A.N.- God I feel terrible. Okay. here's the next part.
Arthur ground his teeth as he nearly dropped the boxes for the fourth time.
He wasn't even up the stairs yet, unlike his brothers who were currently unpacking the boxes of Arthur's nesting supplies in what was to be Arthur's room.
"Need some help, little Omega?"
The boxes were taken from him before he could respond, the owner of the voice bracing them against his hip as he surveyed Arthur.
Arthur turned to the unknown helper, preparing to snap that no, he was perfectly capable of carrying boxes up stairs, but froze.
The pheromones of an unbonded, young, fertile Alpha that wasn't related to him hit him at a distance of nothing more than a few inches. His mouth moved wordlessly, words getting stuck in his throat and choking him. He inhaled sharply in an effort to get some oxygen to his brain, as it clearly wasn't working right- Oh god.
Oh god.
That smell.
He felt his knees weaken and desperately gripped the railing behind him. This was the first time he'd ever been within fifteen feet of an available Alpha, and he had to admit he had missed out. He felt the pre-heat irritation an unbonded Omega experiences before their monthly cycle disappear, the negative emotion replaced with a desire to throw himself at the stranger.
"I'm Alfred," The delicious scented Alpha informed him, amusement lacing his tone. And he was amused. In the last few seconds alone, he had smelled irritation, anger, a wounded pride, and arousal from the Omega.
"I, ach, Ar-"
"This is Arthur. And I'm his father."
His father's usually affectionate voice rang with a cold tone as he stepped between his Omega son and the Alpha currently making said Omega son smell of sex pheromones.
The Kirkland Alphas in the vicinity didn't smell something that aroused them, of course- they smelled something that said a Omega member of their pack was aroused himself, and the only feeling that brought was territorial anger.
Dylan was out the door first, barreling down the stairs with Rory and Seamus on his heels.
Within touching distance of four pissed Alphas-make that five, Alfred smelled angry too-Arthur relied on his instincts.
And his instincts said to commence Operation Run The Fuck Away.
Arthur wriggled out from behind his father, dashing up the stairs and throwing himself into his room, the door slamming shut and rattling in the frame behind him.
Mrs. Kirkland was alerted to the animosity when Mr. Jones turned and bolted into her home in the middle of their handshake. She exchanged looks with Mrs. Jones and hurried after him.
Her green eyes, mirror images of Arthur's, were rolled in exasperation as she saw the Alpha members of her family looking like they'd happily murder the Alphas of the Jones family.
"What's going on here?" Mr. Jones asked with forced lightness.
"Not sure," Mr. Kirkland returned in the same tone. "I came over and found Arthur backed against the railing with your son in front of him."
"I was trying to help him with the boxes," Alfred declared evenly, blue eyes meeting the green ones of the other family's head Alpha.
Squirt
There was a collective raise of sputtering and blinking as the group of angry Alphas received a thin stream of water directed at their faces.
Mrs. Kirkland squeezed the trigger of the spray gun several more times before lowering the bright plastic toy.
"This my squirt gun," She explained. "If you get out of hand, I'm going to squirt you. It doesn't actually hurt anyone, but hopefully it'll shock you enough to realize you need to show some common sense and self control. I'm going to call it my squirt gun of justice."
The Jones' decided that Betas were a bit insane, and silently thanked God that the only Beta in their family was a great-grand cousin once removed.
Within five minutes, you could tell her squirt gun of justice had done its job. The tension in the air had dissolved, and the boxes were quickly transported into the house and small talk between the families was exchanged. Arthur had tentatively come down from his room, though he kept away from Alfred and seemed to find the floor a very interesting thing to examine.
"How about dinner at our house sometime?" Mr. Jones proposed. "To celebrate your move, and Alfred's visit!"
"Oh, you're leaving soon?" Dylan asked Alfred, not bothering to conceal the glee that stung his tone.
"Why would I live with my parents? I'm an Alpha," Alfred retorted, smugness seeping through at his burn.
"Alfred is an E.R. surgeon across the state," His mother explained, hoping to avoid another confrontation. "What about you, hon?"
"I'm moving out by the end of the year," Dylan answered her polite inquiry.
"Allistor, our eldest, has already moved out," Their father clarified further. "Rory and Seamus, the twins, aren't bonded yet."
"So how is the day after tomorrow for dinner?" Mr. Jones asked, wrapping an affectionate arm around his wife's thin shoulders.
"We can't," Seamus spoke up, drawing all eyes to him. "Arthur's "sick" then."
The heavy emphasis Seamus laid on "sick" made it quite clear to the entire room that Arthur would be in heat then.
The reactions varied. A snicker escaped Rory and Dylan, their father frowned, Mrs. Kirkland shot her son a sharp glance, while the Jones couple pretended they hadn't understood.
The blue-eyed Alpha didn't pretend like he was confused. Alfred's gaze met Arthur's, a frown appearing as he smelled Arthur's mix of embarrassment and horror.
Arthur fled. He still felt the previous mortification from the incident on the stairs, and now his brother was practically screaming in an unbonded Alpha's face that the Omega would be begging to be filled within forty-eight hours. Mortification raced across his skin, making him feel hot and turning his face and ears red. Tears stung his eyes as his mind focused on how Alfred seemed very unconcerned by the whole thing, and the shame from his behavior on the stairs resurfaced at the thought of the impossibly arousing Alpha.
He shouldn't have cared so much about what the blonde Alpha thought. He's leaving soon, for heaven's sake!
His bedroom door was flung shut once more, the green-eyed boy trying to shove out the world. He sunk to the carpet, boxes the only thing in the new room. He wanted to just bury himself in his nest and calm down in that comfort, but he had to actually set up the nest first.
He pushed himself up and pulled the lid off one of the boxes marked with a plain "AN". Lifting the contents, he padded over to the walk in closet and went to work setting up and adjusting.
Downstairs the tension was so thick even Mrs. Kirkland's squirt gun of justice wouldn't have helped.
A.N.- Haha, I love the squirt gun of justice, which by the way is a creation of Doug Hertle. Funny guy.
If you see any typos, tell me.