If on a Starry Night:
Alfred Jones was taught the ins and outs of sex when he was eleven. He had sat in the back of the classroom as their stubby teacher went over the basics, scratching at her upper lip every few minutes. She taught them how a boy and a girl would have sex, how two boys could have sex, how two girls could stimulate each other into orgasm, and how to have safe sex and use condoms.
"Because," she had said, pointing wildly across the room, "Before you know it, you'll all be experimenting with sex. Most boys mature sexually at thirteen and girls at fourteen. That's not very far away, now is it?"
Alfred had made a face, unconvinced. Sex sounded gross and he was pretty sure he'd never have it.
He lost his virginity at the age of thirteen. It was to an older omega girl who was more tired of being a virgin than Alfred was. It had been awkward, on a blanket in the tree fort in his backyard. He didn't like her and she didn't like him, but they had the same goal. Afterwards they only talked about it if it was to brag about their lack of virginity. They never spoke again.
When he told his dad months later, the man had patted his head and said, "Good on you." It was hard to tell if he was proud, but he didn't seem surprised either.
At sixteen Alfred got into his first serious relationship.
She was a beta and infertile. His friends would nudge him in the hallways and say, "She's a catch! All the benefits and none of the consequences, eh?" She would never give birth and at that age, Alfred didn't care. Making a family was the last thing on his mind unlike many of his classmates.
Eight months later she broke up with him to help raise her best friend's third baby. She was family orientated, he wasn't, and it wouldn't have worked out in the end.
He couldn't claim to have loved her, either.
After high school Alfred set out to carve his own path in the world. He tried going to a well reputable university, but quickly found that it wasn't for him despite his love for math. He dropped out and eventually found himself crunching numbers for an airline company that paid well and had plenty of room for advancement.
At the age of twenty Alfred was without a child or permanent partner, which was rare for a fertile alpha male and many people wondered just what was wrong with him. He had the ability, but not the drive. He was becoming a stain on society. There were so many that suffered from infertility that would love to have children. And here he was squandering a gift that many would give their lives for, that many did give their lives for in ethically questionable genetic experiments.
He tried to ignore the curious stares, the strange rumors that were whispered behind his back, and the lucrative offers from female omegas to join their harems. At night he went out to the clubs, tried to dance and drink his problems away and wound up in a different bed each morning. He felt like a freight-train that was derailing on icy tracks and he couldn't stop himself.
When he met Arthur he was twenty-one, tired, and lost in life. He was on the same self-destructive routine, without a partner and without social acceptance. He drank too much, partied too much, and slept around as if he would find salvation between someone else's sheets.
Arthur, however, was ahead in life. He was putting himself through graduate school by working as a bartender at a club, The Avenue, which Alfred frequented. "You have so much to look forward to," he would tell Alfred on the nights when he only wanted to get plastered beyond rational thought. "Why would you throw all that away?"
"Because no one cares about me."
That had been his answer to every question in the period of his life. The sentence was his bible, thrust upon him like a lead weight that sat between his shoulder blades, forcing to hunch closer and closer to the mix-drink in his hand.
That was before Arthur had saved him. He knew it, Arthur knew it, but they never talked about it. It had taken an alpha like Arthur to force sense into his head, slap him with a grim reality, and scare him out of his wits.
He had been killing himself slowly. It had been Arthur's stinging words over the bar counter that had kept him from ending up in the hospital from overdose. It was Arthur's work ethic and rare praise that made Alfred feel inadequate; emasculated; determined and fiery once again. It was Arthur that made Alfred feel like an alpha again.
"I never thought to see you here again."
The music of the club was loud; the deep beat of house shook the floors with every pump of the bass. Alfred slipped onto one of the vinyl barstools and leaned on the counter. "I may be on the straight and good," he said with a smile, "but that doesn't mean I don't deserve a night off and a drink every once and a while."
Arthur still worked here, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone with a fan on the back counter pushing around hot, sweaty air. "I can't deny you that," he conceded. "What can I get for you?"
"Just something to sip. Uh, why not a long island?" He slid a few folded bills onto the countertop. "That'll be all for me tonight."
"So how is everything going for you? I must say, you look quite dashing tonight. I can't imagine all isn't well." Arthur pulled out all the necessary bottles and lined them up on the counter, letting the glass clink together.
Alfred watched Arthur work for a moment. "You're right. It's been really good. I got that promotion and even a bonus so I guess this is my little celebration – coming to visit the man that made it all possible for me, you know?"
Arthur scoffed. "I did nothing. You did all the hard work and deserve a celebration, no matter how small." He smiled and pushed the drink towards Alfred. "I had but a small part in this."
"No." He wrapped his fingers around the glass. "That's what you don't get. I went my whole life without someone to slap me around and set me straight. So from my point of view, I owe you my life." He ignored Arthur's protests. "And well… I wanted to ask you out to dinner – my way of saying thank you, even if you don't feel you deserve it. I think you do."
Their conversation was interrupted by a crowd of customers looking for new drinks and shots. Alfred sipped at his long island iced tea as he waited for the next lull in business. He had been working up his courage for days to do this, he wouldn't give up now.
"I'm serious," he said once they were alone again. "Let me take you out to dinner."
Arthur frowned and leaned on the countertop. "I don't think you want to date me," he said bluntly. "I could never give you anything you want." There was no crease to his brow, no anger in his eye. Just a bland look that said he'd had this conversation too many times and with the same outcome.
"And what do I want?" Alfred challenged.
The bartender sized him up with bright green eyes, but did not back down. "You want a family," he said, leering at Alfred over the lip of his Long Island. "Maybe a little girl or a boy to cherish, and I would never be an obedient or tender omega, or even an understanding beta. I'm everything you don't need."
The black straw bobbed in his drink and Alfred stirred it. "You're wrong, you know," he muttered. "So you're infertile. Who cares? I've been dumped by infertile partners because I don't have an interest in kids." Alfred took a sip of his drink, giving Arthur a lecherous smirk. "And maybe what I need is a strong alpha that isn't afraid of me to keep me in check. We both know I can be a bit of a bad boy."
Arthur scoffed. "You hardly know that."
"Then let me take you to dinner. Just once – to see if you're right."
"It would take more than one dinner to –"
"Then as many dinners and movies as it takes!" He grinned as Arthur snapped his mouth shut. "Please?" He reached out to grasp Arthur's hand but flinched back. "I mean unless you're not interested in me – I don't want to force you into… I'm sorry I didn't think of that."
Arthur shook his head. He scooped an empty glass and dropped it into a white tub filled with others. "That's not it," he said, looking around for other customers for an escape from the conversation. Finding no one else at the moment he continued. "You're a strapping man, Alfred. Truly enviable in every aspect. I can't take away your future simply because you think you need me." He closed his eyes and bent towards Alfred, forcing himself not to breathe in the other alpha's scent. "I may not be fertile," he said just loud enough so Alfred could hear him over the pulsing music. "But neither am I desperate. I will not rob you of your birthright out of simple envy, nor will I lay with you out of lust."
He straightened and prepared a small glass of iced water and pushed it towards Alfred. "You know how most infertile are. We tend to stick together or babysit for harems. We do not Bond."
Alfred had straightened in his stool, his blue eyes flashing from the strobe lights. He knew a challenge when he saw one and he never backed down from anything, especially so if it involved something he wanted. "Okay," he said, standing. "You think I need you like a crutch. You think I can't want you just because of your genes. That my DNA screams at me to reproduce as if we were going to be extinct tomorrow. You're wrong. I'll prove it."
He had been twenty-three and overconfident. He saw the determination in Arthur's eyes to prove him wrong, the way they both pushed their chests out. If there hadn't been a bar counter between the two of them, Alfred was sure they'd have started circling one another as if they had been in an arena.
Arthur was the first one to break eye contact to look down at his watch. It was nearing one a.m.
"Someday, Alfred," he said, splaying his hands out on the bar top, "You'll learn that life is never what you want it to be, nor what you expect." He stuffed his hands into his apron pocket, his posture still stiff, like that of an arching cat. "I doubt you'll see me again until you realize that."
"No, I'll be back tomorrow night." Alfred took the last two gulps of his drink, setting the cup down on the counter gently, but refused to look away from Arthur's stare. "And you'll realize that life doesn't have the lines drawn that you think it does."
When Alfred left the bar that night, he was sweaty and frustrated. He wanted to wait on the street corner for Arthur to come out after his shift and force him to understand, to shout every little thought and impulse that raced through his mind. To publicly declare how much having Arthur as a mate would make him feel so utterly complete and useful. He also knew that trying that with another alpha was likely going to end up in a fist fight.
In the end, Alfred took a taxi home. He slept on his couch after fitful hours tossing and writhing in his blankets. Since it was Friday night, he didn't have to worry about work in the morning, so he allowed himself to sleep in and smother the burning feeling that tightened in his stomach at the thought of Arthur's rejection. He would make the other alpha see reason. Even if he had to break the bank on the man, he would. As far as Alfred was concerned, it was only a matter of time and a little patience before Arthur understood that he was more than serious.
That night he returned to The Avenue, watching the neon lights blink to form a moving picture of a girl with shapely legs cross and uncross her ankles as she tilted a martini glass left and right. He moved right for the bar, scanning the bartenders for Arthur's untidy blond hair, but couldn't find him.
"Excuse me," he shouted to a small man who looked barely old enough to even sell alcohol, "Is Arthur bartending tonight?"
The man's eyes were the size of ripened walnuts paired with high cheekbones and an upturned nose. He wouldn't look Alfred in the face.
"No," he said to the bar top. "Arthur quit. His last day was yesterday. He's graduating and moving back to his hometown."
The fire that had been growing in the pit of his stomach turned into ice so suddenly that he thought he was going to vomit. "He's gone?" he asked, softer this time. "He's really gone?"
The baby-face bartender nodded. "I'm sorry – he was very popular here. I hope I can serve you just as well as he did. What can I get for you tonight to start out?"
Alfred pushed away from the bar and into the crowd of writhing bodies. He felt as if the very essence of what made him an alpha had been sapped from him once again – as if he was walking in his own husk. He went to the corner where they sold the chocolates laced with XTC. He bought one, placed it on his tongue and let it melt slowly, as if the drug would suck his soul back into his body as he'd known it could do and joined the dancers.
What did he care now that his reason for getting clean had left? He didn't, and neither did anyone else.
Unimportant Notes: Edited since posting. Thanks for reading. (~'-')~