Halston's Notebook

Random One Shot [M]

MATURE CONTENT

There weren't many things that could make Wyatt mad. He prided himself on his ability to stay calm in situations where most people wouldn't be able to. It was part of what made him a good gamma in the first place. However, if there was one thing—or rather, person—that had an innate talent for getting under his skin, it was none other than Fitz Kelly: the beta of his pack.

Wyatt wasn't sure what exactly it was about Fitz that made him forfeit his ability to see reason. Perhaps it was the man's distinct lack of a filter, or maybe it was the annoying half-smirk that would form on his face whenever he said or did something that would make Wyatt mad.

Or maybe it was the fact that the two shared an undeniable mate bond.

Whatever the reason, it didn't stop Wyatt's face from heating up and his brows from furrowing into an angry arch as he stomped through the pack. A few of the members stopped and spared him a glance before going on with their days, viewing the scene as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Wyatt could already picture the ginger-haired man's smug expression and he let out a low scowl before picking up his pace. His icy blue eyes were narrowed with determination and he blocked out everything else around him until he stood in front of a closed brown door. He raised his fist to knock on it and waited impatiently until the door opened.

"Wyatt," Fitz greeted, his trademark smirk present which only fueled the fire burning within Wyatt. "What can I help you with?"

"You know what you did," Wyatt harshly accused as he shoveled his way past Fitz and into the house.

Fitz shut the door and turned to Wyatt with feigned confusion on his face. "I don't know what you mean, Wy."

Wyatt could already feel his anger beginning to bubble over at the nickname. "You touched my files."

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any proof of that?"

"Nobody else would," Wyatt retorted.

Everyone in the pack knew what a stickler he was when it came to the organization of his items. Everything had its place. He had always been that way and nobody would've dared to mess with his things—nobody except Fitz.

"That's not proof," Fitz teased the raven-haired male.

"Admit that you did it," Wyatt growled out, taking a step toward the ginger.

Fitz grinned, closing the remaining gap between the two of them, and brought his mouth to Wyatt's ear and whispered, "Prove it."

Wyatt's cold blue eyes met Fitz's warm brown and without thinking, he raised his hand and ran in through Fitz's ginger curls before yanking his head downward and connecting their lips. The beta let out a loud moan as he was spun around and stumbled backward until his legs hit the couch. Wyatt pushed him downward and let his eyes run over Fitz's figure.

"Admit it," he ordered.

Fitz grinned smugly. "Admit what?"

Wyatt's hands moved toward Fitz's dark button-up shirt. Rather than taking the time to undo every button, he roughly yanked at it, messing up a few of the buttons in the process.

"I liked that shirt," Fitz protested and he scoffed.

"No, you didn't."

The shirt was too loose. Fitz Kelly was a peacock and Wyatt knew that he preferred tighter shirts that highlighted his body rather than looser fitting ones that swallowed him up.