A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed that first chapter. Not gonna lie, it's different. So I appreciate y'all giving it a chance. Here's chapter two. More on Alphas, betas, and omegas. Again, consent is not a thing in this chapter, but, again, there's nothing explicit.


II. Pomp and Circumstance
a. The Life of a beta

Among the many things betas dislike, but never complain about, is the pomp and circumstance surrounding their weddings to Alphas.

The traditions.

As a symbol of their deference of their Alpha fiance's authority, they kneel. They remain kneeling for the duration of the ceremony, saying nothing for the duration. The Alpha remains standing as a sign of their dominance, and a symbol of their readiness to defend and provide for their spouse.

While the Alpha can wear just about anything, tradition dictates that betas wear white to signify they are now a blank slate, washed clean of their past and prior ties. As with the kneeling, this is also done to show that the beta is ready to accept the Alpha's authority over them. It falls to the Alpha to guide the beta, to 'shade them in,' so to speak, and give their life meaning.

That part especially chafes modern betas, most of whom establish their own identities and have jobs well before an Alpha expresses interest. In over half of Alpha-beta marriages, the beta spouse is required to leave their job and stay home full-time to raise the children, while the Alpha works to provide for the family.

Betas are raised to expect this and to respect it, because That's Just The Way It Is.

There's nothing they can do about it.

For Seth Helmsley-McMahon, that means wearing a so-white-it-glows tux and kneeling on a small, uncomfortable pad in the dirt beside home plate.

Yankee Stadium.

In a move that's so Vince McMahon it's physically painful, Grandpa decided to turn the wedding into The Event of The Century, and sell tickets to it.

What's even more ridiculous, in Seth's opinion (not that anybody asked), is that sixty-someodd thousand people actually paid money to attend a wedding between an Alpha and a beta who've spent a grand total of an hour alone together. The PR consultant told them this morning they expect something like a million people or more to watch the livestream on YouTube.

Across home plate stands Seth's fiance in a tailored black tux, an Alpha who's is Alpha without even trying. Roman doesn't have to put only any false displays to prove to anyone he's Alpha. He just is. He's got this quiet don't-fuck-with-me vibe about him. Handsome as a GQ model, too, but quiet. Seth hasn't seen him crack even a hint of a smile once.

Seth's surgically-repaired knee twinges, so he shifts on the pad, only to hear a throat clear above him.

He freezes, glaring at Roman's shoes.

The priest, some rolly-polly friend of Dad's wearing a ridiculous gold and purple robe, finishes his droning reading of the Bible passages, and addresses the four Alphas fanned out at microphones between home plate and the pitcher's mound.

"Alpha Vince McMahon, Alpha Sika Reigns, Alpha Stephanie McMahon, Alpha Hunter Hearst-Helmsley," he intones, "before you are an Alpha and a beta seeking to be wed in accordance with your clans' traditions. This beta first must be stripped of all his ties to his parents' clan and be accepted into the Reigns clan. Alpha Vince McMahon, are you willing to allow this beta to leave your clan?"

"I'll allow it with his parents' approval," Grandpa booms into his microphone.

"Do you, Alphas Stephanie McMahon and Hunter Hearst-Helmsley, relinquish your guardianship of this beta so that he may wed Alpha Roman Reigns and be taken into the care and protection of the Reigns clan?"

"I do," Mom says, her voice sharp and clear over the stadium's speakers.

Dad echoes, "I do."

"Alpha Roman Reigns," the priest says, "this beta is being offered into your guardianship as your spouse. Will you accept him?"

"With my clan leader's approval," Roman says, his deep voice without a scrap of inflection.

"Alpha Sika Reigns, the Alpha, a member of your clan in good standing, seeks to take guardianship of the beta before you and bring him into your clan. Do you approve this union?"

"I do," Roman's father tells the priest.

Isn't anybody gonna ask me if I approve? Seth thinks, spiteful.

They won't.

Nobody cares what a beta thinks or wants.

"-keeling before you is a beta who is humbly offering himself up to your authority and household," the priest is saying. "He comes to you freed from any prior ties or claims. He comes to you tabula rasa, ready to be taken under your care and protection, willing to be led and guided, and prepared to serve you in whatever means you deem best. Do you take this beta as your spouse?"

"I do," Roman mutters into his microphone.

He doesn't sound happy.

Something in Seth withers, and if he wasn't afraid of bringing a whole lot of trouble down on his head, he'd look up and snap, "You think I'm happy about this?"

Six years ago, young and in love with a brilliant beta who had the most seductive and dangerous ideas, Seth had foolishly allowed himself to hope that he'd be able to avoid being shackled to an Alpha like this. Jimmy had the wild idea that that betas deserved to be treated as Alphas' equals. The first time he'd said it, Seth had nearly choked. He'd been raised to believe a beta's place was in the home, raising the kids. Hearing someone actually say that betas should be running companies and being doctors, that got him questioning things.

The day after Dad overheard some of the things Jimmy had to say on the subject of Alphas and betas, Jimmy disappeared. Seth found himself under close supervision by a series of tutors who, daily, reminded him of a beta's three primary rules:

Be respectful.

Be obedient.

Be unobtrusive.

To this day, Seth has no idea what happened to Jimmy. He's terrified to ask.

"Clan leaders," the priest says, pulling Seth out of his thoughts, "this union represents not just a marriage between an Alpha and a beta now of the same clan, but a new tie binding your two clans in friendship and as business partners. Do you, Alpha Vince McMahon accept this union, and in so doing, your agreement with Alpha Sika Reigns and his clan? Do you accept Alpha Roman Reigns as an honorary member of your clan with the status and privileges of your Alpha grandson?"

"Darn right I do!" Grandpa says in his boisterous, booming way.

"Do you, Alpha Sika Reigns, accept this union and thereby accept the terms of your agreement with Alpha Vince McMahon and his clan?"

"I do," Sika says, more reserved.

"Then Alpha Roman Reigns," the priest says, "you may now place your ring on the beta's finger, if the beta would raise his left hand."

Like the respectful, obedient, unobtrusive beta he is, Seth raises his left hand without lifting his head. He remains still while Roman slips a perfectly-sized right onto the correct finger.

When it's in place, Seth lowers his hand back down to his side.

The priest tells Roman to put on his own ring, and afterward, thunders, "Then by the authority vested in me by the church and the Alpha Council, I now pronounce you Alpha and beta Roman Reigns. Alpha, you may now kiss your spouse."

A large, gentle hand hooks itself under Seth's bicep and urges him to sand. He does, slow and stiff, and raises his head so he's looking right around Roman's goateed chin. Roman leans across home plate to brush a faint ghost of a kiss across Seth's lips, so light Seth feels it as more of a brush of hair and air.

It's over in the blink of an eye, and Roman steps back, his taking hold of Seth's hand as sixty thousand people - for some inexplicable reason - start cheering like the Yankees had just won the pennant.

It swells to an actual roar when Grandpa Vince hollers, "Join me in congratulating my honorary Alpha grandson and his spouse! Welcome to the clan, Roman."

Seth swallows a bitter laugh: demoted even in his own family.

Such is the life of a beta.


b. The Life of An Alpha

From the moment the wedding ends until he's finally allowed to leave the ballroom with Seth, Roman feels like a bottle caught in a storm-tossed ocean, being dragged in whatever the current takes him.

That current being his father, Vince McMahon, Stephanie and Hunter.

If the Yankee Stadium wedding was an ode to excess, the reception is an ode to elitism.

Where some sixty-thousand members of the public had been invited to the wedding, only two hundred guests are invited to The Hawkstail Club afterward. With the exception of the small handful of Roman's immediate family and Elders from Clan Reigns, the guests represent a cross-section of the power elite in Vince McMahon's clan. It's a who's-who of clan Elders and other high-level Alpha leaders from the territory, A-List celebrities, and sports figures.

The combined net worth in the room is nearly twice that of the entire population of Clan McMahon.

Not one of the Alphas in attendance is actually here for Roman.

It's all about status: being seen walking the red carpet into this reception means that an Alpha is somebody in the clan. Furthermore, there isn't a single upper echelon Alpha in the clan who refused their invitation. To do so would have put that Alpha's status and fortune at risk. Vince McMahon has a reputation for being both generous and petty. While he rewards loyalty, he's been known to deal out harsh punishments for even small shows of disrespect.

No one who's anyone in Vince's clan wants to anger him.

Even Roman treads lightly around the old man, allowing himself to be dragged around to shake hands with every one of Vince's business cronies and Elders, and trying his utmost to remain polite and cool in the face of abject boredom. The Elders are out to impress Vince and fall all over themselves to kiss his ass about how wonderful the wedding was and how eager they are to establish business ties with Clan Reigns.

In a way, Roman envies Seth, who's seated up at the front table, alone and unbothered. As far as Roman ever sees, no one but Stephanie goes up there to speak to Seth. Seth isn't required to fake interest in stock talk or to not look impatient when Hunter and Stephanie decide it's their turn to get their share off ass-kissing from the celebrities and drag Roman along for the ride.

The celebrities - artists Roman actually likes like Jay-Z and Beyonce, for example - barely spare Roman a glance in their quest to get in good with Hunter and Stephanie, the future clan leaders. Not even Alphas like Jay-Z and Beyonce are exempt from having to show due deference.

It would take some doing, but Vince has the power to topple even their empire.

Roman stands in the middle of a ballroom full of rich Alphas status-grubbing, and a part of him just aches for the life he'd had six months ago. Kara. The beach house. Going for drinks after work with his cousins. The sound of the water lapping ashore lulling him to sleep at night.

A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder, startling him back to the club and its expensive, elegant decorations and many tables full of Alphas watching him. Judging.

"What's with the long face?" Hunter asks, leading Roman away from the tables. "You that eager to get out of here and start making babies? I don't blame you. Something about weddings gets me hard, too."

Roman looks at him. He's taller than Hunter by a few inches and doesn't try to slouch. "I could've gone the rest of my life without knowing that, Hunter."

Hunter grins and leans against a pillar. "Better that came from me than Vince. You want to talk about a boner-killer."

"Man..." Roman sips his drink to wash that away.

"Hey, speaking of omegas," Hunter says, eyeing Roman thoughtfully, "I know your old man wanted your omega to come from a public Center, but if you decide you want something a little less used, let me know. Vince has his own little Center where he keeps some for VIPs. I'm sure we could find you something after your dad goes home. Never know the difference."

"That's okay," Roman tells him. "I'll stick with mine. I didn't know Vince had his own Omega Center."

"I think a lot of clan leaders would if it wasn't so damn expensive," Hunter replies. "It's all expensive. You don't even want to know how much Pops spent just getting your scent profiling done. For something that's not even an exact science, let's just say I'm glad it was his money. Guess - hey, it worked, so there's that."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway." Hunter shifts. "Be ready to hit the ground running when you get back from Spain. You're gonna be giving a few press conferences the week after next just to get your face and your voice out there. Plus, there are some public works projects we're gonna stick you on. Again, it's just getting your face out there. That's what Pops really wants. He doesn't want you just behind the scenes. He wants our clan to get to know you so when you take over your clan, we'll be like family."

"Right," Roman mutters into his drink. "Family."

"Just stick with me, kid," Hunter tells him. "I won't steer you wrong. And lighten up, would ya? It's your wedding day. I know being all big, bad stoic Alpha Reigns is kinda your thing, but showing everybody you can have a good time is good, too. This is a huge deal for your clan. It's okay to show everybody you're happy about it. Pops would really like that. Now come on. Let's go top these off-" he holds up his tumbler "-and get back to it, huh?"

He turns away. Roman glares at his back, and, reluctantly, follows.

A huge deal for us?

"It is," his dad says half an hour later, in one of the few moments they have away from prying ears. "We're gonna to be able to do good business in their territory. That extra revenue will keep us stable far into the future. And if they come do business in our territory, that's also good for us. It's good for them, too. It's good for all of us."

"Our clan was fine on its own, Dad," Roman says, eyeing the room, and all the Alphas still trying to kiss Vince's ass. "We have industry. We're plenty stable, thanks to you. We've never needed any other name but Reigns."

"You're not seeing the big picture," Dad says. "That's okay. You let me worry about that. I want you to keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your ears open. Learn everything you can from these people. Do what they ask, but don't let them push you around. Look for opportunities to do charity. You're the face of our clan to these people. Set an example we can be proud of. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is your life now."

Roman tugs irritably at his tie. "Just because I'm not over the moon about marrying a beta I know nothing about, it doesn't mean I'm feeling sorry for myself, Dad. I'm here and I'm gonna do the best I can to represent our clan. It's just gonna be on my terms. I'm not gonna fake happy for these people. They're gonna get me just the way I am."

When he looks at his father, he's surprised to find not anger but a proud smile. The reprimand that usually follows an outburst of out-of-place Alphaness like that never comes. His father cups his cheek and says, "As long as you remember, my son, that straight ahead isn't always the best way to go. Don't let these people push you around, like I said, but don't get so caught up in doing things your way that you ignore good sense."

"All right." Roman backs away, finishes his drink. "I suppose we'd better get out there and talk to these people."

Life of an Alpha, he thinks sourly, and lets himself get swallowed up by the current.

For better or worse.


c. The Life of an omega

Eyes see.

Ears hear.

Hands feel.

Hard floor.

Quiet footsteps.

Soft rug.

(not human you're not human you're a thing to use)

(obey)

(OBEY)

Full-brain paralysis.

(let me out let me the fuck out let me out)

It waits like it always waits.

This is a room.

It's in a room.

It waits.

It doesn't move.

It can't.

No input.

No output.

Hard floor.

Soft rug.

Head down.

Knees wide.

Quiet.

It waits.

(fuck get up and run why won't you listen to me get up and run)

It always waits.

And then:

Door squeak.

Heavy footsteps.

Scent.

That scent.

Alpha.

Warm and away.

Places.

(sandy beaches and ocean and trees and sun)

(run get up why aren't you getting up run)

Safe.

Be good.

Behave.

Obey.

Rustling behind.

That scent approaching.

Alpha.

"omega."

It waits.

"up."

Input.

It sits up on its haunches.

Output.

"that's a good pup."

Pup?

Is that what it is?

Pup.

It's a good pup.

(no no no no fuck this get up and run why won't you run?)

It can be a good pup.

Familiar sounds.

Rustle.

Buttons.

Unzips.

Be good.

Behave.

Obey.

It can be a good pup.

Soft hand.

Warm touch.

"open."

(no)

It opens its mouth.

(wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up)

It can be a good omega.

It is a good omega.

(run)


d. [Shift]

"I'm planning to stick to my omega for sex," Roman had told Seth in the limo on the way over to the hotel. "You're off the hook for that now and when we're home from Spain, too. You can move into one of the spare bedrooms."

In the dim dome light from overhead, he'd seen the way Seth's face tightened. "You could have sex with me if you wanted, Alpha. That's your right. I don't mind."

"I do," Roman had said. "We've already been forced into enough. We barely know each other. Call me Roman, by the way."

"Roman, then," Seth had murmured. "I'm not trying to argue with you, but you have sex with omegas you don't know, too, so I don't see how this would be any different, Roman."

"For one, you're not an omega," Roman had said. "For another, I'm not like that with betas. Just because I'm an Alpha, that doesn't mean I'm gonna demand sex from you. That's not my way. I'll stick to omegas."

He'd waited nearly a year for Kara be ready for it, and never once regretted it.

"And me, Alpha?" Seth snits. "Do I just spend the rest of my life with my dick in my hand?"

"You will if you don't watch your tone," Roman had growled. "You spend tonight with your dick in your hand if you want to get off. After tonight, as long as you're quiet about it, you can have your own sex life for now. No dating. Keep your phone on you at all times. I'm not gonna hover over your shoulder, but if I need something, I better be able to get hold of you. If you're gonna be gone overnight, you text me. Otherwise, I don't care what you do. We probably won't see much of each other in Spain, but we do have to do some PR things while we're there, so be available."

It's not an uncommon arrangement.

Hunter had objected when Roman mentioned it, claiming that Seth needed to be kept on a short leash and that it was a bad idea, but Roman's father put his foot down and announced it was Roman's decision. He himself had had a similar arrangement with his first spouse until she passed away. It had been fine for him, he'd said, and it would be fine for Roman.

For his part, Seth had given Roman a grudging thanks.

"It's just a temporary arrangement," Roman had told him. "Until we have kids."

"Right," Seth had muttered. "Kids."

He'd done a poor job hiding his unhappiness.

Roman had let it go, and had done his best to ignore the tension in the limo.

Skip ahead two hours, and it's a very different Roman lying on his oversized hotel bed.

The display wall across the room is showing a floor-to-ceiling image of an empty stretch of oceanside beach at sundown, waves lapping ashore in peaceful intervals. The sound comes through crystal clear over the room's dozen or so tiny hidden speakers. It's almost like being there.

Almost.

And in it, this Roman, lying naked on the bed curled around his omega, is relaxed as much as he can be with a shackle of a wedding ring around his finger. The big omega he's using as a body pillow is still and quiet, warm and pliable, that soft woodsy musk curled around both of them and driving all the chaos from Roman's brain. It's turned a little so it can watch the oceanscape, half-lidded blue eyes heavy with fatigue.

Roman doesn't wonder.

He'd put his omega through its paces when he'd gotten here, taking almost an hour to pound out his day's frustrations into its pussy until he'd blown his knot and everything went away. It did well - even better than it had at the Center yesterday, as if it remembered how Roman asked it to move yesterday, and wanted to do that again to please him. It'd done so well Roman feels a lazy kind of excitement about its upcoming heat.

That'll be fun two days.

He nuzzles into sandy hair. "That's a good pup."

His omega breathes out deep, not quite a sigh, and settles its back a little tighter to Roman's chest.

He's never actually slept with an omega before, so he doesn't know if that's normal behavior or not, but he can't help finding it almost cute.

Mine, he thinks, hiking a possessive leg over its hip.

"Mine," he says aloud. "My pup."

It's the only thing in this ocean of chaos that's made any kind of sense today.

"Sleep," he tells his omega when he sees it fighting to stay awake.

He must fall asleep himself because he remembers nothing for a bit, and then suddenly his eyes snap open again when he hears somebody mumbling something, quiet and sleep-thick.

"-son. person. 'm a person."

Roman lifts his head, frowning when he realizes it's his omega saying it.

"person." Another mumble. "...erson."

[shift]

Omegas don't talk - they can't, that's what Roman's always been told - but his is talking in its sleep, mouth half open and moving soundlessly and not-soundlessly around the words.

'm a person.

Discomfited, Roman nudges the omega's shoulder. "Hey."

The omega awakens all at once, fear and confusion on its face for a split second before its expression blanks. It looks at Roman and then away, head cocked like it's waiting to be told what to do.

"Do you talk?" Roman asks it.

It doesn't answer.

"Speak," Roman tries, injecting a note of Alpha command into his voice. "Talk. Say something."

Still, it doesn't answer.

All of a sudden, it feels tighter than a drumskin against him, and this weird sharp note creeps into its scent that Roman doesn't like. It's almost sour. Fear. Distress.

"'I'm a person'," Roman repeats, just to get a reaction. "That's what you said. Say it again."

His omega begins to shake, but doesn't say a word.

Strange.

"Okay, okay," Roman says, settling a calming hand on Pup's head, carding fingers through its hair. "Easy, Pup. Easy. It's okay. It sounded like you were talking in your sleep, is all. Do omegas do that? I thought they couldn't talk. I don't know. I'll ask Finn tomorrow. Just - it's okay. Relax. Go back to sleep. That's a good Pup."

Pup shifts to look at the oceanscape again, still playing on the display wall, and gradually its shakes subside. Its eyelids begin to droop. Roman's do, too, once Pup's scent calms down.

As strange as that was, it's not anything that can't wait until morning.

And so, surrounded once again by his mate's quiet musky and the sounds of the ocean he misses like breathing, Roman drops back off to sleep.

He doesn't wake up until morning.

(I'm a person.)

[shift]


A/N: And there we go. Next chapter, we'll meet Finn, and a stranger who's going to shake Roman's world up for real. Thanks for reading.