Alpha Assignment (BL) Chapter 12 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Getting Remi to sit shotgun was not the conflict Quinn had on his bingo card for their first painting class. Apparently, yet another one of those ridiculous wolf dynamic rules was that alphas and betas sit in the front, omegas in the back. Quinn didn’t have time for the back and forth, he’d only planned for a quick dinner after getting home from work, then they needed to be out the door and on their way. Instead, they were stood beside Quinn’s car having a hissed argument to keep the human neighbours from hearing anything that might send them running to the police.

“If you sit in the back people will think you’re my child,” Quinn reasoned, desperate to his own ears.

Remi’s expression was grave, as though Quinn were attempting to convince him to take part in a murder plot. “I cannot sit beside you, Alpha, it is not right.”

“I don’t think any of these rules are right, Remi.”

If they spent any more time on this they were going to be late. Quinn was never late for anything. His blood pressure felt like it spiked with every passing minute on his watch, reminding him that they should already be on the road.

Remi’s big dark eyes shimmered as he whispered, “please don’t force me.”

“If you insist on sitting in the back then I’m buying you a booster seat for acting like a child,” Quinn growled, his patience paper thin.

Remi dropped his voice to a barely audible mumble. “I don’t know what that is, Alpha.”

Quinn forced the aggravation from his body in a heavy sigh. “Fine. Get in.”

He yanked the driver’s side door open and climbed inside. Remi slipped into the back and buckled up. Setting the radio to a low background level, Quinn pulled out of his drive.

Getting Remi back out of the car once they reached the leisure centre was the second hurdle. Humans bustled through the car park, in and out of the centre, spooking Remi back into his seat every time he attempted to climb free of the car.

“Hold my hand,” Quinn offered, stretching out his hand to Remi’s much tinier one. “You’ll be safe connected to me.”

“Yes.” Remi swallowed as though forcing the addition of ‘Alpha’ back down his throat.

Like a hen and his duckling, Quinn and Remi filed into the leisure centre and signed in at the front desk. The duckling didn’t make a peep, even when the humans directed their administrative questions at him.

On the upper floor were the craft rooms and a huddle of four or five people were waiting outside the door they had been directed to. Quinn stopped beside them and leant against the wall. Remi mimicked him, using Quinn as his blockade from the humans’ sight.

A minute before the class was due to start, a woman in a sweatsuit bounded down the corridor towards them, rousing greetings from the others in the group. She smiled warmly and pulled a ring of tarnished keys from her pocket, flicking through them until she found the one to open the door.

Quinn stepped aside to let everyone else enter first, the only way to ensure no one would try to sidle in too close to Remi once they found their places at the haphazardly placed wooden tables, covered in scratches and splatters. There were easels against the far wall, a paint-coated sink filled with palettes, and cabinets lining the room that seemed to be full to bursting with supplies: scraps of material, newspapers, plastic bottles overspilling with PVA, chicken wire, wooden frames.

There was a table left free once everyone was inside and settled, so Quinn lead Remi to it, keeping to the side that had their backs to the wall and using the table as a barrier between them and everyone else. As much as it might be beneficial long-term to encourage Remi’s integration with humans… it was very clear that he wasn’t anywhere near ready for that yet. If his eyes widened anymore, Quinn was afraid his eyeballs would fall clean out.

After greeting the regulars, the woman in the sweatsuit skipped to Remi and Quinn’s table. “-and a warm welcome to our new friends…” She double-checked a clipboard that laid next to the sink. “Remi and Quinn!”

A mishmash of ‘Hi, Remi’ and ‘Hi, Quinn’ resounded through the room. Quinn waved with one hand and Remi managed to mould himself even more tightly to his leg.

“If you have something started that you’d like to continue, feel free to crack it out while I get Quinn and Remi set up. Today’s class will have a focus on splatter painting, but, as always, if you just want to do your own thing that’s up to you. You’re paying to be here, do what you want with your time as long as you don’t interrupt anyone else’s learning.”

The others in the room nodded as though this was a familiar speech and began retrieving papers, canvases and even squares of silk from one of the cabinets.

“Hi gents, I’m Carla and I run the Tuesday painting classes. Thanks for joining us!”

“Thanks for having us, Carla,” Quinn replied. Remi said nothing, his face was pressed into Quinn’s jeans.

Carla leant in close and dropped her bright and loud tone to a whisper. “I understand from the booking team that we’re a little shy and need some time to settle in.” She was referring to Quinn’s attempts to secure a private class when he called to book. “That’s totally fine and please take as much time or space as you need. We have a great group here and everyone is so friendly, they won’t be offended if you keep to yourselves at first.” She gave a deliberate wink and a grin. Her energy was both excitable and calming, like a fun aunt, although she didn’t look more than a decade older than Quinn.

They were set up with canvases, offered easels or tabletop to work from, and provided with a multitude of brushes and paints with a palette to share between them.

Remi had opted for an easel, until he realised Quinn wanted to work from the table, then changed his choice. Then Quinn felt guilty for influencing his decision and chose easel instead. Remi immediately followed suit. They donned aprons and laid newspaper down on the floor beneath their canvases.

Side-by-side, they practised flicking paint in a kind of controlled mess that didn’t make Quinn feel in control at all. His hands were speckled in blue and green, and every time he glanced over at Remi there was a new highlight in his dark hair. He couldn’t tell if Remi was liking the class so far, but he seemed pretty focused, so Quinn tried to focus, too. Mostly on not looking at Remi every five seconds to gauge his enjoyment.

In one such moment when he broke and looked, Remi’s brush flung out and caught the side of the plastic purple paint bottle. Neither of them were able to catch it before it landed, spraying purple in a fan from the tip, which then, very helpfully, broke off and let the rest of the contents free-flow all over the floor.

A thickly tense silence followed the clatter, all eyes on them and the mess of paint surrounding them.

“I like the enthusiasm but that’s not the kind of splatter we’re learning to make today!” Carla joked as she jogged over. The rest of the group laughed, not unkindly, and soft chatter resumed as they returned their attention to their own art.

Remi did not laugh. Remi did not move.

Quinn had already righted the bottle and begun scraping the plastic flooring with the newspapers. Carla crouched beside him and produced floor wipes to follow him with. In a matter of minutes, everything was as it had been before the spill. Except Remi, who didn’t look as though he had blinked once throughout the clean-up process. It was only the lack of colour on his face that told Quinn the small man was still breathing.

Carla gave them both an encouraging smile and left them to continue their projects, but Remi was almost entirely unresponsive for the rest of the class. They left fifteen minutes before the end. Quinn put away all of their supplies and quietly thanked Carla, who was seemingly not offended by their early exit.

Remi was a shadow at Quinn’s back all the way to the car. On the drive home, he was deathly silent. With every check in the rear-view mirror, Quinn became even more concerned. If he didn’t know better he’d think Remi was on his way to the gallows. Eyes wide, skin pale, lips slightly parted as though he was struggling to get enough air.

Quinn ushered Remi into the house ahead of him. With a moment alone at the door, he steeled himself and took a deep breath as he turned the lock.

He stepped into the living room, shrugging off his jacket, and did his best to sound as calm as one of those automated emergency recordings. “Remi, it was just a spi-”

Hysterical tears had already begun. In the centre of the living room, Remi stood on wobbly legs and wept with his head back and his paint-freckled hands gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

“Remi,” Quinn called over his cries. “Remi, it’s okay.”

No response except more tears.

It was that first day all over again. But this time Quinn couldn’t bring himself to use his alpha tone. Cowardly, he couldn’t even attempt approach of the bond. The fearful distress was rolling off Remi in thick enough fumes that it wasn’t necessary anyway. The last time had taught him it was better to let Remi cry it out than try to intervene, but watching Remi sob brokenly was painful. Twisting his stomach, ringing in his ears, and setting his skin alight with energy - the need to take action. Do something. But the only something that could be done was out of the question now. Quinn had more than learnt his lesson. He still suffered random bouts of heartburn, and the chalky tablets had a guilty after-taste.

With nothing else in his arsenal, Quinn approached the wet-faced creature and wrapped his arms around his shaking frame. For a moment, there was a pause and Remi’s expression was pure petrification. Then the wailing returned, louder. Quinn lowered himself to the carpet, gently dragging Remi down with him, and sat the crying man in his lap. He was so tiny, almost all of him fit between Quinn’s knees. His weight was barely noticeable, and Quinn couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was his clothing. Remi hadn’t taken anything off when they got in. With one free hand, Quinn carefully untied both his and Remi’s shoes and tossed them to the hallway. Nothing interrupted the tears. If anything, losing his shoes seemed to distress him more.

Quinn held him there, pressed to his chest, curled together on the floor, for hours. When the sniffles finally slowed, he rocked a little from side-to-side. Dark eyes drooped shut, hiccups eventually subsided, and the room (and probably their side of the street) fell silent.

Another twenty minutes of rocking, just to be sure, and Quinn carefully climbed up from the carpet, lifting Remi with him. The journey to the guest bedroom was slow and silent, filled with fear that Remi could wake at any moment and begin bawling again.

Quinn tucked Remi under the poufy white duvet, making sure to press the seam under his still-damp chin. Paint-streaked hair laid crusty against the pillows, Quinn brushed a few strands from Remi’s forehead. He wanted to sigh, but was too afraid of the sound.

He slipped out, shutting the door like he was robbing the place, and took himself to bed, skipping half his routine in favour of reaching the sheets sooner.