Prompt Post #3

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Comments

Fill: Matt/Foggy - Assumptions, A/B/O

[(Anonymous)]

What he knows is this:

When everyone else his age went around presenting left, right, and center during their middle school years, he kind of just skated on by, never going hormone-crazed like the rest of those sad sacks. He wasn't a control freak alpha, he wasn't a homemaker omega, he might have been an average joe, middle of the middle beta. He probably was. And asexual, at that, because seriously? Sex had zero appeal.

Like, none.

He went with the path of least resistance when he decided to tell his parents he was a beta, really. They were relieved, after two alpha daughters and one omega son, to have one uncomplicated child. They filed the necessary documents with their local and state government agencies, alerted the school administration, and sat back and just breathed for a while before they had to deal with the train wreck that would be their fifth and final child's presentation three years later. (She presented as an omega, and was furious about it, as she had an independent streak a mile wide. Her presentation probably should have been some sort of sign to Foggy: alpha and omega genes were recessive, so if there were so many of both in their family already... he was kind of screwed. But. Nothing was happening. He was the same as he always had been, and didn't see any proof that that was about to change.)

He finished high school and earned his bachelor's degree in English, with a minor in pre-law, and life went on uninterrupted. He applied to Columbia for their law program, and he got in with relatively little stress on his part. (That might have been the weed talking.... Okay, let's be real: that had definitely been the weed talking.)

On the day he moved into the tiny living space Columbia designated for those who were unmated, things seemed pretty normal. His room mate was late, but that was fine. It gave him more time to get situated and make the place feel less like a cell and more like a home, which was better than fine.

Then this quiet, charming, outrageously gorgeous blind alpha walked in and asked if the room was 312, and Foggy felt like he had spontaneously come down with the worst case of the flu in the world. His head felt fuzzy, his cheeks were flaming, his ass was leaking...

Wait.

What?

He exchanged some pitiful banter - really, it was not nearly close to his usual standards - and did his best to make Matt (Because that was the name of this beautiful life-ruiner of a room mate, apparently, and what do you know, he was also the guy Foggy had sort of had a case of hero-worship for since he was a kid, after Matt saved an older man from getting killed by a truck. Heh. Yeah. Foggy didn't stand a chance.) feel at home before making some vague sort of excuse and then high-tailing it to the nearest bathroom to vomit and then freak out.

Foggy needed suppressants. He needed them badly, and he needed them now.

As a guy who like a little doobage, Foggy knew how to find the kind of people who would have access to what he needed both on the sly, and on the cheap. He got himself a six months' supply within a few hours of finding out exactly how much he had been deluding himself, took the first of many pills, and then moved on with his life.

He and Matt became best friends shockingly fast, considering the upheaval Matt had brought into Foggy's previously copacetic life. Foggy had always had a thing about the weird ones, and as charming as Matt was, he had quite a few hangups, and he needed a good bit of looking after, which was kind of Foggy's specialty (Should that have been another warning sign? Screw it; at this point, Foggy was past caring about what, exactly, he had missed or dismissed.), so it worked out pretty perfectly.

No one on campus knew about Foggy, but they reacted to him differently than the people he went to public school and undergrad with had, on instinct. The omegas all wanted to be buddies, and the alphas all wanted to make him their pet. Except for Matt (And the betas, but in the grand scheme of alpha/omega dynamics, the betas don't count.).

Matt never once treated Foggy as though he was anything other than an equal, and he never asked why Foggy didn't want to date like the rest of the betas, whose mating rituals were far more relaxed than those of alphas and omegas, but also far more fraught with potential for epic disasters, because they weren't hard-wired to know who would be a good match the way alphas and omegas were. They just jumped in and hoped for the best.

Perhaps Matt assumed that was why Foggy didn't attempt it. He always had been one for taking the safe route. Except that he couldn't actually say that anymore, could he? Not now that he was a full-fledged, unmated omega, living in such close proximity to an unmated alpha.

But it was fine. It would be fine.

Things were fine. He felt a little off when for a few hours every morning and evening after taking his next suppressant, but he never went into heat, and he never had to tell anyone about his change in status, so what was a little disorientation, really, in the long run?

He and Matt graduated and passed the bar, officially becoming Avocados at Law, and slipping right into internships at Landman & Zack, one of the most prestigious firms in New York. They continued rooming together, this time getting a little shoebox of an apartment a few blocks from the firm.

And then, two years later, Matt said what they had both been thinking for a good, long while: they couldn't accept positions here. They would suffocate in the stifling, unfeeling atmosphere, where other attorneys ripped out people's hearts and stomped on them on a daily basis so they could wear fancy suits and sit in pristine, sterile offices to do their paperwork.

So they set out on their own, going back to Hell's Kitchen a little hopeful and a lot more jaded about the profession they chose for themselves. They decided to get separate living spaces for the first time since they got thrown together by some magic trick of the Columbia housing algorithm. They were already going to share an office together, if they could find one that they might, possibly, someday be able to afford. They should probably have a place where they could get away from each other at the end of the day.

Shouldn't they?

Foggy hated it. He told Matt that he loved having a place of his own, but he hated going home to his empty apartment, which had been downgraded from a shoebox to a matchbox, with a fiery passion. He missed Matt, even though he saw him every day while they tried to drum up some clients to defend.

After getting fed up with all the dead ends, Foggy decided to go the less traditional route, and he went to buy some cigars.

Brett gave him a look when Foggy strolled up, and it wasn't because they had been friendly antagonists since going to the same daycare, or because of the illicit contents of the brown paper bag Foggy foisted on him for his mother. "You ain't fooling anyone, Nelson. I don't care if you bathe yourself in suppressants. I know what a pining omega smells like."

Brett was an alpha, but the decent kind, who never made a move on an omega who didn't seem interested, and backed off the moment he realized he'd read the situation wrong. He still hadn't found his mate yet, but he seemed content with that. Like he was biding his time, waiting for perfection. Most people didn't do that. They mated the first compatible person they met, because heats and ruts were awful to experience alone, and while alphas and omegas sometimes got together outside of their mating drive, it was highly frowned upon, not from a moral standpoint, but by the medical community. There were seriously detrimental psychological and emotional consequences to experiencing a heat or a rut with a partner and then breaking things off. It was why, dangerous as they were, suppressants were still allowed to exist. At least the effects of the suppressants could eventually be healed, once the person taking them stopped long enough. The poor bastards who made the mistake of not mating during a heat or a rut? They stayed screwed up. Permanently. It wasn't something many were willing to risk.

"Make sure those get to your mom for me, will you?" Foggy said brightly, not even trying to be subtle about changing the subject.

His childhood frenemy dropped the matter and wanted to know why Foggy was bribing his mother, so Foggy dutifully told him to let him know if anything interesting cropped up at the precinct.

It paid off.

Brett brought Miss Page into Foggy and Matt's lives, and Foggy only had a few seconds to panic about the young, beautiful, vulnerable omega before his need to take care of everyone kicked in, and he demanded that the detectives uncuff her, and things just kind of exploded from there.

The night that Foggy went to Matt's, drunk and mourning and needing his alpha - no, his best friend, just his friend - and found him beneath the mask of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he felt his carefully stacked house of cards come crashing down around him.

Because Matt had to have known, this whole time. He knew that Foggy was an omega, and he knew that he was his omega, and he never said a word. He let Foggy believe that he needed him as much as Foggy needed Matt, and he let Foggy tell him things, and bring him things, and guide him to things, and he lied, and he lied, and he lied.

It didn't matter that Foggy had lied, too, since they day they met. It didn't matter, because he may as well have not bothered, since Matt could tell every single time. There was no way to make that scale even.

So Foggy stormed out, and he went to Marci, a friend and former Columbia classmate, who, after getting over the idea of making a pet out of him, had been a fantastic friend. And Foggy wasn't in heat, and Marci wasn't in a rut, and they were both single, consenting adults, and...

And she made Foggy forget, for a while. About Mrs. Cardenas. About crushing debt. About Matt. (That was a lie. Not even mind-blowing, first-time sex with Marci Stahl could make him forget about Matt. Who was still his whole world, and still his alpha. Damnit.)

He manned up eventually, and went to seek Matt out at the gym where his dad used to box. "I don't know if we can go back to the way things were before," he confessed. It was true. After all, it was hard to go back to denial after being shoved into reality. Foggy had already had more than enough experience with this particular home truth.

"Maybe not. But we can try to move forward."

Move forward, huh?

Yeah. Foggy could try that.

They took that bastard Fisk and all his cronies down, and then he watched on live television as his best friend fought the escaped prisoner and won, all while wearing a ridiculous red and black suit, with even more ridiculous horns.

And then they spent several months in and out of court, getting Fisk and all his people convicted.

In all the fervor and the chaos, Foggy got distracted. He let some things slide that really should not have been allowed to, and a few days after Fisk was finally put away for good, he began to suffer for his negligence.

He started feeling run down and a little foggy - hah. Foggy. That was funny, wasn't it? He thought so, at least. Anyway, he stared feeling foggy at the office. Then his temperature spiked, and his libido kicked in with a vengeance, and he felt absolutely wretched.

Matt wrapped up a meeting with a client far more rapidly than was his usual wont, and he came into Foggy's office and told him, "Let's get you home, buddy." He gathered Foggy up and told Karen to close up for the day after they were gone, and then he took Foggy on the safest, quickest route to his own apartment.

"What're we doing here?" Foggy slurred, the temperature and the disorientation making communication a bit complicated.

"My place has been stocked with things for your heat for weeks, Foggy. Yours isn't."

"Mmm?"

"Your heat, Foggy. You're going into heat." He sat Foggy down on the couch, and told him, "I need you to listen to me very carefully, Foggy. This is important. Are you listening?"

"Mmhmm."

"If you don't want to mate with me, you have to tell me now. Because if you don't tell me now, I won't have the strength to leave you here on your own. So, what do you want? Do you want me to go stay at your place for a few days, or do you want me here, with you? Do you want us to be mates?"

Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? He'd been wanting that since day one.

At the moment, he couldn't imagine why he had waited so long to get off of the suppressants, so that they could get with the mating, already.

There was only one answer he could give, really.

"Stay."

"Why?"

"I wanna mate with 'ew."

There were a few beats of silence, and then Matt nodded jerkily. "I guess that will have to do, as far as consent goes. I'm sorry, Foggy. I should have brought this up sooner."

"Wha?"

Matt shook his head. "Don't worry about it. We can talk about it later. For now, let's just get you comfortable."