Chapter Text
Ryland had finished a large research project the past week, having worked on said project with two other scientists for four months. It had been an interesting project, something Ryland could openly admit — he loved his preferred field of molecular biology, and although not his specific choice, the project involved was not too far off. They were creating hardier seeds for a larger possibility of growth on foreign soil. And truly foreign at that— they’d been attempting to create strains of vegetables, beets and corn currently— for they were being genetically modified to produce on Mars. It had been a major topic amongst scientists for the past year since the return of Astronaut Mark Watney from his unexpected long-term residence on the red planet, Mars.
They had succeeded— at least as far as they could tell. The research project was finished for the team, now going into the hands of the next researchers on the next team. He thought that perhaps they would send some scientists to space again, plant it themselves— and no thank you, he would never be willing to do it, but it was fun to be a part of the project and to think about the success of their hypothesis! So instead, the three got their last portion of pay, said their goodbyes to each other, and separated. Ryland would miss the other two since it was rare to spend a good amount of time on a project with two betas, but it had made things nice and easy for him.
Instead of going home to his apartment— as if there was anything there to keep him entertained— he had made plans to fly from their temporary residence, paid for by the grant, in Montana, all the way to Sydney Australia, to visit one third of his complete set. He would be visiting Colt— the oldest of the triplets that Ryland found himself the youngest of. Colt had mentioned trying to get Wesson— he still thought the nickname Driver was a little weird— to join them as well. Ryland hoped he would take them up on it— it’d been a while since any more than two of the brothers had gotten together. Not since they moved out from Hollands house— Ryland going to college, while Colt and Driver went straight to Hollywood. The last time all five had been together had been before Court passed— before their dad made it home that day, before Holland and Courtland went to get groceries, and Colt and Wesson had gone over to the neighbors to game. It had been over breakfast, a bowl of cereal that had tasted fruitier with nostalgia, and sickeningly sweet to the taste ever since.
Enough of that. Ryland didn’t need to think about that— not when he was on the second plane to Australia—he hated layovers. Instead he made himself look out the window, staring down at the white blanket covering the planet below as they flew above the clouds. It would just be the Pacific Ocean here, with no land in sight. It sent a small shudder down Rylands spine— perhaps he had a small fear of not being on land, not having his feet on dirt and Earth. He couldn’t wait to touch back down on the ground.
“So who’s gonna pick him up?”
Colts words were teasing as his shoulder nudged Drivers— the nickname was growing on him for his brother fast, and although he’d never admit Driver did it better, Driver was becoming notorious for his car stunts specifically— as they walked along the set. Driver had gotten into Sydney two days ago, and seemed entirely unaffected by the time change. Driver had begun coming to Colt’s filming yesterday bright and early as if his flight hadn't arrived only four hours before. This wasn’t surprising— where Colt was bad at hiding his emotions, physical condition, and how he felt, and Ryland barely tried with how often it was written on his sleeves, Driver had always been able to control himself to a degree that Colt almost envied. It was like the guy didn’t need sleep or to sweat if he simply commanded himself not to.
Driver had glanced at him— and Colt knew no one else would be able to see the twitch of his cheek that meant his brother was smiling.
“Didn’t you almost give Ry a heart attack last time he rode with you?”
Colt gave the fakest half shrug, his own smirk of mirth ruining any semblance of denial.
“I mean, would you drive any slower?”
Chuckles spilled from the two, and Colt absorbed it like a flower finally watered after being tucked into a closet for too long. All they needed was Rylie to get there so he could feel the warmth of the sun again. The trio had split up— Rylie the odd one out with his science degrees and Doctorate— but all of them knew they were complete together. At least, Colt thought so. Sometimes he worried that the trio had been visiting each other less and less. Driver and he interacted the most it seemed— and even then, it was the occasional meet up when set locations were in the same town or using similar scenes for stunts. They’d met on accident once during such a time— when Colt had been grabbed from the nearby coffee shop by a PA apologizing and saying they needed him now, he hadn’t questioned it— turns out said need was a car stunt that Colt knew had not been in the script. You can imagine the confusion— and erupt glee when he realized something was up, and Driver walked in, ready to take a drive.
But now they were shoulder to shoulder, same height, same build— and Colt felt a sense of camaraderie with Driver, as they both were alphas like their older brothers. They both had their responsibilities— and although Ryland hated it, they both would never deny that part of it was making sure Ryland, the family omega, would be content and comfortable. The two alphas had been confused when Ryland had presented as an Omega for only a moment, but it quickly began to click. Ryland had checked on them when they weren’t feeling well, would always stand up for them— getting the worst beatings cause of it— and would always try to make the others smile. They had been too naive to understand a difference in their bodies for a long time when young-- and the words only made the minor physical differences make sense.
Colt couldn’t wait till all three were together again. Thank god the day was ending early, especially when he wanted to have time to get home and shower before picking Rylie up from the airport. Although it was mid-September, it was getting hotter by the day with the swapped seasons in the southern hemisphere. Colt felt like he stunk of his pheromones, and even Driver had a slight scent on him of his own— Seems the Sydney heat was out of his control, at least a little.
Colt felt his shoulders tense before the hand landed on it— and it pissed him off that said hand knew whose shoulder it landed on without them even turning around, and that he already knew his scent enough to know the asshole who owned said hand—and turned to face his most recent boss, and so far the most particular one he’d had as a stunt double. But there were talks of contracts, so he grinned and bared it as he asked
“Hey Tom, need something?”
Colt could feel Drivers blank stare aimed at Tom to his right, but ended up feeling a slight deflation as Tom seemed entirely unaffected as he pushed his sunglasses up and gave a toothy grin— Colt felt himself gain some annoyance from his own dissatisfaction as he waited for the actor's response. Which seemed to take forever for the man to form in his single braincelled head as he looked between the two of them.
“Party tonight, extending the invite to you two since you’re a literal hit.”
Colt wanted to hit that grin off the other alpha's face, but shook his head
“Can’t, we have to pick our brother up—“
Tom’s eyes gleamed— the kind you see in a cartoon child looking through a store window, and Colt was the parent running behind.
“The more the merrier, another clone of you will make things interesting!”
Colt bristled slightly— Ryland had gone to a few parties, Colt couldn’t sit here and pretend he hadn’t—but he was sure Rylie didn’t like parties like this. The ones these movie stars would throw— the kind the movies actually seemed to reference in every over-the-top scene. Colt could already see their brother tucked in a corner, trying not to panic and yet failing spectacularly. Shit, it would be just like the science fair their sixth-grade year— they thought Ryland would be ready to present while Driver and Colt stood back and held up the board, but then Rylie had a panic attack start up and Driver had kicked Colt to present while he held the board with Rylie behind it. They’d barely managed to get a B— and it was almost entirely due to the project pieces Ryland had submitted, and not Colt’s… liberal oral reporting.
Colt squared his shoulders and shook his head
“Probably can’t, he’s got a long flight, probably won’t be up for it.”
“Not really his scene. He won’t want to.”
Finally, Tom reacted to Driver— although Colt does acknowledge it’s the first words Driver has spoken to anyone besides Jody, Dan, and Colt himself. Tom blinked at the man with confusion, before smiling
“Everyone wants to be at my parties.”
Tom’s laugh annoyed Colt— honestly, maybe the contract wasn’t worth it— and he wanted to respond again, only for Tom to turn away with a wave
“If you’re not there Seavers you can expect contract negotiations to be severed!”
The amount of twitching happening in Colts eyelid and brow could power a desalination plant, could stir up the atmosphere enough to summon a hurricane if it were allowed by sheer will. Hell, he was potentially generating enough power to shut down nuclear plants for the next 50 years.
It was frustrating, but Driver let him take his frustrations out on the ride home, smiling his minuscule smile of glee as Colt took corners too fast, drifting between lanes and far exceeding the speed limit. He even let Colt play his music on shuffle— and isn’t it funny how he speeds more to Taylor Swift than Avenged Sevenfold? But soon enough they arrive at Colt’s current apartment— and like the current vehicle Colt's renting, it’s a little worn down. There are two bedrooms at the back of the apartment, a bathroom coming off the wall of one, while a half-walled kitchen reflected across from it, a small living and dining room combo holding the duffel bag Driver had brought.
After reminding Driver he could crash in his room with him, Driver shrugged,
“It wouldn’t be fair to Ry.”
And damn, that kind of made sense. The triplets had stopped sharing beds when all three had finally presented— it kept awkward mornings down and some semblance of normalcy for them. But it wouldn’t be that weird now if all three of them did- like, they all would lean on each other on the couch but it’s different if it’s lying down? Yeah no Rylie would definitely say it’s different. With that acquiesce, Colt moved to the bathroom to take the first shower. It was quick— although he made sure to clean a couple spots he noticed not looking the greatest— then again, he’d seen Rylie’s place before so the omega couldn’t judge.
But soon enough he was walking out. Driver walked in past him, and by the time Colt had gotten dressed and dried his hair, Driver was done and out as well. Efficient— something they both seemed to be considering in their minds as they chuckled in unison, drawn to the same conclusion that Ryland must get lost in science, staring at each water drop on the wall, considering the theories behind what it was or could be— or whatever the hell he did to take 30 minutes minimum in the shower.
After that it was a blur, honking horns and stopped traffic couldn’t wipe the excitement from Colt’s face, and Driver was fiddling with the door handle— excited as well. Whatever they expected, would it be? It wasn’t something to consider, not when Colt parked the car and then shuffled out with Driver, heading to baggage claim with their eyes peeled, staring at every passing person with furrowed brows in their concentration.
Ryland found them first.
Of course he did.
But Colt’s the one who grabbed him first, one arm yanking Rylands bag strap as the other grabbed Drivers jacket and yanked the trio into a hug— looking to all as a glitch in the matrix as three almost carbon copies embraced. Rylands hibiscus tea scent calmed Colt, a tension easing from his shoulders he hadn’t thought existed— Rylie was the sunlight of the trio, bringing warmth just by shining on them.
It was almost ethereal, the trio being together again as they moved to the car. Ryland— who was offered the front seat and vehemently reminded them that with the way they drive, he’d rather not see where they were going— sat in the back passenger seat. The music was turned low as questions were brought up, small talk that felt like sliding into warm slippers, and laughs that felt faded with nostalgia as they harmonized in a way. It was a perfect serenity—
Colts phone buzzing shattered it as he saw his new boss’s name appear with a text about when Colt comes to bring some extra cups. Why the fuck did Tom Ryder need Colt to bring cups? He had literal assistants he could ask, or his fucking manager— stewing as he was, Ryland's brow kept raising in the back, until Driver clued Ryland in while Colt grumbled.
“Colt's job is on the line if he doesn’t go to this party one of the guys on set is throwing. But we want to spend our time with you Ry.”
Ryland glanced between the two, and they both could smell the nerves rising— Colt glaring at Driver like he had punched their brother or something. Between glancing at the road and Driver, Colt tried to get it across that he was fucking stupid why would you stress Rylie out like this—
“I’ll go.”
The tires screeched— partially as an overreaction, and the other part due to a fucking Kangaroo attempting to put all deer in America to shame as it sped in front and past the car— as Colt barked out with a mix of surprise and excitement
“Are you serious?”
“WATCH THE FUCKING ROAD COLTON!”
Colt laughed as he got the car moving again, his mind racing. Both because holy shit, Rylie wanted to party– Sucks he can’t DD– and an even holier shit, Ryland, his doctorate-holding, literate, honest-to-god scientist brother was offering to go to a party with them– a party full of crazy ass people he didn’t and wouldn’t want to know. Shit, if only he had gotten in earlier, he could’ve introduced Ryland to Jody and Dan, hell, even some of the makeup crew would treat him sweetly–
“If he says he’ll go, he’ll go. We’re all grown-ass men,”
Driver's words filled the car as he continued
“Although one of us is grown a little less–”
Driver leaned away from a swat from Ryland in the back, Colt unable to while driving as he was gaffed by laughter at Driver's words. For the rest of the drive, the peace was brought back amongst the trio, a lull of calmness and teasing, of each one digging at the other in turn. Colt couldn’t help but think back to when they’d all three been in the back of their brother’s car, Holland in the driver's seat as Court handed back notebooks and pencils to entertain themselves. Before tablets and phones, when games were drawn squares or hangman.
Arriving at the apartment cut the serenity a little, Colt giving the short tour for the second time in the same number of days. Yet, just like with Driver’s arrival, Ryland brought new energy in– and his scent. The hibiscus tea settled nicely with Drivers bergamot scent, and both of their scents blended with Colt’s sharp ginger-like notes. It smelled like pillow forts and late nights staying up to talk and game, of sneaking around to look at stars for Rylie, or out at the cars on the street that zoomed past late in the night for Driver– it felt like stepping back into the best parts of a childhood home.
And quickly was turning into a sibling nightmare, as Colt argued with Ryland about what to wear.
“Rylie, listen to me– I love you, okay– LISTEN, I love you OKAY BUT– give that here– NO SWEATERS. You will get overheated and be miserable!”
Driver– he’d long stopped asking to be called Wesson by anyone besides his blood– was staying out of the argument. Albeit simply by not arguing for Ry, it may be suggested that he might value their brother's physical comfort over his choice of sweaters in all weather, along with Colt even as he didn't speak up. The scene was almost comedic between the two as it unfolded in front of him, Driver hiding a smile as Ry gripped tightly to the sleeves of his choice of maroon red sweater– while Colts hands gripped the hem. Thankfully not yanking, neither wanting to ruin the piece even as they traded arguments back and forth. It was always fun to watch them go at it– somehow gentle physically even as they argued with vitriol. Ry would straighten his shoulders and Colt would lean in– neither faltering at each other's angry scents the way an omega or alpha normally would. Siblinghood, Driver mused before tuning back to his siblings in time to hear Ry give a loud and possibly overdramatic release of breath and sound– not a word, but frustration construed nonetheless.
Colt held the sweater like a wrestling belt above his head as he ran off, as if Ry would sneak it with them if he didn’t hide it he wouldn’t put it past Ry. Instead, he watched as Ry rifled through his bag, scowling and pushing his glasses up on his face before pulling out a shirt that had a science pun on it– I DNA what to do without you, all alone i might RNA way. Driver was gonna pretend to understand it, even as he could kind of construe the idea by the verbiage and the imagery– a dna strand and a… half dna? Strand. Science pun, that’s all he needed to know.
Thankfully, Colt remembered he needed to bring cups by the time they left, and Ry had changed without pulling out a new sweater. Driver got to drive this time– having glanced at the other two, he wouldn’t admit to it, but it would be nice to take care of them. They weren’t kids but… they were his brothers– he was more than willing to be the designated driver. They’d have a decent while to hang out– he’d have Colt DD sometime if he really felt left out. With that plan in mind, they had set out, Ry’s leg tapping steadily louder in the back. Driver tuned in to Colt who was half turned around, talking to Ry–
“It's a three-story house, third floors basically just bedrooms, so avoid that– there's a pool and a greenhouse, bet its hot as balls right now– but otherwise it should be fine. There will be people offering free drugs– obviously don’t–
Driver tuned Colt back out, honestly, he was overreacting a bit. But Ry was letting him get his worries out as he just nodded with sighs instead of arguing as they had earlier. It shouldn’t have, but it eased some relief into Driver. He didn’t think Ry would do anything stupid– he was the smartest one of the trio– at the same time he was their triplet. When the right buttons are pressed, he had some of the Grace rage their father had passed down to them– Ryland had just inherited more of their mother's gentleness as well– and would definitely do something illogical. Maybe not stupid, but very illogical.
Pulling up to the manned gate– damn, he knew Ryder was the star of the movie but armed security, really?-- The guard didn’t seem phased by three almost identical faces looking back at him with the same blank stare. He heard the name Seavers from Colt in the passenger seat and waved them in. Driver noticed the man's judgmental look at the old car– hell, if he hadn’t gotten here when he did he was sure Colt would’ve run it into the ground– but it didn't stop his irritation from rising at the judgment. That stewed in him in the two minutes it took to reach the parking area, and the extra two to find a spot to actually park that wasn’t between two foreign imports– were they still referred to as such in Australia? They had to be, right?
Didn’t matter, they all got out and with a reminder of the game plan, headed inside.
Another problem with the triplets.
They all were really good at not following plans.
Driver had lost sight of both Colt and Ryland. Colt disappeared with the cups almost instantly and hadn’t come back. When Driver had tried to tell Ry they needed to go find him, Ry had waved him off and gestured to a slightly less populated corner by a sliding glass door. He had thought Ry was gonna wait there– but now he stood there, alone, surrounded by people, and yet none of whom were the two he wanted to keep his eyes on the most.
Tom recalled a night last year– maybe two years ago? The time didn’t matter; what did was that he remembered every single fucking word.
It had been the back part of a VIP section in a club– not his normal place, he normally liked being front and center, or out on the floor getting motion going– but tonight he was sitting with about six others. Different celebrities, four men and two women– notably, all alphas, including Tom himself. Then again, was it that notable when it wasn’t that uncommon? Alike people gathered, so of course, a group of famous alphas would all gravitate in the same circles. No matter how boring it would get at points– Tom's eyes having glanced towards and his neck followed the dancers further from them.
“Ha! Young pheromones.”
Tom rolled his head back towards Marlon Hughes, an older man at 60 with salt and peppered hair, and perhaps one of the most famous alpha actors from the 90’s. Tom respected him to a point, but honestly, the man was old and boring. He never had any omegas or even beta dancers join them, always hosted with good liquor, but it was never enough for Tom to feel like it was a truly fun night.
“When did you get too old to chase tail?”
Tom had asked as he brought back the drink of the moment— something electric green and tasting like sour candy on his tongue. Kind of like battery acid too, if he was being honest— then again, his taste buds were fucked up from taking coke earlier. But then again-then again!, maybe it was just expensive but shitty liquor that old money tended to sequester to themselves as a status symbol-- okay maybe Tom needed to chill his thoughts, they were getting too serious.
Tom’s thoughts were brought back as Marlon huffed, waving him off.
“Don’t need to chase tail, I have Teenie.”
Tom rolled his eyes, unable to hide it.
Marlon, heartthrob and unattainable, because he found his perfect match, an omega artist or whatever. It was gag worthy to Tom, and that feral part lurking in him— lurking in each alpha there— both resented the man for giving up on the chase, the game older than language or words, and a part envied him which he promptly shut up. The two looked great separately, but they didn’t really fit any theme together. But Marlon was from a time before every age was addicted to social media, before every second became a chance to be filmed and posted on fucking Twitter.
Marlon had caught Tom's eye roll, leaning forward with a look that made Tom's shoulders stiffen, his alpha instincts having him focus as if threatened. Marlon’s voice was low as each alpha listened intently around the circle they were in.
“Don’t be fucking stupid. You’ll meet an omega one day that your alpha won’t want to let go. There will be only one—“
One of the female alphas snorted at that, and Marlon's glare trailed off of Tom as he growled out
“It’ll never be the same for that part in you.”
His gaze drifted around before meeting Tom’s again
“If you do get that chance, fucking knot it.”
That had almost all the alphas laughing— the seriousness seemingly broken by a dirty mind— but one of the alphas that Tom couldn’t remember the name of— Jackson? Jason? He wasn’t as popular as Tom— spoke up
“Yeah? And if they don’t want to be claimed?”
Marlon snorted, taking a swig of his own drink to finish it off before setting the glass down.
“Teenie didn’t want to mate at first. Had to knock her up first— and there’s been zero regrets since. I didn’t even hesitate, second date she brought me to bed and I made sure to drive her crazy enough to knot her. Four months into the pregnancy, and she let me bite her.”
The words would’ve made almost anyone uncomfortable— almost anyone, but the alphas here weren’t normal in a social sense. They found it either funny or something to just forget. In fact, Tom would deny memorizing the man’s words. Would deny the thought circling at the back of his mind about it. Would never admit that something in him was curious— cause how did Marlon know? How the fuck did Jack/Jason– whatever the fuckers name was– get featured on a magazine marrying a fucking congresswoman within four months— did it work? Was Marlon right?
Right now, he had the answer, Tom fucking knew.
Tom hadn’t seen them yet, hadn’t found the end of the rainbow that was a stupidly addicting— fuck if he knew what it was, it reminded him of flowers yet somehow sharper— scent that was a pot of gold to his alpha instincts. Like silk sliding across his skin— every note lifting hairs on his arms and neck, teasing his nerves, and every touch like luxury sheets mid thrust. Fuck. He needed to hold it— needed to wrap that scent around himself at the same time, smother it with his own to hide it from everyone else. Every alpha walking in the same direction as him made his hackles raise slightly, his lip twitch, and even his scent would raise— not enough to notice amongst the drinking and drugs happening at his party, but enough he himself sobered up from his ‘simple’ night– Simple meaning he started with LSD when they wrapped on set, and had been smoking weed in the time since along with drinking. Thank god he hadn’t snorted anything tonight, not when his nose was leading him to his omega, each breath setting more of his skin on fire.
Each step was quieter, moving forward without his patent swagger walk— fuck you, it’s what they called it in three magazines, thank you very much— as he began to stalk the scent. Hunting it down as the creature he called instinct inside him guided him forward, helping him dodge and weave even with his broad size. Whoever it was had walked through the first floor and out to the side yard opposite the pool– and wouldn’t it have rocked if they were in a bathing suit in the pool? Damn so close– and he had followed. A bloodhound on a scent, focused on nothing but finding the prize at the end of this game. No wonder Marlon had said what he had– never had something stirred up his urge to chase before, to seek out and contain.
Fuck
His omega's hair was practically glowing as the sun almost finished setting, his pale neck peeking past the haphazardly tossed hair and above the collar of a simple t-shirt– fuck his neck was calling to Tom. He felt like one of the pirates in a film he auditioned for, lured towards the waters by singing mermaids sirens. Oh yeah, sirens. He took a moment to observe his omega– he was obviously his, the same way Tom intrinsically knew everything was– if he wanted it enough, it was a simple check or deal away. In this case though… he trusted the alpha side a little.
“You know, the parties back there, right? This area’s reserved for people who don’t know how to introduce themselves.”
Fuck yes, his omega was turning around and–
Shit, he was pretty. Not hot like his fellow stars, but seriously fucking pretty. Tom could see the blue of his eyes from here– could see the slight furrow to his brow wrinkling his forehead as he looked Tom up and down. Those glasses were doing something to Tom too– only tucked behind one ear and on the opposite side of his chin as the man considered Tom.
“Is that implying I should introduce myself, or that you’ve forgotten how to say ‘hi, I’m blah blah blah’?”
His omega's voice had a sarcastic edge to it, and Tom couldn’t help his own smile from growing as he walked a little closer, tucking his hands in his pockets to appear less threatening– wouldn’t want to scare his precious omega off on their first meeting, would he?
“Hi, I’m Tom.”
Tom smiled at him, all boyhood charm with pearly teeth– and it worked. The omega snorted– a laugh in Tom’s opinion– before turning to face him fully with his own hands sliding to cross his arm across his chest– hiding what Tom thought must have been a sex pun but honestly wasn’t close enough to tell. And– wait a minute. Facing him fully, seeing the symmetry of his face reminded him of the asymmetry of… of Colt. the fall guy, his stunt man. Was this omega related to Colt? Perfect.
“Hi Tom.”
Tom sidled up closer, not impeding on the omega's space just yet, as he responded perhaps a little too quickly
“Now who's forgotten how to introduce themselves?”
Internally, Tom crowed as he saw his omega– he really wanted his name– twist his lips, as if hiding a smile that still reached his cheeks. Tom loved how easy it seemed to read him– “Ryland. I’m Ryland.”-- Ryland. Ryland, Ryry, Ry, Rylie– oo, Tom liked how that one sounded. He twirled the nicknames around in his head like a connoisseur tastes wine, watching with a smile as the Omega seemed to talk more– fuck, Tom wanted to listen he should listen–
“So technically Dr. Grace but since we’re at a party– when in Rome and all.”
Tom tilted his head, speaking in a curious tone even as he knew he was wrong– but also like hell he could tell you where anything else is– “Ryie sweetie, we’re in Sydney, not Italy.”
Rylie was flustered– and shit that pink tinge to his ears only made Tom’s chest swell.
“Are you serious right now?”
Tom moved to lean down to meet Rylie’s eyes better
“I’m not normally known for being serious but right now…”
Tom made sure to drag his gaze down to Rylie’s lips but no further– he had a feeling his omega wouldn’t be the happiest if he openly appreciated him just yet.
“I can be if it means you’ll keep talking?”
Tom was glad he was good-looking and charming– he was sure the genius he was flirting with would’ve sent him packing otherwise as he asked dumb questions– some intentionally, some not. But it didn’t matter when Rylie would give him a side eye before going into long explanations about whatever topic Tom was able to squeeze from the long bone dried sponge of knowledge from school science he had in his head. And hell, maybe the sponge wasn’t actually bone dry because he was actually listening to Rylie, and finding himself repeating some things back to continue the omega on his spiels.
Two hours they spent talking before Ryland had settled from a laugh at a comment Tom had made, glancing up at the dark sky stained grey by light pollution.
“Shit, my brothers are probably looking for me.”
Tom had hummed before moving to a stand, gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the house. He didn’t want the conversation to end– not when Rylie was quick with responses, and didn’t seem to hesitate with quips at Tom himself. Fuck, Tom kept thinking about how bossy Ry sounded at points, and intentionally mean to a point– “Did you trade your brain to the devil for good looks instead of your soul?” had been a favorite of Tom’s when he had asked why plants don’t grow in space if they like the sun.
Tom had stopped, watching Ryland take a few more steps forward before turning his head over his shoulder again to look at Tom in curiosity– and Tom asked softly
“Before we go back can I–” kiss you “Have your number?”
Ryland was a lot of things. A scientist with a doctorate in Molecular biology, a triplet, an omega, and in this moment, dealing with the beginnings of what he could only describe as an attraction. Ryland was attracted to Tom– and oof, he hadn’t ever gotten the man's last name, that's a big slip on his part– and Ryland had given Tom his number. Ryland was letting Tom walk him back to the party house– and only now was Ryland actually wondering how Tom fit into this place. He was good-looking enough to be an actor– but then again, Ryland thought his brothers were too, and they stuck mainly in the stunt industry. His voice was nice enough that he could be a singer? Or a DJ? But wouldn’t both of those be inside partying?
Closer to the house, Ryland's phone went off as he connected to the places wifi– no password didn’t seem the safest, but if you want happy guests– and texts from Colt and Driver both began spamming through. Ryland mumbled a curse under his breath as he held the phone like a possessed doll, waiting for the vibrations to end. He almost felt embarrassed as Tom stood to the side, smiling that same damn puppy grin since Ryland had handed his number over. It should NOT be doing to Ryland what it was– never mind the alpha's scent being refreshing– and he tried to ignore it as he started shooting messages back to both of them. It was a little frustrating– he was a grown ass man, Driver had said so himself, and yet here he was just as bad as Colt in the mother hen department. Ryland was only 5 minutes younger than Driver– and Driver was only 3 minutes behind Colt. The damned concept of being older siblings was getting under his skin a bit.
His message wasn’t the politest to them– effectively a “fuck off I’m having fun, meet up at 12:00 am” but it brought some calmness to Ryland, made him settle his shoulders and relax. Standing there, with the house in view, and his phone reading 10:47 pm, Ryland glanced back at Tom– who had continued to patiently stand there while Ryland fumed at his phone. Said phone was getting tucked away in his pocket, as Ryland let his eyes do what Tom couldn't earlier– and looked the alpha up and down, taking in each feature.
No wonder Ryland was attracted to him– besides his scent and handsome face– Tom was honestly ripped. Each muscle looked like Ryland could grip onto it, test the tension underneath and that's just from the ones he could see. Tom's hair was curly, bleached blonde with the barest hint of roots peaking out from his head-- his head that stood only a couple of inches taller than Ryland– who was tall for an omega at 5’ 11”. His clothes were a little gaudy for Ryland's taste– bright yellow and blue herringbone pattern finally seeming to catch up with him and wasn’t it annoying that Tom made it look good.
Of course, Ryland had seen gaudier, on much less good-looking alphas. As over protective as his brothers were— they seemed to forget Ryland went to college with a bachelors under his belt from speed running dual enrollments with the closest college senior year, that he literally had been to parties and clubs and was not a shy innocent omega— he was approached a lot in college at parties where these gaudy clothes fit in— the early 2000’s were weird alright— and yet somehow Tom was the only one who could wear it who didn’t make Rylands eyes peel. Or maybe he’s just used to crazy things now, he mused, a lot of scientists will wear whatever they like as long as it’s lab-approved and under a coat. Ryland included.
Ryland had been staring too long— he could tell as it seemed like Tom began to preen under his gaze. His puppy-like grin turned more cocky as he lifted his shoulders more, his undone top buttons of his— fucking gaudy— shirt reflecting the outside lights from the house. Tom had shifted his arms, and normally Ryland would be annoyed when Alphas flexed and showed off— but the tiny moves Tom was doing caused an almost slow ripple effect with his defined muscles— tightening and releasing as if to show his control. And that made Ryland finally glance away, attempting to hide his thoughts with a roll of his eyes. He didn't realize the flush that had started at his ears had trailed down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. Tom had, and relaxed again as if he had done nothing wrong— alphas, a real eye roll worthy fact.
Instead, Ryland shifted on his feet and let the night air surround his words, the throb of the music from the house loud enough he couldn’t tell if he was hearing his own heartbeat or not.
“So, I’m free till midnight?”
Tom had seemed to consider his words for a moment, his smile twitching higher as he lifted a hand to gesture back towards the house— his head tilted along and Ryland's eyes watched as some curls swung— reminding him of the DNA shirt he was wearing right now. And shit, his shirt was kind of accurate because right now he d-u-na what to do and he might just r-u-na way if the alpha kept being so… Tom. Even his scent was frustratingly appealing— cotton, but not linen— fresh cotton— and rain—
“Let’s go grab some drinks.”
Ryland noticed it wasn’t a question; Tom wasn’t asking him if he wanted to or if he was thirsty. That should put him off slightly– Ryland easily got the ick, enough so people thought he wasn’t interested in anyone– but honestly, a drink sounded nice again. Ryland can’t remember the last time he went to a party and didn’t get fucked up– although this party was definitely degrees larger and louder than any he’d been before. An even stronger reason to turn down the drink, to head off and realize he’s too old for this. He’s been too old for this for god’s sake–
Ryland nodded and didn’t stop Tom’s hand from resting low on his back, leading him back in through the sliding glass door and into the heart of the party again.
Marlon mentioned waiting till the second date– and Ryder was fucking impatient, okay, but his omega was most definitely on guard most of the time– so Ryder was more inclined to let Ryland get loose, trust him after he proved he was reliable, could take care of him like a good alpha. That primal part of himself needed to shut up on the harping idea of wanting to gain that trust– he didn’t necessarily need it once he got his omega-- the thought of it kept making him feel riled up, he didn’t need it pushing his impatience in its own way and messing it up.
Tom wanted to take Ryland up the stairs, to the third floor, to the room he had locked and truly closed off. Wanted to lie Rylie out on his sheets– giza 45 cotton, fancy shit that he was sure would feel amazing against Rylie’s skin– spread the legs he was sure would be blushed as red as his omega's tantalizing throat, grip his hips and hold him still so he could drive in his claim. Wanted to make Rylie beg with tears streaming down his cheeks and cry out for Tom, face pressed down with hips raised to meet his and Tom’s hands gripping on–
Tom’s hand gave a minuscule tightening on Rylie's low back, and Tom took a breath in– fucking fruity floral notes flooding his nose. Of course it would, he had gotten Ryland and himself drinks and sequestered them to another corner where they were sharing a blunt. A fun development– his omega had turned down other offered party favors, but had accepted a grinder and baggie of flowers and talked Tom’s ears off as his hands moved deftly and with precision, rolling a blunt that was so even it had Tom impressed– he had literally seen professional rollers for some other celebrities and felt his little omega was putting them to shame. It had irked Tom, realizing they’d have to share the blunt with others if they stayed– and thank god everyone there was already fucked up, as none called out his last name. He’d moved them quickly enough, had dodged those who he knew would try to drag him off– he was sure he sounded polite when he said he preferred smoking outside or by a window, with the added benefit of getting Rylie away from a crowd again.
Smoking the blunt and drinking more than one cup each, they spent the remaining time like that.
Tom wanted to grip Rylie’s wrist, tell him to stay, scent his throat he’d desperately wanted near– but he let his omega go with a dejected and overdramatic sigh, smiling as he pulled his phone out and waved it to remind the omega to look out for a message. Tom felt his hackles rise as alpha hands grabbed his omega, restrained by recognizing the faces of his omega's almost identical siblings grabbing him with concern as they looked him over, eyes glancing around. Tom was positive the smell of the alcohol and weed would cover his own scent that had stuck to Ryland– especially to the obviously inebriated Colt who’d be most familiar with it.
It was a little unnerving when the third one's eyes met his own across the crowd as he ushered the other two out, his face still boringly blank.
Tom watched his Cinderella flee the ball, ushered away against his will– not entirely, he had to remind himself to hold himself back from moving forward and tossing his omega over his shoulder when Rylie looked annoyed at his siblings– and felt his own annoyance pierce deep. He didn’t like that at all. Didn’t like Ryland leaving, didn’t like that all these people were here and not his omega, didn’t like the scents and sounds surrounding him when he should be surrounded by– fucking hell it dawned on him– hibiscus. Should be staining his sheets with their scents and pheromones. Tom had to host this damn party while having a boner for someone not even there, and wasn’t that a doozer. But he acted, like he was made to do, and got through it. Tom was able to hold off long enough that he assumed Rylie would be tucked away in his tower while the dragons lurked around to shoot a text.
You:
Parties not a party if your not a part of it with i
Tom waited with baited breath before rubbing a hand over his eyes– he shouldn’t be stressing about this. He was Tom fucking Ryder, and without hibiscus being present at the moment it was easier to ignore that part prowling around inside him, snarling for him to go get his omega back right now and claim him, no longer assuaged with his presence without his omega to contend to him. By now he’d have sent a dick pic– shit, he’d fucked people without ever getting their numbers before, and yet he was sitting here trying to figure out how to lower Rylies guard, trying to figure out more.
He’d learned so much, especially after the blunt had touched Rylie’s lips and filled his lungs. Tom had forced himself to listen to his omegas words instead of watching his fingers while imagining what else he could bring to his mouth– can’t waste it, not yet. Not till he’s tied to him, full and content. But he had shook the thoughts off, listening as Rylie spilled those little stories to fill the air as they talked. About how he wanted to wear a sweater but his brothers hadn’t let them, how a layover had him annoyed because his gate changed twice, and that a baby cried on the final flight. Tom had learned his omega really was smart– his doctorate in… his doctorate was fancy, and he was a true scientist making shit that could grow in space. Or, he thought so. He was trying okay but he passed with C’s in school–
🌺Rylie 🌺
?Is that an attempt at a pun
🌺Rylie 🌺
.Not a party here as well, Colt’s in the bathroom getting sick. Wes is holding his hair up
🌺Rylie 🌺
.You might not know them, apologies, they’re who I was getting texts from earlier
Why did Tom’s cheeks hurt? Was he grinning that hard?
You:
I’m texting you now ;)
🌺Rylie 🌺
Good night Tom
You:
Get your beauty sleep Rylie
🌺Rylie 🌺
?What’s your last name
You:
I’m Tom Grace in my dreams tonight 😘
🌺Rylie 🌺
😑