"The Pact"

Written By: The Plotting Housewife

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit.

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Smut, Porn With Plot, OT5, Fluff, Mild Angst, Humor, Fivesome, Angst, Newtypes, Possessive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Dark, Non-Graphic Violence

Pairings: 3x5x2x4x1

Summary: Formerly Intervention (retitled because the story detoured and went its own way).After seducing Quatre, the other four ex-pilots brave the uncharted waters of their new abilities and learn to cope with the unintentional gifts they were given. But as always, power requires responsibility and the humbling acknowledgement of humanity's weaknesses. The struggle to stay true to themselves becomes a dangerous and terrifying endeavor as they skirt the boundary where conscience bleeds into chaos and the dark abyss of temptation.

"The Pact"

Wednesday, December 17th, 7:13 am. Colony L4 X1339, Second District…

“Well, well, well...look what the cat dragged in.”

Quatre glowered darkly as he passed his friend and chief of engineers on his way to his office. “Don’t start with me, Adam. Not in the mood.” He nodded a greeting to his secretary and added, “Bernice, some coffee, please. Strong.”

“Good morning, Mr. Winner. Of course, right away.”

Quatre didn’t wait for the coffee. Bernice would bring it to his office so he continued on down the corridor without another word, hoping that Adam would take a hint for once in his life.

“So what happened to you anyway? You go on some four day bender, or something? Run off with a rent boy maybe?”

Allah, why have you forsaken me?

“No, Adam. I did not go on a “bender” and why would I - Jesus, you really think I would run off with a prostitute? I was sick.”

“With what?”

He reached the door to his office and spun around with a huff. “I don’t know. Flu? Will that suffice? Why does it matter?”

Adam shrugged, unfazed by the blond's ruffled feathers. “Just making small talk. We missed you.” He paused, then said, “Could do without your PMS, though.”

Quatre’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you finished?”

“I...guess?”

“Spectacular.” He spun around and stuck his key into the lock, pushing the door open with the hand that wasn’t holding his briefcase. He tipped his head back with a long-suffering sigh when Adam followed him in. “Can I at least wake up before you interrogate me? What do you want from me?”

Adam loitered by the doorway and swiped a tiny sculpture off the narrow table against the wall, fiddling with the miniature condor that was carved out of jade. "Just your undying love and affection. Is that so much to ask?"

“Don’t do that, please. It was a gift from my father.”

“Sorry.” He placed the sculpture back down onto the table and turned it until it faced the same way it had before. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “Thought you didn’t like your old man.”

Quatre plopped down into his chair and dropped his briefcase onto the desk. “Regardless of his shortcomings, he was still my father.”

“Awww, sweet, loyal Quatre Winner. So devoted to the family that disowned him as a child and nearly ruined him.”

He looked up sharply. “Are you just here to piss me off?”

“No, I’m just talking. I said we missed you.”

“We, or you?”

“We. Well, I - most of us, I think. Not so sure about Shamir. I think his ass is still a little chapped after you rejected him for the thousandth time."

"His problem, not mine."

“Jeez, give the poor guy a little slack. You did break his heart and all,” Adam reminded him with a playful wink.

“The only thing I broke was his ego."

“Same difference. I mean, what’s the problem? He’s royalty. He has more money than god. He’s drop dead gorgeous. And he wants you. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“I’m not going to be a notch on anyone’s bedpost, Adam,” he snapped. “He's too full of himself. He thinks he can charm anyone he wants into sleeping with him. That's not going to work on me.”

“He can charm me into his bed anytime. Don't think I'm attractive enough for him, though.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Adam. He’s a predator. His lovers are not partners, or equals in his eyes. They’re conquests.”

And ironically enough, you got off on that very same idea just last night. Four times, I might add, the Omega reminded him.

Would you butt out? No one asked for your opinion.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. I sincerely doubt any of them are complaining,” Adam pointed out, moving further into the room to let Bernice through with her tray of coffee.

“Thank you, Bernice,” Quatre said, taking the cup from her and blowing on the steaming coffee to cool it off.

“Would you like anything else, sir? My sister-in-law fried up some of her famous cinnamon and sugar doughnuts last night and gave me a dozen to bring in. They disappear pretty fast.”

“No, that’ll be all, Bernice. Thank you.”

Adam watched her bustle her way out of the room and waited until she was far enough down the hall to not overhear their conversation. “Besides, you two would look amazing together. Like yin and yang. Ebony and Ivory.”

“You did not just bring up Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney in that context.”

“Live together in perfect...harmony,” Adam crooned softly.

He dropped his head onto his desk with a thump. “It’s too early for this.”

Adam’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, lighten up. I’m just yanking your chain. Mostly. I still say you two would make a gorgeous power couple. Him, all tall, dark, and handsome. Built like a gladiator. You, dainty and fair, blue eyes and golden hair.”

“Life is not a fairy tale. Shamir is not some noble prince and I am not a delicate maiden hidden away in a tower guarded by an evil sorcerer.”

“But he is a prince,” Adam insisted. “That’s one out of two, right? Not too shabby.”

“Nobility is more important than royal status,” Quatre muttered as he powered up his computer. “But to each his own.”

Adam came all the way into the room and sat down in one of the two chairs that faced the front of Quatre’s desk. “You know he only works here to get closer to you, don’t you? It’s not like he needs the money.”

“Not my problem.”

“Imagine the life you could have with him,” he said dreamily. “He can give you the world and then some. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of your life. Think about it. Lounging on an exotic beach during the day. Him rubbing suntan oil into your skin. Just the two of you, the white sand, the blue water, warm sunshine, the scent of sweat and coconuts. And after that, a fancy party perhaps? Shamir sparing no expense, of course. Expensive champagne and caviar, music and dancing all night long underneath the moonlight.”

Quatre scowled at him over the top of his computer monitor. “Are you suggesting I abandon my responsibilities for a man?”

“And then in the wee hours of the morning,” Adam continued. “The sounds of a crackling fire and soft, sensual music drifting into your ears. Silk sheets and gauzy drapes surrounding a giant bed. You sprawled out in the middle of it with those sheets tangled around your writhing body, gripping handfuls of it while your strong, muscular prince makes sweet love to you…”

Quatre propped his chin on his fist and gave his friend a wry look. “Is this fantasy for me, or for you?”

Adam snapped back to the present and scoffed as he crossed one leg over the other, a gesture that Quatre suspected had more to do with concealing a budding erection than gentlemanly etiquette. “I’m just saying, you two would be hot together. You do know I’m not the only one who thinks so, right?”

He did know that and it made him intensely uncomfortable. He turned his attention back to his computer screen and tried to concentrate on the revenue reports for the previous fiscal year. Not an easy thing to do when his mind was chasing circles around itself. “I’m not interested in relationships that benefit anyone other than myself and my partner. God knows I watched my father cater to the public’s expectations of him. He married women he didn’t love, which led to him chasing every piece of ass in a pencil skirt and a pair of Stilettos he could find on the colony," he snorted. “And he actually expected me to follow in his footsteps as if that was ever going to happen.”

“You were born and raised for the public eye,” Adam mused, stroking his chin. “Kind of seems like its own form of bondage, or...maybe even slavery in a way. Your life is not your own. It belongs to the world and you have no say in what happens to it.”

Quatre swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and reached for his coffee. “But I did. I do. As far as I was concerned, there was a snowball’s chance in Hell I was going to end up like my father. I made a choice.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed. “At a very steep price.”

He smiled. “Not so steep. If I hadn’t gone my own way, I might be living an entirely different life and one I don't doubt would be miserable in.”

“Yet you’re still here running your father’s company.”

He scowled and yanked his mail out of the sorter to his right with a little more force than necessary. “I’m upholding my responsibilities.”

Adam gave him a derisive look, knowing his friend would never cop to the real reason unless it was spelled out for him. “Cut the crap, Quatre. You’re a control freak. You’re doing this because you think you’re the only one who can.”

Quatre stared him in shock, jaw hanging low on its hinges. “I beg your pardon?”

“How long have we been friends, hmm? Three years? Five?”

“Your point?”

“My point is I’ve known you long enough to understand how you operate,” Adam told him, plucking a piece of hard candy from the crystal dish on Quatre’s desk. Quatre waited, his nerves on edge from the crackling of the cellophane as Adam unwrapped the candy. “I’ve watched you volunteer to do certain tasks that you’ve specifically hired people to do because you think they can't do it as well as you can.”

Offended, Quatre’s mouth worked back and forth trying to form a response, but the only thing that came to mind was petulant denial. “I do not!”

Adam popped the candy into his mouth and tossed the wrapped towards the trash can though it missed by several inches. He worried the candy between his teeth before he tongued it to the side where it bulged his left cheek out. “Don’t even try it, Quatre. You do.”

He was prepared to launch a counter argument until he thought better of it and slumped in his chair, defeated. Who was he kidding? He was a control freak. A nitpicking perfectionist who was too narcissistic to believe his employees could do as good a job as him. “Shit.”

“And they say blondes are dumb,” Adam teased.”

Quatre pitched his fountain pen at him and Adam dodged to the right just in time for the projectile to whizz past his ear. “You're a dick.”

Adam pointed a finger as he leaned down to snatch the pen off the floor. “Quit acting like a spoiled brat, or I’ll tell Shamir on you.”

“What’s he going to do? Fire me? Write me up? Send me to HR for a good talking to?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of him turning you over his knee for a much-deserved spanking.”

Quatre’s face turned beet red. He looked away and busied himself with shuffling papers around on his desk. “Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because you love me.”

“Get out.”

Adam tipped his head back and sighed before pulling himself out of the chair. “Fine, I'll go. I just hope you’re less of a diva when I see you at lunch.”

“And give me back my pen.”

Adam stuffed it into his suit pocket. “Nuh-uh. Not until you can handle writing utensils responsibly,” he scolded and then ducked quickly as a stapler sailed over his head. He picked it up and held it triumphantly. “I’ll hang onto this, too.”

“Alright,” Quatre chirped in a snotty tone. “I’ll just take them out of your paycheck.”

“I’m telling Shamir on you.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Just one more thing.”

Quatre glared at him, knowing damned well that whatever it was, it was going to piss him off. “What?”

“Can I watch?”

“Get out!”

***

10:49 am…

“Excuse me, Mr. Winner, but wouldn’t it be more efficient to use the new plastics technology innovated by Nu-Plastics to endure the extreme cold of space and the heat garnered by spacecraft thrusters?”

Quatre pulled his pointer away from the interactive screen mounted on the conference room wall that displayed the blueprints for WEI’s next phase in resource satellite design. He slapped the extended tip back into its casing with a sharp click and calmly observed the newest member of his executive team.

The guy was on the rather scrawny side with thick-lens glasses resting on the bridge of a nose that was too large for its owner’s face. Behind the lenses, two beady eyes glanced around nervously when he realized the rest of the room’s occupants were sizing him up.

“And why do you think we should do that, Mr…?”

“Jenner, sir.”

“Mr. Jenner.”

“Well,” he squeaked and then blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, like I said, it’s more cost efficient than the titanium alloy that’s been used since the dawn of the space age. It’s also much lighter to transport which cuts down on fuel and it's more malleable to work with.”

Quatre lifted a brow. “Continue.”

“It’s all the rage, I hear. Sampson and Sons have been using it for nearly a year now and they can’t say enough good things about it. Edmond Sampson even said that the company has received a three point five increase in profit from the reduction of costs for materials and fuel.”

Quatre smiled and stepped closer to the head of the long, ebony-topped table. He leaned over until his hands were flat on the glossy surface and looked Jenner straight in the eyes. “I realize you are new to WEI and are still learning our ways, but if there’s one thing you need to remember, it’s this: I am not a man who puts profit above the safety and health of my workers, Jenner. Do you understand?”

Jenner’s beady eyes widened comically as blood rushed to the tops of his ears. “Y - yes. Yes, sir.”

Quatre straightened and turned to face the blueprints displayed on the screen, standing with his back to his team and his hands clasped behind him. “The reason why this company does not use Nu-Plastics for our satellite construction is because there has not been sufficient time to test the safety and endurance of the materials under the extreme conditions of space in a way that pleases my - admittedly - personal level of paranoia.”

A ripple of soft laughter broke the silence that followed before Quatre continued. “Nothing is guaranteed, Jenner. Especially in space. I am not about to start getting reckless for the sole purpose of cutting financial corners to make a few extra dollars.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jenner. “That would be irresponsible on my part, don’t you think?”

Jenner’s face was flaming as he looked down at his lap. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Mr. Winner. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“That’s what meetings are for, Jenner. Don’t hesitate to ask questions here.”

“Thank you, I won’t.”

Quatre spun back around to face his colleagues. “Does anyone else have any questions?” He waited patiently for several seconds, making eye contact with every man and woman in the room. When no one responded, he nodded and clapped his hands together, “Then I’ll call this meeting adjourned. Go have a great lunch, everyone. I expect the designs to be resubmitted by the end of the day with the corrections we’ve discussed.”

The room cleared out while he gathered his papers and shut off of the screen. He was supposed to meet Adam at a trendy little French cafe a few blocks away in fifteen minutes, but still had a few things to finish up before he left.

As he finished placing the protective cover over the computer screen, he sensed a presence in the room. Heavy and familiar, but no one he could pin down. There was a tickle in the pit of his stomach, like a rush of butterflies and he could feel his heart rate increase, slightly, but noticeable.

He turned slowly and his pulse quickened even more, though for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet. Even from across the room, he saw the man’s nostrils flare a little as he stood still and silent, stunning and imposing at the same time.

Quatre’s flight, or fight instincts inexplicably kicked in. His senses were on high alert, reminding him of the surge of adrenaline before a battle, though he couldn't figure out the source of this reaction. He summoned his best professional smile, hoping it didn't look as wooden as it felt. “Good morning, Shamir. Is there something I can do for you?”

Shamir didn't speak, much less move aside from the rise and fall of his chest which seemed to match the increased pace of his own breathing. He was on the verge of repeating the question when Shamir finally answered.

“I was thinking you would do me the honors of joining me for lunch.” He spoke in a slow and heavily accented rumble, one that Quatre now associated with seduction. It seemed to reverberate through the walls and floor, traveling through his feet and up his legs. His beautifully chiseled face was clean-shaven, but Quatre could see the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow already appearing along the sharp edge of his jaw. The man’s eyes were large and set deep into his sun-darkened face. In the right light, they shimmered gold in rich tones of honey and amber. Like warm mahogany and liquid sex as Adam liked to describe them and Quatre couldn’t deny the truth in that.

He’d rejected Shamir’s advances two weeks ago and it was not the first time he’d had to do that. The prince was relentless in his pursuit which Quatre guessed was the result of a wounded ego that was not accustomed to being told no. Shamir was the kind of man who could have anyone he wanted and he knew it. He was convinced that rejection was impossible and as far as Quatre knew, it had been impossible.

Until now.

But honestly, who could blame him? Adam wasn’t exaggerating when he waxed poetic about the Saudi Adonis’ masculine beauty, ungodly amount of sex appeal, and heady air of danger that wrapped around him like a shroud. He oozed power and dominance from every golden pore.

He’d gotten this job at WEI after a series of nude photos were leaked on the internet and the royal family, publicly disgraced by his lewd conduct, had shunned him. Quatre employed him in good conscience, able to empathize with the prince’s plight, until he was back on his feet again.

He was forgiven only six months later and invited to return home, but he'd declined, citing his responsibility to Quatre’s company as the reason he wasn’t willing to leave yet.

Quatre knew better. Only a few weeks after taking Shamir under his corporate wing, he started to second guess his decision. The excuse given for Shamir’s refusal to go home wasn’t about some admirable sense of loyalty, or responsibility to the company.

It wasn’t even about a sense of responsibility towards his employer.

Or loyalty.

Hell, it wasn’t even admirable.

No, Shamir stayed because he had a raging boner for his boss.

Three months into his ostracization, during a post-scandal interview - because of course there were interviews - he’d effectively broken the hearts of at least half the world’s female population. Quatre had been watching the interview with a few colleagues in the break room as Shamir proudly announced his preference for his own gender and could have sworn he’d heard the mournful lamentation of millions of women whose fantasies of being on the arm of one of the world’s most beautiful men went down in a blaze of glory.

But Shamir didn’t stop there. He also apparently thought it was his civic duty to inform those tuning in, on daytime TV no less, that he was a top with a strong proclivity towards slender, willowy blondes who were married to their jobs.

Following that racy expose, Quatre was convinced he’d heard the exuberant cries of gay men everywhere, decrying, “That’s so me! He’s talking about me! Hallelujah!” He wouldn't have been surprised if the makers of bottle blond hair dye were laughing all the way to the bank.

But he’d known better. The sultry curl of Shamir’s lips as he winked into the camera felt like a bullseye was slapped on his back. Or rather, his backside. Unnerved, he’d excused himself from the lounge and sought refuge in the nearest men’s room to splash cold water on his face and calm his racing heart down.

He’d always seen Shamir for what he was. A player. A manipulator. A greedy, selfish son of a bitch with a god complex who treated everyone around him like toys placed there for his personal entertainment. But now, as he stood facing the prince from across the conference room, he saw something else he’d never even been aware of until now.

Before today, when the Omega inside him had been dormant, Quatre had seen him as just another man. Nothing more. Now, the awakened entity that he shared a body and mind with was showing him things he was almost too afraid to believe were real.

Shamir was an Alpha. It couldn’t have been any clearer if it was tattooed onto his forehead.

Through willpower alone, Quatre managed to control the tremor in his hands, and voice, as he stacked his notes into his briefcase and snapped the brass clamps shut. He suspected the man already knew about the Omega, but opted to play ignorant unless he was backed into a corner. “I’m sorry, Shamir, but I have a prior engagement.”

“With whom?”

He tensed at the nosy prodding that was buried beneath a facade of genuine curiosity. “I’ve already made lunch plans with Adam.”

There was a long pause and then, “I see.”

He looked up and summoned a winning smile as he pulled his briefcase off the table. If he could convince Shamir that nothing had changed, he might be able to get out of there unscathed. “Rain check?”

Instead, Shamir slinked further into the room and held Quatre’s gaze with eyes that seemed to glow like molten lava. “Maybe Adam should get the rain check.”

A hot spark of anger curled around Quatre’s spine and effectively smothered the churning panic in his belly. Who does this pompous prick think he is?

“Maybe not,” he retorted in a clipped tone and made his way to the door, prepared to fight his way out if it came down to it. He may have been a good three, or four stones lighter than the other man, but Shamir had never been a soldier. He’d never had to fight for his life before and that gave Quatre an unexpected advantage.

He cursed under his breath as Shamir predictably side-stepped to the right and blocked his exit, staring down at Quatre with that infuriating trademark smirk of his. “You seem...different.”

Quatre bristled, but forced himself to calm down, knowing that riling him up was exactly what Shamir wanted. He returned the smirk and snarked, “And you’re still an egotistical asshole. What’s your point?”

Shamir tipped his head back and laughed and Quatre had never been more tempted to kick someone in the nuts. The audacious prince beamed at him with a mischievous - and patronizing - twinkle in his amber eyes. “C’mon. Let me take you to lunch. I think we have some things to discuss.”

“No, we don’t,” he snipped. “There is nothing to discuss. We are not going to lunch together. And you need to get out of my way. Now.”

Shamir stared him down and he returned it unwavering. It was down to a test of wills, but when it came to stubbornness, Quatre was every inch his father's son.

Go ahead, pal. I can do this all day.

He didn’t expect the challenge to last very long and he was right. After only a few minutes, Shamir smiled serenely and stepped to the side, gesturing politely at the door. “After you.”

He sneered and stormed out into the hallway, walking briskly towards his office when the man spoke his name. “What?” He barked, not bothering to turn around.

“I couldn’t help but notice how good you smell. Is that - is that a new cologne you’re wearing?”

Quatre could hear it in his voice, the faux coyness coupled with a smug undertone that set off enough red flags inside his head that he almost expected his brain to ping the security system. The Omega flailed about inside him in a flurry of panic and he willed it to calm the way a parent might soothe a fussy child.

Shamir knew. Just as Quatre knew all the way down to his bones that the man was an Alpha, Shamir knew he was an Omega. He could smell the active Eroyica gland even though it was not producing slick at the moment. Something that no normal human’s olfactory senses could detect.

He glared at the man over his shoulder and hissed, “You may be an Alpha, but you do not have any control here, much less over me. I would strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut as well as your distance if you wish to remain on our staff. Are we clear?”

Shamir seemed unfazed by the threat, merely lifting his hands and nodding agreeably. “Crystal.”

“Good. Go have your lunch and then get back to work. You pull anything like this again and I will fire you.”

“As you wish,” Shamir rumbled, taking a backwards step in the opposite direction. "We'll talk later," he added before turning to make his way down the hall.

Quatre glowered at his back, furious at the audacity. He’d heard the insincerity in his voice, but let it go for the time being. He picked up the pace back to his office, feeling like he was going to puke.

He waved Bernice off when she stood up in concern, instantly noticing his green and shaken state. “I’m fine. Just...hold my calls, will you?”

He retreated into his office and shut the door, leaning his back against it while he tried to slow his pounding heart. Legs trembling and weak, he slid down until his butt rested on the blue carpet and wiped the thin coating of sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.

Get a grip, Quat. You’re fine. Nothing happened so just relax.

He’d never had an interaction with Shamir that affected him so adversely. Typically their exchanges involved Shamir coming onto him and Quatre brushing him off with nothing more than mild irritation over the man’s persistence. He couldn’t tell if he was about to faint, or throw up and he wondered if he was experiencing a panic attack.

He was tempted to call Trowa for confirmation since he occasionally suffered from them, but Quatre didn’t have the strength to do much more than type a quick text to Adam, canceling their lunch date with a heart-felt apology and an excuse that he wasn't feeling well. With that out of the way, he pressed down on his phone’s power button until it turned off and then dropped it onto the floor.

A few minutes later, the panic began to subside, but exhaustion took its place. His head felt heavy and kept bobbing without his consent. His body listed to the side and after the second time, he didn’t have the energy to right himself again. He went with it until he lay on his side and let his muscles go lax. It wasn’t the most comfortable position. With nothing supporting his head, his neck was arched at an odd angle, but even that no longer mattered once the fatigue forced his eyelids to droop and his thoughts to blur together into a long, nonsensical string of fog.

Jus’ gonna res - rest my eyes for a...minute. Jus’ for a…

***

He woke up about a half an hour later on his back with his legs splayed wide and his knees drawn up close to his chest. He was overheated, wet, and aching with arousal. With a pained groan, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up to a sitting position, cursing the soaked seat of his trousers and the stain in the carpet.

Parts of him were still left behind in the vividly erotic dream and refused to come back to reality. He could still feel the slight scratch of stubble against the sensitive inner cheeks of his ass and the warm, wet mouth that reduced him to an incoherent mess of whimpers and shameless pleading. He couldn’t recall who his dream lover was and the more he tried to picture him, the more the man’s face became obscured behind an inky black veil of mist that seemed to swallow everything around him.

His body was still craving stimulation, in need of release and he buried his head between his knees, wondering what he’d done in a past life to deserve this.

You’re not going to chill until I make you happy, are you?

His answer came in another flood of warm slick and he huffed with annoyance as he quickly slid his trousers off and made sure the door was locked.

Damn you. Fine, I’ll do it because I know you’re not going to stop until I do and I’m not leaving this room while I'm in danger of behaving like an alley cat in heat. But you owe me. Big time.

He laid back down on the floor and slid his hand between his opened thighs. His fingers skimmed over his slick-dampened skin, seeking the opening between his legs that was begging for penetration. He blew out a deep breath and bit down on his tongue to stay quiet as he pushed two fingers inside, giving up any semblance of control when the Omega inevitably swooped in grabbed the reigns.

It was quick and messy. There was no time to draw it out and he didn’t want anyone knocking on the door while he was still in the midst of fucking himself to completion. He drew his fingers out and then roughly shoved them back inside, rubbing the tips over his prostate and Eroyica, applying enough pressure to reach orgasm in the shortest amount of time.

After only two minutes, he slapped his free hand over his mouth and bit into the flesh of his palm as his body convulsed in the throes of climax, terrified that someone would hear him. He endured the gush of fluid that flooded down his hand, drenching the floor beneath him, and closed his eyes when his cock twitched an instant later and emptied itself over his groin and belly. When it was over, he lay sprawled and panting with his hand still over his mouth until he felt strong enough to get up.

Look at you laying there with your legs wide open and covered in your own slick. You still think I owe you after making you come like that?

"You’re just damn lucky I keep spare clothes in here," he griped at the gloating Omega, shaking his discarded trousers out and rolling them up into a ball. If anyone asked, he spilled hummus on his suit and needed to change.

Lame, but it would have to do.

Comfortably dry in his clean clothes and languid with post-orgasm afterglow, he sunk down into his chair and tried to figure out what his next move would be regarding Shamir.

If the man knew what was good for him, he would respect Quatre’s wishes and back off. If not, Quatre would be forced to terminate him and he was not above using legal avenues if harassment became an issue. The last thing he wanted was to get his lovers involved in this unless it was absolutely necessary.

They’re there to protect you.

“Since it seems to have escaped your notice, Sleeping Beauty, I should inform you of my personal involvement in two wars, both of which my side won. I can very well handle myself, no thanks to you.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“It means that I’ve fought my own battles my entire life, without your help I might add, and you weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to defend me back in the conference room, were you?”

The Omega was quiet for a long time and Quatre wasn’t sure what to make of that. He didn’t feel any anger, or resentment. It was more like...shame?

It’s not my job to protect. It’s my job to be protected.

“That’s not a job.”

Oh, you know what I mean! I wasn’t created to be a protector. That duty falls to my - our- Alphas. That’s what they’re programmed for.

“So what are you programmed for? To reward them for keeping me alive?”

The Omega didn’t answer and he immediately knew that was what it was. “Oh, Jesus! Are you kidding me? That’s all you exist for? To provide sexual favors in return for protection?”

Hey! I don’t make the rules, okay? That’s just the way it is.

He buried his face in his hands. “I don’t believe this.”

You’re an endangered species, Quatre. That’s why I exist. That’s why Alphas exist. Too keep your kind from being hunted to extinction.

“What the hell are you? Where did you even come from?”

I'm evolution. I exist because mankind became advanced enough to conceive and birth a new generation in an environment that was only made possible less than two hundred years ago. That was the catalyst that created the very first Newtype and as we know, Newtypes have access to parts of their brains that normal humans don't which is what gives you your gifts. But your kind is still relatively new and your numbers are small. You’re vulnerable. If someone really wanted to, they could exterminate all of you alive today without much effort and then the natural process of human evolution would have to start all over again from scratch. Without you, I wouldn't exist and neither would Alphas.

“So to keep that from happening, you...developed from the brain of Newtypes I’m guessing, to recruit protectors in order to preserve our fragile genetic line? That would mean you have a very personal stake in my survival because my survival is your survival.”

By George, I think he’s got it!

He scoffed. “Why are you so sex-obsessed, though?”

Think about it. What’s the one thing that drives human instinct as much, or even more than survival?

He dropped his head onto his desk, knowing full well where this was going. “Procreation.”

Bingo. Where would mankind be if you preferred cuddling and conversation over the desire to boink each other? Extinct, that's where you'd be. Kicking up dust just like the dinosaurs. The need to mate exists in every species and humans are no different. At the end of the day, you're just a bunch of filthy beasts trying to get laid.

"Thanks."

Alphas need incentive. Something to make all this worth their while. That’s our job. To make them feel good. So good that they can’t get enough. All we have to do is lay back, open our legs, and let them go to town whenever they pop a boner.

"What's this "we" shit? The only one I see doing that is me. You don't even have legs."

I'm as much a part of this as you are, kiddo. I feel everything you feel. I know your every waking thought and every unconscious dream. I'm the one that makes sure the sex is the best you've ever had. Or are you going to try to tell me the men you've been with before made you feel like this?

They both knew the answer to that, but Quatre was not about to give the Omega the satisfaction of admitting it. He changed the subject instead. “And what about what we need?”

We’re getting it already, by being safe. Getting fucked while we’re tired, or not in the mood is a small price to pay. Be grateful that’s the only price.

Quatre rested his chin on his palm and stared at the Van Gogh that was hung on the opposite wall, wondering what freakish alternate universe he’d stumbled into. “So basically, we’re just...glorified pimps and whores. That’s what I’m getting from this.”

Call it whatever you’d like, I don’t care. I’m just here to motivate and reward your Alphas for keeping you safe.

“So why are you so concerned with my pleasure then?”

Our pleasure.

“Whatever.”

Why wouldn’t I want us to be pleasured in return? Reward goes both ways. How much are you going to feel beholden to your Alphas if you’re not enjoying the sex? Can’t have you going AWOL because you’re bitter about getting plowed every other day.

Couldn't argue with that logic, he supposed. “Okay, but - wait. Let’s back this crazy train up for a second. About the procreation thing...”

Mmm-hmm?

“Maybe it escaped your notice, but I’m a man in a relationship with four other men. As bizarre as this situation is, I’m pretty sure there’s no chance of me getting knocked up.”

There are other ways to create life, Quatre.

“But that’s -” he froze as the reality of what the Omega was suggesting wrapped around his bones like a sheet of ice. “Oh, no. Nuh-uh. No, no, no. Absolutely not. No fucking way in Hell!”

Quatre -

“No! I won’t do it. I refuse! I will never agree to that!”

At some point, you are going to have to pass on your genes. Pass on your Omega to your offspring.

Tears prickled at the backs of his eyes as furious denial wrapped around him like a cloak.

Actually it felt more like a straight-jacket.

“But I don’t want kids! I’ve never wanted kids and I refuse to become like my father, damn it! You can't do this to me!”

You are not your father. Creating children by artificial means does not and will not turn you into your father. Deep down, you know that.

He sniffled and angrily scrubbed away the tears that rolled down his cheeks. “You don’t even know my father. He died before you woke up...or whatever.”

You think I didn’t know your father? I was dormant, Quatre. Not dead.

“The hell does that even mean?”

Ugh! Just - never mind. It’s not important right now. What is important is that you begin making plans for your future and yes, that includes planning for children. You still have plenty of time before it comes to that, but if you don’t, everything that’s happening now will be for nothing. Every Omega alive must continue the line.

“Why? Why is it so crucial for people like me to survive? What does it matter if we die out?”

The Omega’s response was incredulous. Are you serious? Survival of your kind is empirical for the survival of human civilization! You, and those like you are the prototypes for the next stage in human evolution. A new race of superhumans. Without people like you, such a thing wouldn’t even be possible. Through you, humans will begin to evolve with higher brain function which is necessary for technological advancements and interstellar travel. Through you, humans will develop unprecedented levels of disease resistance, be able to combat life-threatening genetic conditions and deformities before they have a chance to develop.

And with higher brain function, conflicts will become obsolete. No more war, Quatre. Imagine that. A race of humans who carry all the good traits of their predecessors and none of the bad.

The concept was intriguing, but…”Isn’t the "good versus evil" dichotomy subjective, though?”

Are you saying men who start wars are not evil?

“It depends on why they do it,” he pointed out, feeling a little squeamish as he remembered the acts of violence he’d committed in the name of peace. “Sometimes it’s just...necessary. Sometimes it’s the only option you have left to protect those you care about.”

And why would you need to do that if there are no evil people left to threaten them?

He snorted. “What you’re trying to sell me here sounds more like fantasy than reality.”

How so?

“It’s not realistic! It’s not even...human. If we’re being honest, it sounds almost ideologically fascist, if not completely impossible.”

You don’t believe humans can achieve total pacifism?

“If we could, would we even be human anymore?"

Explain.

He rubbed his forehead, flustered by the Omega’s childish naivety. “Humans are - since our creation, or evolution, or whatever you want to call it, we've been different. From each other, I mean. We’ve always been individuals with our own minds, our own interests, dreams, fears, aspirations, and goals. What you’re talking about here is - it’s a hive mind. Collectivism that forces every single one of us into identical molds.”

And that’s bad...why?

“Argh!” He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his fingers through his hair, frustrated and at a loss as to how he could explain it in a way that the Omega would understand. “Look, one of our most prominent and cherished traits is our uniqueness, our individuality. The things that make us different from each other. If we no longer have that, who’s to say we’d even be human anymore? You might as well just pick us off an assembly line. It would be easier to create a race of robots that could do the same.”

But it’s your differences that create conflict.

“It’s our differences that also achieve peace! It’s our differences that even make it possible for us to love one another. It's our differences that have gotten us to where we are today. If you take that away from us, what would be our purpose? What would be the point?"

Wouldn’t it be worth it if there was no more war?

He took a minute to think about it. Really think about it, but every potential path he followed ended up in the exact same place. The best case scenario, they’d end up being the most dreadfully boring species alive. The worst case, the loss of self. The loss of identity. When you boiled away everything that obscured the end result, you were left with only one conclusion.

The loss of humanity.

The answer, for him, was clear. “No. No, I - it would not be worth it.”

The Omega didn’t answer right away and Quatre got the sense that he’d offended it. “Don’t be mad.”

I’m not mad!

“You’re not actually trying to lie to me, are you?”

I’m not - okay, you know what? You're just so - I can't do this. This discussion is over.

He shrugged, unbothered. The Omega could give him the silent treatment all it wanted, but no matter how angry it got, it would always be at a disadvantage because it was trapped inside him, an extension of himself. There was nowhere for it to go.

“You do realize we’re stuck with each other, right? We’re going to have to learn to get along. You can’t keep trying to dictate everything I think, say, and do. That’s not going to happen no matter how many tizzies and temper tantrums you throw.”

No response. The Omega had already retreated deep inside his mind where it was no doubt sulking. So be it. It wasn’t going anywhere and sooner, or later it would have to come out of hiding. “Alright, fine. Have it your way, but this discussion is far from over. I hope you know that.”

~ * ~

Chapter 13

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