Malak (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
treasureling) wrote2020-04-04 09:10 pm
treasureling) wrote2020-04-04 09:10 pm
o/o for shadowthehedgegod
For once, he's right on time.
Maybe a tiny bit late, which gives him enough time to close up the shop and drop off the girls at their mothers' places. From there, he has choices: he has the remnants of artificial Alpha scent, as well as enough food and water to take care of himself through the heat. Or he can go out. Find someone.
He hates the former. Not that it's serious physical hardship; he's, thank God, never been one of those omegas who goes totally insensate and fevered. Heat has always been more pleasurable than painful for him. He just... he hates being alone with the ever-present knowledge that this is of his own making. That he's alone because he chose to be. That it was the right choice never seems to matter, in the moment.
He chooses without choosing, pacing back and forth in his apartment as he picks out one outfit, and another -- what do people wear for this? What exactly does he want to signal? -- and he traces the natural lines of his lashes with a darker kohl. He has the kind of face that can be startlingly beautiful, but he isn't so young as he used to be.
He'll try, that's all.
--
He chooses the bar because it doesn't look like all the others. He has noticed it before; relatively near both his shop and his home, and the vague familiarity makes it less threatening.
Oh, he is so totally unprepared for this.
White shirt, dark pants; not dressed like a teenager going clubbing, that's for sure. And good, because this doesn't seem like that kind of place. He's aware that he smells... good, right now, not the siren call of omega in heat, right here, come and get it, not yet, but certainly appealing. Provoking unwanted attention is always a risk.
So he moves carefully through the bar, takes a seat off-center at the countertop and at least two spots away from any person sitting there already. It's a dusty summer 6PM outside, not sundown yet. Malak swallows his nervousness.
Maybe a tiny bit late, which gives him enough time to close up the shop and drop off the girls at their mothers' places. From there, he has choices: he has the remnants of artificial Alpha scent, as well as enough food and water to take care of himself through the heat. Or he can go out. Find someone.
He hates the former. Not that it's serious physical hardship; he's, thank God, never been one of those omegas who goes totally insensate and fevered. Heat has always been more pleasurable than painful for him. He just... he hates being alone with the ever-present knowledge that this is of his own making. That he's alone because he chose to be. That it was the right choice never seems to matter, in the moment.
He chooses without choosing, pacing back and forth in his apartment as he picks out one outfit, and another -- what do people wear for this? What exactly does he want to signal? -- and he traces the natural lines of his lashes with a darker kohl. He has the kind of face that can be startlingly beautiful, but he isn't so young as he used to be.
He'll try, that's all.
--
He chooses the bar because it doesn't look like all the others. He has noticed it before; relatively near both his shop and his home, and the vague familiarity makes it less threatening.
Oh, he is so totally unprepared for this.
White shirt, dark pants; not dressed like a teenager going clubbing, that's for sure. And good, because this doesn't seem like that kind of place. He's aware that he smells... good, right now, not the siren call of omega in heat, right here, come and get it, not yet, but certainly appealing. Provoking unwanted attention is always a risk.
So he moves carefully through the bar, takes a seat off-center at the countertop and at least two spots away from any person sitting there already. It's a dusty summer 6PM outside, not sundown yet. Malak swallows his nervousness.