#peteporshe

[bitacrytic]

my omegas for yours [2]

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“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving at Pete. “The way you move. The way you talk. Everything is so smooth and graceful and-”

“Omega-like?” Pete scoffed. “It took me years and years to learn this expression.”

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CHAPTER TWO

-----“No, that’s too sharp.”

“Bend a little more.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Slant backwards.”

“Use your hips.”

Porsche inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as everyone around him went quiet. When he exhaled, he turned to the director as he rolled up his script, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it as a weapon against the foolish man.

“I’m sorry,” Porsche said. “Do you have a problem with everything I do?”

Sitting on a stool, backing the mirror, with everyone else while Porsche and Pete stood at the center of the rehearsal room, the director frowned at Porsche.

“You’re not playing one of your regular alpha roles, Porsche.”

“I know that-”

“As an omega, there are certain beats you have to hit.”

““As an omega”?” Porsche quoted back to him, livid. “Is there supposed to be a way that omegas act, Sir?”

“Yes,” the director said, shamelessly. 

Porsche could not believe what he was hearing.

“You’re telling me that even in a play as progressive as this one, you want to fit omegas into a box?”

“It’s the way Beon was written.”

“The play doesn’t specify,” Porsche argued. “Kittisak wrote the play that way so that omegas could be portrayed diversely.”

“And this is the way I want you to portray Beon.”

“If that’s so, and you saw my interpretation at the auditions, why did you pick me for the role?”

The director crossed his leg as he stared up at Porsche. The question hung in the air as Porsche looked around, realizing that they all knew the answer to the question. No one would say it. No one would admit it. But Porsche hadn’t been picked because he was perfect for the role. He’d been picked because he was Porsche Kittisawasd. A popular name that would bring a lot of noise to the play.

Biting his lip to keep from screaming, Porsche exited the rehearsal room, walked down the hall to the bathroom, shut himself in one of the stalls and screamed into his script. Because, what the actual fuck? Decades, Porsche had poured into his career; years, he’d dedicated to putting omega voices in people’s ears and this was where he ended up? Parroting stereotypes on stage like a puppet.

The bathroom door opened.

“Porsche?” 

“Go away, Vegas.”

Like a gnat, Vegas disobeyed, locking the bathroom door as he walked down to the front of Porsche’s stall and gently pushed the door open. He held out a face towel to Porsche.

Sniffing, Porsche took it to wipe his eyes.

“He’s a regressive fucker.”

“I know.”

“I do not want to put money in his pocket.”

“You signed a contract.”

“Fuck the contract.”

“Porsche.”

“Vegas,” Porsche said, looking up at Vegas with tears in his eyes. “I do not want to be here.”

“You need to stop crying and buck up,” Vegas said. “People are already talking.”

In the middle of wiping his nose, Porsche stopped.

“I really want to punch you right now.”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“There are already rumors about you. You’ve been gone for two years. If this gets out that you’re acting up during rehearsal, holding up the work time because of your feelings, people are going to start digging. Again.”

“Fuck them.”

“Put all this angst into your role and stop being so emotional about everything else.”

“Get out.”

“It’s illegal for omegas to have jobs, Porsche. Think carefully. You walk away from this and it’s not just this job you’re risking.”

“People will think what they want to think."

“Well your hyper-alpha schtick, coupled with your habit of holding out when your way isn't followed, screams omega-in-the-closet.”

Porsche ran his hands through his hair.

“Do you see the irony?” he laughed. “He wants me to be a stereotypical omega and yet, if I actually turn out to be an omega, I lose the job.”

Vegas leaned on the stall.

“No one cares about the truth. They just want to see other people burn.” He grabbed the towel and lifted Porsche’s face with his chin. As he walked closer, he wiped the tears from Porsche’s eyes. “He’s the director, Porsche.”

“I know that but-”

“But nothing. You’re an actor. If he says “jump” you say “how high”.”

“I want to kick him.”

“Don’t worry,” Vegas said. “He has one more chance to make you cry.”

Porsche laughed. But then the laughter quickly died in his throat, because you never knew when Vegas was joking or serious about stuff like this. Pulling away from Vegas, Porsche looked him in the eye.

“Don’t kill the play’s director, Vegas.”

“Mind your business. Your job is to act. Mine is to make sure you’re as spoilt and entitled as you want to be.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He moved away from Porsche, heading for the door. “Toss will bring your knapsack. Take the day off. Tomorrow, you resume work like none of this ever happened.

“Don’t do anything to him.”

Unlocking the door, Vegas smiled.

“If I told you I wouldn’t, would you believe me?”

Honestly, no. As Porsche had learned when they were younger, Vegas would do whatever the fuck Vegas wanted to do.

***

Porsche was lying across his bed, with his head hanging off the side when the room door clicked and opened. Up-side-down, he watched Pete enter the room. It was way past dinner. He could only imagine how much they’d talked about him, all through the day. He wondered how much of it had been said in the presence of Pete. How much of it had Pete contributed?

“You’re still awake,” Pete said, dropping his bag on his own bed and taking off his shoes as he climbed the bed and sat, looking down at Porsche. “Are you okay?”

“How do you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“This,” he said, waving at Pete. “The way you move. The way you talk. Everything is so smooth and graceful and-”

“Omega-like?” Pete scoffed. “It took years and years to learn this expression.”

“I know. You’ve had what? Like a million omega roles?”

“Twenty one, but who's counting?"

Porsche sat up, turning on his bed so he could face Pete.

"But it's not just when you're acting, though."

"I've based my entire career on being this," he gestured at himself. "I could never be anything else."

Porsche narrowed his eyes on Pete. Because that wasn't entirely true. Pete had his moments. Periods when he wasn't giggling or smiling. Moments when he wasn't moving like he was trying to seduce every alpha within a ten-mile radius. Porsche had seen it before. Underneath that omega canvas, was an actual human being.

"Show me." Porsche moved closer, his legs falling off the side of his bed. 

"You don't want to be my kind of omega."

"It's what the director wants."

"You don't even like the director," Pete said, leaning back on his hands. "The way I see it, he needs you more than you need him. Half the country cares because it's a controversial play. The other half cares because Porsche is playing Beon."

"I signed a contract."

Pete scoffed and fell back on his bed.

"If you wanted to, you could get out of it." Then he lifted his head sharply, as if he just realized what he'd said. "But don't. I need this play to work."

"Then help me." Porsche pulled Pete's hands till Pete was sitting up again. "I have a lot of mannerisms to un… learn and I hate the director, but you? I can listen to you."

Pete watched him, quiet and contemplating, as if not sure how to approach this. 

“Self-expression is a mentality,” Pete said. “He’s not just asking you to act. He’s asking you to change the way you think. I imagine you’ve learned to be what you are, the way I’ve learned to be what I am.” He got up and stood before Porsche. “Move back.” Porsche pushed up from the bed and moved back as Pete knelt over him. “If I were to say that I don’t think omegas should be in the workplace…”

The bile that rose up in Porsche’s throat at Pete’s words was immediate. But before he could react to it, he realized that Pete hadn’t finished his sentence. He’d stopped speaking, looking down on Porsche with a knowing expression.

“Are you trying to make a point?”

“Your first instinct was to fight me.”

“Because it’s bullshit.”

“Do you think I’d fight you if I believed differently?”

“No,” he replied. He’d seen Pete in disagreeable situations, but he’d never seen him in a fight. 

“Would you call me a pushover?”

“No.”

Porsche could see where Pete was going with this. But the mere thought of swallowing his anger in the name of some long game was so alien to Porsche. If he had a thought, Porsche wanted it out of his head. If he had a grudge, he didn’t hold back. He could not imagine living life, going through the motions, curbing his tongue just because he didn’t want to step on other people’s toes.

“That thought?” Pete asked. “That’s what you need to get rid of.”

“You want to change what’s fundamental about me.”

“I’m asking you to step into a role. As an actor.” He put his other knee on the other side of Porsche’s body, boxing him in. “It’s literally your job.” Pete picked Porsche’s hands and put them on his waist.

“Is there a reason we’re doing this?”

“We all bow to something. To someone,” Pete ran his hands through Porsche’s hair. “I’m sure there’s someone you don’t dare argue with.”

“No one.”

Pete’s lips dipped in a disbelieving smile, as he waited for Porsche.

“My mom,” Porsche admitted. 

“I’m sure there are moments when she’s caved to you, in return.” His hands dropped to Porsche's neck, caressing gently, and okay, maybe it wasn’t weird to have his co-star in his lap, feeling him up. 

“Yes, but that’s just when I tell her what she needs to hear.”

As the words left his mouth, Pete nodded at him.

“Ah,” Porsche said in realization. “Omega equals manipulation.”

“Now, you get it.”

“How does that translate to physical movements then? How do I act… manipulatively?”

Pete adjusted himself, fitting himself into Porsche’s lap as Porsche winced because this was beginning to feel much better than it should.

“Just imagine what the person in front of you wants to see, what they want to hear. Imagine what they want you to be. And be it.”

“It’s that simple,” Porsche said, his hands rising under Pete’s cropped top.

“It is. Lucky for you, the director has told you what he wants to see.”

“Soft movements, hips out, chest up?”

“Don’t forget the lean,” he whispered in Porsche’s ear. “Every alpha or beta goes crazy for the omega lean.”

His breath on Porsche’s skin felt like a lover’s caress. Too intimate for their working relationship.

“I don't know about you theater kids,” Porsche said, gulping as Pete shifted to look at him. “But us film industry folk tend not to fuck our co-stars.”

“No?” Pete asked, eyes dipping to Porsche’s lips.

Porsche laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re trouble.”

“You listened to me.”

“Not because you were in my lap.”

“It definitely helped.” Pete leaned closer, his lips mere inches from Porsche’s. “You’d do well to remember that as an omega, sex is always on the table. No matter the conversation.”

“It is not!”

“That’s what the director was trying to tell you.”

“No, he was-”

“As long as you speak and move like you want to fuck me, he won’t complain about a single thing you do.”

A wave of comprehension washed over Porsche like bright headlights from an oncoming vehicle. Because that was it, wasn’t it? He felt disgusted to realize it, but Pete was right. They didn’t want a sensible omega. They wanted a horny man who sold sex. After all “Overheat” was steeped in sex and cycles and everything between. Alphas had the privilege to look like they had other things on their minds. Omegas did not. At least, not the omegas that the director was interested in portraying.

“Do you get it?” Pete asked, putting a little distance between them.

Porsche nodded, breathing hard. He wasn’t sure if it was from the realization or from the tantalizing treat that was Pete.

“My work here is done.”

And just like that, he shifted back and got off of Porsche’s lap, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just revved Porsche’s engines and left him hanging. It wasn’t like he was expecting to fuck his roommate but fuck if Pete wasn’t a special kind of evil.

“I’ll shower first,” he said, pulling off his tank top as he started to undress.

Porsche looked away.

Pete hadn’t been headed anywhere with his advances. He really was just teaching Porsche a lesson. Now the lesson was done, he was just going to dust off and walk away. Yeah , Porsche thought, getting up and slipping into his shoes and grabbing his phone as he headed for the door.

Because there was no way he was spending the night in the same room as all that.