Falville University celebrates its 100 year anniversary!
Pheromonal science is most ludicrous career, according to National Career Committee.
Camille slammed his shoulder against the door, the heat rising around him making the handle untouchable. With a splintering shriek, the frame gave way, and he tumbled out into the dew-soaked grass of the early morning. His thin pajama pants clung to his thighs like leeches as he clawed his way up off the ground and scrambled away from the fire licking up the walls of his childhood house.
A scream tore out from inside, the scream of someone whose flesh was burning away.
Camille covered his ears with damp, dirty hands, tripping over the roots of the hickory tree in the backyard. He barely got his hands out in front of him in time to stop his face from hitting the trunk and his soul from meeting the devil. He knelt there for a few moments, scraped hands pressed against the tree bark. "Oh, god," he whimpered, looking back at the conflagration lighting up the gray morning like a medieval beacon summoning war. Before he could throw up or faint or do anything else stupid, he shoved off the tree and ran as fast as he could to get off the property and as far away as possible before someone used their head, put two and two together, and sent the cops after him. He would die in prison if they caught him, because no one in his family would ever want him out. They did not want him before, and they would not want him any more after this.
THREE MONTHS LATER
With a quick flick of his thumb, Camille sparked the lighter in his hand and stared at the small flame.
Someone reeking of whiskey leaned against the bar beside him. "You smoke?" Surprisingly, the words were not slurred together.
Camille did not even look up. "No," he replied shortly. "It's against regulations."
"That omega's smoking," the alpha said, shoving his thumb over his shoulder.
Camille glanced in the indicated direction briefly before lowering his gaze back to the fire in his hand. "That omega doesn't work here."
"Ah, I see." The alpha laughed a little. After a pause, he asked, "What exactly do you do here?"
Camille shrugged. "Anything a client may desire." He forced his eyes to stay on the flame as the alpha's hand came to rest on the back of his leg right beneath the hem of his very short leather shorts. So it was going to be another one of those nights. He released his thumb and watched the flame sputter out, cut off from its fuel. He tossed the lighter across the counter so that it skittered its way off the edge onto his jacket behind the bar. He looked up and met the alpha's eyes, not surprised at the lust he found shining there. It happened every time an alpha got their hands on his skin.
The alpha raised his hand to the curve of Camille's waist, which was left bare by the shirt he had knotted up into a crop top. With a sudden jerk, he yanked Camille closer, and his other hand came to grip Camille's partially-exposed hip. "Do you do this?" His whisper was hot and sticky against Camille's neck.
Camille rested his arms on the alpha's shoulders and tipped his head. "What do you think?" he replied in a matching whisper.
The alpha laughed and pulled Camille into one of the dim back halls, where he started unknotting Camille's shirt during a heated kiss that put the taste of alcohol into Camille's mouth.
Camille shivered slightly as his shirt and then his shorts were dragged off of his body. Nothing new. Nothing strange. Just another night in a stuffy hall giving away another part of his soul. At this generous rate, the devil would not receive anything when Camille died, just a hollowness where fullness should have been.
And, for the first time in a long time, Camille wanted to cry. He wanted to escape the fate his biology had chained around his neck. But he could not. He could not cry and he could not escape. So he smiled and gave out today's piece of his soul to an alpha who just wanted a fuck and a good time.
How did no one notice when the person they were making love to was dying silently? But no one ever noticed, so maybe it was just him who was below recognition. Just like it always had been and forever would be.