by Noah Harris
He tilted his head, lifting his chin to see himself from new angles. It didn't help. He looked pathetic, despite the bright color. The red splotches of paint looked morbid against his sickly skin.
He sighed, eyes dropping from the mirror to the sink. He turned on the water, but there was no point in checking the temperature. He knew it would run cold. Despite the fact that his team had won today, they hadn't yet switched barracks, and he wasn't about to get caught in the other one. He could deal with cold water a little longer, especially since it was his fault his team was here in the first place.
He wet a rag and wrung it out before getting to work. He started with his hands before moving on to his neck. His uniform got the worst of it, but he'd move onto that once his skin was clean.
His body ached. He was certain he'd strip tonight to find a motley of bruises from all the shots he took. He’d always bruised easily. Thankfully his uniform covered up most of his skin. He didn't want to give his team more ammunition for making fun of him. They were doing just fine without it.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the deeper ache all the way down his back. Last night's training had ended with a jog through the woods with weighted backpacks. His had been weighted more than necessary, but he bit his tongue and bore it. He didn't want to be seen as the weak, useless omega and a snitch.
"Hey." Timothy was snapped from his thoughts, and his breath hitched in surprise as he whipped around. Hands on the sink, leaning back against it to keep from falling, he found himself staring at none other than Christopher Watts, the program's golden boy. "You did well today."
He leaned against the doorframe to the communal bathroom, thick arms crossed casually over his broad chest. His black hair was short but mussed, messy from a day of sweat and running his fingers through it. Skin tanned and warm, he had a jawline that made Timothy weak at the knees.
And his eyes, sharp and green, calculating and observant. He'd seen them spark with determined fire and harden on the battlefield. But he had also seen kindness in them. It was what separated him from the others. Something softer in his eyes. It wasn't always there, but Timothy had seen glimpses of it.
And it was there now. Sincere and soft. His voice rang earnest, even though his words made no sense to him. He stared right at Timothy, unwavering and intense.
He was glad of the counter behind him, fearing he might fall without it.
Far too aware of the fact that he was staring, eyes wide and mouth gaping stupidly, Timothy shifted his gaze to the ground, giving a small shrug. "I'm just glad I could be useful," he muttered, trying not to wince as his shoulder ached with the movement.
"You weren't just useful. You were pivotal to our team's victory."
Timothy's eyes snapped up as Christopher pushed off the door frame, arms falling to his sides as he walked across the room. Timothy found himself transfixed by his movements. Each step was casual and slow, but purposeful. Everything about him oozed confidence, right down to the smallest detail. He was everything Timothy wished he could be. Everything his father wished he could be. Tall, masculine, strong, confident. He practically radiated an aura that commanded respect, not from fear, but from a sharp sort of intelligence and kindness.
He had the makings of a true Alpha. With a capital A and everything. A pack leader.
He was incredibly intimidating, yet Timothy couldn't help but be drawn to him. Like a hapless moth to a burning flame. Christopher was easily one of the most attractive men he’d ever met, and that was dangerous.
He would need to be careful and keep his fascination firmly in the realm of reverence and far away from the realm of attraction.
Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't realize how close Christopher had gotten until he filled up Timothy's vision with his broad frame. Fingers touching his own startled him, and he easily let go of the rag as Christopher took it from him. He stared, eyes wide and body quivering, as the larger man lifted the wet rag to his face, gently wiping away a patch of paint dripping from his cheek to his jaw.
He pulled away from the touch instinctively, heart hammering hard against his ribs and pulse pounding in his ears.
When he looked up, his brown eyes met green, both wide. Christopher looked as startled as Timothy felt, and his gaze tore from Timothy's to stare at his hand, still frozen and hovering in the air. His brows furrowed, lips pursing into a small frown, looking for all the world like his own hand had betrayed him.
He slowly set the rag on the counter next to Timothy and stepped back, putting a good amount of distance between them. He cleared his throat, eyes aimlessly roaming the bathroom. "You'll have one hell of a time getting those stains out."
"I'll manage," Timothy said, voice shaking slightly. He cleared his throat, turning to pick up the rag. Despite his instincts screaming at him to keep the larger man in sight, he turned his back to Christopher, keeping his eyes fixed on his own reflection as he went back to cleaning up his face. The silence, however, was suffocating, and Christopher wasn't leaving, so Timothy reluctantly filled it. "You seem to fit in perfectly here."
He’d meant it to sound conversational, not pathetic and wistful. He bit his tongue, scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of paint beneath his eye.
In the mirror, he saw Christopher's brow furrow, lips pursing before he asked, with an uncharacteristic hesitation, "Do you feel like you don't fit in?"
The laugh that was startled out of him was sudden, sharp, and tasted bitter on his tongue. "I know I don't fit in." And then, softer but no less bitter, he said, "I know I don't deserve to be here, but I want to at least make myself useful. Though at this point, I'm not sure if I can."
"I think maybe you're thinking about this from the wrong angle." Timothy glanced up in the mirror, making eye contact with Christopher's reflection. He once again stood with his arms crossed over his chest, one hip leaned to the side, chin tucked down as his eyes narrowed with thought.
"What do you mean?"
Christopher shook his head, gaze distant as he looked off to the side. He huffed out a long breath. "You're not destined to be a physically strong wolf." Timothy couldn't help but flinch at the certainty of that statement, recoiling from the sharp pain that burrowed deep in his chest. Christopher didn't seem to notice. "A pack consists of more than just alphas and betas."
Timothy's lips pursed into a scowl, nose crinkling as his lip curled. "Omegas are nothing more than the pack's punching bag or a breeding bitch," he spat, voice low and full of a bitterness he couldn't contain. The words didn't start out as his own, but he'd heard them enough times in his life that they might as well be. "That's exactly the kind of fate I'm trying to avoid. That's why I'm here."
But Christopher was still shaking his head. "I think you should try to see things differently." His arms dropped, spreading wide to gesture as he talked. He took a slow step forward, and Timothy instinctively turned to face him. "Take today for example. You didn't fight in the battle, but you were integral to the victory. To protect the pack by using your strength to attack the enemy is brave, but so is sparing the strong members of the pack pain by taking it on yourself. The sacrifices of a selfless omega are just as worthy as the actions of the stronger wolves." He took another step closer, the furrow on his brow clearing as he offered a small, comforting smile. "Your father taught me that."
Timothy felt his stomach twist and the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. His scowl deepened, eyes narrowing as he stood a little straighter, lifting his chin as he met the alpha's eyes squarely. "You can dress it up like a noble sacrifice all you want, but a life lived like that is a life of subjection and servitude. It would strip away all my freedom and happiness for the sake of others, and it's expected that I throw my own life away just because I was born like this."
For a brief moment, Timothy thought Christopher might reach out for him. But at the sharp bite of his words, the man paused. His smile fell, expression twisting to mirror Timothy's scowl. He was better at it, rising to his full height and through sheer
presence alone making the omega want to cower. But Timothy refused to submit. Not like this. Not about this.
He held his ground, and he could see the tick of exasperation in Christopher's eyes. He'd seen a similar look all too often from his father.
"Omegas exist in the pack for a reason," Christopher said slowly, voice even and measured. "All our roles do. There’s a reason every pack needs the Prime Omega, just as they need the Prime Alpha. Because those roles are important." Christopher turned and strode across the room, pausing in the doorway to turn and glance at Timothy over his shoulder. His eyes were hard, but there was a softness to his mouth and a kind edge to his voice. "Maybe you should stop looking at your role like a human and start looking at it like a wolf."
Timothy was left staring at the empty doorway long after Christopher was gone. When the rapid beat of his heart was more under control, and he didn't feel like his knees were about to give out, he turned to face the mirror once more.
He looked at his reflection, the soft, plump curve of his lips, the gentle curve of his jaw, the roundness of his eyes, the delicate shape of his nose.
For just a moment, Timothy let himself entertain the idea that maybe Christopher was right. He had a way of making omegas sound almost noble. He made Timothy's role sound special and important.
But the moment passed quickly.
Christopher had spent his whole life as an alpha. He wouldn't understand. Timothy knew first-hand what it was like to be an omega, and it wasn't some fantasy of kind selflessness. No one cared what they might do for the pack, omegas weren't respected. They were seen as weak.
Giving into his omega nature would mean embracing that weakness and giving into a life of serving others.
He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands beneath the water, bending to splash it over his face. The bite of the icy water helped bring him back to his senses and chase away the memory of Christopher's kind eyes and gentle smile.
In the weeks that followed, while Timothy stayed firmly at the bottom of the social ladder, Christopher rose to the top. He had already distinguished himself from the rest of the pack, but he continued to set himself apart. Day after day, through any training exercise that was thrown at them, he proved himself not only to be the most capable wolf, but a natural born leader.
Not every alpha could cut it as the Prime Alpha of a pack, but Christopher was clearly setting himself up as such.
And while Timothy still wasn't sure how he felt about their conversation about his role in a pack, and while he still didn't agree, he found the mere fact that they had a real conversation to begin with, one that started with a congratulations and ended without any sort of hazing, made Christopher the only wolf in the whole squad Timothy trusted.
That led him to naturally stick close to the alpha, because while he never did anything to stop the others from bullying him, his presence alone was a natural repellant. He hovered in Christopher's shadow. At first it had been self-preservation, but he found the more he watched Christopher the more his own admiration grew. The man was strong and confident, moving with a power and grace Timothy always wished he could possess.
He started following him. At a distance, of course. Careful never to get in his way or bother him. But he followed, and he watched. Somewhere along the line, he decided the best way to be like Christopher was to watch and follow his lead.
So when Christopher lifted a heavy log with ease one day, carrying it to their camp site while the rest of the cadets stared in awe, Timothy snuck out that night to try to lift a similar log. He barely got it a few inches off the ground, and he pulled something in his back trying, but he did it, and he couldn't keep the smile off his face as he snuck back into the barracks.
When Christopher spent his free time running a solid twenty laps of the track without breaking a sweat, Timothy snuck out late at night to do the same. He ran slower, and he ended up out of breath and wheezing, in desperate need of a shower, but he did it.
Every grand feat Christopher casually accomplished, Timothy pushed himself to do the same. Always at night, on his own and away from the mocking eyes of the other cadets. It was hard at first, but with every accomplishment, he felt stronger. He was proud. He might not have been on the same level as the others yet, but he was working on it, and he could feel his own improvement.
There were days he felt he could even hold his chin up high. Especially when he managed to keep from falling too far behind on the obstacle course or when he surprised the others with his willingness to run with his backpack despite the rocks they had weighed it down with.
He knew the others were starting to pick up on the fact that he hovered in Christopher's shadow. He tried to be subtle about it, but he knew he couldn't stop himself from standing out among the other cadets.
Still, while Christopher rarely took notice of him and mostly ignored him, he didn't shoo him away either. He let Timothy continue to follow him at a distance, hovering in that strangely protective aura of his.
It was a simple act of kindness, and it didn't go unnoticed. If anything, it made the man all the more endearing.
More recently, after he’d snuck back into the barracks and curled up under his blankets, he’d taken to fantasizing. When his body was too wound up to sleep, and surrounded by the loud snores of his teammates, he stared at the ceiling and let himself imagine what it would be like if Christopher actually noticed him.
Not just looked at him when counting his teammates, and not just looked at him when giving out directions, but really noticed him. The way he noticed the others when they did a good job.
He imagined Christopher clapping him on the shoulder, hand large, firm and warm as it slid down his back. He imagined those piercing green eyes on him, and only him. He imagined them softening and crinkling at the edges as Timothy said something that made him laugh. He imagined the way Christopher's face would soften when he smiled.
He imagined what it would be like to have Christopher's attention. How his eyes would look if they sparked with real interest. He imagined his voice low and rumbling with praise over how strong Timothy had become and how far he'd come. He imagined Christopher sitting with him in the woods, far from the prying eyes of the others, a casual touch on his thigh and a brush of knuckles against his cheek.
He imagined how his lips would feel, firm and chapped but soft and gentle. He wondered if he would taste as spicy and alluring as he smelled.
They were stupid fantasies. Stupid and silly and they would never come true. Christopher would never look at him like that, and he deserved someone far stronger than Timothy.
But in the hell hole that was the training camp, late at night and wrapped in shadow, finally alone and at peace, the fantasies were the only thrilling and pleasant thing about his day. There was no harm as long as no one knew. He allowed himself to indulge in them because he knew he'd never be able to act on them.
So he lay in bed thinking about Christopher's eyes and fell asleep dreaming about his touch. And found peace in that routine, even if it was only a silly fantasy.
Christopher
Christopher had known for a while that he had the makings of a Prime Alpha. He'd been physically fit from a young age, stronger and faster than the others around him, both human and wolf. He'd learned how to shift early on, and his wolf grew larger and stronger than others he knew. He had a spark of heated determination and a stubbornness that was a fire that refused to be put out. He'd seen his parents bend and break at the will of others, and it led him to learn how to stand tall and proud.
His sense of pride and strong determination were in no small part due to the teachings of General Wolski.
During his time in the military, his superiors had praised his growth and said he would one day grow into a Prime Alpha. They had high hopes for him, and he preened at the confirmation of what he already expected. All he needed was a pack. He hadn't realized that joining the special wolf forces might give him just that, but he couldn't be more pleased. His dream was to
join the ranks of the special forces, and leading a pack on top of that? Icing on the cake.
It had only been a few weeks since basic training had started, but he could already tell the dynamics were starting to solidify. The other cadets were already starting to defer to him, following at his heels and looking to him for confirmation and leadership. They still listened to the sergeant and their superiors, of course, but within their cadet ranks, it was clear Christopher was becoming distinguished. Despite the fact that they were still split into two teams, both seemed to bow to his leadership.
A pack's dynamics were an instinctual thing, diving down to a biological level. As wolves, they only needed to put trust in their bestial sides and listen to their instincts in order to have a functional pack. They fell into roles naturally.
And just as Christopher was distinguishing himself as the best possible Prime Alpha, Timothy was clearly perfect for the role of Prime Omega.
It had a lot to do with the fact that the boy was the only omega in their squadron, but that didn't change the fact that he was perfect for the role. Christopher never thought a pack formed as a military squadron would have a Prime Omega, as omegas rarely dared to join the military, but he was pleased that their forming pack might have the dynamic covered.
A pack's Prime Alpha and Prime Omega both had opposite but integral roles in a pack.
The Prime Alpha was a source of leadership and unwavering strength. The pack looked to them for guidance. A Prime Alpha had to not only be physically strong, but also possess a strength of will and confidence to lead other wolves. They were a central pillar that the pack formed around, without whom, there would be chaos.
The Prime Omega was a source of relief. While the Prime Alpha served the pack by protecting it, the Prime Omega served the pack by easing tension. Omegas were the lowest rung on the wolf hierarchy, but they were still important. Not physically fit or capable, they often served as a form of comedic relief, easing away the tensions of alphas and betas through humor. They were gentle and cared for the pack's needs, like a motherly figure and a maid wrapped into one. Some went a more maternal route, while some went a more jester route. Some chose to let themselves be dominated by betas, allowing them to show dominance and express power in a safe way, making them feel better by allowing them to subdue another. Some omegas offered themselves as sexual relief, melting away tensions in the throes of passion. And as such, they were often breeders, carrying the pups of stronger wolves to keep the pack alive.
