He didn't know how old he was when he became associated with the many gangs that found their homes in the sea-side town he lived in. He could have easily been eight or so- when that kid gave him that stick of 'chewing gum' he was now fairly certain was crack to hold onto, to then give to this teenager who was stalking around their school. Then again, he hadn't known what he was doing, so he counted his real... 'first affiliation' to be when he was fourteen, and looking for trouble to calm his troubled mind.
He had gone up to one of the children- Juan, who was part of his biological pack, not that he knew- that everyone knew already had affiliation, and managed to get himself a role as a peacekeeper. Everyone loves a peacekeeper. And since nobody knew what pack he really came from, it was perfect!
He'd ended up dragging his brother in when he was fifteen and his brother fourteen, and he needed some backup while he was trying to get two of the big boy gangs, one might even call them clans, to knock it off. Only one person lost part of their cheek, so he'd call it a job well done.
The fighting made him tough and muscular. His presentation made him invisible until the last moment. His skill mixed together with his body made what his brother loved to call a manipulative bastard.
He'd been born an omega male. He didn't know his real birthday, since he'd been stripped out of the arms of his mother- who hadn't even given birth in a hospital in fear that it would make them more likely to take her baby away- so his adoptive parents just celebrated it on July 4th. The day they won him in court. His brother was July 1st. He'd been won three days earlier than him.
Now he is seventeen. Now his bitterness had fermented past rage, past conflict, and just resonated somewhere deep in his stomach, waiting for someone or something to lash out at. Like a deep, blackened, monstrous pit, just waiting for something to eat.
He wanted to find his mother. He didn't blame her for her drinking problem. He hadn't been born with fetal alcohol, and neither had his younger brother, which meant she had stopped drinking when she was pregnant with them, at least. It seemed like she was nice. Sometimes he still believed he could feel her arms wrapped around him. Sometimes he still believed he could hear her screaming: 'Don't take them! Don't take my babies!'
And now, on this day, he was failing English 12, two months until the end of senior year.
"You are always struggling in English," his omega father, a Brit who had moved to America after being offered a job as the head of an alcohol store by his brother, "maybe I should take you to the Isles with me and then you'd figure it out."
"No thanks," he said, like he always did. His dad always wanted him to go to Europe- both of them, actually. The thing was, he didn't care about Paris or London. That place wasn't mystical to him, or a home. It was just the place that his parents came from. And he didn't exactly enjoy the company of his parents.
"Oh, but why?" Arthur asked, looking slightly hurt. Alfred turned away. Despite all his manipulative endeavors, he never liked to use his skills on his adoptive parents unless he needed to. It felt wrong to him.
"I don't need to be speaking British English. I need to learn American English," he said, "and besides, y'all spell things weird."
"And you say 'y'all'," Arthur grumbled, putting his effort at lunch for himself onto a plate, "If only you had half the skill in English that you do in science."
He walked out of the kitchen before Alfred could get a retort in. He slumped down at the dining room table, dropping his backpack onto the floor. The truth was, he was failing the class because he never went to it. 4th period crossed over with the time that he usually snuck out of school- just before lunch with a teacher who wouldn't call in his continuous absences.
He normally turned in all the homework that he got over the two and a half months three days before the quarter ended. She didn't mark him off for being late, so he could breeze past the quarter with at least an 80.
Slipping his homework out of his bag, he breezed through it. Math came easy to him, as did science, and they were the two classes that gave the most homework. History was his struggle- he wasn't very good at remembering dates. He still didn't know why he signed up for poetry either.
When he was done bullshitting through a poem that seemed to be about flowers or an allegory for life or something mystical but was really about how much he wanted to get fucked at the moment he shoved everything back into his backpack- besides his computer, which would be going upstairs to charge- and tossed it over to the door.
His brother walked through the door, passed a glance around, before sighing and sitting down across from him.
"Is dad at work?"
"No,"
"What about papa?"
"Yes," Alfred nodded, "they have him doing shifts every day this week. Feli told me."
"You believe everything Feliciano tells you."
"His brother's boyfriend is a cop," Alfred defended himself, "and he has never lied to me before."
"The-"
"That was once. And a year ago."
Matthew rolled his eyes, "Okay, whatever. Are you leaving tonight?"
"Ya, think so."
"Think?"
"Well," he shrugged, "the football bus had a flat this morning, so I dunno if the team is going to be going to the game."
"Well, that sucks," Matthew said, opening his own homework. Alfred nodded.
"Ya," he looked over at the doorway. His father was on his phone, walking into the room. He looked slightly frazzled as he pulled his coat on and went to the garage. Not even a minute later the garage door had opened and closed, and he was gone.
"You think another drunk person destroyed a shelf?" Matthew asked, calmly. Alfred nodded, scrolling through his text messages.
"I am going to a game," Alfred smiled, looking at the text messages he'd been sent, "just tonight. Tell dad you don't know where the wine went."
Matthew sighed, "Who are you going out with?"
Alfred's smile never faded, his eyes never tearing from the messages as he read them again and again, "Ivan."
"Disgusting," Matthew's nose crinkled, "are you actually going out with him? You haven't had a normal relationship in a while."
"Yes I have! I'm friends with Kiku and Raymundo," Alfred said, slightly offended.
"I mean romantically," he mocked their papa's accent, and Alfred laughed. Matthew scowled, like the voice had left a bad taste in his mouth. That just made Alfred laugh even harder.
"We're nothing romantic-"
"You've been going on dates with him since the end of Sophomore year, you goddamn loser," Matthew pointed an accusing finger towards him, and he raised his hands in surrender, "good for you though. I thought you'd never trust anyone again after-"
"Out of bounds."
"Sorry," Matthew rubbed his neck. While they did normally tell each other everything, they both had certain things that were better off not being brought up around them, "but really, what the hell do you see in him?"
"He's caring, and nice-"
"And probably set cats on fire as a child," Matthew deadpanned.
"He loves cats, why the hell would he set them on fire?"
"Then dogs."
"Unlikely," Alfred gave a small smile, "loves dogs too."
Matthew gave an exasperated sigh, "C'mon. He's fucking creepy, never speaks to anyone, never makes eye contact, only will willingly talk to you and his sisters, and has gotten suspended every year of high school, multiple times, for fighting!"
"He didn't start the fights," Alfred defended him, "besides, people should be smarter than trying to pick a fight with the two-hundred fifty pound 6 '6 alpha that can deadlift, what, five-hundred fifty pounds."
"Five-fifty...?"
"Actually it might be five-seventy."
Matthew looked at him, concerned, "He could break your neck just as easily as crushing a soda can."
"If he was gonna, he would have done it by now," Alfred replied, grabbing his computer and phone and walking to the stairs, "remember: you don't know where the wine went."
"Okay, fine."
By the time the black BMW pulled into the driveway, Matthew was locked away in his room and his parents were still at work.
He slipped into the passenger's seat, armed only with a bottle of wine and his phone. They shared a glance.
"Was that a promise?" Alfred smirked, and Ivan put the car into reverse. As they pulled out onto the street, he proved his will.
"C'mon babe," Alfred smiled, leaning over the center to place his head on his shoulder. Ivan didn't say anything, just placed a hand on his thigh, playing with the inside seam of his pants, "you really won't tell me anything?"
"Hmm... no," Ivan replied, his voice that low, rumbling drawl that Alfred knew all too well. Alfred hummed, kissing his cheek. Ivan's hand moved further up, traveling along the seam. He gave a small smile before crossing his legs, forcing Ivan to either pull his hand away or get his fingers crushed.
Ivan looked slightly hurt.
"What's wrong, moi dorogoy?" he asked, gently. Alfred's smile turned coy.
"Well, you won't tell me anything," he said, twiddling his fingers, "how do I know you aren't just dragging me into the forest to-" he gasped. Ivan almost stopped the car as he was pulling onto the highway, "kill me!"
He eeped, hiding his face. Ivan snickered, reaching out to run the back of his hand against the sensitive part of his neck. Alfred lowered his hands, practically purring with delight.
"What did your brother say this time?"
Alfred hummed, "That you set cats and dogs on fire and can, and possibly will, break my neck."
"Huh," Ivan replied, brushing his lip with his thumb, "how will I counter that accusation... let's see... you're the pyromaniac, not me, and why would I break the neck of my baby?"
He cupped his cheek, gazing at him.
"Ivan, pay attention to the road, you're running over the line," Alfred said. Ivan jumped back, swerving slightly to stay in his lane. Someone honked.
"Well, you might kill me with your terrible driving," Alfred said, laughing, and Ivan gave a mocking laugh in response, "how did you even pass your drivers test?"
"You know," Ivan mumbled.
"Know what, that you failed four times?" Alfred smiled, "How the fuck are you even allowed on the road, brute?"
Ivan shrunk back a little, his face set. Alfred leaned over and kissed his cheek again. That made the hermit crab stop trying to pull back into his shell.
They pulled into a motel. Alfred looked at it, confused.
Ivan led him in, holding his hand tightly, bristling as a warning to the drunken alpha who looked too long before opening one of the doors. Alfred stepped in. It didn't smell horrible. In fact, one might even call it good. A table was already set. Alfred looked back at him.
Ivan's phone pinged. Someone knocked on the door.
"Perfect timing," Ivan said, and slipped out of the door just enough to grab two McDonald's bags, before he locked and latched the door. He looked into one of them, before handing it to Alfred.
"Oh, you know the way into my heart," Alfred said, looking into the bag. Ivan smiled, before pulling him a chair. He made sure to noticeably roll his eyes before sitting down, feeling a kiss get placed on the top of his head. He was already chowing down by the time that Ivan sat down.
Ivan opened the bottle of wine, and by the time their meal was finished, the bottle was lying empty on the floor, just as their clothes were beginning to.
Alfred grumbled, trying to get more comfortable on the bed, feeling Ivan's presence looming over him. He nuzzled into his throat. Alfred gave up comfort, relaxing into the bed, feeling wet kisses get pressed across his neck and collarbone.
"You better have a condom," Alfred gave a small smile, "we used all the ones I had last time."
Ivan growled- a low, animalistic noise that sent a tremor all the way to his toes. Alfred bared his throat further, "I'm just saying, baby."
"Coat, left pocket," Ivan grumbled, nipping at the area beneath his ear. He groaned, reaching into the top left pocket of his coat and pulling them out, letting them fall onto the bed.
Alfred patted his cheek, "Good boy."
Ivan bit him.
Alfred let out a low moan, his back arching off the bed. Ivan's hands wrapped around the small of his back, playing with the back belt loop of his jeans. He could feel himself pulling Ivan even closer, his body shuttering in anticipation. Every mark his lover left was dark, if not bleeding, his aggression only more of a turn-on.
He managed to coax Ivan into taking his shirt and jacket off after he was adequately covered in hickeys, both getting tossed onto the floor by his shirt. He rubbed the muscles of his arms and drummed his fingers along his neck as he felt his teeth tug at his nipples.
When his hands slipped below his pant line, he had practically soaked through his boxers, and that had given Ivan such a rumble of satisfaction that he forgot to be embarrassed.