans about one embarrassing thing or another at some point. The pelvic exam had only been bearable because Dr. Carson had done it, and talked him through it, the entire time, without once pausing for any reason.

Dr. Carson had asked him, Are you in a physical relationship with another person, or have you been in the last two years?

And Ethan, thinking of the worry in Alan's eyes, had said, No.

"I know," said Ethan. "And if I think of any questions, I'll come in."

"Good," said Dr. Carson, sitting back, satisfied. "Better to get it from me than the schoolyard."

"He's not in school anymore," said Ben tersely.

"Oh? I thought I saw you there last week."

"Orchestra rehearsals," explained Ethan quickly. "Mr. Clark lets us use the band room, it's a good space for practicing."

"Right. Next Saturday is the next performance?"

"Yep."

"Looking forward to it. Assuming you're there and not in estrarche," teased Dr. Carson.

"From your mouth to God's ears," muttered Ben.

"Thanks, Mom," said Ethan, mock cheerfully.

"Tell Becca to eat her broccoli or I'll know about it," said Dr. Carson, and waved them out.

* * *

NO ONE PARTICULARLY enjoyed Ben's sulks, mostly because he tended to play Mendelssohn on repeat.

"Please make him stoooop," moaned Jake, banging his head against the table on the third day, and Robert flicked his newspaper, where he was hiding in the business section.

"As if I've ever been able to make your mother do anything," he said. "Oh, look, there's another presidential nominee for the Republicans. What a surprise."

Ethan sighed. "I'll go," he said grimly, and pretended he didn't hear Jake's relieved sigh.

Ben was just starting one of the piano concertos when Ethan slipped in. Ben didn't even look up when Ethan sat next to him on the bench to watch his mother play.

Ethan often said he started piano at eight. That wasn't entirely true; Ben had been teaching Ethan long before that, sitting the toddler on the bench next to him as he played, showing him how to hit the keys with firm, even strokes, playing childish nursery rhymes in between the longer pieces.

Ethan couldn't remember the first actual lesson. It seemed to him he'd learned to play piano along with riding a bike and reading and how to cross the street after looking both ways.

Watching Ben play was soothing - a sort of comfort that Ben didn't get from watching or listening to anyone else. Dimitrov - now that was exciting, energizing, inspirational stuff. Watching his tutor play would have Ethan's heart pounding, the blood racing through his fingers and arms as his skin tingled, and all he wanted to do afterwards was sit down and play every single song he'd ever learned, straight through, with complete concentration.

Watching Ben - Ethan wanted to rest his head on his mother's shoulder, just as he had when he was very small, and listen to Ben's heart keep time. Which is what he did, just then, as Ben played.

Ben didn't stop; he sighed, and shifted to allow Ethan to rest while still giving his arm access to the keys.

"I worry," said Ben, after a few bars.

"You shouldn't."

Ben snorted. "As if I could help it."

"Mom - it'll be all right."

Ben didn't say anything; he just played, the music rising and falling under his fingers, before he paused. This was the bit where the orchestra filled in; Ethan reached over and played the notes, one-handed, in an octave too high, but it filled the silence while Ben thought and worried and fretted.

Finally the room fell silent, when Ben didn't come in on his cue.

"You're better than I was," said Ben, and Ethan shook his head.

"No, I'm not."

"You are," insisted Ben. "You could be so much more than just a piano teacher, Ethan. You have this... this drive. When you play... I could never play like that."

"Like what?"

Ben turned and rested his lips on Ethan's head, deep in his hair. "Like you're not even playing. When I play, no one forgets that I'm playing a song. But when you play - they're not listening to you, exactly, because you take them places. You take them somewhere else entirely. And when you're done, it's as if they've taken a wonderful, magical, fantastical journey to somewhere they've only dreamed they've been."

Ethan took a breath. "Mom...."

"I just... I want you to have the chance for something more, Ethan. Something wonderful. I never had it, never really wanted it to be honest. But you do."

Ethan sat up; Ben kept his head bent. "I'll have it, Mom. It'll happen. Anyway - it's just more time for you to listen to me here, before you have to pay for your tickets with the other riff-raff."

Ben laughed, blinking hard. "What happened to comp tickets, young man?"

"Nah, those are for Dimitrov," said Ethan cheekily, and let out a yell when Ben gave him a playful shove that nearly knocked him off the bench.

"Pay attention," scolded Ben, and started to play.

Ethan recognized the familiar Loesser duet immediately and grinned. He could imagine Jake theatrically sighing with relief on the other side of the house, and his father humming along despite himself.

Dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da, and Ethan climbed back up next to his mother to play melody.

"I could play this for my audition to the conservatory," said Ethan. "Get me in for sure. I mean, if Dimitrov was won over with Adele, they're sure to love this."

"Oh, shut up," said Ben, and continued to play.

* * *

"WHERE WAS YOUR RHYTHM, your sense of motion!" railed Dimitrov, pacing back and forth behind Ethan in his study, while Ethan waited out the storm. It happened in every lesson; two years in, Ethan was accustomed to hearing the helpful bits and ignoring Dimitrov's theatrics. "Where was your heart, Ethan? You play from the heart, and yet it was gone. Did you leave it behind on the train? Has it gone ahead of you into the city?"

Hope not, it doesn't have a ticket, thought Ethan, but didn't say it. Dimitrov didn't appreciate humor. Ethan wondered sometimes if Dimitrov appreciated anything outside of his piano at all.

"Bah, away with you," finished Dimitrov, sourly, and he flung himself on one of the far couches under a window. "You will be the best piano teacher in your tiny town."

Ethan spun on the bench. "No, I'm going to be a concert pianist."

Dimitrov snorted. "Too old."

Ethan sucked in a breath. "I'm nineteen."

"And you should have been at conservatory a year ago," snapped Dimitrov. "To be a concert pianist, you need training."

"That's why I have you."

"Nyet! You need more than me. You need training, you need to learn from your peers, have your peers learn from you. You need exposure. Experience. You will never get that here, from me. You will never get that in your little town with your little orchestra and its little concerts. You want fame? You want audiences listening to your notes? You should be at the conservatory."

"Well, I can't," said Ethan, stiffly. "I'll go when I'm bonded. There's lots of older bonded omegas at conservatory. I've checked."

Dimitrov snorted. "And do you think anyone takes them seriously? The world's best-trained future piano teachers and tuners, the lot of them. They all start starry-eyed; they all fall pregnant within the year. The older they are, the quicker they fall. Bonded omegas - as if there aren't other ways to keep an omega from heat."

Ethan sat up a bit, confused. "But--"

"Enough wasting time," said Dimitrov briskly. "Someday you will have your heat, and someday you will bond, and when you audition, you will have an audition that will make them sit up and take notice, da? Now we rehearse. Make them think twice before dismissing you."

Ethan turned on the piano bench and began to play, Dimitrov's cautions and reminders and comments flowing over him and settling into his fingers, improving him with every note.

But he couldn't help but remember what he'd said before. You should be at conservatory.

And, as if there aren't other ways to keep an omega from heat.

* * *

"DO YOU THINK I'M TOO old to be a concert pianist?" Ethan asked, while Alan rested his nose against his neck. Normally Ethan liked when Alan scented him; he liked the way Alan nuzzled and nipped and held him close, the way he could feel his blood quickening and his pulse accelerating. The glassy-eyed look Alan had afterwards was nice, too, as if Alan felt those things as well.

It felt like it might have been the beginnings of an estrus. Not that Ethan had a clue what that would feel like.

"Hmm?" Alan nipped at his shoulder, before inhaling deeply.

"Dimitrov thinks I'm too old, that no one at the conservatory will take me seriously if I go."

"Dimitrov is a bitter Soviet leftover," said Alan into Ethan's skin. "You're going to make everyone there jealous."

"Yeah," said Ethan, uncertain. "I just... I wish my estrus would hurry up and come already."

Alan stilled for a moment. "Stop thinking," he said gently.

Ethan sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."

He settled back into Alan's arms, and after another quiet moment, Alan returned to scenting. It was pleasant, and comfortable, and Ethan tried to enjoy it. They didn't happen quite as often anymore - every other month, mostly - and it was nice, having Alan's attention on him.

Still. Still. Still.

* * *

IN THE END, HE WENT back to the library.

The librarians smiled and waved as he walked past their desk; he was a bit older now, so he didn't blush or worry that they'd take one look and know his intentions. Nor did he meander on his way to the very last row in the corner of the building - well, not very much, anyway.

Ethan held his breath as he reached the aisle. The last time he'd been here, three years before, he'd found Alan doing his own research. Waiting for him.

This time, the aisle was empty. Ethan scanned the call numbers, trying to ignore the way the relief settled on his shoulders.

He found the call numbers - and then found the very book that he thought he needed.

The Secret Scents.

Ethan pulled the book from the shelf. It was library-bound, thin, and with an appropriately garish cover. There was not a chance in the world that Ethan was going to even try to read it in full view of the library - much less check it out. Instead, he settled against the stacks, and began to read.

Scenting could be said to be more important than the actual bond to bind two individuals together. The physical bond may be permanent, while the scented bond is temporary, but it is the scented bond that actually informs the individuals of an intended or potential mate. Once scented, regardless of bonding status, an omega will only respond to sexual stimuli produced by the scenting alpha; the same is true in the other direction.

"It's not a bond," Alan said. "Not a real one."

In the case of bonded pairs, scenting is less important, as the bond itself informs the individual. But in the case of unbonded pairs who have scented but for whatever reason not completed the bonding, it serves as a form of protection. A scented, unbonded omega may experience estrus, but it will be much less intense and far less noticeable than in unscented or fully bonded omegas. In the case of previously unpresented omegas, estrus can be entirely delayed.

"Your estrus will come," Alan said. "Give it time. Be patient."

In some cultures, scenting is used as a way of marking territory, or keeping treasured omega children safe from harm while their alphas parents are away for short periods of time. Scenting will fade on average between five and ten days for both omega and alpha.

"It lasts longer for me," said Alan. "It will for you too, as you get older."

Ethan's chest rose and fell as he struggled to stay focused. He heard the footsteps approaching long before he registered them. No one ever came to the back corner of the library, but someone was coming now, and the last thing Ethan wanted was an audience. He gripped the book tightly and managed to slip into the next aisle, just as the interloper turned the corner. Ethan's heart pounded, he felt dizzy and sick, and he crouched on the ground, trying to keep his breaths even and shallow, so that whoever was there wouldn't realize he existed.

It wasn't until the scent hit him, sour and clean, that he realized who had nearly interrupted him: Alan himself.

Ethan wasn't able to see Alan's face; the stacks were too full of books that blocked the way, and besides, Alan stood, while Ethan still crouched on the ground. He wasn't sure he wanted to be noticed anyway, not just then; what would he say? You lied to me. Or this book is. Did you know? About scenting stopping an estrus. Did you?

Alan pulled a book from the shelf, and opened it. Ethan watched him for a moment, trying to form the words he'd say when he stood up.

You knew I was waiting. You knew it was important. You knew my whole life hinged on when I have that estrus. And you're the one who stopped it from happening. Tell me you didn't know.

Ethan was about to stand, when he heard the second set of footsteps.

"Oh," said the soft voice at the end of the aisle, and for a moment, Ethan thought he'd been caught out. It wasn't until he heard the soft thump of Alan closing the book that he realized the newcomer wasn't at the end of Ethan's aisle.

He was at the end of Alan's.

"I thought you'd come here," said Alan, his voice low and shaking. "Henry...."

"I can smell you," said Henry, his small voice shaking, and Ethan stopped breathing. His chest hurt, his eyes stung, his ears roared, and Henry, fifteen-year-old clarinet, sweet and kind Henry who always had a smile and a joke, Henry who everyone said would make first chair one day, if he didn't make a fine mother first...

Henry walked toward Mr. Clark like a possessed thing. Like nothing else in the world existed. Like Alan Clark was the only person in the world who mattered, and Henry had just realized it.

"I should go," said Alan, his voice wavering. "I shouldn't be here. Not with you."

The words were too familiar. Ethan's entire body was shaking, even as Henry let out a small, hurt gasp.

"Not with you smelling as good as you do," whispered Alan. "God, Henry, what you do to me...."

"What did you do to me?" whispered Henry.

They spoke so low, Ethan could barely hear them. But he didn't need to hear them. He knew already what they were saying.

I scented you. I marked you as mine. And you marked me. It's why you smell so good. It's why I smell so good.

"It's why I can't resist you now," finished Alan.

"So we're bound together," said Henry, exactly as Ethan had almost four years before. Ethan wanted to laugh, and didn't dare.

"No," said Alan Clark. "This is temporary. It'll fade, over time."

And with that, Ethan knew. Without a doubt, without having to hear another word from one of his sweetest memories replayed in the next aisle in the grotesque present. He didn't need to see Alan Clark's face to image the expression, because he'd seen it once before, and knew it intimately, and he could not stand to hear another word.

He left the library, walking blindly. He didn't see the librarians wave goodbye; he didn't see anyone on the sidewalks say hello, he simply walked, until he'd crossed the green and stood outside the door to Dr. Carson's practice.

He didn't realize he still held the book until he stepped inside and had to write his name on the register, and then he stared at it, wondering how he'd forgotten to put it down.

"Ethan," said Dr. Carson, gently and kindly, when they were finally alone in an exam room. "Tell me."

Ethan swallowed, and handed him the book. "I know why I haven't had my estrus. And I don't want to wait for it to fade."

* * *

ESTRARCHE WAS A FIRE, burning every last memory of Alan Clark from his body. It started in his groin, and radiated out along every limb, with a heat that tickled and taunted and tested him. Ethan lay on his bed, naked, panting, twisting and desperate, a thin layer of sweat shimmering on his skin.

"Ethan," said Alan, leaning over him, soothing, before the face morphed into Ben. "Ethan, love, here's some water," said Ben, and Ethan turned away, confused and groaning.

"No. Go away. I don't want anything from you."

Ben's face fell, and Alan sighed heavily as he sat on the bed next to Ethan. "Oh, love--"

"Don't call me that," hissed Ethan, and rolled onto his side, curling in on himself. It helped quell the massive cramps in his gut, just a little, for just a moment, and the thin pressure of his cock pressed between his legs was enough to make Ethan gasp.

Quiet, except for the sound of another person breathing, and Ethan's own protracted gasps and choking cries.

"I'll leave the water here," said Ben finally. "You're not yourself," said Alan. "I know it's terrible," said Ben. "It will pass, I promise," said Alan.

Ethan didn't want to hear Alan's lies anymore, and turned his face into his pillow.

"Go away," he moaned. "Alan, just leave me alone."

The room was very quiet, except for the hitch in Ethan's breaths, the sound of his skin scraping against the sheets. The way the bed squeaked as the other occupant rose to his feet, fingers gentle on Ethan's hair.

"Drink the water," said Ben softly, and left the room.

Hot, needing, aching, wanting, blood pumping through every vein, and Ethan could feel it, could feel how slick he was, how wet and open and wanting, needing, and he heard the soft click of the door, and knew he was alone. He keened into the pillow, and rutted against the mattress, and felt the cool trickle of sweat down his spine, caressing every fine, invisible hair on his back. So bright on his skin that it might have been a single finger drawing down.

Ethan held his breath until the bead of sweat reached his hole, and then the world exploded in a haze as he came, and came, and came.

* * *

ETHAN WOKE ON THE THIRD morning, damp and sticky and hungrier than he'd ever been in his entire life. He also had to pee in the worst way, and it took a great deal more effort to get to the bathroom than he was used to needing.

He stumbled back to his bedroom before going to the kitchen, only because he thought showing up naked would scar his siblings for life, and he didn't particularly want Becca to suffer through that.

Ben waited for him, sitting on the chair at his desk next to a plate of sandwiches and a cup of water. Ethan was still so befuddled from the estrus that he stood in his doorway, frozen and unable to move until Ben's mouth quirked a bit.

"Don't worry, you're wearing boxers," said Ben, amused, and Ethan let out a relieved sigh before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I have sandwiches, in case you don't want to dress just yet."

"It's fine," said Ethan, and it took a moment before he realized that the reason his voice sounded funny was because he was already speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. Ben's mouth quirked again.

"I think you'll find clothes to be a bit... abrasive, for a little while. It'll fade by dinnertime, especially if you sleep it off."

Ethan frowned. "I need to practice."

"You need to sleep," said Ben gently.

Ethan continued to eat, sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed. He was halfway through the second sandwich when he realized that Ben was still watching him with that same gentle, curious expression on his face.

Ethan paused. "What?"

Ben bit his lip. "Who's Alan?"

Ethan's fingers dug into the bread. "Um. What?"

"You called for Alan. I think you thought he was me." Ben glanced at the closed door. "Ethan...."

"I don't remember," said Ethan hurriedly, and forced himself to take another too-large bite of the sandwich. He could barely chew, and his eyes began to water.

Ben was quiet for another moment. "Only... I thought you might mean Mr. Clark."

Ethan's shoulders slumped. The bread grew soggy in his mouth, and he slowly worked it between his jaws, trying to beat it down so he could swallow it and try to refute what his mother was saying.

"I think I knew," continued Ben, thoughtful. "There's just something about the way you look at him - and the way he looks at you. Or the way you don't look at each other. And calling him by his first name - and the way he's never once complained, even in jest, about you going to conservatory. He... he cares for you, doesn't he?"

The sandwich, thankfully, slid down Ethan's throat.

"Not anymore," said Ethan shortly, fiddling with the rest of the sandwich in his hands. "I thought he did, but...." Ethan took a breath and looked up at Ben. "He scented me, Mom."

Ben looked sharp at that. "He what?"

"He scented me. Well, we scented each other, I guess. I mean, I thought we did. Except... I saw him in the library last week. With Henry Williams. And he'd scented Henry too. Saying all the things he'd said to me. So I guess he didn't mean them after all."

Ben's eyes were slits. "Henry Williams. Fifteen, clarinet?"

"Yeah."

Ben inhaled and exhaled one full breath before he spoke again, and this time, it was with thinly veiled anger. "Ethan, you are my son, and I love you, and I promise I will not be angry with you, no matter what you say next. Please, tell me when Mr. Alan Clark scented you."

Ethan swallowed, and wondered when his throat had become so dry. "I was sixteen, Mom."

Ben stood up so sharply the chair teetered on its legs. He took two strides to the window and rested his forehead against the glass. Ethan watched him, gulped once and winced, before glancing longingly at the large glass of water on the desk.

"Four years," said Ben darkly. "Four years, and I didn't know."

"Mom--"

Ben held out his hand as if to hold Ethan off, and Ethan closed his mouth tight. Instead, he reached over for the water glass and began drinking greedy gulps.

The glass was empty before Ben turned around again, and walked back to the chair. He sat down and took the empty glass from Ethan's hand.

"All right," said Ben, just as even-tempered and calm as he ever was. "If you've had your estrus, I assume the scent bond has faded." Ethan nodded. "In that case, what do you want to do?"

Ethan swallowed again; his throat felt a bit scratchy, still, and he could have easily eaten another sandwich or ten, and knowing that Ben knew about Alan Clark... and wasn't shouting down the rooftops was enough to give Ethan the courage to respond.

"I want to join the bonding pool, and go to conservatory."

Ben nodded. "Then that is exactly what we are going to do."

* * *

OF ALL THE PEOPLE ETHAN expected to be glad about his estrus finally happening, Dimitrov was the last on the list. Which was why Ethan was surprised when Dimitrov appeared on his doorstep that afternoon with a stack of music three inches thick.

"Move," said Dimitrov by way of greeting when Ethan opened the door.

"Um," said Ethan, and stepped aside to let Dimitrov in. Ethan still wore pajamas, and a bathrobe over them in concession to the cold January day. The clothes weren't quite as uncomfortable as Ben had inferred they would be, but Ethan could still feel every single seam rub up against his skin, at least until he'd gone and turned his t-shirt inside out, which helped. He was eating raspberry yoghurt, and despite his confusion, kept eating as he closed the front door and followed Dimitrov into the sitting room, where Dimitrov stood and looked around with a frown on his face.

"Where is it?" demanded Dimitrov.

"Where is what?"

"The piano, did your heat burn all of your brain cells, or only the important ones?" snapped Dimitrov. "Bozhe moi, why am I cursed with the stupid ones?"

"Down the hall," said Ethan. One of the papers flew off the top of the stack as Dimitrov headed down the hall, and Ethan leaned over to pick it up. His eyes widened. "Lizst's Paganini Etudes? Are you serious?"

"Yes," said Dimitrov shortly.

"I can't play that!"

"What, you are not man now?" said Dimitrov indifferently. "Gah, come open this door or I will drop all papers on the floor."

Ethan scurried to open the door to the piano studio. Dimitrov set the papers down on the top of the piano, and tested the keys. "In tune," he allowed, clearly begrudging the determination. "Well? We don't have all day."

Ethan stared at him. "For what?"

"For your audition piece," snapped Dimitrov. "We have two weeks for you to learn that or - pfft!"

Ethan stared at him. "What?"

"You've had your estrus, yes? And the admissions board meet even now to discuss next year's class. Now is the time to audition. You cannot afford to wait another year, not if you want to be taken seriously."

Ethan laughed. "Did you forget I have to be bonded, too?"

"Eh," said Dimitrov, with a shrug. "That is not so hard. You are handsome. Someone will snatch you up like that." He snapped his fingers, and then pointed at the piano. "Sit. Play. You worry about music. Let your father worry about bonding."

Ethan snorted. "As if that would make me feel any better."

"Amerikantsi, i vashi predstavleniya o romantike - duraki!" groaned Dimitrov, rubbing his face with his hands.

Ethan sat at the piano, listening to the familiar cadence of Dimitrov complaining in Russian behind him, and studied the sheet of music in his hands. He set the yoghurt cup down on top of the piano, and pulled the rest of the music down, laying it out, running over the notes in his head.

His hands were steady. His mind felt... clear. Perhaps not as clear and crisp and light as it had when he'd had the scent bond, but... still clear, in a way that Ethan had forgotten.

Dimitrov was still complaining when Ethan began to play, and the music flowed easily and freely through him, and when Dimitrov's complaints turned to English, and started offering wry suggestions, Ethan began to grin.

* * *

ETHAN WAS IMMERSED in Lizst when the doorbell rang. He ignored it; someone else would get it. He was five days into practice of his audition piece, and the only times he stopped were for meals and sleep. He didn't even notice when Becca slipped in to do her homework, stretched out on the floor behind him, her feet swaying in the air, or when Jake came in to paint one of his model cars, filling up the room with noxious fumes.

Ethan probably wouldn't have noticed the doorbell, either, except he'd stopped playing just as it rang, and was marking some notes in the margins. He started playing again before the door opened, and would have forgotten about the doorbell entirely had Ben not interrupted him a few minutes later.

"Ethan," said Ben, from the doorway, and he sounded troubled. "Ethan."

Ethan looked up. "What?"

Ben took a breath. "It's Alan Clark. He's come for you."

Ethan stared at his mother, not quite comprehending what he said. "I... what?"

"You'd best come into the living room," said Ben grimly.

Ethan was in a daze as he followed his mother into the living room, where Robert and Alan Clark faced each other. Robert, despite being on his own territory, was still tense, eyes locked on Alan Clark with a menacing air, as if he only needed a nudge to rip the man to shreds.

Alan Clark, on the other hand, stood with his back to the door, and was talking as quickly and quietly and calmly as he could. Textbook way of speaking to a dominant alpha, Ethan realized, watching him: not submissive, exactly, merely insistent that his voice be heard.

"Of course we wanted to tell you," he was saying. "There was never an intention of keeping this from you. We were only waiting for the right--"

Alan's nostrils flared, and he turned to Ben and Ethan with a smile on his face. "Ethan," he said, warmly, relieved, and he took a step from the door as if to reach for Ethan. A growl from Robert changed his mind. "I came the moment I heard. I'm so glad."

Ethan swallowed, and glanced at Ben. "I--"

"You should have called me," Alan said, gently scolding, but smiling, smiling, smiling. "I would have been here sooner."

"Why?" blurted out Ethan, and Alan laughed, though it was a bit strained.

"To tell your parents of our intentions, of course. To be bonded."

"Ethan," said Robert grimly, "is it true?"

Ethan couldn't say a word. The room was thick with alpha pheromones, and Ethan breathed as shallowly as he dared. Even so, he could pick out the sour taffy taste of Alan, and even if it made his stomach turn, he still wanted to breathe more of it in.

Robert sighed heavily, reading Ethan's silence correctly. "He's your teacher."

"Was," corrected Alan. "And I assure you, Mr. Downing, nothing happened between us while Ethan was my student. It's all been within the last two years."

Ethan felt Ben stiffen beside him.

"Perhaps we should have told you before - but given our particular circumstances, we thought - I thought it would be best if we waited until after Ethan's estrus. To show you that I am truly serious. I want to bond with Ethan, sir."

Now it was Ethan's turn to stiffen, and he squeezed Ben's hand so tightly he thought he heard the bones crack.

Robert was quiet for a long moment. Ethan held his breath.

Say no. Please say no.

"No," said Ben vehemently, but Robert shook his head sharply at his mate.

Mr. Clark's eyes widened. "Surely you can't object?" he asked, his voice cool and calm and very non-threatening in a surprisingly frightening way. "Considering that Ethan and I have already come to an... understanding, shall we say? It would be such a shame if nothing were to come of it. For him, that is."

Ethan's blood ran cold.

"Ethan," said Robert slowly, "is it true? Have you and Alan Clark been seeing each other the last two years?"

"Yes," said Ethan, and was about to continue, but I changed my mind, when Robert gave a brief nod and turned back to Alan Clark.

"Then I have no choice but to give you my blessings. When do you want to bond?"

Alan broke into a wide grin, and was about to speak, when Ben interrupted.

"Oh, don't talk about that now. We can't possibly bond Ethan now, not when his audition is approaching and Becca's bat mitzvah is coming up. We shouldn't let Ethan and Mr. Clark steal her thunder, poor lamb, she's been practicing for months."

Robert frowned. "Her bat mitzvah isn't until April."

"Exactly, and Ethan can't possibly bond before his next estrus anyway," said Ben firmly. "Plenty of time to discuss this. Later. When Ethan is not meant to be rehearsing."

"Rehearsing?" echoed Alan.

"For his audition, of course," said Ben. "At the conservatory. Where he will attend once he is bonded. For at least one year. Won't he?"

"Oh, yes," said Alan quickly. "But surely it would be all right if we had a moment together--"

"Propriety, Mr. Clark," said Ben firmly. "Robert."

"Ah, right," said Robert, and Ethan could smell the pheromones begin to dissipate. "Well, we can at least arrange for the announcement."

"Later," repeated Ben, a bit more forcefully this time. "Please, let's discuss any public announcement of their upcoming bonding another week? There's no need to rush into it, don't you agree? And Ethan's only just had his estrus, he's hardly recovered. The only reason he's up now is because his tutor was overly enthusiastic in arranging for his audition. Let's get through that hurdle first, before we put any further strain on him, poor boy."

Ethan would have bristled at the poor boy, but he was having too much trouble pulling his gaze away from Alan's intense, strangely possessive stare. The way that he could see the muscles twitching under Alan's skin, as if only Ben standing between them kept Alan from dragging Ethan into the back and claiming him on the spot.

But Alan only said, "Of course," and smiled at Ethan, exactly as if Henry Williams never existed. "We have all the time in the world."

It wasn't until the door was safely closed and locked behind Alan Clark's retreating back that Ben fired a steely gaze at Robert, who glared right back.

"What," said Robert, heated and clearly annoyed with everything, "was that about?"

And then Ben told him.

* * *

TO SAY ROBERT DOWNING was livid would be an understatement. Robert Downing was not livid, because livid implied that he was so upset that he was unable to move or make a decision.

He was furious, and that was far more satisfying, because furious meant he could stomp around the house and knock into things. He even took the time to smash a few of the wine glasses against the backyard fence, which made Ethan jump out of his skin with the sound of tinkling glass hitting the stones.

"Mom?" asked Ethan, a bit worried.

"I always hated those glasses," mused Ben. "Maybe I should join in."

Smash.

"Or just let him work it out on his own," continued Ben.

Robert stuck his head back in the door. "AND YOU LET ME ALLOW HIM INTO OUR HOUSE. OUR HOUSE, BENJAMIN."

Robert slammed the door closed again before Ben could answer.

"Letting him never really entered into it," said Ben dryly, and handed Ethan another glass of water. "Though I do wish I'd spilled something on Mr. Clark. Like acid."

"Good thing you didn't tell Fa about Henry," said Ethan, watching as Robert destroyed another couple of wine glasses.

"Shh," hissed Ben. "I didn't leave Henry out of it just so you could let it slip. Bad enough that you've been scent bonded for the last four years without our knowing about it."

Ben's voice had taken on an edge; Ethan glanced over at him, suddenly wondering just how upset his mother really was. "Mom--"

Robert opened the door again. "I AGREED TO LET HIM BOND OUR SON."

"Yes, but we're the only ones who know about it," said Ben briskly. "So nothing's settled yet."

Robert pointed at Ethan. "Maybe those city alphas have the right idea," he said darkly. "This is what comes of letting your children run about unsupervised."

"Oh, hush, you old fool," said Ben irritably. "If I hadn't run about unsupervised, he wouldn't be here at all, and you know it."

Robert began to splutter helplessly and Ethan's eyes went wide for a moment. "Mom?"

"That's completely beside the point!" protested Robert.

"Only because I'm right and you know it," said Ben. "Now go smash the rest of the wine glasses, please, or I won't have reason to buy ones I actually like. And then we can sit down like calm, rational people and figure out how to get Ethan out of this mess."

Robert stared for a moment, and then slammed the door shut again. Another moment, and Ethan could hear the glass tinkle again, too.

"Calm and rational?" he asked his mother, wishing he could ask about the other thing instead.

"Or at least pretending to be," said Ben dryly.

* * *

THE DAY BEFORE ETHAN'S audition, the announcement appeared in the newspaper.

Mr. Alan Clark to bond with Mr. Ethan Downing. The pair have been seeing each other for the previous two years and are sure to continue making beautiful music with each other as accompaniment.

Reactions from the town varied from shock to outright glee.

"Robbing the cradle a bit, isn't he?"

"Catch 'em while they're young, train 'em up how you like 'em, is what I always say."

"Wasn't he young Ethan's teacher a few years back?"

"Yes, but nothing happened until after Ethan was no longer in school."

"News to me they're together."

"What are you, blind? The way they look at each other during concerts, surprised the town hall didn't catch fire."

"They never kissed once, or so says Alan Clark."

"So noble of him, don't you think? Waiting for Ethan to be ready."

"I think it's splendid, a real romantic story, the way they kept it quiet until after his estrus."

"Won't be so quick to head off into the city now, will you?" said the station master as Ethan waited to board the train for his audition.

"We'll see," said Robert Downing, with gritted teeth and a false smile, and he fumed until the moment the train pulled away.

Ethan didn't dare speak; he held his music on his lap and tried to breathe.

Robert had been furious to learn about Ethan's scent bonding to Alan Clark - he was livid when Alan Clark broke his promise and announced his intentions to the town. And this was livid, for Robert: quiet, seething, unspeakable anger. Robert did not shout or smash Ben's new wine glasses. He did not say terrible things about Alan Clark, though it was clear from the dark looks and the dark pheromones he emitted that he thought them.

In fact, he hadn't said much of anything since they'd seen the announcement in the paper. He'd bit his lip and answered the phone when people called to congratulate them. It couldn't have been a pleasant job; the phone rang constantly that last day, to the point that Ethan found it difficult to work in one last practice before his audition.

"Psychological warfare," said Ben, seething but able to say the things Robert could not.

"It's as if he doesn't actually want you to do well," said Ben, as he tried to block the sound of the phone with towels along the bottom of the studio door.

"And now he has the entire town thinking what a lovely thing this all is," said Ben, "and there's not one damn thing we can do about it."

"We could tell the truth," said Ethan.

Ben scoffed. "The truth. As if anyone wants to believe that."

Ethan sucked in a breath.

"Oh, stop that," scolded Ben. "I believe it. But them?" He waved in the direction of the town green. "What happens if we tell them the truth, Ethan? That you and he have actually been together for four years, not two, and you just barely legal, and still his student? Do you think they'll exonerate you? Of course not - they'll want to know why you didn't come clean before, why you let him seduce you. It'll be a mark on you, Ethan, not him. It'll be your fault, not his. And not only will you never escape it - neither will Jake or Becca."

"Then we say I changed my mind."

"As if that's any better," said Ben, scoffing. He rubbed his temples. "Changing your mind now, when you consented to this relationship for so long - only reinforces the stereotype of a flighty omega who doesn't know his own mind. It might not reflect so badly on your siblings, but you'll be just as marked as if he had bitten you."

Ethan bent his head and curled in toward the piano. "I'm sorry. This is my fault."

Ben sighed. "Yes. And no. Ethan, about tomorrow...."

Ethan's head snapped up. "I'm still going to audition. You can't stop me."

"Good," said Ben. "Don't let him stop you, either."

On the train, Robert fumed silently across from Ethan. It was almost easier to ignore his anger than it would have been to ignore his support, and Ethan went over the music in his mind, letting his fingers dance on the folder on his lap, pretending smoothness and confidence that he didn't actually feel.

It wasn't until they reached the city that Robert spoke.

"Do you want to bond with the man?"

"No," said Ethan, vehemently, without even having to think about it.

"Good," said Robert, satisfied, and returned to his brooding.

And somehow, Ethan felt better - and when he played silently against the folder, he didn't have to pretend quite so hard at the self-assured confidence he didn't quite feel.

* * *

BONDING AGENTS, said the letters on the window of the building around the corner from the conservatory.

"Well, let's go in," said Robert, and Ethan felt a bubble of hope, even better than the quiet pride from having played so well at his audition, and followed his father inside.

* * *

DEAR MR. DOWNING,

Congratulations on your provisional acceptance to the Williams Conservatory of Music. We are happy to hold a place for you for the next academic year, provided that you are bonded before classes resume in September. We look forward to welcoming you as a student.

* * *

"SPLENDID," SAID MR. Clark.

"I'm so very proud of you," said Mr. Clark.

"It means we'll need to bond before September," said Mr. Clark.

"You need to tell him," said Ben, when Mr. Clark kept calling, and smiling at Ethan, and pretending that nothing was wrong.

"I've tried," protested Ethan.

"Try harder," said Ben, grimly, and made sure Jake accompanied Ethan anytime he left the house.

Ethan had tried - or he thought he had.

I've been accepted, I'm going to move to the city.

I know you don't want to go to the city with me. I think we want different things.

I don't see how this relationship can work if I'm gone all of the time.

Mr. Clark didn't seem to hear. Mr. Clark said, Splendid. I'm so proud. We'll need to bond.

"Do you want to bond with the man?" snapped Ben, exasperated, when Mr. Clark began discussing possible bonding dates over the coming summer.

Every time Ethan stepped out of the house, Mr. Clark was there, either in person or just in the way that the rest of the town looked at him, approval and anticipation etched on their faces.

"I don't want to bond with you," said Ethan to his reflection.

"I don't want to bond with you," said Ethan under his breath as he walked along the streets.

I don't want to bond with you, thought Ethan when he ducked into doorways and avoided Alan as much as he could.

It'd been raining for four days nonstop when the sun came out, and the entire world smelled wet and new. Ethan couldn't stand to be in the house for another minute longer, and instead of waiting for Jake to finish his breakfast so he could walk with him to the market, Ethan decided to head off on his own.

So when Mr. Clark caught up with him, halfway across the common, Ethan was thinking his refrain so hard that it slipped out before he could stop it.

"I don't want to bond with you."

The sun slipped behind a cloud. Mr. Clark didn't say anything, and the silence between them stretched thin and cold.

"I don't really see that you have a choice," said Mr. Clark finally, and there was a hard edge to him now, but Ethan ignored it. "Not if you want to start your official training in September."

"There's always a choice," said Ethan stiffly.

Mr. Clark scoffed, and reached for Ethan's hand. Ethan jerked away, but Mr. Clark grabbed his wrist anyway, and held it tightly in his fist. "You made your choice four years ago when you chose me."

"I was a student. Your student. You should have stopped me."

"As I recall telling you at the time, repeatedly, and you refused and rebuffed every effort I made in doing so," said Mr. Clark coolly, and let go of Ethan's wrist. "And you may have been my student - but you were sixteen and of legal age."

"That doesn't mean I knew what I was doing!"

"Didn't you? You were so worried about your last year of school - you wanted to finish. And you knew if you had your estrus, you'd never be allowed. You kissed me, knowing perfectly well what I'd do next. How could you not? You've known all your life what alphas are like."

The sun might have been shining again; Ethan couldn't see it. Mr. Clark loomed over him, his face dark and stormy, eyes narrowed in determination, even if he sounded perfectly reasonable.

Ethan shook his head slowly, feeling his chest heave. "You think I wanted this?"

"I think you wanted time," said Alan Clark, and he actually had the gall to sound calm and rational about it. "One last year of school, a few additional years of training with one of the best pianists in the country, ensuring your admission to your precious conservatory. And I think you saw me as a convenient way of getting it."

Ethan shook his head harder. "No. No. You're the one who took advantage of me."

"I love you," said Mr. Clark.

He might have meant it. It was so simple, so plain - so unadorned with anger or hatred or any of the emotions that Ethan felt surging through him just then. Alan Clark spread out his hands as if to show he had nothing to hide, but Ethan could still feel the sting of his fingers on his wrist.

"It doesn't matter," said Ethan. "I don't want to bond with you. You lied to me, right from the start. You let me think that my estrus not coming was my fault. Or at least not yours, when the entire reason I never had it was because of what you did to me."

Ethan's heart pounded, his stomach rolled - his head felt as if it was trapped in a vise. But somehow, just saying the words felt wonderful - as if the grief and pain and fear and anxiousness were rolling out of his mouth along with what he had been unable to say before.

Mr. Clark's expression didn't change.

"No," he said, simply.

Ethan stared at him. "No?"

"I chose you," said Mr. Clark. "You're mine, you've been mine from the beginning. And you're mine until I say otherwise. You don't get to decide when this is over, Ethan. And it's not over."

Ethan felt the chill right up his spine, and couldn't tear his eyes away. He could barely breathe.

"Not all marks are visible," said Mr. Clark.

"Best remember that," said Mr. Clark.

"We'll have to buy a piano," said Mr. Clark, and just like that, the conversation was closed, as if it had never occurred.

When the bonding profiles began to arrive, Ethan discarded any alpha who sported facial hair. Robert and Ben noticed, he was sure of it, but never said a thing.

* * *

THERE WAS ONE THING, though.

"Henry," said Ethan, startling the boy so much that he jumped and nearly dropped his clarinet.

"Oh, hi, Ethan," said Henry, and smiled at him. It wasn't quite the sweet and carefree smile that Ethan remembered, but Ethan doubted anyone but him would recognize the knowing way that Henry's mouth turned up at the ends. As if Henry had the most delicious secret, and felt a dozen years older for having it. "Is it true? You're leaving the orchestra?"

"Yeah. New season coming up, and what with conservatory starting in September - better to leave you guys now instead of leaving you in the lurch later. Look, Henry, I wanted to tell you--"

"I know, I keep coming in too early in the third movement," said Henry. "I'm working on that. Al-- Mr. Clark is helping me."

Henry rubbed the back of his neck, a bit sheepish; Ethan bit his lip.

"Yeah," said Ethan.

"Anyway, it was nice playing with you. Maybe we'll play together again at the conservatory when I go," said Henry brightly.

Ethan took a deep breath. "You know you can't get in without a bond."

Henry nodded as he continued to put away his clarinet, deftly unscrewing it and arranging it in the case. "Well, yeah. But my mom, she didn't have her estrus until late. I've got a few years to work on my fingering before I have to worry about any of that - and then I'll be ready to take you on!" Henry grinned up at Ethan, all bright cheer and easy confidence.

Ethan remembered that feeling. In the deep dark of night, when he could feel the strange emptiness in his gut, he wished he'd never given it up.

Ethan nodded absently. "Scenting blocks estrus."

Henry fumbled the box of reeds, but managed to catch them before they hit the floor. "I... uh... what?"

"Just thought you should know," said Ethan quietly. He was halfway out of the room before Henry called out to him.

"How did you know?"

Ethan paused. "I can see it. The way you play, compared to the way you played before. It's different. It's easier. I don't know that anyone who didn't remember how it felt would recognize it in you."

And I heard you, he didn't say. I was there in the library that day. I know what he said to you. I know what you said to him. I would have known, even if I hadn't heard it, because I said and he said the same things, four years ago.

Ethan rested his hand on the door to leave, not wanting to hear Henry's protests and denials and tears.

He didn't. Henry's voice, when it came, was confident.

"He said you wouldn't mind. He said it was only a favor, he said he's done it scores of times before." Ethan turned; Henry was standing by his chair, clutching his clarinet's barrel. "We don't all have your talent, you know. I need all the extra time I can get, before the conservatory would even look at me. This is just... buying me the time I need. To be ready. That's all. Just a favor."

Something inside Ethan twisted, just enough to make Henry's words hurt. No way of knowing if Henry was telling the truth - or if he was deluding himself, and Ethan didn't know which was better.

"You know about the scenting," said Ethan, as cool as he could manage. "That's all I need to know."

Ethan turned and left: out of the room, out of the school, into the sunshine, to home, where Antonio Valdez's profile waited for him to read.

|  |

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# Part Four: Antonio

The train to New Belford was moving much too slowly.

Or maybe it was that Antonio was much too anxious. His leg kept bouncing, up-and-down-and-up-and-down, without pause, and he tried to concentrate on the stack of work-related reading he'd brought along with him, but he could barely finish a sentence before glancing out the window, only to stare at the exact same scenery he'd been watching for the previous...

Antonio looked at his watch, and groaned.

Forty minutes. I've only been on this blasted train for forty minutes.

He glared at the trees that weren't speeding along the side of the train half as quickly as he'd have liked, and turned back to the report he'd been trying to read.

Initial output from the Kohlrabi Fields is less than previously expected, but still substantial when compared to those of nearby fields. The cinnamon is of excellent quality, and output is expected to increase when additional trees have reached harvesting age at the end of the month.

Antonio nodded, as if he had any idea what any of that meant, and read the sentence again. And then a third time.

After the fifth try, he gave up and shoved the papers back in his bag, along with all the accompanying charts and graphs and photographs, and pulled the plain brown envelope out and stared at it. There wasn't anything written on it - but Antonio knew exactly what was inside, because he'd watched the papers print out on Larissa's private printer that morning, before she had slipped them inside the envelope and handed it to him.

"I deleted the file," she'd said. "So don't go losing it. I'm not going to write it up a second time."

"Thank you."

Larissa's mouth had dropped open. "Did you just...."

"Yes. Shut up."

"Because I've never heard you actually thank--"

"Can we not mention that again?" said Antonio shortly. "Because I might be sick on your shoes."

"Fuck off," said Larissa, and kicked him out of the office. At least she hadn't been wearing the pointy-toed stilettos when she did it.

Antonio resisted the urge to pull the contract out of the envelope and reread it. Just to make sure it was the right one. And anyway, he knew it was. Had practically hung on Larissa's shoulder while she typed it up, and hovered over the printer, checking every line of every page as the machine spit them out in succession.

The train gave a particularly jerky shake, and Antonio nearly dropped the envelope, before gripping it even tighter than before. He slid the envelope back in his bag, just in case.

And picked up the reports again. Sixth time the charm, maybe.

Initial output from the Kohlrabi Fields is less....

Robert Downing would sign the contract. He'd have to sign it. Ethan would surely be feeling the same things Antonio felt. The strange feeling of being untethered, lost, incomplete. The way nothing tasted right - well, wine, anyway. Did Ethan drink wine? Did Ethan drink at all? He hadn't had anything at the disastrous first meeting, hadn't even stayed long enough to eat. Oh, God. What if Ethan was allergic to everything? What if he was one of those horribly picky eaters that only ate chicken fingers and plain pasta?

Fuck. Antonio would starve.

... output is expected to increase when additional trees....

Unless they hired in. They could hire a cook. Actually, it would make sense. Ethan would appreciate that, wouldn't he? Someone else to cook, allowing Ethan to concentrate on practicing his piano, putting on a good showing for his only year of formal training? That would be the good, proper thing to do, caring for his omega's whims like that. Yes. He'd hire a cook. Maybe a housekeeper. Not that they'd need much housekeeping. Or maybe Ethan liked housekeeping. Some omegas did, they found it soothing. Antonio's Tie Julio loved dusting, he said it helped soothe his nerves while he waited for Tio Eduardo to finishing doing whatever damn fool thing he did in the workshop.

....cost analysis of drills indicates that precision-points would be advantageous but not required at this stage of development....

He'd have to finish the floors before they moved in a piano, though. Hardwood, Antonio decided. Very dark in color - teak? Or red oak. Antonio had seen walnut as well, that was quite nice. How long did it take to put in floors? He'd have to check. Ethan would certainly not want to wait very long for a piano - oh, God, did he have a piano? Was Antonio going to have to buy a piano? He didn't have a clue about pianos.

The train began to slow down. Antonio glanced out the window, and saw the signs flashing by the platform, and when he recognized the name of his destination, his heart gave a sudden, fluttery jump in his chest. How had the time flown by so quickly? Antonio wasn't half done with worrying about what needed to happen before he brought Ethan home, and now it was too late.

Antonio quickly shoved his work papers back in the bag, and hurried to exit the compartment, wishing his stomach would stop heaving.

He was there. Gracias a Dios.

And please, he thought, don't let me throw up.

* * *

THE TOWN WASN'T EXACTLY tiny - from the way Ethan had gone on about it, Antonio fully expected that he'd be able to walk to Ethan's house from the train station in less than five minutes, with time to stop for a latte along the way.

It'd occurred to him halfway through the journey that in a town that small, there probably wouldn't be anywhere to buy a latte, much less someone who actually knew how to make a proper one.

As it turned out, the entire theory was moot. Antonio took one step outside the train station, and snorted to himself before looking for the nearest taxi. Just the fact that there were three of them waiting was proof enough that the town was big enough to warrant them. Granted, all the drivers looked bored out of their minds, but at least they existed.

The ride to Ethan's house took fifteen minutes - though to be fair, five of those minutes were spent waiting at red lights where there was no cross traffic anyway. And Antonio saw at least six places to purchase coffee - though three of them were McDonald's.

Mostly, he concentrated on breathing. Breathing was good. Breathing was important. Breathing kept him from having a panic attack in the backseat of the taxi.

By the time the taxi pulled up to Ethan's house, Antonio was fairly confident that his heart wasn't actually going to leap straight out of his chest and take off running back to the train station.

"Can you wait?" Antonio asked the driver. "And if they don't slam the door in my face, can you come back in, say... half an hour?"

"I'm going to have to run the meter," the driver warned him. Antonio had no doubt the man had taken note of the cut of his suit - he might have just been a taxi driver in the middle of nowhere, but quality was still quality.

"That's fine," said Antonio, and gave the man a twenty anyway.

"Good luck," said the driver.

Ethan's house was set back from the road. There was a long, somewhat meandering stepping-stone path leading from the sidewalk to the front door, with the stones placed close enough that Antonio could at least walk normally down them.

Or as normally as he could. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance again, just as he had nearly a week previously upon meeting Ethan the first time. He couldn't take his eyes off the front door - double, black, rather imposing and thick and surely incredibly heavy. Perfectly respectable for a fortress, a bit ridiculous for a suburban house. There were flowers and rose bushes along the house, under the windows, and two rather leafy trees in the yard on either side of the stone pathway, with a child's bicycle lying under one of them.

There was movement at a window. Antonio's heart stuttered in his chest. He didn't dare look anywhere but the door. Eyes on the door. Focus on the door. Aim for the door. Just get... to... the... fucking... door.

He was standing at the door.

Antonio breathed in deep, and rang the bell. It echoed inside the house - and then there was an eruption of feet pounding, with muffled excited shouts, before the door opened to reveal... Ethan.

Antonio stared in shock. Veronica might not have thought that Ethan would have noticed their scenting, but it had to have affected him somehow, because Antonio could tell that the week had not been kind to Ethan. Male omegas were supposed to age quite a lot slower than other males or omegas, but it looked as if Ethan had aged twenty years in a single week. His skin appeared looser, with dark circles just visible under eyes that were tired and stressed. He held onto the door warily, almost shielding himself with it, fully prepared to slam it shut again, as if whoever was on the step might attack. Even his hair was showing bits of grey at the temples.

Antonio tried to speak. His mouth opened and closed several times as he swallowed. Ethan tipped his head curiously, as if he wasn't so much startled as... well, curious.

"Ethan," he finally managed to say, and Ethan lifted his eyebrows.

"He's with a student," said Ethan in a voice that wasn't his own. A different pitch, a different tone, and with all the gentle amusement one could imagine. And sure enough, Antonio could hear the piano now, somewhere in the back of the house, and looking closer at the man holding the door, he could see the lines etched along his face. "I'm his mother."

Antonio let out all the air that had stayed stuffed inside his chest, probably for the last sixteen hours, ever since he'd come up with his mad plan and forced Larissa to comply, before boarding a train to the country.

"You're Antonio, aren't you?" continued Ethan's mother.

Antonio could only nod.

"You'd better come in," he said, and opened the door to let him inside.

* * *

ANTONIO CONSIDERED himself very well traveled, and as a very-well traveled person, he believed he could find himself to be at home in nearly any situation or location, whether it was high tea with royalty, or sitting on a dirt floor in a mud hut in Africa. He had complete confidence in his ability to go somewhere entirely foreign, negotiate the smallest details with grace and skill, and have everyone come out feeling pleased with the result.

Ethan's house was perhaps the most chaotic place he had ever attempted to have a conversation. Which isn't to say it was unpleasant in the least - he sat in the living room, on a chintz sofa that had clearly seen a dozen years and a few juice-filled sippy cups too many. The sofa was so soft and squishy that Antonio wondered if it'd been made of quicksand.

The house wasn't exactly quiet, either. Apart from the piano playing - not Ethan, was Antonio's guess, given how many notes were frequently misplayed - he could hear the shouts and crashes from other children playing in some unseen room. There was a television somewhere playing the day's football game, and in the corner of the room, the continuous squeaking of a hamster wheel, as the tiny beast completed its mid-day exercises.

On top of that, the whirring of some machine in the nearby kitchen, as Ethan's mother worked to make lunch or dinner or something. Antonio didn't know, but he could smell something delicious baking.

It wasn't that Antonio minded the chaos. By itself, Antonio couldn't have cared less about the chaos.

No, what was making Antonio uncomfortable was the man sitting on the armchair opposite him. The chair had been moved specifically so its occupant could face him directly - Antonio had watched Robert Downing move it himself, adjusting it as necessary, before settling in it and staring intently at Antonio, a bit like he was slowly determining which body part he was going to remove first.

Antonio found swallowing intensely difficult. Antonio found breathing intensely difficult.

Somewhere, in the back of the house, Antonio heard the piano player trip over the notes, and then he or she must have changed places, because there was a perfectly played phrase, so smooth and lovely that it could only be Ethan, showing whoever had no idea what they were doing how it was done properly.

It was enough. Antonio took a breath. He could do this. All he had to do was start the conversation, because if he could just get Robert Downing to stop glowering at him, and talk, Antonio was sure they could come to a resolution.

Antonio opened his mouth, ready to speak - but before he could say a word, a thundering horde of children came racing through - half a dozen at least, all shouting and hollering and paying no heed to the stranger on the sofa, save for one pigtailed girl of medium height, who stopped and stared at him for a moment, before dashing off to rejoin the others.

By the time they'd cleared the room, Antonio had not only lost his nerve, but realized that Robert Downing's stony expression hadn't changed one bit. The terrible piano playing had begun again - start and stop and missed notes, and even Antonio could tell that the rhythm was completely off, so badly that he wanted to wince.

Robert didn't move a muscle.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," said Benjamin Downing, appearing at Antonio's elbow, as he set a tray down on the coffee table. "Here's the lemonade. Are you hungry? I've been making zucchini bread."

Antonio looked gratefully at Ben. Now that Antonio realized it was him, and not Ethan aged twenty years too soon, he thought that Ben actually looked quite good for his age, and not nearly as much like Ethan as Antonio had previously thought. For one thing, Ethan's hair was a much darker shade of red, nearly brown if the light wasn't hitting it, whereas Ben Downing's hair, though starting the inevitable slide to grey, was still red on top. He looked tired, yes - but there were just as many laugh lines around his mouth as there were lines around his eyes, and he moved with a quick step that spoke of a man accustomed to being extremely busy and was extremely competent at being extremely busy.

And Ben didn't seem the least bit perturbed to have Antonio in his house. Or likely to poison him with zucchini bread. Then again, he could have just been polite about it. Unlike Robert, who hadn't stopped glaring since he'd first seen Antonio in his home.

Ben handed a glass of lemonade to his mate, who took it without even looking at it. "Robbie, stop glowering. You're scaring the poor boy."

"Good," said Robert, gripping the glass.

"Behave," scolded Ben, and he rapped the top of Robert's head with his knuckles, exactly as if he was one of the children. He turned to Antonio. "It's quite nice to meet you, Antonio. I didn't think I would. Did you have a pleasant trip out here?"

"Yes," said Antonio, mostly because he couldn't actually remember a minute of it.

"Oh, good. And what brings you here?"

There was a particularly terrible wrong note from the piano. The thundering herd of children raced through the living room again. Neither Downing parent even blinked; instead, they focused on Antonio, Ben expectant, and Robert stormy.

Antonio wondered how on earth they managed to think at all. He could barely keep his mind on the issue at hand. He thought longingly of the quiet Sunday afternoons in his parents' apartment, where no one spoke a word, and he could hear a pin drop across the entire length of the corridor. If only the wretched, terrible piano player would stop playing....

The piano stopped playing.

And then there was the sound of a door opening, and someone young and upset talking.

"I'm terrible, I'm just getting worse."

"Oh, stop that," said Ethan, soothingly. "You're doing much better, Mabel, you just have to keep--"

Ethan's words died off as he entered the living room and saw Antonio. He stopped in the doorway and stared at him, his mouth half open in surprise, and Antonio sprang to his feet, his heart suddenly hammering away in his chest, breathing hard, and unable to look anywhere else.

"Who's that?" asked Mabel.

"No one," said Ben quickly - a bit too quickly, from the side-eye Mabel gave him, it was clear she didn't believe him. "Go find your siblings."

The last time Antonio had seen Ethan - and really seen Ethan, not just in a dream - he'd been on the train car, flushed with bright eyes, tousled hair. Antonio hadn't wanted to leave him, had wanted to wrap his arms around him, bury his head in Ethan's neck, breathe in the scent of his skin, stay next to him until the last possible moment. Looking back, Antonio wondered if his memory had been tainted by the newly shared scents. Looking at Ethan now, he doubted it, because now, even a week later, Antonio's reaction was just as strong as it had been on the train.

Ethan was beautiful. And Antonio wanted him, all of him, every bit of him. Just seeing the shock on Ethan's face, the way the flush rose to his cheeks - and the way Ethan's scent, rich and thick, permeated the room, told Antonio that the feeling was mutual.

Even beyond that, Ethan looked all the more delicious for being exactly the opposite of Antonio. Where Antonio was wearing his best suit, Ethan wore jeans that were ripped at the knees, worn and old and soft, and a plain tee-shirt that might have seen a few too many washes. Antonio wore the finest leather shoes; Ethan wore a pair of sneakers that might have been better suited for the garden than inside the house. Antonio had spent far too long styling his hair to be exactly perfect - Ethan's hair was just as tousled and unkempt as it had been on the train.

Ethan held onto the doorframe, as if he needed the support, and Antonio could see his throat contract as he swallowed. Antonio had to concentrate very hard not to walk straight over to him, toss him over his shoulder, and carry him to the nearest bedroom, where they could continue where they'd left off a week before.

"What," started Ethan, and then swallowed when his voice squeaked. He flushed even harder, and Antonio tried not to think it was adorable. "What are you doing here?"

Antonio scrambled into his bag, and pulled out the envelope. "I have the bonding contracts. To sign."

"Absolutely not," said Robert Downing, angrily, and Antonio heard the armchair scrape against the floor as it was shoved backwards; undoubtedly Robert was up on his feet. Antonio couldn't tear his eyes away from Ethan long enough to check, and besides, he had a very good feeling that Ben would do his best to keep Robert from killing him outright. "I told you last week. We won't sign anything that includes that blasted fertility clause...."

"And I'm sure he remembers that," said Ben, soothing but firm. "Let the boy talk, Robbie."

Ethan's fingers were growing white on the doorframe. He looked wary, and hopeful, and scared to death, all at once, and his lips opened, just enough that Antonio could see his teeth, but he made no move to speak. Instead, he looked right at Antonio, as if waiting.

"Then you'll never sign any contract, from anyone," said Antonio, and when Ethan's eyes widened, and his mouth closed tightly, he couldn't help take the step forward. "It's standard language. You have to include it or the contract is invalid. Anyone's contract. It's the law."

"It's ridiculous," snapped Robert. "Our contract had no such thing in it."

Ethan's eyes darted away from Antonio for just a moment, to somewhere over his shoulder.

"Ah," said Ben, apologetically. "Robert. Dear."

Antonio turned to look at Ethan's parents. Robert Downing stared at his mate, completely flabbergasted.

"But.... what?"

Ben raised both his hands in defense. "Well, it wasn't as if you were paying attention! Or as if either of our families would have contested it regardless. Anyway, Ethan was born eight months later, so it hardly matters."

"Eight months?" exclaimed Ethan. "You always said I was two weeks late coming."

"Hush," said Ben firmly.

Robert seemed to rally quickly. "Your father was an honorable man. I'm not so sure about his."

Antonio supposed he probably should have had a surge of filial loyalty... but he couldn't really argue with Robert. "That's why I have a new contract for you, sir. Read it. Please. I think you'll approve of the new terms."

Robert snatched the envelope out of Antonio's hand, and frowning, skimmed the document quickly, with Ben unashamedly peering over his shoulder. He turned the pages rapidly, before finding the pertinent clause, at which point his eyes widened. It was obvious he was reading it a second, and then a third time, almost mouthing the words as he went, before looking up at Antonio.

"Fa?" asked Ethan.

Ben, upon reading it, covered his mouth with his hand and began to chuckle.

"This is a typo," Robert said flatly.

"I assure you, it is not."

"Fa." Ethan was growing agitated, but didn't move from the doorframe.

"Do you realize what this means for you?" demanded Robert to Antonio. "What you may be giving up?"

"I do, sir."

"Fa!" shouted Ethan.

Robert walked to his son and handed him the contract. "Read it for yourself."

Antonio watched Ethan read; he could tell the moment Ethan reached the pertinent clause. Ethan began to blink rapidly, glancing up at Antonio as if he couldn't quite believe him, before reading it another time.

"You... it says ninety-nine years," said Ethan, dazed. "It says we have ninety-nine years before you can leave me for infertility."

"I thought that would be enough," said Antonio.

Ethan let out a laugh. "Enough? That's... that's ridiculous, Antonio."

Antonio shrugged. "I can't remove the clause. I can only change the number of years it requires. I would have said a hundred, but there's only room for two digits, so...."

Ethan marched across the room and shoved the contract onto Antonio's chest. "This is stupid. We can't sign this."

Antonio stared at him. Ethan's hands were warm and wide on his chest, his long fingers pressing into his suit coat. And the smell of him - the sweet yeast of him, curling around Antonio's nose, better than any scent memory could possibly be. Antonio's head swam with it; all Antonio wanted to do was lean in and kiss him. He thought he might - but Ethan looked so distraught and upset that Antonio had the idea that a kiss would be the least welcome thing he could do. "I'm sorry if it doesn't meet your standards, but it's the best I can do."

Ethan shook his head wildly. "But... what if I don't get pregnant? What if I never get pregnant? Don't you want kids, Antonio? If you sign this contract - it means you'd be stuck with me. Can you honestly tell me you're okay with that?"

"Look," said Antonio, annoyed. Ethan smelled so fucking good, and Antonio was aching, and God, if the stupid man would just listen. "I travel a lot for work. I'm always gone, I'm always working, I never had brothers and sisters so I'm not even sure what it's like to have kids around. I couldn't care less about having kids. I can't imagine what living with one would be like, much less being responsible for one. If you want kids, Ethan, that's fine, that's great, we'll have half a dozen, however many you want. I'm sure I'll love them and all that. But if you don't - well, that's fine too, I really don't give a shit. I know you want to do this thing with your piano, and I think you should, you're fantastic, I've listened to your song twenty times a day since you gave me the CD, I've got the damn thing memorized, I could probably play it for you myself if I knew how to play something. But kids have nothing to do with why I want you, Ethan. Nothing."

Ethan's fingers clutched at Antonio's coat for a moment, before opening and closing, as if trying to figure out if he wanted to keep arguing or not. The contract fluttered to the floor, pages scattering - but just then, Antonio couldn't be bothered with their safety, because at some point during Antonio's speech, Ethan had moved and now stood chest-to-chest with Antonio. His mouth worked, as if he was trying to say something.

"I," said Ethan, his eyes a bit glazed.

"You're wrinkling my coat," said Antonio.

"Damn your coat," said Ethan, and pulled Antonio down for a kiss.

"Ooooooo," chorused a crowd of children at the door - Mabel returned with her siblings, Antonio had no doubt - and somewhere beyond that, Antonio could hear Ben scolding and shooing them away.

"All right, you two," said Ben, amused, much closer now, and Ethan was the first to break the kiss, eyes bright and lips wet. His breath was steady and deep and quick, and he couldn't take his eyes off Antonio, for all that he seemed just a touch embarrassed to have been kissing him, and right in front of his parents. "A little bit of propriety, please, the contract's not signed yet."

Ethan laughed, just a bit. "Sorry, Mom."

Ethan tried to pull away, but Antonio tightened his grip. Having Ethan pressed this close to him - there was little chance he was going to let him get away so easily. If that meant fighting off every Downing relative while dragging Ethan to the train station - well, so be it.

"Mr. Downing...."

"Enough," said Robert Downing, from somewhere below. Antonio looked down, surprised to see Robert Downing as he stood up from where he'd been leaning over the coffee table, and was shocked to see the man cap his pen before throwing it on the contract, a bit crumpled now, but otherwise intact. "I assume you meant it. What you said, about it being Ethan's choice."

Antonio saw the scrawl on the paper, and knew immediately what it meant. "Yes sir." I've won.

"And your father is all right with this?"

"It was more a matter of ensuring that you signed it at all, sir," said Antonio, which neatly dodged that particular concern.

Robert snorted. "Well. I've signed my part of it, anyway. I'll expect word once your father signs his."

"Absolutely," agreed Antonio, taking up the contract and slipping it back into the envelope. He couldn't help the grin on his face. "We'll send a copy, too, once it's been certified. Ethan--" Antonio turned to Ethan, practically bursting with relief and pride and wanting. "Our train leaves in an hour, do you want help packing?"

Ethan blinked at him for a moment - shock, thought Antonio, and couldn't blame him. It had all happened so fast - and here he'd been thinking he'd told the cab driver to come back too soon.

And then pandemonium, as all of the Downings began to talk at once.

"Absolutely not!" roared Robert.

"But you haven't even had lunch!" cried Ben.

"Ethan!" wailed a girl, perhaps eight, as she flung herself from the hallway where every single child in the known universe had been spying, straight into Ethan's stomach. She wrapped arms and legs around him, buried her head in his shirt, and continued sobbing. "You can't go, you haven't taught me the end to the bumblebee song."

Ethan pressed his lips together, still looking at Antonio, but it wasn't shock in his eyes anymore.

It was laughter.

"Kara, it's okay," he said as he gently unwound the little girl from his legs. "I'm not going anywhere today."

Antonio frowned. "I told the cab to come back so we can go to the station."

"Then you can untell him," snapped Robert, growing red in the face, and throwing off so many alpha pheromones that it took every ounce of willpower for Antonio not to respond by lashing out in anger.

Ethan gaped at him. "You took a cab here?"

"Of course I did," said Antonio impatiently.

"It's not as though he knew the way, Ethan," said Ben reasonably - the only reasonable person in the entire room, thought Antonio wryly. "Which cabbie was it?"

Antonio frowned. "I don't know, yellow cab, brown hair, beta?"

"Tom Williams," said Ben, already heading for the kitchen. "I'll call and cancel."

Antonio thought he might revise the term reasonable. "We do have to go back to the city, if my father's going to sign the contract."

"You will go back, yes," said Robert, still thunderous. "Ethan will stay here until the contract is signed. If you think for one moment that I'm going to let my boy be alone with you until everything is above-board and proper, considering what happened the last time we met, then...."

Antonio sucked in a breath. Dios mio, he thought wildly, he knows about the scenting. He's going to kill me, that's why they're cancelling the cab.

"Fa," said Ethan quickly, glancing back and forth between his father and Antonio.

Robert took a breath. "Once I see that Hector has signed the contract, Ethan will go to the city."

Antonio frowned. "You'd send him there alone?"

"I could go to the city alone," protested Ethan, and was ignored.

Robert snorted. "Of course he won't be alone. I'll be with him, I want to see the signed contract myself."

Ben came back into the room. "All done," he said brightly. "Antonio, you'll stay for dinner, won't you?"

Antonio shook his head. "I have to catch a train back to the city, before my parents... before evening. They'll expect me for dinner."

"Next time, then," he said. "I'll just pack you a sandwich - don't refuse, I insist."

"Even if you refuse," said Ethan dryly, "he'll still find a way to send you with one. It's not worth the argument."

"I was going to take the rapacious horde out of the house so that certain people could have some privacy without them spying on you," said Ben to the ceiling. "But perhaps not."

"Mom makes a great sandwich," said Ethan dutifully, and Antonio grinned at him.

"Better," said Ben. "And after Ethan shows you the house, Antonio, he can walk you back to the station."

Antonio frowned. "But the cab...."

Ben laughed, and patted Antonio's cheek. "I'll just go make your sandwiches."

Robert remained in the room, staring at the two of them. Antonio began to wonder if they were going to have a chaperone for their entire afternoon, until Robert finally spoke.

"Brave thing, coming here."

Ethan went a bit tense in Antonio's arms; Antonio wasn't entirely sure why it made him feel more protective, or why he turned just enough to stand a bit in between the two of them. "The only thing to be done, sir."

"Hmm." Robert appeared to be sizing Antonio up, and then he gave a brisk nod. "Jake can take you back to the station."

"I can take him," said Ethan quickly.

Robert frowned. "Are you sure--?"

Ethan shook his head. "He's gone this week, remember? Some kind of training. It's fine, Fa. We'll be fine."

Robert pressed his lips together, clearly not put at ease. "All right," he said finally. "Come straight home afterwards."

Robert gave Antonio another assessing nod, and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ethan let out a deep sigh, and slumped against Antonio, as if exhausted. Antonio looked down, suddenly worried. "Are you all right?"

"He signed it," mumbled Ethan into Antonio's chest, and pressed in close. "I can't believe... I didn't think... I wasn't sure...."

"I told you I'd find a way."

"I know, but...." Ethan exhaled slowly, and then squeezed Antonio hard. "Just.. never mind. It's not important, not anymore. When does your train leave?"

"An hour."

Ethan pulled away and looked up at him. "Don't suppose you want to help me pack?"

Antonio laughed, but he could see the almost desperate look in Ethan's eyes. "You've got time. And I'm sure my mother will arrange for movers to come and fetch whatever you want to bring, all you'll need for tomorrow is a few changes of clothing."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "We'll need clothing?"

Antonio felt his stomach drop out. "No," he said, a bit huskily, and then bent his head toward Ethan's, letting their foreheads touch. "Ethan," he whispered, hoarse. "Can I... please, can I...?"

"Yes," whispered Ethan, and Antonio let his head fall further forward, until his mouth and nose were tucked up against the crook of Ethan's neck, breathing him in deeply, filling his lungs and arms and head and cock with the delicious scent of Ethan.

Ethan's fingers threaded through Antonio's hair as Antonio nipped and sucked and kissed the skin on Ethan's neck. Antonio could feel his pulse, rapid and light, a small rabbit about to dart away, for all that Ethan gripped him firmly. Ethan sighed under him, melting against him, and Antonio reluctantly pulled back to kiss him once, chastely, on the lips.

Chaste. Not quite what he wanted, but somehow, holding back was even more thrilling than letting go.

"I wish you were coming back with me."

Ethan pressed his lips together, and nodded, a bit hesitant. Antonio frowned.

"Ethan, you... you do want to come back with me?"

"Yes," said Ethan quickly. "Oh, God, yes, but... I didn't expect to go to the city today, when I woke up this morning. It's almost too fast."

Antonio smiled. "Just as well, then, that your father is overprotective."

"Protective," said Ethan. "I'm not sure about over."

"My father is..." Antonio paused. "Not entirely unreasonable. When he realizes that your father has agreed to the terms, he'll sign. He won't even look twice at the document."

If I'm truly lucky, thought Antonio, he won't even look once.

Ethan nodded. "Let me show you the piano. Come on."

Ethan pulled him out of the living room and down a hall lined with photographs - family portraits, snapshots, collages of various vacations and reunions and occasions. Graduations and bondings and people standing next to each other in what was clearly a church-like setting, the women wearing conservative dresses and the men wearing small hats on their heads. Interspersed with the photographs were elaborately decorated certificates, detailing trees and names and dates, along with markings Antonio didn't recognize.

"Ketubahs," explained Ethan, as Antonio slowed to examine them. "Bonding certificates. Don't your parents have one?"

"If they do, they don't display it. I doubt it's as fancy as any of these."

Ethan shrugged. "I'm sure Mom will have one for us made. If you want."

Antonio nodded absently; he wasn't sure he did, or where they'd hang it, but he didn't dare say it to Ethan, in case it was important. And anyway, it wasn't as if there was anywhere they could hang anything, just yet; none of the walls in the unfinished apartment were painted.

"What are the letters?" he asked, his fingers hovering over the glass.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Hebrew." He frowned. "You did know we're Jewish, right?"

"Yes, of course I did," said Antonio, managing to sound highly affronted.

Ethan just looked amused. "No, you didn't."

Antonio scowled at him, which only made Ethan grin. "You don't seem very Jewish."

"Well," said Ethan cheerfully, "you don't seem very Latino."

"Wait until Christmas," Antonio promised him, and then frowned. "Unless Christmas is a problem."

"Only if we put the tree too close to the menorah and have our own forest fire." Ethan glanced at him. "Do you have a tree? I always wanted a tree."

"There's a tree."

"Good." Ethan pointed to a family portrait. "Here's the family at Jake's bar mitzvah."

It was a much smaller group of people than Antonio would have anticipated. Robert and Ben were just the same, but Ethan was perhaps five years younger in the photograph, a gangly and rather pimply-faced teenager with hair that stuck out at all angles, despite having what must have been an entire bottle of product slathered into it. Antonio couldn't help but grin.

"Is that you?"

"Forget it," said Ethan, suddenly realizing his mistake, and he tried to pull Antonio away, but Antonio couldn't be budged.

"Thank God you grew up," said Antonio, and peered at the photograph. "Why aren't all of you here?"

"That is all of us. Immediate family, anyway. Me, my parents, Jake - he's seventeen now - and Becca." Ethan pointed to his siblings in turn. Jake had brighter hair than Ethan, with a shawl and a studious, serious expression on his face, and then there was Becca - perhaps the same age as Kara of the bumblebee song, and a bright, friendly, open grin on her face. They were all dressed in what must have been their best clothes, standing close together. A perfect little family.

Antonio frowned. "But there's a dozen children in this house."

Ethan let out a peal of laughter. "Wait - you thought all of them were my siblings? Oh, God, no. About half of them are cousins, some of them are here for piano lessons, and the rest... I don't know, they just come along. My mom will feed anyone who shows up, he's terrible. Is that why you thought I'd want a dozen kids?"

"I didn't know!" said Antonio, defensive, as Ethan pulled him along the hall. "I don't have siblings, and it's not like there's anything else to do out in the middle of nowhere...."

"Stop right there, please," said Ethan firmly, but his eyes were smiling. "My mother had exactly three heats in his lifetime and that's an illusion I'd like to keep, thanks."

They reached the end of the hall; there was a set of double-doors, with window-panes backed with thin muslin for privacy. Ethan pushed them open. "Here it is."

The room was small, bright with sunshine that streamed in the windows on all sides. It was clearly a room for all things - toys were strewn on the floor, a sewing machine was set up against one wall, with a computer on a desk nearby. There was a table in the center of the room, with a model train set on top, and against the far wall, an upright piano, its wooden sides battered and in some places, covered in stickers, with sheet music set on the stand.

"That's it?" asked Antonio, surprised. "Not what I expected."

Ethan laughed. "What, you were expecting a room all to myself, with a baby grand in the middle?"

"Yes," said Antonio simply, and he went to the piano. "Did you write your song on this?"

"Of course, where else?" Ethan slid onto the bench. "Did... did you really listen to it every day?"

"Of course." Antonio sat next to him, so that they were lightly touching. Sitting with his back to the controlled chaos of the room, Antonio was able to focus on the searing heat from Ethan's skin through his clothes. The house was quiet here, with just the faint sounds of Ethan's breaths. Antonio's skin prickled just from the sense memory of that breath on him, and he leaned closer, his nose just inches away from his hair. He breathed in Ethan's scent - shampoo and salt and sweat and something else too, that made Antonio's breath hitch, his stomach clench, and embarrassingly, his cock suddenly thick in his pants.

Ethan didn't move away, though Antonio could see the flush rise on the back of his neck, and heard his breath grow a bit quicker. "Antonio," he whispered, and Antonio took it as invitation to reach up and draw his fingers down the slight curve of Ethan's neck. Ethan's eyes closed as he exhaled, and Antonio resisted the urge to rest his lips alongside his fingers.

"Will you bring the piano with you?"

"I don't know," said Ethan, his voice distant at first. "I mean - Fa hasn't said anything except he'll make sure I have something, but this was Mom's piano before it was mine. Still is, I guess. I don't think he's going to want to give it up. And anyway, he's going to take over my lessons when I go, so he'll need something to play."

Antonio nodded; it was a question for Robert, then, and one that could be handled over the phone later. "Play for me?"

Ethan ducked his head; at first, Antonio thought it was shyness, and then he saw Ethan worrying his lower lip and knew it for indecision. "I should," said Ethan under his breath, "or they'll send the squad in after us."

Antonio chuckled, and after a moment, Ethan lifted his hands to the keys, resting them lightly, before the music began.

It wasn't any of the songs he'd included on the CD, and Antonio couldn't read music, but he didn't think Ethan was playing the song that was laid out on the stand. The notes sounded strange, ominous, a bit too much like the beating of a stuttering heart, then growing in intensity, closer together, as if trying to form a frightening refrain....

It took Antonio far too long to recognize it, and then he started to chuckle.

"Peter and the wolf," he said, naming the music he hadn't heard since he was a child.

"And you're the wolf," said Ethan, playfully.

Antonio laughed, and leaned in to laugh against Ethan's skin. The music changed a bit, became brighter, more cheerful, a march of the conquering heroes as it segued into some other refrain from the musical. "No wolf here," Antonio promised.

"Says you. I feel a bit like the duck."

"I don't remember the story."

"The wolf eats the duck," explained Ethan, continuing to play, and Antonio would be impressed at how steady his hands were on the keys, considering how Ethan's voice shook. "Swallows him so quickly that you can still hear him quacking in the wolf's stomach."

Antonio caught the side of Ethan's face, turning him so they faced each other. "See then?" Antonio whispered, watching Ethan's eyes go wide, his pupils dilated and the flush threatening to consume his entire face. "The duck's all right in the end."

"Funny definition of all right," countered Ethan, but the words were lost when Antonio kissed him. The music clattered to an end as Ethan's hands slipped on the keys.

That'll alert someone, thought Antonio wryly, and decided to make the most of their time before they were interrupted.

Kissing Ethan was almost worse than not kissing him - because now, with Ethan under his hands, pressed to his chest, the clean flavor of him on his tongue - now, Antonio couldn't imagine stopping. And he needed to stop - he shouldn't push up against Ethan just as hard as Ethan pushed into him; he shouldn't be desperate to taste the soft skin of Ethan's inner cheeks, run his tongue along his teeth and feel the hot breath against his own.

He damn well shouldn't touch the skin along Ethan's side, where it was soft and smooth, just to hear Ethan's quick gasp, to feel Ethan squirm as his fingers slid along the curve of his ribcage. Ethan was so fucking smooth, so slender despite the thin layer of softness under that skin. They were tangled next to each other on the bench, with the piano too close to really move against each other, or Antonio would have lifted Ethan up and set him on his lap, all the better to wrap his arms around him, to nuzzle into Ethan's neck, to smell the scent and skin right where he would bite him, mark him, in another day, or two at the most....

"Antonio! Your sandwich is ready!" called Ben from somewhere in the house. His voice echoed down the hallway, as if he'd purposefully announced his presence long before he could have possibly walked in on them.

Antonio decided, then and there, that he was going to like his mother-in-law. Sandwich quality be damned.

Ethan pushed against Antonio, breathing hard. He stared at him, a little bit lost, and Antonio wanted to fall into that hungry look in Ethan's eyes, the way his lips were open, his entire body trembling.

"The door's not locked," Ethan called back, a bit dazed.

"Imagine that," replied Ben, exactly as if he were humoring them. "Come on, you don't want Antonio to miss his train."

"Don't I," muttered Ethan, and then took a deep breath. "You have to go."

"I know."

"I don't want to let you go."

Antonio closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Ethan's. "It's only a day. You'll be on the train tomorrow."

"I don't get it," continued Ethan, frustrated. "This is so much more than... I didn't think it would feel this way."

"What way?" asked Antonio.

"Wanting you." Ethan took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm not like this usually. I'm a very calm, controlled person."

Antonio grinned to himself, certain that Ethan probably couldn't see it, not from his angle. And even if he did - he would never have quite interpreted the reason. Not if he hadn't already figured out about the scenting - and anyway, there was no telling that it was the reason Ethan was behaving so irrationally.

Not that Antonio minded. His hand was still on Ethan's side, he could still feel Ethan's stomach rise and fall from exertion, and Antonio relished the warmth of it, wondered if Ethan's skin was so smooth all the way down. It was tempting to push him back against the piano and find out.

"I'm coming down the hallway now!" called Ben, and Ethan chuckled, before half-heartedly trying to shove Antonio away. Antonio took pity on him, and moved back enough to see Ethan's face.

"Will your parents object if I kiss you goodbye?"

Ethan snorted. "Now you're asking?"

"I mean, in front of them, before I go."

"I'm walking you to the station, remember," Ethan reminded him. "I don't think they'd even know."

Antonio frowned. "But if you walk me to the station, how will you get home?"

Ethan's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Walk back, obviously."

"There you are," said Ben from the door, and he walked into the room with a cheerful step. "What a terribly long hallway that is, I never noticed before."

"Mom," groaned Ethan.

"Tuck your shirt in, dear," said Ben absently. "And go run a brush through your hair, it looks terrible." Ben waited for a moment. "Well? Go on."

Ethan glanced at Antonio, fear - or at least apprehension - in his eyes.

"I won't bite him," said Ben, a bit exasperated, and Ethan somehow managed to untangle himself from the piano bench before leaving the room, unable to stop looking over his shoulder as he went.

Antonio straightened his back and watched as Ben busied himself in the room, picking up toys and blocks and things, and putting them away. He knew what was coming - some impassioned speech about how Ethan was young and sweet and how Antonio would have to treat him well. Antonio rehearsed his answers.

"I hope you like turkey and avocado?" Ben asked casually.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good, there's an apple in there too, and a letter to your mother. I was seventeen, you know."

Antonio frowned. "What?"

"When I had my first estrus. Robert and I bonded less than a year later." Ben paused by the window, looking out.

Antonio swallowed, wondering why Ben was telling him this. "That's a bit late for male omegas, isn't it?"

"Only by a year or two. Ethan is quite lucky. Every extra year was a blessing for him. Especially for him. I never much cared about school, apart from the piano, but... Ethan was different." Ben sighed, and moved away from the window to continue cleaning up the debris in the room. "You do realize he won't change his mind about attending the conservatory or performing in public."

"I didn't really think he would."

"Didn't you?" asked Ben mildly. "Oh, I heard what you said before Robbie signed the contract. Lovely words."

"I meant them," said Antonio, a bit stiffly, but Ben didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sure you did," said Ben, but it didn't sound as if he said it to soothe Antonio's rising ire. "And I suppose your father will sign a contract that gives away the possibility of grandchildren, will he?"

Antonio clenched his teeth together for a moment. "He will."

"He damn well should," said Ben, and with those words, something about him changed. Ben wasn't the soft and sweet push-over parent any longer. The resemblance to Ethan became more pronounced - particularly the narrowed look in his eyes, the way he focused solidly on Antonio - not with lust or desire, but with determination and a barely concealed intention of making sure Antonio did exactly as he promised.

It wasn't just the resemblance to Ethan that gave Antonio pause, either. There was something of Yolanda Veracruz de Valdez there, too. A motherly instinct, perhaps, or just Antonio's imagination - but Antonio wasn't about to cross it, either way.

"Because there can never be another alpha to match you now," continued Ben. "He'll have to have you, and if he can't, he won't have another. You've ruined him."

Antonio jerked, and held his breath. Ben couldn't know about the scenting... could he? Veronica hadn't known, not until they'd kissed. And even then, it had taken all the clues at her disposal.

"If I've besmirched Ethan's honor, it was not done intentionally," said Antonio.

Ben snorted. "There's more at stake here than you realize, Antonio Valdez Veracruz."

Ethan appeared at the door. He had a brown paper sack in his hand, and his shirt was neatly tucked, with his hair carefully combed to the side. He looked about as fresh and innocent as a child, even if his ears were still a bit flushed. "Am I presentable now?"

The harsh look disappeared from Ben's face as quickly as it had appeared, and he turned to his son with a smile. "Very much so. Don't dawdle too much on the way to the station, please, no matter how tempting the alleyways."

"Thanks, Mom," said Ethan, blushing again, and Ben nodded to Antonio and left the room without another word. Ethan watched his mother go, a frown on his face.

"What did he say to you?"

"Standard threats if I don't treat you well," said Antonio, doing his best to be flippant. Ethan's eyes narrowed a bit. "I think there were piano strings involved."

That made Ethan chuckle, at least. He leaned against the doorway, clearly nervous about re-entering the scene of his near-seduction. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," said Antonio. Ethan took his hand and held it tightly as they went down the hall. Antonio's shoulder bag waited by the front door, and Ethan handed him the brown paper sack.

"Don't smash the sandwich," he cautioned, before reaching for a lightweight jacket from the closet nearby.

"They're really going to let you just walk me to the station," said Antonio, watching as Ethan put on the jacket.

"Of course."

"But... your fa will pick you up after, right?"

Ethan gave him an odd look and shook his head, almost laughing. "No, of course not. Stop worrying, I'm not going to be snatched off the street."

Easy for him to say, thought Antonio, and was wary as they walked down the street to the main road.

Antonio had always thought that Sunday afternoons in small towns would be sleepy affairs, where everyone sat back on their porches and didn't do much of anything. But there was not a single rocker on a single porch that was occupied by anyone, except a random cat or two, and every shop along the main street seemed to be doing a brisk trade. There were plenty of people walking in and out of them, chatting with each other and eating ice creams on park benches in the green.

Every person they passed had a word of greeting for Ethan, calling him out by name to ask about his parents or siblings or an upcoming concert. They gave side-eyed glances at Antonio, but no one said a word about him, and Ethan refrained from an introduction, so Antonio stood quietly behind, and watched. He couldn't imagine anyone stopping his mother on the sidewalk to ask after her family. Then again, he couldn't imagine Yolanda walking anywhere alone, either.

Every time they passed an alpha, the hairs on the nape of Antonio's neck automatically rose in preparation to come to Ethan's defense - but no one seemed much bothered by Ethan's presence on the street, even if they were somewhat unnerved by Antonio. No one said anything, of course, but that didn't stop the stares or inquisitive looks.

It wasn't even the alphas who were the worst of the lot - it was the omegas, most of whom didn't seem to be attached to any alphas at all. They walked alone, or in pairs, heads bent together, giggling as they stood near alphas who might at any moment pick them up and cart them off to parts unknown to do things unmentionable. And when they passed by Antonio, they locked eyes with him, as if daring him to look away, or worse, be the one to snatch them up.

It put Antonio on edge, all that potential mayhem. What the hell were those omegas thinking, going about unaccompanied like that?

And what the hell was Ethan thinking, ready to walk home alone, just like they did?

"Would you relax?" Ethan hissed as they reached an intersection and waited for the light to change. Now that Antonio had met Ben Downing, he thought he recognized the expression on Ethan's face - half exasperated, half amused. "What's got you all worked up?"

"None of them are escorted," muttered Antonio, and Ethan's mouth dropped open.

"Oh, my God. Are you serious?" Ethan touched Antonio's arm, and even through the odd possessive fog, Antonio could see the realization dawn on his face. "This isn't just you worrying about me coming home from the station, is it?"

"It's not safe," said Antonio through gritted teeth. "To walk around like that - without someone to protect them if an alpha attacks."

"Yeah, because heaven forbid alphas actually control themselves in public," said Ethan dryly. "Look, you think I can't protect myself?"

"No... I mean... what if you went into heat?"

Ethan snorted. "If I was going into heat, I'd stay at home. Most of us have some warning, you know." Ethan frowned, the skin between his eyes crinkling. It would have been adorable had Antonio not been so jittery. "Come on, your mom goes out shopping, doesn't she?"

"Not without someone with her. Or several someones."

Ethan's eyes opened wide. "What, really?"

"No omegas go out alone. Not in the city anyway. They're always escorted, either by a beta or alpha relative, or they go out in threes or fours, and only in very public areas. There's beta escort services, she's used those, too."

"Well, this isn't the city," said Ethan firmly. "And I go out alone all the time."

The light changed, and Ethan stepped out to cross the road without Antonio, as if to prove the point. Antonio hurried to catch up.

"You'll get in trouble if you try it in the city," he warned him. "It's just not done."

Ethan didn't say anything until they were walking in the town green, where it was a bit less congested with pedestrians than the sidewalks. "We'll see," he said finally, but Antonio could hear the bravado in his tone. "Does it really bother you?"

"It's just... I keep waiting for someone to do something," admitted Antonio.

"No one's going to do anything," said Ethan mildly. "I've lived here all my life, no one is going to let me be hurt. Not knowingly, anyway," he added wryly.

Antonio looked around the green; there were others around them, though none very close. A family and dog having a picnic under the trees, blankets spread in all directions. A group of boys playing baseball in the clearing. Young mothers pushing babies in strollers, and lone alphas, sitting on park benches pretending to read the newspaper.

It was peaceful. Comforting. Safe. And every one of them looked at Ethan as if they knew exactly what he was about.

"Everyone here knows you," said Antonio.

Ethan chuckled. "Well," he repeated, "I've lived here all my life."

"It's just... everyone knows you. And likes you."

Ethan snorted lightly. "I'm likeable."

"I don't understand why you'd want to leave."

Ethan was quiet for a few steps. "Because. I've lived here all my life." He glanced around the green before stopping to turn to Antonio. It was nearly as good as being alone, especially with Ethan's gaze focused solely on him. "What I don't understand is... why me?"

Antonio frowned, confused. "You?"

"Yeah. I mean, there's got to be hundreds of thousands of fantastic omegas in the city. Why choose me? I'm nobody. Nobody there, anyway."

A brush of warm August air pushed a lock of Ethan's hair into his face; Antonio reached up to push it back. Ethan tensed at the touch, but didn't move.

"I was in the bonding pool for five years. I met hundreds of omegas. Thousands of them. I can't even count how many--"

"Not making me feel much better, thanks," said Ethan wryly, and stepped away.

Antonio caught Ethan's upper arm to hold him steady. "You're the first omega I met who was the least bit interesting. The first one who made me stop and want to talk for a while. The only one who I want to see again, every single day. That's why you."

Ethan was quiet for a moment. "Okay." He smiled, even as he took Antonio's hand in his, and carefully lowered it back down to Antonio's side before drawing away again. "Look, the station's just on the other side of the green. It won't take me more than ten minutes to walk home. You can practically watch me the entire way."

Antonio looked across the green and blinked as he stared at the familiar façade. "Wait... what? The taxi took fifteen minutes to drive me to your house!"

Ethan rolled his eyes and let out a huffing noise before leaving Antonio alone on the sidewalk again while he marched across the remaining green and toward the taxi stand. Antonio let out a yelp, and raced to catch him up, still annoyed at Ethan's unwillingness to so much as hold his hand.

But then, Antonio reflected as he hurried after Ethan, he didn't see very many other people touching each other either, at least not the people who weren't obviously related or bonded to each other. The difference between country and city, Antonio supposed. Omegas in the country might be allowed more freedom of movement, but clearly there were still strict customs about public displays, perhaps even more stringent than what he would have seen in the city between bonded pairs on the street. It made sense, anyway.

By the time Antonio caught up with him, Ethan was already glaring at the trio of drivers waiting for passengers.

"Tom Williams, why did you intentionally fleece my friend here?"

Friend? thought Antonio, affronted, and was about to correct Ethan when he saw the stormy look on his face and thought better of it.

"I didn't fleece him," said the culprit in defense, and he didn't sound the least bit apologetic, either. "I took him on a tour of the town. Showed him all the sights."

"All three of them?" asked Ethan dryly.

"Fantastic tour," said Antonio, annoyed. "I never knew you had so many McDonalds."

Ethan's mouth dropped open. "Tom Williams, how many times did you drive him by the McDonalds anyway?"

"See, there you go, another satisfied customer," said Tom, and the other two drivers snickered.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You owe me a free ride to the station, Tom. Call it a bonding present."

Tom shrugged and grinned. "I'll just return those silver spoons then. Pleasure doing business with you."

"Oh, shut up," said Ethan, good-naturedly, and turned away with a grin on his face, too. "Come on, let's get you on your train."

The station house was smaller than Antonio expected, and it was crowded, even with only about two dozen people waiting on the narrow wooden benches that filled the center of the room. It was warm and dusty, and uncomfortable with the sounds of people coughing and shuffling their feet. A clam would have turned claustrophobic in that waiting room, but luckily for Antonio, Ethan walked straight through the doors and into the tunnel that burrowed under the tracks, before going up the steps to the platform.

The platform was empty, with tracks on either side, and large signs with brightly colored arrows indicating the correct direction for major stops along the line, just in case a passenger was confused. There were benches scattered along the platform, and a few bays where someone could huddle in poor weather.

Antonio reached for Ethan's hand, but Ethan took a step just out of reach. It might have been to get a better look at the oversized clock at the end of the platform, or perhaps he hadn't noticed Antonio reaching for him.

"Ten minutes," said Ethan. "If the train's on time, anyway."

Antonio sighed, frustrated. "I'll call you the moment my father signs the contract," he said. His skin felt jittery being this close to Ethan and unable to touch him. Ethan seemed somewhat skittish himself, the way he kept looking back at the stairs, as if expecting someone to come through.

"I think the first train is at six in the morning," said Ethan. "But I suspect Fa won't want to leave here until after lunch."

Fuck it, thought Antonio, and this time he managed to grasp Ethan's hand before he could pull away. Surprisingly, Ethan wrapped his fingers around Antonio's palm, smiling just a bit. His hand was warm in Antonio's, and Antonio began to relax, just a little, and he gave a tug on Ethan's arm to draw him closer.

Ethan pushed back with nervous laughter. "Antonio! There's windows - everyone will see."

"Let them," said Antonio, and kissed him.

Ethan was still laughing when Antonio kissed him; the laughter tickled Antonio's lips and mouth, rang on his teeth. Antonio pressed harder into him, wanting to swallow the laughter down until he could remember it in his sleep the way he remembered Ethan's scent. It might have been Ethan's nerves that kept him passive at first - but then he settled into the kiss readily, the soft protest in his throat turning into sighs as he fell into the kiss.

Ethan's mouth, even willing and wet, wasn't quite enough. Antonio dragged his lips away from Ethan's, ran them down his jaw to his throat, to nuzzle at the warm, soft skin just under Ethan's collar. He heard Ethan's breath catch, felt his pulse against his cheek, breathed in his scent. It was better, almost, to breathe Ethan in than to simply taste him - as if Antonio had more of Ethan this way with every breath than he could have done in any other way. He filled himself up with Ethan until he felt his very scent running rapid through his veins, making him feel more alive than he'd ever felt in his life.

Antonio couldn't imagine anything better than this. He could feel Ethan in his fingers, his cock, his stomach, his toes, every pore and hair of him thrumming with Ethan.

Ethan was warm and small in his arms, breathing steadily and heavily, and when Ethan drew away, stumbling, Antonio was so drunk on him that it took a moment to realize that Ethan held tightly to his hands.

"Come on," he said, and Antonio followed him to the far end of the platform, where there was a small shack with a curtained window and a door. Antonio laughed as Ethan looked around again before trying to shove the door open.

"I didn't think you were shy."

"It's a small town, people talk," said Ethan, seriously, and the door gave way with a groan and a screech. Ethan pulled Antonio into the shed and closed the door behind them.

It was dark and warm, and Antonio could detect the hint of dust and grime if he concentrated, but he didn't care. Ethan stepped right back into Antonio's arms, pressed his body against him, rubbed his thumb along the back of Antonio's hand. Antonio could barely breathe for wanting him - but every breath had more of Ethan in it, and he was delicious.

"I wonder if that's when it happened," said Ethan thoughtfully, looking at their hands together.

"What? When?"

"When I decided I wanted you," said Ethan quietly. "On the balcony, when you held my hand."

If Ethan had wanted Antonio before the scenting... Antonio's heart pulsed in his chest, almost painfully. "You don't know?" he asked, managing to make his tone sound light.

Ethan squeezed his hand. "I knew something." He glanced up at Antonio. The dim light in the shed made it hard to see Ethan's face; he could have been an imitation of an omega looking through their eyelashes in an attempt to seduce their prey. On Ethan, it didn't look half as contrived. "But I wasn't sure if it was the pheromones or not."

Tell him, thought Antonio. Tell him about the scenting. Tell him that it's all the pheromones.

Instead, Antonio said, "If it was just the pheromones, you wouldn't have felt that way after you left."

Ethan looked down at their hands again. "Suppose not," he said, a bit guarded. He ran his fingers down the back of Antonio's hand. It was enough to send tickling little electrical shock waves under Antonio's skin, and he shivered. Ethan grinned. "I'm not quite as talented with hand massages as you are, but maybe you can teach me."

"Oh," said Antonio huskily, "there's a lot I'm going to teach you."

Ethan blushed and grinned again, and his eyes began to sparkle as the guarded, nervous look began to really fade away. "I look forward to it."

Antonio gave up trying to behave, and stole a kiss. Ethan let out a startled squeak.

"You said I could," Antonio reminded him without really breaking the kiss. Ethan laughed, and didn't resist. He settled his hand on Antonio's shoulder before letting it slide to the back of his neck, fingertips skimming over the hairs that were still raised.

"I did," agreed Ethan, and kissed along Antonio's jaw before nuzzling his neck, breathing into his skin.

Scenting me, thought Antonio, and let him, before he bent his head to scent Ethan in return.

Ethan's breath came in quick gasps; he kicked off so many pheromones that Antonio's cock was already half hard.

Fuck the contract, fuck their fathers - Antonio began to consider just bonding with Ethan right then and there in the railway shed, when a train whistle sounded in the distance. Ethan pulled away, chuckling.

"Train's coming," he said, breathing heavily, and still hanging onto Antonio. His lips were kiss-swollen and damp, and he leaned forward until his head rested against Antonio's chest. "I can hear your heart beating."

"Can you?"

"Mmm. Allegro."

Antonio chuckled. "Happy doesn't even cover it."

Ethan shifted against him, and then chuckled. "No, allegro. It's a musical term, it means to play fast."

"It's Spanish for happy."

"Makes sense," said Ethan, a bit drowsily, and then he shifted again against Antonio's chest. "I don't want to leave this shed."

Antonio pressed his nose into Ethan's hair. "Me neither."

"I wish I could go with you now."

"Me too," whispered Antonio, not caring if it was a contradiction or not. "I'll call from the city. Before the ink is even dry."

Ethan sighed, and pressed closer. "Mom will worry, if I'm not home in ten minutes."

Antonio pressed a kiss onto the top of Ethan's head, and then Ethan looked up so he could do it again on his mouth. When he pulled away, the serious expression was back on Ethan's face.

"It's only a day. I've lived without you for twenty years, I can live without you for another night."

"It'll fly."

"No, but good of you to say," he said, reluctantly. "We can pick it up from here tomorrow?"

"Oh," said Antonio roughly, "I think we'll manage."

Ethan smiled, and opened the door.

"Hello, Ethan," said the alpha on the other side of it, and Ethan froze, his hand still on the doorknob.

The alpha was older, with a close-shaved beard and dark hair. He spoke calmly and kindly, but his entire stance was aggressive, not the least because of the pheromones he threw off, which nearly sent Antonio straight into a classic possessive alpha rage. Ethan's own quickened breathing, and the return of every nervous tick he'd ever exhibited, didn't help.

"I thought you were in Vermont," said Ethan, nervous and frantic in a way that put Antonio on guard.

"Who's your... friend?" asked the alpha, as if Ethan hadn't said a word. There was no mistaking the possessive tone to the words, or the intense way he stared at Antonio as he said it.

Ethan straightened his shoulders. "He's just getting on the train."

The alpha nodded, thoughtfully, and then extended his hand to Antonio to shake. "Alan Clark. Such a shame that you'll be leaving New Belford so soon, when you only just arrived - an hour ago, I think? Is your business here complete?"

The last thing Antonio wanted to do was shake Alan Clark's hand, but not to do so could have been considered a sign of aggression, and Antonio was well aware that he wasn't on his own territory. Alan Clark's hand was thin, but strong, and he gripped Antonio's hand with a firm clasp that didn't give any sign of letting go until he was well and done with him.

"My business here is complete for now," said Antonio calmly. There wasn't any point to challenging Alan Clark; Antonio had what he wanted in the envelope in his shoulder bag.

"Alan - that's enough. He shouldn't miss his train," said Ethan nervously.

Alan Clark's eyes flickered. "Anxious to have him off, aren't you?" he said softly. "Or do you really think that if he leaves soon enough, I might not realize what's really going on here?"

"Whatever that is, Mr. Clark," said Antonio, a bit testily - because there was a line between outright challenging and provocation, and he was fairly sure that Mr. Clark had crossed it - "it's no concern of yours."

Ethan sucked in a breath.

"Oh," said Mr. Clark, "I think it rather is, actually, seeing as how--"

"Stop," blurted out Ethan. "Just... stop."

"As if I can't smell him on you," Mr. Clark snapped at Ethan. "As if I can't smell you on him." Mr. Clark pulled Antonio closer, his hand now crushing Antonio's fingers. "Curious, isn't it, how such a sheltered omega would know how to scent an alpha at all, isn't it?"

"An accident," said Antonio, trying to keep his voice even, despite the increasing pain in his fingers.

"Odd, isn't it, that he put off bonding for so long, especially since his acceptance into the conservatory is dependent on it? Rather makes you think he's hiding something - or perhaps running from it."

"He had delayed estrus, he couldn't have bonded earlier--"

"And don't you wonder why that was?" hissed Mr. Clark. "Shall I tell him, Ethan?"

Antonio's sudden possessive anger was a relief, in a way, because it let him release the pent-up irritation all in one go. He gave Mr. Clark a shove, and the pain in his hand spiked as Mr. Clark pulled on it, before abruptly melting away - though whether that was adrenaline or the fact that Mr. Clark released him, Antonio didn't know.

"Don't talk to him," hissed Antonio. "He's mine. You haven't the right."

Mr. Clark was splayed on the ground by the door, blocking their escape. His eyes were narrowed. "Don't I? He might be scented to you - but he's engaged to be bound to me before the end of the week."

Somewhere in the distance, the train whistle blew again, closer this time, and there was a rumbling staccato of noise that might have been the waiting passengers filing up the stairs to the platform in anticipation of boarding.

Or it might have been the blood pounding through Antonio's ears. He couldn't quite tell.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day," said Antonio calmly, even as his heart pounded painfully in his chest.

"Ask him," said Mr. Clark.

"Ethan wouldn't bond himself to you."

"Ask him," said Mr. Clark again.

"You're old! You're weak," said Antonio, but he knew it was grasping at straws. Alan Clark might have been old - but not by so much. And he might have been on the ground, but Antonio doubted he was weak.

"Ask him," said Mr. Clark, quietly determined.

Ethan leaned against the wall, eyes closed and breathing heavily. He looked pale, even in the dim light.

"Is it true?" Antonio demanded.

Ethan couldn't speak.

"Ethan," said Antonio, desperate.

"He scented me!" blurted out Ethan. "All right! He scented me, when I was sixteen. I didn't even know."

Mr. Clark laughed as he stood up. "You kept coming back, once you did."

"You lied to me!"

"You knew enough to scent bond with him, didn't you?" challenged Mr. Clark. "That's all it is, you know. Your young alpha doesn't love you - it's just the scent bond that draws him to you. Now that he knows what you really are, he'll board that train and that's the last you'll see of him."

Ethan shook his head. "No. It wasn't like that."

"You think he'll still want you, now he knows what you're really like?" scoffed Mr. Clark. "I'm the only chance you have for going to conservatory."

Ethan turned to Antonio, desperation in his eyes. "Antonio - I don't want him. I never wanted him."

Mr. Clark snorted. "You agreed to bond with me in the end."

"I never agreed to anything," snapped Ethan.

The train whistled, so loudly that it might as well have been right on top of them, and the noise was enough to jerk Antonio out of the strange fog he was in.

Antonio walked straight out of the shed, into the mass of people on the platform, all talking and laughing and paying him no heed. Antonio walked through and around them, barely aware of anything but the refrain in his head.

He knew. He's been scented before. He knew what he was doing, when he scented me.

Ethan isn't mine. He belongs to someone else....

The surge of rage took Antonio by surprise, because it wasn't white-hot or fiery red. It was cool ice running through his veins, a detached sort of numbness where all Antonio could feel was the pounding of his heart, and all he could hear was his quiet, steady, deep breaths crowding out the the distant sound of people talking and the faded screech of wheels on metal rails.

Antonio breathed and let himself float in the moment.

And then there was a touch on his arm.

"Antonio."

Ethan, the sweet smell of him, the feel of his fingers, hot on his arm. His voice sounded broken, frightened, near choking, and Antonio turned to look at him, impassive and aloof.

Or it felt like that, anyway, until he saw Ethan's bright red cheeks, the way his eyes flashed, and the imprint of something like fingers on his arm. Smelled the already familiar scent of him, parsley and salt water, strangely tinted with copper and chrome.

Antonio's stomach churned.

"I'll kill him for you," he said.

Ethan's breath caught. "You can't. I locked him in the shed."

"You...." Antonio laughed before he could help it.

Ethan took a breath. "I was young. I was young, and stupid, and I was sixteen and I didn't know what we were doing, and I thought... I don't know what I thought. But I don't want him, I don't think I ever really did. I want you, Antonio, and not just because you're not him. Or because of school, or because of... of anything."

He sounded sincere - he even looked sincere, and Antonio couldn't look at Ethan with Ethan looking so earnestly at him.

Antonio shook his head. "How am I supposed to trust that?"

Ethan took a breath. "I trusted you a week ago. I didn't give up on you. Trust me. Please. It's your turn."

The train blew another whistle; the platform was nearly empty now, except for the conductor and the two of them. Antonio felt the seconds with Ethan ticking down to nothing, and with every passing moment, he could almost feel Ethan's tension rise.

Antonio didn't think. He didn't want to think. Instead, he grasped the back of Ethan's neck, and pulled him in for a brutally fast, painfully sharp kiss.

Ethan melted into him, without hesitation, resting his hands on Antonio's chest, pushing up into his mouth. He didn't fight, didn't resist, and the only participation he offered was the way he let Antonio control the kiss. Attack, more like - Antonio pressed down into Ethan's mouth, sucked his tongue between his teeth and crushed Ethan up to him. It was utterly unlike the earlier, sweet, careful kisses in the shed at the end of the platform, and Antonio felt something stirring inside him, something darker and rougher, something that threatened to simply take Ethan and crush him, not just to make him his, but to ruin him for any other alpha who wanted him.

You've ruined him for anyone else, Ben had said, and Antonio had no doubt what - and who - Ben had meant.

"All aboard!" called the conductor.

Antonio released Ethan, both of them breathing heavily. Ethan's eyes opened slowly, and then all at once, and he swallowed, his mouth opening as if to speak.

Antonio didn't want to hear it. He let go of Ethan and spun to leap aboard the train just as it pulled out of the station, and it wasn't until he'd left New Belford behind that he realized he'd let go of Ethan at all.

* * *

ANTONIO WAITED UNTIL he was standing in the city again, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people jostling around him, before he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

"Well?" demanded Larissa Bailey.

Antonio wasn't going to beat around the bush. "How do you know the difference between infatuation by scenting, and love?"

Luckily, Larissa wasn't one to beat around the bush either. If there was a pause before she answered, Antonio knew it was because she was considering her words, and not whether or not she'd answer at all. Larissa would be chewing her thumbnail, he knew; she'd bill him for the manicure. Depending on how she answered, he might even pay it.

"You know what I hate about Valentine's Day?" said Larissa. "It's the hearts. All those damn paper hearts popping up everywhere. Ridiculous. I told Chris, if he ever gets me one of those damn hearts, I'll break the bond and then break his head."

"Is there a point to this touching description of marital bliss?"

"Your boy - he's going to conservatory, right? Piano. Going to be a concert pianist one day."

"Larissa...."

"What if he broke both his hands and couldn't play another note, the rest of his life? Would you still want to bond him then, knowing he'd be just another house omega, raising the kids and asking why you don't come home on time?"

Antonio sucked in a breath, even as his heart dropped into his stomach and churned. Fuck, just the thought of Ethan, robbed of his independence and his will and his talents... and turned into exactly the generic omega that Antonio despised....

But before Antonio could answer, reason took hold.

"Don't be stupid," snapped Antonio. "Ethan wouldn't - he'd find some other way. He'd teach - he can do that - or he'd compose, I've heard his music. He'd be fine. Like he'd let broken hands stop him from what he wants to do."

"Love has nothing to do with your heart," said Larissa, exactly as if Antonio hadn't spoken at all. "It's your head. It's the way you see another person, it's the way you think of another person. It's working your way through all the stupid obstacles that life throws at you. You want to know if you love Ethan, or if the scenting's got you all mixed up? That's your answer, Toño. You said you never wanted a dependent omega. Well, guess what? You don't have one, and your heart knows it. Ethan won't ever be dependent on you, and it's your head that reminds you of it."

Antonio stared at the shoulder bag, with the contract still inside.

"Are we done? Because Chris and I are halfway through the new season of Game of Thrones, and there's some serious betting riding on the next person who dies."

"Leave your sex life out of our conversations, thanks," snapped Antonio, and hung up as Larissa began to laugh.

* * *

"AH, YOU'RE HOME," SAID Yolanda as Antonio came in. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd be home for dinner at all."

The apartment smelled delicious - salty olives and anchovies, chicken and corn and chiles, and with a start, Antonio remembered Benjamin Downing's sandwich, which was surely squashed flat in his shoulder bag, despite his earlier assurances to Ethan.

"You're cooking?" asked Antonio, hanging up his shoulder bag. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," said Yolanda airily, as if she cooked every day, instead of only once or twice a week, and never on weekends. "Your father wants to see you."

Antonio rested his hands on the shoulder bag. "Why?"

"You'll have to ask him. Dinner in an hour, mijo."

Antonio nodded. The pleasant sounds of his mother in the kitchen faded as the door closed behind him.

The hallway was long and dark and quiet, and led straight to Hector Valdez Mendoza's study at the far end. It glowed, the light from the study shining around the edges, and Antonio stared at it, and wondered what the hell he was meant to do now.

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# Part Five: Ethan

Whatever hope Ethan had felt when Antonio kissed him on the platform faded as the train pulled out of the station and headed down the tracks toward the city. Ethan stayed on the platform, watching it go, until he could hear banging from the shed at the far end.

The station manager had a puzzled look as he started down the platform to find out what was the matter, and his glance at Ethan was probably not actually accusatory, no matter what Ethan thought.

"Oh dear," said Ethan brightly, as if he had no idea who was trapped inside the shed at all, and took off at a run.

* * *

"CURIOUS, ISN'T IT, how such a sheltered omega would know how to scent an alpha into doing his bidding at all, isn't it?"

Ethan's first instinct, when he saw Alan Clark standing on the other side of the door to the shed, was to take Antonio by the hand, and run pell-mell for the train, not stopping for anything, and praying that Antonio had enough money on him to pay for his ticket once they were both safely aboard.

In retrospect, he should have followed his first instinct.

"He's engaged to be bound to me before the end of the week."

His second instinct was to lie. No, I don't know this man. No, I don't know what he's talking about. No, of course I wasn't going to bond to him - I'm going to bond to you.

Not a good start to a relationship, thought Ethan wryly, and besides - he could feel Antonio's desperation and despair already, thick like syrup, and Ethan wasn't altogether sure that Antonio wouldn't have known he was lying. Perhaps not through whatever bond they still shared - but just by the fact that Ethan couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop feeling as if he was being torn in two by the pull he felt toward Antonio, and the sickening sweet scent of Alan's anger.

"It's true," he finally said, and wasn't a bit surprised that Antonio left the shed when the train whistle blew.

"Won't even stay and fight for your hand," snorted Alan Clark. "And he called me weak."

"At least he doesn't prey on children," countered Ethan, and let out a gasp when Alan's fingers closed around his wrist, so tightly that Ethan could barely move his fingers.

"I'm not the one who kissed first."

"I don't want you," said Ethan, bile rising in his stomach as the slightly sour tang of Mr. Clark's scent both repelled and drew him in. "Why can't you just let me go?"

"Because you're mine, Ethan Downing. And I won't have you running around with other alphas. Not now, not after we're bonded."

"You cannot be serious," said Ethan.

"Fidelity? Very serious."

"Says the man who's been scenting Henry Williams on the side," scoffed Ethan, and had a surge of triumph when he saw the strange flash in Mr. Clark's eyes - guilt? Shame? Or embarrassment that he'd been caught? It didn't really matter anymore. "Is that why you said your scenting wouldn't wear off so fast as mine? So you could go and scent a dozen other students under the pretext of helping them?"

"They don't mean anything to me."

"And I do?"

Ethan heard the whistle of the train - not so far now. It'd be just approaching the station.

And Antonio would board it. Would he even look back for Ethan?

Ethan took a breath. Now or never.

"You don't even want me. You just don't want to lose me. Except you don't realize - you already did. Long ago. I'm going to bond with Antonio - and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me."

"Oh, yes there is," said Alan Clark, eyes flashing, and he was on Ethan in a moment, pushing him up against the shed wall, pressing his entire length against Ethan's body that was entirely too reminiscent of the way Antonio had pressed up against him earlier.

And Ethan's body knew it - could feel Mr. Clark's hardness against him, and the bit of Ethan that was drawn to Mr. Clark burrowed into the warmth and the hardness, molding to him as easily as if they'd never been apart.

Mr. Clark whispered into Ethan's ear, a breathy sort of gasp. "Had you gone into spontaneous estrus when you were sixteen, right there in the band room when this all began, and I bonded you - I might have faced some disciplinary action from the school board but no court in the world would have prosecuted me for the natural instincts of an alpha."

Ethan had trouble breathing. He could feel the curl of passion in his stomach, feel the warmth in his groin, and worse - the slow slide of slickness inside. Even as his mind was protesting, screaming at him to get away - Ethan felt himself press closer to Mr. Clark, felt his heart beat faster, and his breath become shallow and strained. He shook his head, but it was an effort. His mouth was impossibly dry. "What... what are you doing?"

"If I bonded you now," mused Mr. Clark, his nose and mouth in Ethan's hair, breath tickling his skin, "then this would all be over."

"No," whispered Ethan, and pushed his hands against Mr. Clark's chest.

"Yes," said Mr. Clark, dragging his lips down the side of Ethan's head. He nipped at Ethan's ear; it stung and felt damp. Ethan let out a cry. "Don't you want this to be over, Ethan? Don't you want to belong to someone at last?"

Mr. Clark's mouth closed on Ethan's neck.

The train whistled from the platform, two short bursts, and then the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"

Antonio.

"No," shouted Ethan, and jammed his knee upward into Alan Clark's crotch. He could feel the scrape of Alan's teeth against his skin - but only a scrape, and Ethan shoved him, hard, until there was enough room that he could punch both of his fists out into Alan's stomach. Ethan slammed both his open palms on either side of Alan's head, over his ears - and that was all it took to bring Alan Clark down.

Ethan didn't look back - he spun out of the shed as fast as he could, pulled the door shut behind him, and threw the exterior lock, breathing heavily. For a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of the blood in his head.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God... he nearly... I'm gonna be sick.

"All aboard!"

Antonio.

The passengers were still on the platform - mostly, anyway. And there, in the center, staring straight at the train as if he wasn't entirely sure why he was on the platform in the first place, was Antonio.

Ethan didn't care who Antonio believed. He didn't care if Antonio hated him for lying - or would shove him under the train's wheels. Ethan's heart was racing, and his nose was full of the sickly-sweet scent of Mr. Clark, and the adrenaline shoved Ethan forward, down the platform, and straight into Antonio's arms.

* * *

TRUST ME. PLEASE. IT'S your turn.

* * *

ETHAN RAN ALL THE WAY home - mostly. He was at the end of the driveway when the adrenaline ran out, and he doubled over, every breath a cold block of ice in his too-dry throat, every muscle aching and in pain. His ear hurt where Mr. Clark had bitten it; his neck felt raw and sore where his teeth had scraped, and Ethan wondered, dimly, what would happen if he'd broken the skin there. Would that be enough to bond them together?

He could still smell Mr. Clark on his clothes, even from their brief encounter. Ethan retched, smelling it.

Guess we're not bonded, after all, he thought grimly, and clung to the mailbox until he had his breath back a bit. Just a bit further... up the driveway... to the door... and inside... and he could sit and rest.

And maybe cry. Crying was definitely in order, and Ethan might have hated the idea of it normally, but it sounded rather nice, just then.

"Ethan?" called Ben from the kitchen when Ethan finally stumbled in the front door. "Did Antonio catch his train all right?"

Ethan couldn't answer. He leaned against the wall and breathed.

"Ethan?" Ben came into the foyer, drying his hands on a towel, frowning. "Was there a prob--"

Ben stopped dead in the doorway. His eyes widened, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

And then Ben was right in front of Ethan, holding his chin carefully, and turning it to look at his bleeding ear and neck. "Who did this to you?"

"Not Antonio," said Ethan, and winced as the skin along his neck began to stretch. "Ow."

"Are you hurt?" said Ben, low and dark and frightening. Ethan closed his eyes and winced again. "Ethan. Ethan. Are you hurt?"

"He didn't bite my neck," said Ethan. "I... I don't think."

"In the back," said Ben, and pulled Ethan into the downstairs bathroom. Ethan sat on the toilet while Ben dug in the cabinet for the first-aid supplies. Ben's face was stony, his eyes a narrow line, but his mouth was moving as he talked to himself, muttering about bandages and Neosporin, and the benefits of cold compresses and acetaminophen.

There was a knock on the door, and Ethan jumped.

"Mom?" called Becca from the other side.

"Please tell your father to come here," said Ben. "That's a dear, thank you."

Becca sounded worried and somehow so small now. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

Ethan gingerly touched the sore spot on his neck, and winced as his fingers rubbed against the tender skin.

"For the moment," said Ben cautiously. "Go on, Becca, thank you." He waited until they heard Becca's footsteps down the hall, and then turned back to Ethan. "Don't touch the wound until you've washed your hands."

"It wasn't Antonio," said Ethan again, and reached up to touch his ear.

"Shouldn't have let you go on your own," muttered Ben. "Maybe those city alphas have it right."

"Mom--"

"I'll kill him," said Ben, low.

"It wasn't Antonio."

"I know that!" snapped Ben, turning on Ethan, and Ethan skittered back a bit on the slippery toilet seat, startled by the dark look in Ben's eyes. Ben sighed, and drew back for a moment. "I know it wasn't Antonio," he repeated, a bit softer this time, and he balanced the supplies on the edge of the sink. He washed his hands in the sink, and then splashed his face with the cool water, before turning back to his son. "Here, let me look at your neck."

Ethan let his head fall to his shoulder, and bit his lip while Ben examined the wound, gently pressing on the skin with soft and sure fingers. It didn't hurt quite as much, until he began to clean the wound on his ear. Ethan closed his eyes and bit his lips and tried to think of anything else.

Antonio. Antonio's kiss. The fierce possessiveness of it, the brutal way their teeth had clicked together, and how, if Antonio had only said the word, he would have followed him onto the train then and there, and been done with all of it.

Don't you want to be done with all of this?

Ethan's stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he would be ill again.

"No bond," said Ben finally, relieved, and he slumped against the sink for a moment, hands still on Ethan's neck. "He didn't even break the skin on your neck."

"What?" Ethan twisted a bit, as if he'd be able to see his own neck. "But it hurts."

"He scraped it pretty badly, but all the blood is from your ear. Can't bond on an ear," said Ben.

"Oh God," groaned Ethan. "Am I going to be Mike Tyson?"

"You're thinking of the other guy," said Ben, leaning in for a better look. "And hold still, I might be able to put a bandage on this...."

Ethan closed his eyes and waited for Ben to finish. The stinging was almost a relief - it was sharp, but quick, and it took his mind off the strange twisting in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. Maybe the idea that he'd come so close to being bonded against his will... maybe the idea that just then, Antonio was on a train, speeding back to the city, and there was a very good chance he'd never call again.

Just the idea made Ethan feel nauseous. He sucked in a breath as Ben wiped his ear with the disinfectant.

"Not so bad," said Ben, and Ethan heard him putting everything away again. He kept his eyes closed, until he felt the touch on his knee, and opened them to see Ben sitting opposite him on the tub.

Ben no longer looked as if he might kill someone for breathing. Now, he just looked determined and quiet and forceful and commanding and everything Ethan loved about his mother with all his heart.

"I understand if you don't want to tell me everything that happened," Ben began carefully. "But there are a few things I need for you to tell me, and I need you to be honest about them, all right?"

Ethan nodded, his stomach twisting at the thought of what Ben might want to know.

Ben nodded, and took a shaking breath. "Did the person who attacked you go any further than kissing?"

"No," said Ethan quickly, and saw his mother let out the longest, most relieved breath he'd ever seen. "It wasn't even kissing, exactly."

"The bruise on your lower lip would say otherwise," said Ben dryly, and Ethan quickly reached up to touch his lip.

"Oh," he said, a bit absently. "I... that wasn't... um."

"Hmm," said Ben, and Ethan had the sense Ben would have been amused, if he hadn't already been working to control his temper. He leaned back, and Ethan could tell he was steeling himself for the next uncomfortable question. "Where is Alan Clark now?"

"Locked in the shed on the train station's platform," said Ethan. "Well - he was when I left, I think the station manager was about to let him out."

"Antonio locked him in the shed?" asked Ben, and now Ben really was amused, a smile just beginning to form on his face.

Ethan frowned. "I locked him in the shed!"

Ben definitely smiled at that. "Good boy." He took a moment to admire Ethan, and Ethan could swear he saw the moment that Ben began to think it through. "Antonio was on the train already when Mr. Clark attacked you?"

Ethan could have lied. It might have made it easier... for a little while, anyway. And it wasn't as though there was any sort of physical bond between he and Ben that would give him away.

Just twenty years of being Ben's son, and Ethan had twenty years experience to know that Ben didn't need a bond to know when his children were lying to him.

"Antonio was on the platform," said Ethan, and watched as Ben's face turned serious again. "We were... when Mr. Clark interrupted... and then he told Antonio... and...." Ethan stopped talking, partially because of the wave of nausea; partially because he didn't even want to say the words.

Ben was quiet, and then he reached over and slid Ethan's hand into his, gripping it tightly. "Where is Antonio now?"

"On the train, going home," said Ethan, and clamped his mouth closed, for fear of being ill.

"Then he didn't see any of this?"

"No. I don't think so. I mean - he saw Mr. Clark, but he didn't see Mr. Clark - I mean, Mr. Clark told him about - and he asked me if it was true, and then... then...."

His stomach heaved; Ethan gave up any pretense at pretending to be well, and slid to his knees on the ground. He'd barely lifted the toilet cover when the nausea hit full force, and after several achingly long seconds in which he emptied his stomach of everything he'd ever eaten in his entire life, he rested his head against the wall, breathing heavily. Ben's hand rubbed his back.

"It's all right," said Ben from far away. "Go on, it's all right. You're safe. It'll be all right."

"No, it won't," said Ethan, miserable but at least feeling a bit better, the way one always felt afterwards. "Mr. Clark knows about Antonio. He's going to bond me whether I like it or not."

Ben's hand paused, for just a moment, before continuing to rub Ethan's back. "Like hell he will," muttered Ben with feeling, pressing just a bit harder on Ethan. "You're going to bond with Antonio Valdez, as soon as that contract is signed."

At least the wall was cool on Ethan's cheek. "Only if he has his father sign it after all."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Ben impatiently. "Did he say he wouldn't?"

"No, but...."

"Of course he'll ensure his father signs that contract. He's not an idiot. He boarded the train, didn't he? Even if he doesn't know what Mr. Clark is, he'll know you don't belong to him."

You belong to me. An angry smile, the rasp of teeth against his throat....

Ethan's stomach twisted again, but now there was nothing to expel. He curled in on himself a bit more.

There was a knock on the door. "Ben?" called Robert from the other side. "Is everything all right?"

"Door's unlocked," said Ben, and Ethan heard the door open, and then a pause.

"I'm going to kill him," said Robert Downing calmly, but there was an odd, acrid smell in the air that made Ethan want to cower deeper into the corner.

"While that would solve a great many problems, I'd really rather you not go to prison, please," said Ben briskly.

Another pause. "Alan Clark." It sounded like a curse.

"Stop glowering, Robbie," said Ben, a bit impatiently. "And if you throw off one more anger-induced pheromone I will play Mendelssohn for a week, because it is not. Helping."

"Alan Clark attacked my son, and you want me to stay calm? Where was Antonio in all this, hmm?"

Ethan winced. "I don't need Antonio to protect myself."

"Certainly not," agreed Ben. "I think you proved that very well already. But it's not safe for you here anymore."

Ethan felt his stomach drop again. "He'll come for me."

"Yes," said Ben, without preamble or emotion.

"As if I can't protect him," snapped Robert, blustering and puffing up again, and Ethan pressed himself against the wall instinctively.

"Of course you can," said Ben, and it wasn't an attempt to soothe his mate so much as it was stating a fact. "But it would be far easier if he were simply not here."

The idea of leaving the bathroom just then - let alone the house, made Ethan want to crawl tight into the corner.

"You are not taking Ethan out of my sight," said Robert, almost growling.

Ben rested one hand on Ethan's shoulder, and stared at his mate as if he wasn't actually seeing Robert... but some other threat to his family from which he would rather die than back down.

Ethan's breath came fast. He held onto the floor, staring at his parents, unable to speak.

And then... Robert let out a breath, and his shoulders settled back down into place, and the air became much less electric.

"You'll be the one to call him."

Ben's eyes widened. "Robert?"

"He'll come if you call him," said Robert gruffly. "And he's the only other alpha I trust with you."

Ben's touch was hesitant, at first - but he cupped his hand around Robert's cheek, and Robert closed his eyes and leaned his head into his mate's hand as if he'd never posed a threat to anyone.

"I know," said Ben gently. "I'll call him now."

"Who?" asked Ethan, somewhat alarmed as Ben began to move toward the door. "Wait - you don't actually want Alan Clark to come here, do you?"

"No, of course not," said Ben briskly. "Robbie - you need to stay here with the children. We can't all disappear. And you need to promise not to hurt a hair on Alan Clark's head - even if he deserves it."

Robert snorted lightly, as if he had his own opinion on the matter, but knew better than to voice it.

"I mean it," said Ben firmly. "Ethan, stay here with Robbie. He'll keep you safe, all right?"

"Of course I will, why are you telling him what he already knows?" grumbled Robert.

"Just reminding him," said Ben, and with a final pat on Ethan's back, left the room.

Ethan curled up with his back against the wall, and watched his father warily as Robert sat down on the edge of the tub. He still felt faintly ill - and the lingering pheromones from Robert weren't exactly helping. They almost made it worse, really - Ethan could feel himself tense up with every inhale that included his father's scent - a waxy sort of spice that had always made Ethan feel safe and secure, but now smelled... not right, in a way that wasn't wrong, so much as it simply wasn't right.

No wonder Ben had made a point of reassuring him before he'd left them alone. Even knowing that Robert wouldn't hurt him, Ethan wasn't entirely sure he trusted any alpha just then.

"We shouldn't have let you go alone," said Robert, a bit dully.

"We thought Alan Clark was away--" began Ethan.

"He was always coming back," snapped Robert, and when Ethan jerked and shrunk into the wall, he sighed and rubbed his face. "Does Antonio know?"

Ethan struggled to get his nerves under control. "About... this? No. Not exactly."

Robert snorted. "Of course he doesn't know about this. He would never have boarded the train and left Alan Clark alive, if he'd known. Not if he's the type of alpha I'd want for you."

Ethan let out a huff. "I'm not his possession to protect."

"Did I say that?" snapped Robert, clearly on edge. Ethan tried not to be annoyed; it wasn't as if Robert had been attacked and molested in a train station. "Why you and your mother persist in putting words into my mouth - of course you're not anyone's possession. But no decent alpha would stand by and let you be... abused in this manner."

Ethan felt his stomach twist. "Fa."

Robert's hand hovered over Ethan's head for a moment, before descending to rest in Ethan's hair. "It'll be all right, son. We'll make it right."

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened enough for Ben to peer inside. "All settled," he said gently. "Come on, Ethan. Time to pack."

* * *

BY THE TIME NIGHT FELL, Ethan and Ben were ready. Ready for what, Ethan couldn't quite say - but he had a bag at his feet, packed with several changes of clothing, his toiletries, and a few other things he didn't want to leave behind.

"Don't forget," said Ben, handing him his birth control pill, and Ethan took the slim case, no longer sure why it even mattered.

"It's only for a few days," Ben had told him.

Ethan's stomach had twisted - again. It kept doing that, enough that he didn't want to eat anything, though at least water seemed to stay down. "Where am I going?"

Ben hadn't answered, and now he stood by the front door, glancing out the window every so often, watching. Ethan didn't think he was watching for Alan Clark. There was something expectant in the way Ben looked out the window, as if he was anxious and impatient for whoever was coming to arrive.

When the headlights finally swept across the living room, signaling a car pulling into the driveway, Ben tensed, and then let out a long, relieved sigh. "Robbie - he's here."

Robert Downing frowned as he came in from kitchen. "I should be the one to go."

"You can't," said Ben briskly. "Alan Clark isn't stupid; he'll know that you wouldn't want to let Ethan out of your sight right now. And we can't let him know that Ethan's away."

Robert scowled, and Ben laid his hand on Robert's cheek. Robert closed his eyes and instantly softened into it.

"I don't like it," Robert admitted.

"You don't have to like it," Ben said gently, and kissed him. Ethan felt another twist in his gut, and concentrated on fussing with his bag. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Safely."

"Of course," said Ben. "Don't sell my piano while I'm gone."

Robert snorted, as if it was an old joke, though it wasn't one Ethan had ever heard before. When he glanced at his parents, his stomach gave another twist; Robert's nose was pressed up into the crook of Ben's neck, breathing steady and sure.

Scenting, realized Ethan, and for a moment, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the sight of his parents. It looked... gentle. Tender. Sweet, even though Ethan could remember the heady, frenzied, intense feeling of Antonio's skin and scent as he soaked it in. With Antonio, scenting had been anything but sweet.

"Go," said Robert finally, and then Ben was standing next to Ethan.

"It's time," said Ben gently.

The car in the driveway was still running when they stepped outside. There was a chill in the air that made Ethan wish he'd grabbed his jacket, but Ben pushed him out, holding onto his arm as if he was afraid that Ethan would run. No chance of that - Ethan thought he could see eyes in every shadow, Mr. Clark just waiting for the right moment to snatch him up and finish what he'd started.

In a way, Ethan almost wished he would. He wasn't sure he could take the tension anymore, of wondering what the hell was happening, or would happen, or where he was going, or if he'd ever be able to come home....

If Antonio was really going to trust him after all, and convince Hector to sign the contract.

Ben opened the car door and gently pushed Ethan inside. Ethan had time for one last look at the house where he'd grown up, and then he was in the backseat of a car that smelled like sour cigarettes and leather polish.

"There you are," said Yuri Dimitrov impatiently. "You tell me to hurry, and then you keep me waiting, Benjamin. Ah, Ethan. Buckle your seatbelt. I'm told that is what children do in America, buckle their seatbelts."

"Thank you for coming, Yuri," said Ben, sliding in beside Ethan.

"Nu, what else did I have to do tonight?" shrugged Dimitrov, and threw the car in reverse. "Tickets to the opera, a fine dinner at Momofuku, who cares? Better to be driving in the middle of fucking nowhere with you."

Ben snorted. "A TV dinner and crappy television, you mean."

"You say potato, I say vodka," said Dimitrov, and sped down the road so quickly that Ethan thought he'd left all his internal organs behind.

"That's terrible even for you, Yuri."

"No? I thought it pretty good. I thought it up the whole way here." Dimitrov peered at them through the rear-view mirror. The car lurched again; Ethan wished Yuri would keep his eyes on the road instead of staring at him so intently through the mirror. "So, Ethan. Two weeks until you are a conservatory student. Have you been practicing?"

Ethan's mouth dropped open. "I... what?"

"Your fingering on the Rachmaninoff. I told you, one hour a day, no less. I'll know if you did less."

Ethan shook his head slowly. "You can't honestly - what the hell makes you think I'm even going to be able to go?"

Dimitrov shrugged. "I don't. More important that you do."

"Yuri," said Ben sharply.

"Is true," protested Dimitrov, and Ethan felt the car sway as it merged and sped up on the highway.

The only good thing about driving so late at night was that there was very little traffic, which did not diminish the frightening way that Dimitrov steered the car down the highway, careening from side to side with only one hand on the wheel. Ethan had to slide down in his seat in order to stop staring obsessively at the rest of the traffic, wondering which car was going to end up through the window and onto his lap.

He didn't bother to wonder where they were going. It almost didn't matter.

Ben, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, if a little tense. Ethan didn't think the tension was due to Dimitrov's driving skills - or even Dimitrov at all, given that they were conversing as if everything was perfectly normal, and not turned on its head.

"Do you even recognize there are lanes?" groaned Ben.

"Guidelines," said Dimitrov. "They are lines, they are guiding."

"That's not what guidelines means!"

Ethan listened to the way their voices melded together, blending into a cheerful, raucous, incomprehensible sound that reminded him of early jazz, the discordant notes that seemed to work against each other just as much as they played alongside each other.

It was exhausting, and Ethan tried to sleep. He might have even succeeded; it was hard to tell, with the flashing lights from the other headlights, the car swerving back and forth across the lanes.

"That's ridiculous," scoffed Ben. "You can't honestly think that the Shostakovich is an appropriate piece for a mid-term exhibition."

"There is nothing wrong with Shostakovich!" said Dimitrov, and he pounded on the wheel for emphasis, accidentally hitting the horn. The car in front of them swerved out of the lane, somewhat haphazardly. Ethan sunk lower in his seat.

"Forget bonding," he said to the roof of the car. "We're all going to die."

"Drama queen," said Dimitrov.

"Look," said Ethan, sitting up in the backseat, even as his stomach protested. "My ex is insane and tried to forcibly bond me on a train station platform. The guy I'm supposed to bond with boarded a train without even so much as a last look, and I have no idea if he's going to get the bonding contract signed by his father - or if he even wants to, because he thinks that I'm using him as a convenient way of getting to the city so I can go to school - which maybe I was, in the beginning, but it all sort of hinges on whether or not he believes I actually want to bond with him now, and I'm not entirely sure he trusts me that much anymore. The last thing I'm worried about right now is my fingering on the Rachmaninoff, or whether or not it's good enough for the teachers at conservatory."

"Mmm. I see, I see," said Dimitrov. "Did you practice?"

Ethan groaned and fell back against the seat. "No! I didn't practice!"

"No worries," said Dimitrov. "We practice when we get there."

* * *

THE LAST THING ETHAN wanted to do in Yuri Dimitrov's apartment was to play the piano as if it were just another practice, as if nothing significant had happened that day at all.

But Dimitrov was, among other things, fairly astute, which was probably why he guided Ethan to the piano with a hand on his shoulder, pushed him down to sit on the bench none too gently, and opened the cover over the keys.

"If I do not hear Rachmaninoff by the time I am in the hallway, you will play nothing but scales for the next three months," Dimitrov said, and then left the room.

Ethan stared at the keys for a long minute. It was entirely possible that Dimitrov meant it. Jake hadn't been kidding when he complained about playing scales for entire practices. Ethan had to do it once or twice himself.

In the daytime, Dimitrov's tiny apartment was a brightly-lit, busy hive of flotsam and jetsam, knick-knacks and actual Russian tchochkes shoved in every nook and cranny, and no space left unadorned with something. The walls were covered with posters from Dimitrov's glory days of playing for the Soviet Union, hammers and sickles and profiles of himself gazing strongly into the distance. Ethan couldn't read the Cyrillic, but he could imagine what they said well enough. Yuri Dimitrov, Grand Master Pianist, Plays for the Glory of the Soviet People, This Friday, One Performance Only, If You Do Not Attend You Will Play Scales for the Rest of Time.

Dimitrov's apartment looked entirely different after dark. Instead of bright sunshine illuminating every corner, the entire apartment was dark and gloomy, lit by only a few sparse lamps. Every room was swathed in shadow, curtains were drawn against any chink of light from outside. There was an overhead light in the back piano room, which was clearly more for decoration than as an actual light source, given that it only gave off an ominous glow. The green-shaded lamp on the top of the piano was bright enough to light the empty music stand and the keys below it, but it wasn't much use for seeing anything else.

The only reason Ethan knew he wasn't in an empty room was the warmth that surrounded him. The room felt full - of curtains, and furniture, and books, the weight of Dimitrov's own peculiar history. Ethan wondered if he shouldn't have been afraid of the dark corners - but somehow, he wasn't. Ethan knew this room; had spent countless hours in this room over the past few years. Alan Clark wasn't lurking behind the curtains, waiting to spring on him. Here, Ethan was alone, and safe.

The keys shone brightly under the light, even when Ethan set his fingers on them. The flat was quiet. It almost seemed a sacrilege to break the silence with a chord, and when Ethan pressed down on the keys, the music seemed to echo and vibrate.

He played.

It wasn't Rachmaninoff - not at first. It wasn't scales, either. Ethan wasn't sure what he played; he just let his fingers move over the keys, discordant and vibrant and strange and frightening. The music didn't really sound like anything, exactly - just notes. A toddler, throwing a tantrum and making sound for the sheer fun of it.

Ethan leaned over the keys, and played harder, pushed down so roughly on the keys that his fingers began to sting. The notes swirled, came faster together, coalescing into something that still wasn't music, not really - but now there was rhythm, a beat, motion and movement even though it was still discordant and strange. Faster and faster, until they were toppled over each other, hurtling toward something that when it finally broke, Ethan found himself gasping, sweat on his brow, his entire body shaking with the sheer effort of having pulled the music out of himself.

His fingers paused, and then played a few notes. Quiet, hesitant, single notes that crept back into the silence, not the sudden rush of music that he'd played before, but whatever was left after the furious shell that had surrounded him had broken.

The notes themselves didn't sound broken. Not exactly. Not really. Just... uncertain.

Ethan played, and let the music creep around him, explore and test its surroundings, its limits, its curves and swirls and finally settle back into itself, into something Ethan didn't remember playing before, but something he found familiar.

The song was already drawing to a close when Ethan realized he didn't want to stop playing - not for a second. And so he didn't, gliding into Rachmaninoff without a second thought, and in the quiet darkness of the room, he continued to play.

Rachmaninoff to Gershwin, to Shostakovich to Bach, to Wagner to Glass. Ethan played until his fingers were numb, without stopping, without thinking about what song would come next, without trying to make too much of the transition from one composer to the next. He could barely remember what he had played already - he was fairly sure that the Shostakovich itself was terrible, and that Dimitrov really ought to have come storming in to hit him over the head with a rolled up sheet of music - but when he finally came up for air - the room was still empty, still quiet, still safe.

Ethan sucked in a breath of air, and wondered if it was possible that he hadn't breathed since sitting down.

Or the flight from New Belford.

Or the train station, when Antonio had left.

The thought of Antonio didn't sting quite so badly now - although there was still the odd twist in his stomach when Ethan thought of that last kiss, the brutal force of it, the way it had felt like Antonio was trying to swallow him whole. And the twist itself was... good. Not pleasant, exactly, but it made Ethan shiver in the cool air, and he was suddenly aware of how warm he was, and how badly he wanted something to drink.

And of voices, somewhere else in the apartment. Dimitrov and Ben, talking, and the sound of glasses clinking softly.

Ethan stood up, surprised how rubbery his legs felt, and slipped out of the room.

The voices were louder once he stepped into the dark hallway; light spilled from a doorway at the far end, and Ethan walked towards it, listening.

"....and was it as good as you remembered?" asked Ben, clearly amused about something.

"Bozhe moy," groaned Dimitrov. "Worst I have ever tasted. Dog piss."

"Maybe next time," said Ben, sympathetically.

"What, are you joking? It was exactly how I remember!" said Dimitrov, and Ben's bright laughter burst down the hall. "You think I see all of Soviet Russia in rose-colored glasses?"

"Yuri. You do see all of Soviet Russia in rose-colored glasses."

"Bah," snorted Dimitrov. "Not so."

"Oh, please. I remember you going on these great lyrical monologues, how much better was the weather, better was the food, better was the audiences--" Ben mimicked Dimitrov's accent - but Ethan could hear the fondness in his mother's voice, and when Dimitrov responded, he didn't seem particularly upset.

"The audiences were better. They had a real appreciation for art - not like these Americans, only going to see and be seen. Why do you think Soviet Russia supported its musicians? Music is life! Without music, we might as well die. Not like America. No support here. If you had been born in Russia, you would have been great. You would have had the finest instruction. No expense spared on your education, your living, your clothes, your music."

Ethan stood next to the doorway. He couldn't see Ben or Dimitrov, not from where he was standing, but he could hear Ben's soft snort.

"You're having me on again."

"Is true," insisted Dimitrov. "You could have been great. World-famous. Played with every major orchestra on every stage. Instead, what do you do? Raise children and teach Chopsticks."

"I like Chopsticks," protested Ben.

Something being poured - vodka. Or tea. Or both. "Waste of time."

"Chopsticks?" asked Ben cheekily. "Or trying to teach me?"

"Bah," scoffed Dimitrov. "If we were in Soviet Russia--"

"You always say that," Ben interrupted him. "But if we were in Soviet Russia, you wouldn't know to complain about how terrible the borsht is."

"If we were in Soviet Russia, your Ethan would never need an alpha to go to conservatory."

Ethan held his breath.

"Well," said Ben finally, "the Soviet Union fell twenty years ago, so it's a moot point. And if it hadn't, you would never have come here to be disappointed by me. Ethan, you can come into the kitchen and stop lurking in the hall now."

Ethan came around the corner, blinking in the bright light of the kitchen. Dimitrov and Ben sat at the small round Formica table in the center of the room, covered with a bright tablecloth and adorned with small plates of cakes and pastries and glass cups of tea and something clear that was definitely not tea, and as it was directly in front of Dimitrov, probably not water, either. Dimitrov glared at Ethan, eyes narrowed, and picked up the glass of clear liquid.

"Your Shostakovich was terrible," he said, and drank as if Ethan had personally insulted him with terrible playing.

Ethan ignored him, focused on Ben. "You were his student?"

"I did learn piano somewhere," said Ben mildly. "I imagine you're thirsty."

"You were good?"

Dimitrov let out a barking laugh. "He was passable."

Ben let out a pained sigh, and pushed away from the table, clearly done with the conversation.

Ethan turned to Dimitrov. "That's not what you said just now. You said he could have been great."

"Could have been," emphasized Dimitrov, drawing out the words, and somehow sounding even more Russian as he did it. "Not was. Difference. He never had the chance to be great."

"Yes, let's talk about me as if I'm not in the room," said Ben brightly, and set a glass of water down in front of Ethan. "Drink that, you'll feel better."

"I feel fine," protested Ethan.

"You're running a low-grade fever and you're exhausted. Your knees are rubbery and you might feel fine now, but that's only the catharsis from having played yourself out," said Ben. "Drink the water. And maybe sit down before you collapse."

Ethan felt his legs begin to wobble, and sat down on the chair Ben had vacated before he could collapse as predicted. He pretended not to see Ben's smirk as he drained the glass of water, but Ben's hand ran lightly through his hair, which shouldn't have felt half as wonderful as it did. Every nerve in his body responded, bright as starshine, and Ethan closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the touch.

"Hmm," said Ben, thoughtfully. "I didn't recognize the first piece you played."

"Okay," said Ethan, a bit groggy now. The water sloshed pleasantly in his stomach, but he was still thirsty, and increasingly aware of how empty he felt. A hollow shell, really - as if he'd played out not only every emotion in him, but also every organ and blood cell and bone, too. Maybe that was the song Ben didn't recognize. "I think I made it up."

"It was... interesting."

"I liked it, at the end," said Ethan, and rested his head against Ben's stomach. The day was catching up to him, maybe. "I think I did, anyway. I don't remember any of it. Not really."

"That's a shame," soothed Ben.

Dimitrov scoffed. "I recorded it. After, we see what you think of it."

"After what?" asked Ethan, and Ben's hand stilled.

"After your estrus," said Ben quietly, and Ethan caught his breath.

The warmth - the empty feeling - the odd illness before their hurried journey out of New Belford. The way he was so incredibly thirsty and tired....

The way his entire body felt as though it were waiting for something, stuck in a sort of stasis, needing just the right touch to send him spiraling over the edge.

Ethan had felt it all before, but barely remembered the signs in the haze of his anger and grief and despair over Mr. Clark's lies.

It was estrus. The early stages, but still estrus.

"I can't go into estrus," he said, sitting up a bit. "Why am I going into estrus?"

Ben sat down on the third chair, stroking Ethan's cheek. "The scrape on your neck - it didn't break the skin, but it must have started something. That's how the bonding process begins. Your body must have thought--"

Ethan's chest went cold. "I'm not going to bond with Alan Clark. I'm not."

"Of course not," said Ben firmly. "You don't have to bond with anyone."

"Of course not," mimicked Dimitrov. "He could teach Chopsticks with you instead."

"Stop it," Ben snapped at Dimitrov, who threw up his hands before taking another swig of the vodka.

Ethan sucked in a breath. "I can't bond unless I'm in estrus - and there's no way I can have a second estrus in two weeks. If I don't bond now, I won't be able to start conservatory."

Thankfully, Dimitrov merely stood up and walked away, instead of another In Soviet Russia. Ben glanced at him briefly, and then turned back to focus on Ethan.

"You have a choice, Ethan. And I'm sorry you have to make it this way. I don't know if Antonio is going to come through with the contract--"

"He will," insisted Ethan.

"We might not have time for him to do it," said Ben shortly. "You're going to be in full-blown estrus by morning. You need to form the bond early enough for it to take. So this is your choice, Ethan - you can either gamble on Antonio calling and bonding in the next twelve hours - or you won't be able to start school in two weeks as we planned."

"No late entries," said Dimitrov shortly from the other side of the room. His back was to them, as he leaned against the counter top. "You start in two weeks - or you start the application process from scratch. The admissions committee is not likely to be favorable to you a second time."

Ethan took a deep breath, surprised at how much he was shaking, though he wasn't sure if it was the sudden fear that was creeping up over him - or the estrus taking hold.

"That's not really a choice," he said.

"Ethan," began Ben, desperately, before Dimitrov interrupted.

"Alan Clark," said Dimitrov. "Your mother does not want to say, but he is your choice. You could go back to Alan Clark, and bond with him, and gamble that he will let you go to conservatory. Or you could wait for your Antonio, who may not want you at all. So you see, not much of a choice, when most of your options involve giving up what you really want."

Ethan looked over at his piano tutor. "You think Alan Clark is a choice?"

"I think you don't have a choice," said Dimitrov.

It was so obvious, just then, that Ethan was surprised that neither adult brought it up. Even if the idea was only slightly more bearable than Alan Clark... at least it was still not Alan Clark. Ethan choked out the words. "You're an alpha. You could be a choice."

Ben stiffened, but didn't let go of Ethan's hand.

Dimitrov went still, and then turned to look first at Ben, and then at Ethan. His expression was dark, but beyond that - unreadable. "No," he said, finally, looking back to Ben. "I could not."

Ethan wasn't the least bit surprised by the sudden feeling of relief.

"I am not that kind of man who will take what does not belong to him," continued Dimitrov, and there was something about the way he looked at Ben, as if he was only reminding him of something. It was almost familiar, the expression on his face, even though Ethan hadn't ever seen such a soft look there before.

Not on Dimitrov, anyway. No, the only person he'd ever seen look at Ben that way was his father.

It clicked, just like the proverbial light switch. One moment, Dimitrov had an unusual expression on his face, and then next - Ethan could see every emotion Dimitrov felt for Benjamin Downing laid bare, and he knew, without a doubt, why Dimitrov had driven in the middle of the night to rescue him, just on a single phone call.

What was even stranger - and more of a mind-fuck - was the way that Ben looked back at Dimitrov. As if none of this was a surprise to him - as if he had long since accepted it, because it would never go away, and was infinitely careful not to take advantage of it.

"I know you're not," said Ben gently. "Yuri--"

The phone rang, and all three of them went still, staring at each other as if the world had suddenly stopped turning.

When the phone rang a second time, Dimitrov snorted. "Yes, because Alan Clark will call before he comes to kidnap Ethan away," he snapped, and went to answer it, putting on the thickest, most incomprehensible Russian accent Ethan had ever heard him use. "Dimitrov. Do you know what time it is? Who calls so late?"

Dimitrov frowned at the phone, listening. "He is not here. Why you think he is here? I not the one who assaults young omegas against their will."

Alan Clark, thought Ethan, wildly, and was about to shoot straight out of the kitchen and run - anywhere, really, when he heard the voice shouting on the other end of the line.

A familiar voice shouting - in Spanish.

Ethan's trajectory changed so rapidly that he nearly fell over in his haste to get to the phone before Dimitrov could shout any more.

"¡Digame este instante, donde esta--!"

"Antonio," Ethan breathed, cradling the phone to his ear.

Antonio sucked in a breath. Ethan could hear him nearly choking on the words he'd been about to shout, and he had no idea what Antonio had been saying, or was about to say, but the way he cut himself off the moment Ethan took the phone was enough.

"Where are you?" asked Antonio roughly, and Ethan broke into a grin, hearing the faint accent still in Antonio's voice. It hadn't been present, any other time they spoke, and Ethan had the idea that emotion was what kept it there now. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," said Ethan. "I'm with Mom."

"That wasn't Benjamin."

"No, it was Dimitrov. My piano tutor. He--" Ethan turned to look at Dimitrov, who was still scowling. "It's a long story, but he's all right. I trust him."

Antonio was quiet for a moment. "I called your house. Your father - he said," Antonio began, and then took a deep breath. "Alan Clark attacked you."

"I'm fine," said Ethan firmly. "I'm fine, Antonio. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."

I'm still yours, Ethan thought, and clutched the phone, waiting, his heart in his throat.

Antonio let out another ragged breath. "My father signed the contract."

Ethan let out the breath he didn't realize he held, and slumped against the counter. He could feel the smile spread across his face, the tension and fear in his muscles slowly start to ease away.

"Ethan," said Antonio, low.

Oh, thought Ethan, as the tension in him shifted focus, became sharper, more clarified, and centralized just under his stomach, near the base of his spine. His eyes widened.

"You'll come in the morning," said Antonio. "Yes?"

"Ah," said Ethan, suddenly light-headed, "slight problem with that timeline."

Ethan could hear Antonio frown. "What do you mean?"

"Well," said Ethan, and tried to make his voice bright. "There's a chance I might be going into estrus. Now, as a matter of fact."

When Antonio swore, it was in Spanish.

* * *

THE ENTRANCE TO THE parking garage under Antonio's building was located on a dimly-lit side-street, somewhat buffered from the noise and lights of the city. Dimitrov pulled the car up to the keypad, and Ben read out the code Antonio had given them which would give them access.

"It's safer than trying to park on the street," he explained. "You can take the elevator straight up to the apartment."

Ethan huddled next to Ben in the backseat as Yuri carefully drove his small car down the ramp and into the tightly designed garage. The drive into the city had been altogether too long, and somehow too quick at the same time, and he looked at all of the fancy, shiny, expensive cars and could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. The quiet calm from before had long since morphed into a tense sort of shivering, even though Ethan wasn't cold in the slightest.

Dimitrov's fifteen-year-old Honda, with the rust stains along the bumpers and the air-freshener tree hanging from the rear-view-mirror... parked next to a sleek, black Jaguar. Ethan wanted to burst into hysterical laughter.

"Cars in the city," scoffed Dimitrov. "When subway is perfectly adequate. In Moscow--"

"You never rode the subway in Moscow, either," said Ben.

"Hmph," muttered Dimitrov. "And you were there, to know so much."

"No," said Ben, "but I know you well enough."

Dimitrov huffed and parked the car without another word. Ethan could feel his mother laughing softly next to him.

The elevator was exactly as Ethan remembered it, but he stared at his reflection in the mirrored walls, not quite recognizing himself. He was flushed, with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. His hair was tousled and sticking up in the back, and even though he'd changed before leaving Dimitrov's house, out of the tee-shirt and jeans he'd worn all day and into a clean pair of jeans and a polo shirt, now they were as disheveled as if he'd been sleeping in them.

"Oh, God, I look awful," Ethan said. The elevator seemed to be moving faster than he remembered; his entire body was tense and small, and it was difficult to breathe.

Ben smiled, and brushed Ethan's hair back down with his fingers. "I don't think Antonio will care."

Dimitrov huffed. He was slumped in the corner of the elevator, and looked somewhat skittish. "I need a cigarette."

"After," said Ben firmly.

"I am not family," insisted Dimitrov. "I should not be here."

"You're family to me," said Ben, and Dimitrov looked up sharply. The expression on his face was so odd, it took Ethan much too long to recognize it as shock.

Dimitrov was about to speak when the elevator doors slid open.

"Oh, good, we're here," said Ben, much too bright, and he shoved Ethan out of the elevator. "Oh, my. This is nice."

The elevator had bypassed the lobby, and it had been too dark out on the street to really get a sense of the building. The amazement on Ben's face as he looked at the rather fancy landing reminded Ethan a bit of how small and out-of-place he'd felt a week ago.

And now I belong. Almost, thought Ethan, and the idea gave his stomach a twist. He tried to steady his breaths, but he had the far-off thought that he was about to hyperventilate.

Dimitrov strode forward to ring the bell; Ben took Ethan's arm and gave him a gentle squeeze.

"All right?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," said Ethan. "No."

Ben smiled. "I remember that feeling, too."

The front door opened, and for a moment, it was as if the previous week had never happened; Hector Valdez Mendoza stepped into the foyer, all cheer and booming voice. If he showed surprise at Dimitrov's presence, it was so quickly smoothed over that Ethan didn't register it; the two alphas greeted each other with vastly differing levels of enthusiasm - Hector, as loud and effervescent as Ethan remembered, and Dimitrov, his normally guarded and suspicious self, though now it was tempered with the hesitation of an alpha outside his territory.

There was the tell-tale sound of heeled shoes click-clacking on the marble floor, accompanied by a whiff of perfume and comfort - Yolanda Veracruz de Valdez, of course, coming to greet Ben with a kiss on both cheeks, and to take Ethan's hands in hers.

"Ay, niñe," she said softly, looking right at him. "What a terrible journey you must have had, poor lamb. Antonio is waiting for you."

Ethan's stomach gave a lurch. His breath caught in his throat. The tension melted into something far more tangible and soft that sped up his breathing and turned every one of his muscles into jelly.

"The contract first," said Dimitrov, his Russian accent more pronounced in the echoing foyer. "Not that I do not trust you, of course."

If Ethan hadn't been struggling to maintain some level of equilibrium - which he wasn't entirely sure he even had - he might have snorted in laughter. The idea of Dimitrov trusting anyone....

"Of course, of course!" Hector replied, waving them all inside. "Forgive me, it is so late. It has been quite a day."

"For some more than others, I'm sure," said Dimitrov, and in such a way that Hector might not have even noticed the slight.

The library was just as Ethan remembered it, only darker, with the shades to the balcony drawn. The contracts were laid out on the center table, and Hector handed one to Dimitrov, who quickly waved it away.

"Show Ben," he said shortly, and after a moment's hesitation, Hector passed the contract to Ben, who looked at the papers askance for a moment before slowly releasing Ethan to take them.

The sudden shock of standing without any sort of bodily support was much worse than Ethan would have expected. He sucked in a breath as his entire body began to shake, and it was only Yolanda's quick thinking in putting her arm around him that kept him from falling to the ground.

"Todo esta bien, mi corazon," she said softly into Ethan's hair, and Ben looked up sharply from the contract, his fingers tight on the paper. For a moment, Ethan thought Ben might drop the contract and come right back - but instead, he bit his lip, and read through the pages, as if he hadn't just read them barely twelve hours before.

His shoulders sagged in relief when he reached the last page, where Hector's much contested signature would be.

"All in order," he said, and righted the pages.

"You're welcome to take it with you, for Roberto," said Hector grandly.

"But not until morning, surely," protested Yolanda. "It's so late, we can't possibly send them home at this hour. They must be exhausted."

"Is not finalized copy," said Dimitrov. "Robert will want official verification. Stamps. All that."

"Of course," said Hector, a bit stiffly. "I will file all those in the morning with the appropriate authorities. But I believe these are sufficient to meet your requirements before the boys do their part?"

Ethan's heart hammered in his chest. He could barely breathe, even with Yolanda's arms surrounding him.

Their part. Hector meant bonding, Ethan realized. Ethan and Antonio alone, in a dark room, naked and writhing and Antonio's mouth on Ethan's neck. Just the thought of it made Ethan's heart push against his ribcage and his stomach drop and the funny topsy-turvy feeling in his gut explode. He was light-headed and dizzy and couldn't breathe properly, and it was getting worse by the moment.

Fear, he realized. Complete, all-encompassing fear, radiating out from his chest, into every one of his pores. Ethan wasn't even sure why he was so afraid - it wasn't of estrus, exactly, he'd experienced that before. It wasn't Antonio, either. He trusted Antonio, and just the thought of him was enough to send a pleasurable curl, as sharp and bright as acid, through his stomach.

It wasn't even the idea that this was the beginning of everything he'd wanted - that he'd be a student at the conservatory, that he'd learn from the best, that one day it would be him under the bright lights, sitting at a grand piano with an orchestra to one side and a rapt audience on the other.

Ben rested his hand on Ethan's cheek, leaning down just enough to look into his eyes.

"Ethan," he said softly. "Are you ready?"

It wasn't any one thing. It was all of it, the sum of it, everything happening now, to him, and in just a few hours or minutes, it would be him and Antonio in a room somewhere not so far away, doing what Ethan had managed to avoid thinking about so far.

The entire building might have been on fire; Ethan probably wouldn't have been able to move a muscle. "Paralyzed with fear" seemed so... trite. Ethan breathed, and felt his muscles and organs shift with every expansion of his lungs.

"No," whispered Ethan. "Yes."

"He's waiting for you on the balcony," said Yolanda softly.

Ethan let out a laugh. "Oh. That's... good."

"Poetic, I thought," said Yolanda.

"Under the stars?" asked Ben, dubiously.

"For now," said Yolanda, with an indulgent smile.

The balcony door closed as Hector and Dimitrov slipped out, no doubt to warn Antonio. Ethan wondered, fleetingly, if Robert would have left him, or would have stayed until the last moment. How did such things normally go? He couldn't remember.

Ben smoothed Ethan's hair down, and then rested his hand on Ethan's cheek. "It will be all right. You mustn't worry. It will all work out. Everything."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Ethan.

Ben smiled. "I'm your mother. I'm sure."

"Fa told you to call Dimitrov," Ethan blurted out.

"Of course he did," said Ben. "He knew Yuri would help."

"But... Dimitrov's in love with you," persisted Ethan. "Why would Fa send you to him?"

Ben smiled wryly, and ran his fingers through Ethan's hair. "Not every love is possessive. You'll learn that one day."

"Why didn't you bond with Dimitrov?" asked Ethan, and for a moment, he saw the utter surprise on Ben's face, until the smile returned - less wry now, and more fond.

"Because I love your father," said Ben gently. "And what I feel for Dimitrov bears no resemblance to that."

"But - he would have let you play. You could have been more than just a piano teacher."

Ben shook his head. "The difference between you and me, Ethan - I might have been good enough to be a concert pianist, but you want it more. I never did. I always wanted the family, the kids, the bond. The white picket fence and the dog in the backyard. And your father gave it to me. But you're different from me, always have been. You want more. And Antonio will make sure you have it."

"So will I," said Yolanda, and Ben glanced up at her, as if he'd almost forgotten she was there. She smiled. "I'll keep Antonio in line, if he thinks to break it. No proper Latino son dares cross his madre, I promise you."

"And no one with any sense would argue with a Jewish mother and expect to win," replied Ben, amused. They smiled at each other for a moment, and then Ben squeezed Ethan's hand.

"It's time," he said, and led Ethan out the doors and onto the balcony.

The library had been dim, but it still took Ethan's eyes a moment to adjust in the darkness. A week ago, he'd barely paid any attention to the balcony, apart from Antonio and the rough feel of the stone railing.

Ethan heard Ben's breath catch as they stepped outside. The balcony was ringed with white Christmas lights, twisted along the railing, hanging from the eaves, and at least two dozen that criss-crossed in a canopy above them, twinkling like stars. Even the potted trees and plants scattered across the balcony boasted lights buried amongst the leaves, and there were oversized flowers everywhere - colorful hydrangeas and bright birds of paradise, oversized mums and roses as large as Ethan's hand.

The balcony smelled of flowers and crisp nighttime air. It was warmer than the apartment, too, even with the breeze that swept through, and standing by the railing, just where they'd stood a week before, was Antonio, waiting for Ethan. Hector and Dimitrov flanked him on either side, both speaking quietly to him - not arguing, though Antonio had the sort of pained expression Ethan already recognized as someone who was receiving far too much advice in too short a time.

And then Antonio looked up, and saw Ethan in the doorway.

Ethan caught his breath.

Ethan was suddenly very glad he'd changed clothes before leaving the house earlier. Even so, he felt underdressed, now that he saw Antonio's dark pressed trousers and snowy white button-down shirt. Almost as if he had dressed specifically for Ethan, and Ethan's heart gave a curious thump, seeing the small triangle of skin just at Antonio's neck.

For a moment, Ethan wanted to scurry back inside and change out of the jeans and polo shirt he'd thoughtlessly pulled on. And then he saw Antonio's face, the way the trepidation and nerves melted into relief and a sort of ache that Ethan recognized - and there was nothing on earth that could have persuaded Ethan to leave that balcony alone. A clean pair of jeans and an unstained polo shirt would have to do.

Hector cleared his throat. "Benjamin Downing, as this omega's mother, have you read the bonding contract?"

Ethan had attended bonding ceremonies all his life. Whether large affairs for the entire town, or small family gatherings with barely a dozen people in attendance - with parties after or a simple meal - they were nearly all the same. A few words of exchange, a transfer of family affiliation, and then it was done.

Ethan had always wondered what it would feel like to take part in one. To hear the words and know they were talking about him... he'd expected to feel excited and anxious and maybe just a touch of afraid.

He had it all backwards. He was anxious, and excited... and a lot of afraid.

"I have," said Ben, an odd twist to his voice as he said the traditional response, normally spoken by the alpha. "And it is acceptable."

Hector muttered something, and Antonio stiffened next to him, while Dimitrov shot him a dirty look. Ethan tried to stifle a hysterical giggle; he couldn't hear what Hector said, and it was undoubtedly in Spanish, but it didn't take much to make a guess. Something along the lines of, "About damn well time," which would certainly have garnered those reactions from Antonio and Dimitrov.

Ben and Yolanda began to move forward; Ethan went with them, not really paying attention until he stood right in front of Antonio. Ethan was grinning; he probably looked like an absolute idiot, especially since Antonio hadn't even cracked a smile. He tried to move his lips into a more serious expression, but his mouth seemed to be made of stone.

"Hi," said Ethan, once Yolanda and Ben stopped moving. At least if he was going to look stupid, he was going to own looking stupid.

Antonio broke into a smile that slowly slid into a grin, and Ethan's fear, while it didn't disappear entirely, seemed to ebb a little.

"Hello," said Antonio, and Ethan wanted to laugh aloud. It must have shown on his face, because then Antonio continued, "Are you really here?"

"If I'm not, I don't ever want to wake up," said Ethan.

"Antonio," said Hector, "this omega is presented to you as your mate. Do you find him acceptable?"

Antonio didn't answer immediately, and Ethan's heart nearly pounded straight out of his chest until he felt fingers slipping into his hand.

Antonio's fingers, slowly slipping into Ethan's hands and holding them securely, hands pressed together between them.

"Yes," said Antonio. "He is acceptable."

"Then go," said Hector. "He is yours."

For a moment, Antonio didn't move. Ethan's heart continued to pound; it was done... wasn't it? Apart from the physical bit, of course, but... the niceties were concluded. The contracts were signed, the words were said, and Ethan realized with a sudden jump that he'd never quite listened to the words before - maybe Antonio had bonded another omega, and not him, and it was all a dream, and any moment now, he'd turn around and there'd be Antonio's actual bonded omega standing right behind him, all dewy eyed and gorgeous, and they'd go off together to consummate their bond. Or just go right at it on one of the lounge chairs in front of him, that would be more appropriate to a nightmare, surely.

Antonio moved so swiftly, Ethan felt like his arms were nearly yanked out of their sockets. Before Ethan could blink, they were halfway across the balcony, and he heard laughter behind him - Dimitrov's deep roll, Yolanda's bright and cheerful twitter, and Ben... Ben's relieved, happy, bubbles of joy.

Antonio burst through a door on the far side of the balcony, just next to where he and Ethan had kissed a week before. The glass rattled as he slammed the door shut behind them before drawing the heavy curtains with a hasty jerk, blocking out the light from the balcony, though not the laughter that followed them.

"Where are--?" began Ethan, staring around at the dark room, lit only by the amber glow from a single lamp next to a luxuriously-made bed. There was dark paper on the walls, a plush carpet beneath their feet, and it was so neat and pristine that for a moment, Ethan wondered if Antonio hadn't dragged them into his parents' room.

"My bedroom," said Antonio impatiently, and then pushed Ethan up against the curtained door, crowding his vision.

Ethan's chest heaved - or would have, if Antonio had given him space. Antonio cradled Ethan's head in his hands, and then hesitated, just for a moment. Just long enough for Ethan to see the wide look in his eyes, to exhale once as the tension in his shoulders released, and he slumped against Ethan, so smoothly and gradually that Ethan barely even felt the change in pressure.

Relief - or maybe a moment to gather his courage. Ethan wasn't sure, and didn't have time to consider it more before Antonio turned Ethan's face up and touched his lips to his.

Antonio kissed him. Antonio kissed him, alone in his bedroom, their parents chattering away on the other side of the door, but while Ethan could make out the words, he couldn't focus on anything but Antonio kissing him, Antonio's lips, insistent and cautious, soft and pliable, pressing against his own while the rest of his body remained still.

Ethan's heart beat steadily away in his chest, his mind swirling, every nerve tensing and tightening. His hands rested on Antonio's waist, the soft, smooth fabric of his shirt, the warmth under them, cool when compared to Ethan's own heat. It was a perfect kiss, the sort of kiss meant to soothe and set a nervous omega at ease.

Ethan didn't want to be set at ease. He could feel Antonio's skin against his; feel the warmth through his clothes. Smell him, the delicious orange-peel-chile-curry scent of him. The ever increasing inner itch that had been bothering him for hours was worse than ever, greedier for wanting more. Now.

Ethan wasn't a fragile flower, trembling before Antonio's gaze. And he damned well wasn't going to behave like one.

Ethan's desire propelled him up, into the kiss, into Antonio, opening his mouth to let Antonio in, and just like that - it was Ethan who controlled the kiss. Ethan's tongue exploring Antonio's mouth, Ethan's teeth nibbling on his lips. Ethan who marked the inhales and exhales, and the raging need was soothed - if only temporarily, Ethan was sure - and Ethan's fingers crept up on Antonio's shirt, gripping and tugging until they pushed Antonio away, just enough that Ethan could breathe.

"Dios mio," whispered Antonio, and the words were said with a laugh that made Ethan grin cockily.

"Yes," he said, and then Antonio's hands slid down, down, down, as Ethan's kept creeping up, up, up. Down to untuck Ethan's shirt from his jeans, up to pull at the buttons on Antonio's shirt. Down to tug at the fabric until Antonio could rest his open palms against Ethan's fevered skin, up to yank and struggle with the buttons that would not give way.

Antonio's hands were cool on his skin, dry to the touch and Ethan let out a soft "Oh" into Antonio's mouth. Antonio's hands pressed into him, fingers digging just enough to work their way under the waistband of Ethan's jeans, and then his underwear, cupping them around the curve of his ass, and Ethan couldn't think, not with Antonio's hands there, and the sheer deliciousness of it, the way he wanted to curl himself around Antonio, to push his ass harder into his hands, to reach up and kiss him so hard and deep that they couldn't breathe.

Ethan pulled hard, and the buttons on Antonio's shirt went flying.

"You ass," said Antonio, and Ethan pressed his face to the exposed skin of Antonio's chest, the light sprinkling of hair that covered his pectorals. Antonio smelled even better this way; bright and thick and delectable, and whoever said only alphas could go temporarily mad with lust? Ethan wanted to devour Antonio, lick every inch of his skin and swallow him whole.

"Valgame, Dios," groaned Antonio, his hands working feverishly at Ethan's jeans. "You're soaked."

"Extra lubrication due to estrus," gasped Ethan, and Antonio growled. Growled. It made Ethan dizzy.

"I know biology," said Antonio, pushing at Ethan's jeans and underwear, trying to shove the damp fabric past his slim hips.

"Well," said Ethan, dizzy and dazed, "you're older, you've been out of school longer. Who knows what you remember."

Antonio growled again, and nipped at his ear as he worked the clothes past Ethan's hips. He could feel the rough slide of the denim against his skin, abrasive and uncomfortable and it would hurt if it didn't make Ethan almost keen in pleasure. He could feel it now, the cool air against his damp skin, goose bumps surely rising as the scent of him filled the air. Ethan could smell his own pheromones, thick and rich and it was nearly as good as the best aphrodisiac - appropriate, since that was essentially what it was.

Just as advertised, Antonio growled anew, and seemed to lose his head as he tried to pull Ethan up against him, his hands under Ethan's thighs in a misguided effort to wrap Ethan's legs, still tangled by his jeans, around his waist.

"Fuck, ow," groaned Ethan, and had to push Antonio away in order to shove the jeans roughly down his legs. God, the fabric really was soaked, Ethan hadn't even realized it, and he kicked his tangled jeans and underwear away before Antonio grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him right up against the wall next to the door, kissing and suckling with renewed vigor, which Ethan would have happily matched if he hadn't also been trying to push down Antonio's trousers and underwear.

"Ay!" yelped Antonio, his cock caught by the opening on his boxers.

"Then you do it!" Ethan nearly shouted, and Antonio stepped back, breaking the kiss to shove his trousers down with his boxers.

They tugged at each other's shirts until they were both naked, Ethan's hair in disarray and Antonio's shirt probably ruined. Ethan didn't even think to look at Antonio's cock before Antonio had pulled him back against his chest, arms around his waist and hands firmly on his buttocks to lift him up. Ethan's legs went around Antonio's waist without a pause, and Antonio leaned him back against the wall for support.

The time, the kiss was different - Ethan's face was at the same level as Antonio's, so it wasn't such a struggle to keep up. Ethan wrapped his arms around Antonio's neck, desperate to hang on, desperate to get more of Antonio's scent into him, and he could feel Antonio's fingers explore his ass, pressed up against his hole, the wet slick of him as Antonio pressed into the hole, so wet and warm and God, it felt and smelled so fucking impossibly good. Ethan ground himself down on Antonio's fingers, bit into Antonio's neck, tasted the orange-salt-sweet of his skin. Antonio's dick was hard against his own, pressed in between their stomachs, and feeling it there was good - but Ethan's cock was almost too sensitive just then, and every movement sent sparks of ice-cold flame through his nerves, made Ethan jerk and catch his breath, spun his mind in so many directions he could barely remember to breathe.

When Antonio shoved three fingers inside Ethan, curling them just enough to touch his vaginal opening, right where the inner itch was worst.... Ethan lost any semblance to rationality he might have still possessed.

He came. Short, hot waves of semen spurted out between them, warm and wet on their bare stomachs. They slid against each other, Ethan crying out, as the waves of emotion rolled through him, straight through his limbs from outward in, down into his cock, pouring out onto Antonio and between them. His entire body shook with the force of it, and he pressed his face into Antonio's shoulder, his mouth against Antonio's skin. He moaned, cried out, and fuck, his entire body pulsed with need and satisfaction... and desire, renewing itself with every breath, despite the sensation of utter bliss radiating from every nerve.

Ethan was unaware of anything but the press of Antonio's hands against him, the taste of Antonio's skin under his lips. He could feel them moving, feel the vibration of Antonio's voice in his mouth, but only dimly, as if he was asleep several rooms over in the most comfortable bed imaginable. The desire was still there - the inner itch was still there, but sated.

For the moment, anyway.

Ethan didn't know how long it was before he opened his eyes to find himself curled up in Antonio's arms - but horizontal this time. Antonio was on his side next to him on the bed, covers kicked down to rest over their lower legs. There was a thin layer of sweat and semen on Ethan's skin, making him cooler than he would have liked, even if it was a relief with the low-grade fever of estrus.

Antonio nuzzled Ethan's neck and shoulders and chest, and Ethan bent his head to cradle him, breathing in the scent of his hair. He could feel the hardness of Antonio's cock up against his hip - and the rolling desire, the inner itch, still present, though not as painful or urgent as before.

"You're awake," said Antonio.

"How long was I out?"

Antonio lifted one arm to look at his watch. "Ten minutes? I don't know, I didn't note the time."

"And yet you're wearing a watch like James Fucking Bond," teased Ethan, and Antonio snorted and nipped at his shoulder.

Ethan caught his breath. "Did we... did you...?"

"No," murmured Antonio, and he nipped the skin a bit closer to Ethan's neck lightly, which made Ethan's heart jump and his arms tighten around Antonio. "I have to be in you."

"You were, I thought."

"Not like that," said Antonio, and he pushed himself up so that Ethan could see his face. He was flushed - not feverish, but his cheeks were warm and his hair was disheveled with obvious track marks left by wandering fingers. Ethan couldn't remember running his hands through it, and was momentarily annoyed at himself for having done it and not able to remember.

Well. Plenty more estrus to come, he supposed.

"Anyway," continued Antonio, "we both have to come, for it to stick."

Ethan thought of the hardness against his thigh, and if his face hadn't already been flushed with fever, he would have blushed. "Oh. I... um...."

Antonio smiled. "You blushing virgin."

"I am."

"Not quite anymore," Antonio whispered into Ethan's ear, and Ethan could hear the proud laughter behind the words. His hands ran up and down Ethan's arms and the sides of his chest, leaving a tickling wave in their wake, and Ethan nestled closer to him, wishing the covers were a bit higher.

Antonio leaned in closer, his nose against Ethan's neck now. Ethan sighed as he felt Antonio's warm breath against his skin; it tickled the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and he was sure there were goose bumps on his skin as well, but he liked the closeness too much to really mind.

Antonio sniffed deeply, and the quick inhale tickled. Ethan smiled to himself. "It'll be permanent now."

Antonio went still. "Is that how it works?"

The tension was back in Antonio's voice, and Ethan bit his lip. "Once we bond. Yeah."

Antonio pulled back, and Ethan regretted every single thing he'd ever thought to say in his entire life. But Antonio didn't go far - he stayed pressed close to Ethan, waist down, and tucked his arm under his head so that their faces were even with each other.

Ethan almost wished he couldn't see Antonio's face - because Antonio looked calm, and quiet, and it was the lack of emotion that worried Ethan the most.

"Did you love him?" Antonio asked quietly.

"No," said Ethan without a pause. "I mean... I thought I did. But I don't know if it was the scenting or... just me. I can't remember what I felt for him before."

Antonio's face didn't change expression. "You didn't love me before we scented."

Ethan let out a slow breath. "No. But... I liked you. A lot. And I didn't want to lose the chance that I might get to like you better, and that you might like me, too."

Antonio nodded, slowly. "And that's all?"

Antonio's eyes were so solid, so focused - Ethan couldn't bear their weight another minute, and tore his gaze away to look at his hand on Antonio's arm.

"Dimitrov is in love with my mom, you know."

Antonio didn't say anything, so Ethan continued.

"I think... I think my mom loves him, too. It's not the same, though. And I didn't see it before tonight. But... I don't want to love the way Dimitrov does. Without any hope of being loved the same way in return. My parents - they love each other, on equal terms, exactly as much as the other. I can't think of anything worse than loving without any hope of reciprocation. Can you?"

"Not many things, no."

Ethan glanced up. "Did you mean it earlier today? About it being my decision, having kids?"

Antonio's face was still stoic, but his hand tightened on Ethan's waist, very briefly. "Of course. I... I don't...."

Ethan pushed himself closer, and kissed the side of Antonio's mouth, suddenly very glad Ben had remembered the slim little case in his overnight bag. "I'm on the pill. So we're safe."

"Okay," said Antonio, a bit shaky, and Ethan kissed him while his mouth was still open.

For a long while, it was all they needed - just the simple contact of lips against lips, tongues against tongues, hands on skin, slowly moving and exploring, lazy but with growing enthusiasm. They shifted closer together without really thinking about it, first Ethan over Antonio, and then Antonio would shift and roll so that he covered Ethan. At one point, Antonio dragged the sheet up and over them so that they were surrounded by the diluted amber glow of the nearby lamp diffused through the makeshift canopy. The crisp cotton rubbed against Ethan's fevered skin, and he grinned against Antonio, burying his face in Antonio's chest.

"It's a chuppah," he said, unable to keep the delight out of his voice.

"A what?"

"A bonding canopy," explained Ethan, and grinned at Antonio. "I thought the lights outside were nice enough."

"You were cold," protested Antonio, and Ethan kissed him, because it was true, and it didn't matter, and despite Ethan's brave words, he might have been falling in love with Antonio anyway. The sheet settled around them in a soft and snug cocoon.

They kissed, soft breath against fevered skin, fingers gliding and sliding between each other. Ethan slid off Antonio's chest, and caught his cock in his hand, the thickness of it heavy in his palm. He ran his fingers along the foreskin, marveling at the different shape, the dark color, the spongy bit of skin at the base where Antonio's knot would eventually form. Antonio groaned and closed his eyes, breathing erratic and shallow as his head hit the pillow behind him.

"Don't stop," he whispered, and Ethan couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. He kept his hand on Antonio's cock, let his fingers circle it, long lazy strokes up and over the knob at the end, only to release and move back down to the base, under the springy, spongy knot.

He couldn't even hear Antonio breathing, not really, not until he rolled his circled fingers over the deflated knot with a firm pressure. Then Antonio went still, his breath caught, and he gave a violent shiver that Ethan had a very good idea was a very good thing, if the high-pitched whine in the back of Antonio's throat was any indication. Ethan grinned, and was able to do it a second time before Antonio's hand caught his wrist.

"Do it again," he growled, "and I won't be able to stop what happens next."

"Good," said Ethan, eyes already glazed over from the alpha pheromones rushing into the air. "Don't."

Antonio pulled Ethan's wrist up, using the leverage to flip Ethan's back onto the bed. The sheet above them slid away, and Ethan shivered in the sudden cool air. Antonio's body was warm, resting atop him, with kisses that grew in intensity, working his way up Ethan's chest as Ethan breathed heavily under him, hips undulating as the inner itch slowly built up again.

Antonio reached Ethan's mouth, and Ethan lost himself in kissing him, and in feeling Antonio's cock as it brushed lightly against Ethan's hole. Ethan sighed as his legs fell open, allowing Antonio more access; he could feel the cockhead rub back and forth across his perineum, not quite at the right angle to slip inside so easily, but Ethan wasn't so far gone as to be craving much more just yet. His skin was still damp and sticky from before; and he could feel the continuous trickle of new wetness as Antonio's cock rubbed through it, spreading it further across his ass and inner thighs.

It was Antonio who changed the pace, as he slipped down from Ethan's mouth to his jaw, and then his neck, working his way across the skin, kissing and suckling in turn. Ethan sighed with his, hands caressing Antonio's back, breathing in deep, long breaths. He could feel every nerve cell of his body, quivering and anxious, tense and on edge, and it felt amazing. Alive. Alert.

Antonio nipped the skin on his neck, and just like that, every one of the alive, alert, and anxious nerves were on fire, springing from their tension into full-blown desire. Ethan tingled and sparked, his legs spread wider as his back arched, and he tipped his head back to allow Antonio greater access to his neck, the moan slipping from his throat before he could even think.

Antonio pressed his nose and mouth into Ethan's skin, exactly as if he were going to scent Ethan before anything else, and -

Ethan tensed, for just a moment, his fingernails digging into Alan's - no, Antonio's skin, he reminded himself, almost harshly, and he buried his nose into Antonio's hair and breathed him in. The scent was delicious and clean and appetizing - Antonio, obviously Antonio, no one else but Antonio. Antonio, who trusted him, who respected him, who wanted him.

Not Alan Clark. Not ever again.

Ethan breathed in the reassuring scent of Antonio, safe and secure in the knowledge that there was nowhere else he would rather be. No one else he wanted to be with.

Go away, he told the memory of Alan Clark, and shoved it hard into the back of his mind.

Ethan's arms wrapped around Antonio's shoulders; Antonio breathed hard against his skin, his back flexing, curving upward, the jerks of his hips more focused and energized, as his cock slipped and slid between them. It felt delicious, even as it was teasing Ethan even further, making the itch worse. The air was thick with pheromones and the scent of Ethan's wetness, and when Antonio's cock slipped a fourth time on his obvious drive to slide it into Ethan, Ethan began to giggle.

Antonio growled and pulled back. When Ethan saw his cock, he understood why: dark red and so obviously hard it had to be intensely painful. He reached down to touch it, and Antonio winced and groaned.

"The angle's not right," gasped Antonio. "Chinga, that feels good."

"So much for young and limber," said Ethan.

"On your front," gasped Antonio, and Ethan scrambled to comply.

It was only once Ethan leaned forward on his elbows that he realized - he was utterly, completely exposed, entirely open for Antonio to see and smell and touch. Ethan's heart began to pound straight out of his chest, and his legs trembled so hard he wasn't sure how he managed to stay up. He was trembling, all of him, the wetness leaking right down his thighs and Antonio behind him, thumbs on either side of his hole, holding him open - as if he needed it! - and Ethan felt Antonio's cock, just there, at the entrance, and then it was going in... slow and wide and thick and Ethan cried out and closed his eyes.

It just felt so. Damn. Good.

Antonio's cock was wider than his fingers, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad as Ethan had thought it would be. Just enough to make itself noticeable, and nothing that wasn't almost entirely overwritten by the sheer, intense pleasure. Scratching an itch indeed - it was exactly like that moment of exquisite relief when Ethan scratched at a bug bite on his leg, pleasure and relief and ache all mixed together, and the intense desire to just keep scratching, even knowing he'd draw blood eventually.

He could feel every single movement as Antonio slowly slid inside, until Antonio stopped - not quite all the way in, because Ethan could feel the odd pressure of the squishy, semi-deflated knot just at his entrance.

Antonio didn't move or make a sound except for his harsh, shallow breaths, and Ethan looked over his shoulder to see the odd, strained expression on his face, the flush on his cheeks and the sweat on his brow. His hair was damp, curling just a bit on his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over.

He looked debauched and sexy and delicious, and the itch was slowly coming back, and Ethan wanted Antonio to move, wanted it more than anything. He wasn't ready for stillness; he wanted the hard rush and the roughness that came with it, and Antonio looked as if he could give it to him, and make it so perfect... and Ethan had no idea why he wasn't doing just that.

"Antonio? Are you...?"

"Almost," gasped Antonio, his hands gripping Ethan's ass so hard that it would surely leave marks.

It wasn't that Ethan didn't believe him - but he was tactile by nature, and it only took a bit of maneuvering to get his hand back there, to feel the still-soft knot pressed up against the outer ring of his hole. Ethan ran his fingers along the seam where his body met Antonio's, unable to quite believe what he was feeling. Antonio was in him; that was his ass stretched around Antonio's cock.

Ethan's fingers were dripping with his own slick when he touched Antonio's knot again - and this time, there was a clear difference as it began to harden and thicken and grow. Ethan caught his breath, continued stroking the knot, rubbing his own wetness into the rubbery, tightening skin, and Antonio groaned, pushing his hips forward, so that the expanded knot slipped through Ethan's wet fingers and into his hole at last.

Oh, fuck.

That was the stretch that Ethan wanted, and didn't realize. That was what the inner itch had been craving, the stretch of him, around Antonio; the rub of Antonio's cockhead up against his vaginal opening. Ethan's hand slipped back down to the bed as Antonio began to pump his hips. Ethan could hear it faintly, the slick pop of the knot going in and out, the last remaining softness making each pass slower and more difficult, but also better and more satisfying. Ethan pressed his hands to the mattress, tilted his hips back so that Antonio's cock could take him deeper.

Every nerve in Ethan was alive - more so when Antonio bent over him, chest only barely touching Ethan's back. The knot was larger now, so much so that it almost didn't want to pop in and out at all, and Antonio continued to work it, his breath cool on Ethan's shoulders.

They were almost there.

Ethan's entire body shook and shivered; he curved his back so that it could touch Antonio's chest, wanting the contact more than he wanted the continued delicious back-and-forth of the knot. Antonio shifted his weight, and then his arm was around Ethan's chest, holding him tight, and Ethan's head spun as Antonio lifted him upward to sit on his thighs, impaled on Antonio's cock as it jerked - once, twice up into Ethan, before lodging firmly inside.

Antonio's mouth was so close to Ethan's ear, he could hear the wet sounds of his inhales and exhales, feel his damp breath on his skin. Ethan let his head fall back to Antonio's shoulder as he settled into the flat plane of Antonio's chest.

Now, he thought. He'll bite me now.

One of Antonio's arms around Ethan's chest. The other, on his hip, slowly moved forward until it had taken Ethan's cock, warm and faintly wet from all the slick, and Ethan caught his breath.

Antonio didn't move; he simply breathed. He held Ethan so close that Ethan wasn't sure whose heart was beating so hard.

The gentle pressure on his cock was so slight that Ethan almost didn't register it before he let out the groan. When the thumb brushed over the head, Ethan let out a cry. He reached up to tangle his hand in Antonio's hair, just as Antonio lowered his mouth to rest his lips on Ethan's neck, teeth on the skin, just the smallest pressure...

And Ethan was coming, coming, coming, wave after wave that he only dimly realized matched the waves he felt inside that must have been Antonio coming as well.

Antonio's teeth sank into his skin, but Ethan could barely feel it. He was frozen, hand in Antonio's hair, tugging and pushing Antonio into the bite, making it deeper and more solid than it might have been on its own. Or maybe that was just a fancy, because the next moment, Ethan was entirely boneless, limp and exhausted and molded to the curve of Antonio behind him. Antonio moved inside him, just a bit, small nudges, and every movement sent another wave of intense pleasure, as sharp and short as the initial waves were long and luxurious.

They fell to their sides on the bed, chests heaving. Ethan was in a daze, eyes fluttering open and closed. Antonio's knot locked them together, and Ethan found that he didn't much mind the stillness required; Antonio's arms were tight around his chest, and his movements were few: enough to lick at the newly-made bond bite, to nuzzle the skin around it, kiss the unmarked areas and nip gently. His fingers pressed into Ethan's side, a strange little pattern that Ethan wanted to examine, but every nip set a quiet, tingling wave through Ethan, and he floated along, buoyed by the soft pleasure of Antonio's kisses, safe and secure in his arms.

The world was fuzzy and soft and warm and wonderful, and Ethan's eyes were impossibly heavy.

"Antonio," he mumbled, wanting to say it before he fell asleep.

"Mine," said Antonio, breathing warm air over the cool bite on Ethan's neck.

Another flush of pleasure, this one more intense than the others - not even pleasure, not really, but something bright and happy and so strong that Ethan reveled in it for a moment before naming it.

Joy. Maybe even love. He didn't know. He was too tired, too happy, to really examine it.

Antonio's fingers pressed into Ethan's skin, one by one, the pattern repeating itself. One-two-three, three-two-four-one.

Gradually, the music began to play in Ethan's mind, the notes wrapping around his skin like a blanket. It wasn't anything he'd really heard before - it wasn't really anything at all, not exactly. But it was coming from Antonio, and Ethan recognized it somehow, as if he'd played it once before, and forgotten the tune.

Antonio pressed his lips to Ethan's ear, and Ethan turned his head, nose to shoulder, to give him better access, and the scent from his own skin filled his nostrils. Oranges and cloves, the parsley salt-scent of them together, embedded in his skin.

Ethan smiled, and settled himself closer to Antonio, and closed his eyes to sleep.

* * *

ANTONIO WASN'T SURE what woke him up the next morning. The curtains were still closed, though he could see the faint glow of the sunrise at their edges. The apartment was silent, except for the far-off sound of a shower running, which normally wouldn't have woken him. Not even the smell of the coffee that wafted in from the kitchen would normally have woken him.

Antonio closed his eyes again, stretched, and rolled closer to Ethan, still asleep next to him. He breathed in Ethan's scent - the parsley-salt-water-sweat of him, warm with the heat from his skin. Ethan sighed, and pressed himself closer to Antonio, but didn't wake. Antonio pressed a kiss to his hair, and carefully extracted himself from the bed.

Ethan sighed again, and kept sleeping. His skin was flushed, and there were dark marks on his skin that would probably form bruises later on. Antonio didn't feel the least bit guilty; he had no doubt that there were similar marks on his skin, too.

The shower switched off. Antonio thought briefly of stepping under the spray, letting it sluice off the sweat and dried semen from his skin. He felt sticky, as if he'd taken several dips in the ocean and hadn't bothered to rinse off afterward. But that would also wash off Ethan's scent, and Antonio wasn't overly inclined to take that step just yet.

Better, he thought, to wait until Ethan was awake, and then shower together.

The coffee might not have woken Antonio, but it beckoned, nonetheless. And he'd need it, too - Antonio doubted they'd had more than a few hours sleep, scattered over the night. Ethan had woken every few hours, desperate for Antonio's touch, and Antonio would have much rather crawled right back into the bed next to him, wrapped Ethan up in his arms and nestled there until Ethan woke and wanted him again.

No. Not yet.

Antonio pulled on a bathrobe and slipped from the room before he lost his will.

The radio was on in the kitchen, playing something on one of the Latino stations that was really meant to be played at a much louder volume than it actually was just then. Yuri Dimitrov stood at the counter, scowling at it. He looked up when Antonio entered, and his scowl deepened.

"Your radio is broken," he said, his accent so thick that Antonio wasn't sure he was speaking English at all.

"Just the tuner," said Antonio.

"That's what I said." Dimitrov turned the volume down even further. "Benjamin wants to talk to Ethan before we go."

"He's asleep, and I'm not waking him." Antonio crossed the room to the coffee maker. It was half full; he wondered how much Dimitrov had drunk already.

"I don't want you to wake him," snapped Dimitrov. "But since we are talking about things I want - I want your assurances that Ethan will be in attendance the first day of classes."

Antonio looked up sharply as he pulled down two mugs. "Do you really think I'm going to keep him away, after everything he's been through to ensure he's able to go at all? Do you think I actually could?"

"I know you are an alpha, and I know if you said to Ethan, 'Ethan, I would prefer you stay here and have my babies and not play piano again,' that would be the end of Ethan's career, whether he wants it or no."

"I'm not going to say that," said Antonio, annoyed. "When he stops playing, it'll be because he wants to. Not because I've told him to stop."

Dimitrov stared at Antonio. "If he stops playing."

Antonio shrugged. "When. If. Sure." He poured the coffee into the mugs, and wondered if Ethan took milk or sugar, and decided to bring both anyway, just in case. He reached down to pull out one of the trays from a side cabinet. "I'll tell Ethan to come out when he wakes up. I don't think it'll be much longer, though."

"He needs to practice," said Dimitrov stiffly.

"I'll tell him that, too," said Antonio, coolly, and picked up the tray laden with coffee and its accoutrements, then set it back down to add a couple bananas. "If you don't mind...."

Dimitrov didn't say another word; he just kept his focus squarely on Antonio until Antonio was in the hall, where he breathed a sigh of relief.

The bedroom was still cool and dark when Antonio slipped inside, and Ethan was still asleep, though he'd shifted to Antonio's side in the few minutes he'd been gone. Antonio set the tray down on the side table, and quickly slid between the sheets again, his desire for coffee forgotten with the anticipation of feeling a sleepy and grateful Ethan pressed up against him.

He wasn't disappointed; Ethan made a soft, relieved sigh as he settled against Antonio's chest, and Antonio pressed another kiss into his hair.

It would be a pleasant few years, thought Antonio. A year for Ethan to finish school, a year or two to travel, to perform for public audiences, to taste the world that had always been denied to him, before settling down, as all omegas did, at hearth and home and children. Ethan might protest now, but Antonio knew how exhausting constant travel could be - Ethan would weary of it. Of course he would. And Hector would never know the actual length of the fertility clause in the contract he'd signed the night before, without once looking at it.

Ethan yawned against Antonio, shifting again as he slowly began to wake. Antonio could feel another surge of dampness between Ethan's legs, and his cock twitched in response.

But Ben was somewhere in the apartment, waiting, and Dimitrov might very well come in and drag Ethan out by his ear, if he had the idea that Antonio was ignoring his request.

Ethan stretched against Antonio, and reached up to nuzzle the smooth skin under his jaw. Antonio tilted his head back to let him, and had the brief, un-alpha-like regret that Ethan wasn't able to mark him in the same way he'd marked Ethan.

"Hi," said Ethan, sleepy and shy and sweet, warm skin and soft breath. Antonio's heart jumped in his chest.

And then Ethan sat up, quick enough that their sticky skin made a odd sound as it pulled apart.

"Is that coffee?" he asked brightly, and reached over Antonio for a cup.

Then again, thought Antonio, grinning as he smelled the spiced-citrus scent in Ethan's hair... maybe he had.

"Save some for me," said Antonio, and rolled to reach his own cup.

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# Thank you!

Thank you for reading The Country Omega. I hope you enjoyed it!

  * If you'd like updates on future releases, you can sign up for my newsletter, follow my website at www.penelope-peters.com, or follow me on Twitter at @penelope_writes.
  * Reviews and ratings are an excellent way of telling people what you've just read - positive or negative. Please take a moment to let others know what you thought of this book wherever you purchased it!

  * If you liked this book, please check out the following excerpt from the sequel, The Country Alpha! Thanks for reading!

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# Also by Penelope Peters

The Downing Cycle:

The Country Omega

The Country Alpha: Ned's Story

The Country Alpha: Veronica's Story

Standalone Stories:

The Omega Nanny

A Christmas Caroling

(French Translation available)

The Prince and the Omega

(French Translation available)

Camp Lake Omega

What Happens at Bonded Beach

Ben's Bakery and the Hanukkah Miracle

The Alpha's Fake Mate

The Omega's Missing Mate

About the Author

Penelope Peters wrote her first story at the age of nine, based on a dream she couldn't shake. She never stopped writing after that, turning every school assignment into a story, which probably annoyed her teachers to no end. She wrote plays, poems, epic novels, and fanfiction before she'd ever heard the term.

When not writing, Penelope can be found cross-stitching, playing with her two sons, cooking for her family and friends, or paying due deference to the cat.

Catch up with Penelope:

  * See what's coming and a few freebies from her website
  * Get ARCs and updates from her newsletter
  * Find her on Twitter, Tumblr, BookBub, and Goodreads

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# Acknowledgements

Writers might work best in a vacuum, but everything after that requires outside help. I am extremely grateful to my "usual suspects" of beta readers, Kizzia, Evadare Volney, and Kallysten. Jennifer Clarke was "instrumental" in her assistance with the music in the story. (Sorry, I couldn't resist the pun.) Mnb is always ready to show me the way out of a tight spot by pointing out what is probably obvious to everyone but me, and EGT is always happy to read whatever I write, no matter how weird. Thanks to all of you.

Part of the reason I enjoy writing is the chance to learn about new things. For The Country Omega, I had the chance to learn and write characters with Mexican-American heritage. I am indebted to a bevy of Latina ladies who helped keep me on track. Marion Jones helped create new word endings to reflect the different gender presentations within the Omegaverse. Montse Heredia, Hilda Chio, and Monika Krasnorada offered endless advice, translations, and commentary on the Valdez clan. Any remaining mistakes or inaccuracies regarding Mexican-American culture or language are entirely my own fault.

Sometimes, writers need to come up for air. I'm always grateful for my Tumblr, LJ, and Twitter followers for helping provide multiple chances to get my head out of my own world, via funny cat gifs or adorable Benedict Cumberbatch photos.

And of course, thank you to my two sons, who were sometimes willing to sleep so that I could write, and my husband, who was happy to watch them the rest of the time. I love all three of you very much.

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# Here's your sneak peek at Jake's arrival in the city in The Country Alpha!

The Country Alpha

Part One: The Gala

Before the Accident, Jake Downing had never minded the trip into the city. He could let the rocking motion of the train lull him into a sort of dazed coma, rest his head against the back of the seat, and stare out at the houses and towns as they chugged along. He'd use the long hours to plot out the next hockey play or work his way through whatever paper he had due in class, and if time didn't exactly fly by, it was at least bearable.

Now the rocking motion of the train was jarred and shook every single one of his joints to the point of exhaustion. He couldn't have closed his eyes or let his thought carry him away from the ache in his bones if he'd tried. It was exactly the way getting old felt, which was stupid, because Jake was only twenty-three, he was far from old.

Every other week, for nearly two years, Jake had taken the train into the city. He knew every single house he passed by heart, knew when they were repainted from blue to green, knew when the owners changed their curtains, knew what they looked like on sunny summer days, and in the dead of winter with snow threatening on the horizon. Every single trip was the same.

Even this one.

The only good thing about the enforced time on the train this time was the destination. Not Ethan's gala that night, either. The gala was, at best, a detour.

And by the time it began, Jacob Elijah Downing would have already accomplished his goal in coming to the city for what he hoped would be the last time.

Ω Ω Ω

Jake saw his older brother Ethan a full minute before Ethan saw Jake. It would have been difficult not to spot Ethan waiting in the crowded train station, the way he kept bobbing up and down amongst the unfamiliar faces, as if he was continually stretching up to his toes in order to see over them. Besides, he was one of the few people in the lobby wearing grey and black. Typical colors for an omega hoping to safely blend into the background, but surrounded by people in blues and reds and greens, they were more like a beacon call for attention.

The moment Ethan spotted Jake, he broke into a wide grin, and raised an arm to wave wildly. Jake rolled his eyes, confident that Ethan couldn't see him from that distance, and gave his brother a mock salute in response. Ethan sank back down into the sea of people, turning as if to speak to whoever had accompanied him to the station - his mate, Antonio, most likely. Surely Antonio didn't work all of the time.

Jake let the flow of the crowd move him along, as he tried to shift his duffel bag to fall over his shoulder so that it didn't continually bump against his knees. The sea of people moved slowly but steadily toward the turnstiles on the end of the train platform. They weren't too tricky to navigate with the duffel and his rolling suitcase, though, particularly since at least half his fellow passengers were going through the handicapped gate anyway. Jake shoved aside the brief flash of annoyance, and followed them through the open gate. Sometimes, other people's self-entitlement had its benefits.

Ethan was still bouncing on his toes when Jake finally reached him. "You made it. We worried when the boards said the train was late."

"Jake," said Antonio, and reached to shake Jake's hand. When Jake had first met him, shortly after his unorthodox bonding with his brother, Antonio had seemed impossibly old and tall and sophisticated. Six years later, Antonio was still sophisticated and older than his thirty-one years - but he was also an inch shorter than Jake. It didn't seem to matter - Jake still felt like a younger sibling. There was something about Antonio that exuded alpha superiority. Whether it was his own bonded status, or an inflated sense of self-worth, Jake had never been able to determine. But for a guy who'd never had siblings, and claimed never to have really missed having them either, he'd taken to big brotherhood like a duck to water, or at least a more Latino version of Ethan himself.

Or maybe Antonio was more like his father, Hector, than either man would ever care to admit. Antonio was just a bit better about pretending that he wasn't trying to manage the people he considered his subordinates in the family hierarchy.

Case in point, the way he stood so close to Ethan - not quite hovering, but close enough that there was no doubt they belonged together. As if the way they looked at each other wasn't a dead give-away.

"I can take your bag if you want," offered Antonio.

"I'm fine," said Jake curtly, his fingers tightening on the strap. Ethan frowned, a clear rebuke for Jake's perceived rudeness, but Antonio only nodded, as if he'd expected that response already.

"We've got your room all set up for you," said Ethan, still in mothering mode. "I cleared out some drawers for you and everything."

"Mami is particularly excited," said Antonio.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You'd think you're the prodigal son, the way Yolanda's been going on. She insisted on new sheets, new duvet, new towels. I think she'd have bought new curtains if she thought she could get away with hanging them. I don't know why, they were new to begin with. She bought a rug for the floor too, but I kicked it under the bed so it won't give you any trouble."

"I can handle a rug," said Jake, vaguely annoyed patience personified.

"I know, but it was one of those little round ones, I slipped on it myself a half dozen times yesterday."

"Ethan, the time," said Antonio, ever stoic, and Ethan nodded, his cheeks going pinker.

"Right, sorry," he apologized. For a moment, Jake thought Ethan was going to reach out and take him by the hand, or loop his arm in his - it was the sort of thing he would have done when they were growing up in New Belford, where such strict rules about touching between different presentations didn't exist - but then Ethan shoved his hands deep into his pockets at the last moment before turning to head for the doors at the far end of the station.

Antonio's mouth quirked at Jake, as if sharing a private, alpha moment, and then he reached for Jake's rolling suitcase before setting off next to Ethan. Jake opened his mouth to protest, but gave up before he even began. It wouldn't have done any good, and anyway, the main lobby of the station was much more crowded and chaotic than the platform had been. Much as Jake hated to admit it, trying to navigate the complicated pedestrian flow of traffic with both the suitcase and the cumbersome duffel bag might have done him in.

Jake stifled a sigh and shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder. Ethan almost immediately held back to walk alongside him, allowing Antonio to take the lead.

"I'm glad you made it," Ethan confessed. "I was worried, when your train was late."

"Eh, you're the last to play anyway," said Jake, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could, just to watch Ethan glare.

"Rude to come in halfway through a performance," Ethan scolded him, and Jake grinned. "I was more worried you'd miss your doctor's appointment."

Jake pretended to concentrate on keeping his balance so he wouldn't have to look at Ethan, who could surely spot guilt with a glance. "It's just a routine thing. It won't take ten minutes."

"Still, better not to reschedule," said Ethan. "Not when you're going to be so busy next week with the new job--"

"So what are you going to do with your sabbatical, anyway?" Jake interrupted, and was rewarded with Ethan's scowl.

"Forced sabbatical. It couldn't have come at a worse time, I'm going to end up missing spring gala and half the workshops. It's ridiculous."

"I thought it was required?"

"Required," scoffed Ethan.

Jake stumbled as someone brushed too close to his arm. He would have fallen, but Ethan reached for his arm without even thinking and provided a counter-balance, letting Jake lean against him long enough to regain his footing.

"Thanks," mumbled Jake, feeling the frustrated heat in his cheeks. He stepped away from Ethan, suddenly conscious of the people around him - not that anyone had noticed. He didn't think. They were nearly out of the worst of the crush anyway.

"We should have taken a different exit - I mean, Antonio's going to get us a cab anyway, it doesn't matter which one we use."

"You don't need to get a cab on my account."

"You've got luggage," Ethan pointed out. "The apartment is on the other side of the city and it's supposed to rain."

"I'm just saying, I could walk."

"I know you could," said Ethan patiently. "I'm just saying - no point in getting wet if you don't need to."

Jake tampered down the urge to scowl. "I like walking."

"And I like setting up my brother's room myself," said Ethan. "Which is why I kicked the rug under your bed. Sometimes the path of least resistance is pretty satisfying too, you know. Especially when it keeps you dry on rainy days."

Ironic, thought Jake dryly, especially coming on the cusp of Ethan's forced sabbatical, but Jake let that slide.

The crowd thinned at the doors, which didn't make much sense, but at least Jake didn't have to worry that he'd be knocked over at the last minute. The sidewalk was empty, but he could see that the pavement was damp from an earlier rainstorm, even if it wasn't actively raining just then. Antonio was already at the curb, hand raised as he tried to signal a cab.

"He usually has better luck getting a cab quick," mused Ethan with a frown. "Everyone in town wants a ride today."

"Path of least resistance proves to be popular," deadpanned Jake, and Ethan snorted lightly just as a cab pulled up near Antonio.

Jake realized the other advantage of walking in the midst of several hundred people when he started to follow Ethan to the waiting taxi. For one thing, a crowd of people naturally moved a little bit slower, just to accommodate everyone. But walking by himself, on wet pavement, without anyone nearby - it was obvious just how slowly Jake moved. He didn't even dare try to go a bit faster, not with the heavy duffel over his shoulder, or the chance that he'd step on a bit of water the wrong way and go flying. Instead, he gritted his teeth and kept going, even as Ethan looked worried and guilty over his shoulder before slipping into the backseat of the taxi. Antonio stood on the pavement, one hand on the door, watching Jake approach.

"I'll put your bag in the trunk for you," he said, reaching for Jake's duffel, and Jake didn't bother to protest.

Two years ago, he would have rather walked, in order to stretch his legs after the long train ride into the city. He would still have liked to try, to be honest. His muscles ached and cramped after the shaking motion of the train. All the same, it felt good to sit, and Jake leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Better than to endure Ethan's sympathetic looks.

Two years ago, he probably wouldn't have been on the train with half his clothes shoved into suitcases anyway.

And he sure as hell wouldn't have the appointment he intended to keep before Ethan's performance that night.

"I'm trying to think, when was the last time you saw me play?" wondered Ethan.

Jake didn't open his eyes. Before the accident, not that he was going to say it. He'd discovered the hard way that bringing up the accident seemed to overcome everyone's hesitation to mention it - and without the hesitation, they'd always want to discuss some aspect of the event. And if he tried to shut them down? But you brought it up!

"Couple of years, probably," said Jake, which at least was true.

"That long, really? You've been in the city since, I wonder why we couldn't fit it in."

The car swayed when Antonio slammed the trunk closed, and gave another gentle lurch as Antonio settled into the seat next to Jake.

"Leave him be, queride, he's tired," said Antonio as he closed the door. Jake felt the taxi vibrate as it pulled into traffic. It was almost a relief after the bone-jarring shake of the train.

"Faking," said Ethan, with the authority of an older brother, and Jake obligingly let out a very fake-sounding snore.

Antonio's sigh filled the taxi.

When Jake opened his eyes, Ethan wasn't looking at him at all, but at his watch. "I should probably go straight to the concert hall," he said, worried. "And Jake's appointment is in less than an hour. Maybe we should take him there now."

"No," said Jake quickly. "It's just around the corner from your apartment, I can walk. I should walk," he amended quickly. "Better to work out all of the kinks from the train before I see the doctor, right?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. But I should get to the hall sooner rather than later."

"You're going to play in your jeans, queride?" asked Antonio, amused.

"Shut up," said Ethan with a grin. "I took my tux to the hall yesterday during rehearsal, just in case. It's not like I'd wear it in the taxi, anyway. Yolanda would fuss about wrinkles for a week."

Antonio nodded. "It's on the way, we can drop you off." He leaned forward to the driver and began speaking in rapid Spanish.

"I'm sorry," Ethan apologized to Jake. "I really should make sure you're settled first, and I want to hear all about the new job--"

"It's fine, there'll be time later," said Jake quickly.

"I just wish your train had been on time so I didn't have to rush to the concert hall. Or you to your appointment."

"It's fine," repeated Jake firmly. Even if it meant he'd be alone with Antonio - at least Antonio wasn't as likely to look at Jake and see the guilt he wore like a scarf. "You can leave two alphas alone for ten minutes, I swear we won't burn down the house."

Ethan laughed. "To be fair, that only happened to Fa once. And the kitchen was only a little bit singed."

"And Mom is never going to let him forget it."

"Don't burn down my apartment though," said Ethan. "I've only just figured out how I want it."

"It only took four years," said Antonio as he settled back in his seat.

"As if you were any help! It wouldn't have taken two years to finish the renovations if you hadn't kept changing your mind about colors and flooring and where you wanted the walls."

"Very important things, walls," said Antonio mildly. "You were in school that second year, you don't remember."

"Just because I was in school doesn't mean I was oblivious. And no fair throwing the second year at the conservatory back at me, you were just as excited as I was when they offered it."

"True," said Antonio, smiling, and Ethan smiled back. For a moment, Jake felt supremely uncomfortable sitting between them. He could almost smell the pheromones in the air.

"Dimitrov said if you play the Shostakovich that I'm supposed to boo and walk out of the auditorium," he blurted out, and Ethan, still smiling like an idiot in love, started to blink. Antonio began to laugh.

"He would," Ethan said finally, a bit wryly. "I'm not playing the Shostakovich. Maybe you should tell him I did, though."

"Lizst?" asked Jake.

Ethan blushed a bit. "It's a surprise."

"Oh, fuck," groaned Jake, and let his head hit the back of the seat. "It's Glass. Couldn't you have picked out something less like scales since I'm going to be there?"

Ethan laughed as the taxi pulled over to the curb. "It's a surprise. And don't you tell him," Ethan warned Antonio. "I'd give you a kiss but I think Jake here would be uncomfortable."

"Very," said Jake firmly.

"Go, queride," said Antonio warmly, reaching out to brush his fingers against Ethan's hand. Jake caught a glimpse of the blush on Ethan's cheeks at the gentle touch, and with one last grin at them, he got out of the taxi.

Jake slid over to take Ethan's vacated seat as the taxi moved back into the flow of traffic, just in time to see Ethan disappear into the glass front doors without so much as a backward glance. The doors mirrored the taxi and the city backdrop for a moment as they swung closed.

"He'll be all right," said Antonio, and Jake settled back against the seat.

"Are you telling me, or reminding yourself?" he asked, and Antonio raised an eyebrow before chuckling.

"You're very clever, aren't you?"

"So I'm told."

"I thought your doctor was located closer to the train station."

The spike of fear that he'd been found out went straight down Jake's spine, and his feet tingled. But Jake squashed the feeling and kept his voice even.

"New doctor. New location."

"Hmm," said Antonio, thoughtfully, in a way that made Jake think that he wasn't fooled in the slightest - but at least wasn't going to press the point.

Better to change the subject.

"Ethan's not too happy about his forced sabbatical."

Antonio sighed, and the impassive façade dropped a bit. "No, he's not," he admitted, a bit ruefully. "And unlike you, he's ensuring that every person in a ten-foot radius is very well aware."

"Why's he taking it, then?"

"There is a rather old legal clause that says bonded omegas in the workforce must be given the opportunity to have a stress-free estrus at least once every two years. The definition of stress-free being that they have the chance to take a vacation for a certain period of time both before and after estrus. Supposedly it aids conception. I don't understand the medical details."

Jake frowned. "Ethan's always said he wants to focus on his career before kids."

"It doesn't matter. His estrus has always fallen at a somewhat inopportune time in regards to the orchestra's season, and therefore he's been unable to take the required vacation. Once the musical director realized this...." Antonio shrugged. "Ethan acts as if it's the end of his career. But he has always been one for drama, and he has not had a quiet moment to reflect since he left school four years ago. This sabbatical is a good thing for him."

"Especially if he falls pregnant?" asked Jake, unable to resist goading Antonio, just a little.

Antonio, however, wouldn't be goaded. He shrugged, all Latino indifference. "Then he falls pregnant. More important that he return to the stage relaxed and rejuvenated."

"Not very relaxing if he's unhappy about it," observed Jake.

"No, but then the Downing sons are never very pleased with the status quo, are they?" said Antonio pointedly, and Jake scowled.

The loud buzz and beep of an incoming message to the phone in his pocket couldn't have come at a better time. Jake pulled it out, and frowned when he saw the name.

Ω Ω Ω

One text, but two different messages that will spin Jake's plans in two very different directions - and toward very different people. Look for one or both of them wherever ebooks are sold beginning 27 July 2020!

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# The Country Omega

Copyright (C) 2016 Penelope Peters

Cover by R.A. Steffan

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

First Edition: January 2016
