"I wann'a watch the world burn, sometimes!" Alfred grumbled with a stomp of his foot, dragging himself towards Arthur's cubicle.
"Oh, why's that? Did daddy not give you enough hugs as a child?"
Arthur's voice was murmured, his eyes trained towards his computer screen as he attempted to complete his report. In all reality, Alfred had probably been kicked out of his father's office and decided to take his anger out on the other employees of Jones Enterprise, but Arthur always got a kick out of teasing the American teenager.
For a moment, it was silent. Arthur happily returned to his computer, soothed by the sound of his fingertips against his keyboard. He figured the Alpha would take the hint.
"Baby, say that word again." Ahh, maybe he didn't. Alfred's attempt of a seductive tone was about as pleasant as nails on chalkboard.
Arthur took a moment to pull back, deadpanning towards the Alpha that was antagonizing him. "Child," he repeated.
"Kitten, now you know that wasn't the word I meant..!"
Now, this type of treatment wasn't unusual to Arthur. Or anyone else who had a cubicle on the fifth floor.
The Alpha loved antagonizing the whole finance department.
"Why don't you go back to recess? Let the adults have work time," Arthur questioned with a babying tone, denying the request to repeat the word 'daddy' altogether.
Arthur quite liked his job. The salary was wonderful, and the workload wasn't half bad. He had even been promoted to the head of the department not too long ago, and according to his boss, he was supposed to be getting his own office by mid-July!
His boss was a decent guy, and was a wonderful businessman.
...It was his boss' son that Arthur had the incessant urge to strangle every five seconds and made him pour himself a third glass of wine every Friday night.
Not only that, but his boss turned a blind eye to the torment his son always caused. His wonderful son would never do anything wrong! Not his "perfect Alpha son"!
Gag.
Arthur was certain that his boss had talked his ear off about his "perfect Alpha son". How he got accepted into an IVY league college, how chubby he was as a child, how he was named after his grandfather, how Omegas just fawned over him...
Arthur wasn't sure what was so spectacular about an Alpha that Kool-Aid dyed his hair purple and probably tried to pierce his ears with a safety pin, but whatever. The new youth was strange. But Arthur couldn't judge! He was still an Omega creeping up into his late twenties without a mate, and wrote raunchy romance novels when he didn't have his nose buried in a glass of liquor or his computer screen at work.
Nonetheless, Alfred Jones was a menace to any employee who worked for the company his father ran.
Alfred faltered momentarily at the comment about recess, but quickly bounced back.
"...I'm only nineteen! And I'm on break! Which means I can see you all I want until I have to go back. ...Speaking of which, I missed you last week! Where were 'ya, Artie?" Alfred sang, his tone teasing as an obnoxious grin swept across his lips.
"My name's Arthur," the Omega begun, a grimace across his features. He jabbed a manicured finger towards the name-tag on his chest, clearly stating his name and position, "and I was probably avoiding you. Use that teeny brain of yours for once."
Alfred pretended to think for a moment, strumming his fingertips against Arthur's desk rapidly, knowing it would make the Omega cringe. "Oh, I don't know. It's left me," the Alpha sighed rather dramatically, glancing aside. "You'll need to enlighten me."
"My heat," Arthur droned, gritting his teeth as he looked back towards his computer screen. It wasn't safe to take heat blockers once an Omega got up in their years. Arthur wasn't mated, but he still wanted kids sometime down the line. Taking too many suppressants could mess with his system and, as a side effect of being overused, damage his ability to have children. Despite being at work every waking moment of his life, he still wanted a family. Preferably, not one with a child that turned into a spoiled little brat like Alfred. "Are you really that dense, Jones? Or did you give yourself a concussion by walking and falling in those cheap high heels?"
"They're boots, and they're designer!" was the hissed interjection Arthur was given, and the Omega inwardly cringed at how whiny it sounded. Ahh, teenagers. "And I knew that! I just really wanted to hear 'ya say it, hot-stuff."
Arthur scoffed, pushing his rolling chair back far enough that he could give the American a partially offended glance from behind his reading glasses. "Don't get too full of yourself. I'm two times your age and could probably eat you."
"Nah, I'd rather eat you out instead."
"Maybe when you're old enough to sit in the front seat, love."
"I can sit in the front seat! I'm old enough to drive!"
"Then at least take me out to dinner first."
Alfred hummed a bit in response, tapping his fingernails against Arthur's office desk once again. "Maybe I will," the American stated, turning on his heel to saunter off. Arthur couldn't help but snort as Alfred's hips swayed, probably done just to make his coat swish behind him. He must have thought of himself as an evil villain of some sort, and Arthur almost found it cute.
"I'll hold you to it, Jones."