Growing up, Nolan Williams wanted to be a fireman. He wanted to fly down that pole donning the thick outfit as though it were armor, on his way to honk the horn of a massive crimson truck as he raced down the street. He dreamed of braving an ocean of flames and rescuing the weak from tiny Hells on earth, carrying the coughing and wounded to a waiting ambulance to the sound of applauding neighbors. He would be a hero, someone little kids like him looked up to.
And then, at 13, his friends told him he smelled like sweetness and his bright hopes were snuffed out like a candle, darkness streaming from its wick.
He was put on antidepressants when he was 14, and anxiety medication at 16. He was told he could be an excellent nurse, teacher, secretary or even a house-husband. None of these careers, however, were appealing.
Eight years later, he was interning at an accounting firm. It was the end of his first day and, because of his medication, his body was weighed down with fatigue. He couldn't wait to get home, get his second wind and jerk off. He was
not
looking forward to the drive back home because according to schedule, his meds could wear off completely as early as halfway through his commute. It would be uncomfortable, but he could still make it if he left now. He hated cutting things so close, but he had offered to clean the office and had wanted to stay until it was finished.
At 9:20, he was done- every pencil was sharpened, crumb vacuumed, miscellaneous item in its place and stain removed. Grabbing his satchel, he headed to the elevator. Someone came out from across the hall and joined him in the short walk. He smelled like an Alpha, and a twinge of nervousness sprung up in Nolan's chest.
The down button was pressed and Nolan adjusted his glasses as he looked at the man beside him. He held a thick navy blue binder in his left hand. He must've been wearing a cologne, too, as was customary for Alphas who didn't want to flaunt their intimidating aroma. He could smell it beneath the warm, woodsy layer of whatever was on his neck. It was a spicy, masculine smell and it had his mouth watering.
The elevator dinged and the two stepped into its low-lit, tight space. He wondered if he should offer his name, but decided against it. His own scent was definitely apparent and he wanted to leave the building as soon as possible.
They were halfway down when the lights went out.
"Shit,"
he grumbled.
A bead of sweat traced down his spine like a faint, tracing finger. Why the Hell had he worn a sweater??? "Did the, uh, elevator stop working?" he croaked.
"Seems like it." He ran a hand through his dark, thick hair. He looked like he was in his mid or late twenties and had a pair of noticeable bags beneath his dark, glittering eyes.
The elevator was cool, and yet the stranger shed his light jacket to reveal a pair of toned, sun-kissed arms. He must've smelled it by now- the scent of an Omega in need.
"You look pretty pale. You good?"
The drowsiness of the suppression meds had worn off and something else had snatched its place. Something unmistakable. The smell of a nearby Alpha was triggering a deeply embedded instinct in Nolan to submit and breed.
