Work Text:
Andrew owned his partners. Ownership itself wasn't weird, not with how he operated, but the fact he owned not only a beta, but an alpha, was what made everyone around him uncomfortable. Omegas were owned, never the other way around.
He'd broken cameras and microphones and even choked a few interviewers who were too bold within reach. Calling Kevin and Neil broken, a beta who should have been an alpha but never presented, and an alpha so fucking tiny he has to be lying and is actually an omega. It was difficult to find a team, the three of them a package deal. Kevin was scouted by everyone, but with his terms being to drag his two guard dogs along behind, over half of his potential prospects had dropped from the running.
Eventually he'd gotten so frustrated with terms and contracts that he reached out to a handful of contacts and thrown together his own team. They did not have Palmetto in their name, but they did use the Foxes' facilities with Wymack's blessing until they had the funds or a sponsor to build their own. Allison designed their uniforms and came on as PR after the first interview ended with Andrew beating a reporter with his own microphone. She'd had to fight back her own laughter as she tried to lefture Andrew on his behavior, and maybe that's why they worked so well together: Allison was in full support of his defense and actions, but she knew he needed to get his shit together. She always managed to reign him in by mentioning how happy his mates are on the court and they needed to rectify the team's image to make their dream a reality.
Jeremy Knox was their lawyer, on a comfortable retainer with the Queen's Consortium, working with every reporter Andrew lays his hands on. Jean had begrudgingly followed behind his mate, joining Kevin's line. He and Neil were probably the strongest pair on the team on court, and Kevin couldn't be happier that they finally got the chance to be what they always could have been. Aaron only came back to treat any of Andrew's major injuries, at a hospital a couple of hours drive away, ready to stitch his twin back together because he hated the alpha currently heading their PT team.
Several members from around the country had flocked to their slowly building pro team, anyone with a saucy past or unconventional mating arrangement that the rest of the larger teams wouldn't take a risk on. Kevin didn't care. He wanted to play, he wanted to play with his mates, and he wanted to play on his own terms. But a team of misfits meant heads clashing rather often. Neil had taken the mantle as team captain and was surprisingly very good at what he did to keep them all together.
But there were a handful of unbonded people on their team, and Andrew was one of the most possessive men Kevin had ever known. Neil didn't care about showing up covered in hickeys and bite marks, a feral gleam in his eyes as he runs around the court and receives heavy taps of Andrew's stick against the hardwood for successful moves. Kevin was still too hardwired for press and too conscious of other's eyes on him.
So, they found a middle ground. When practice started, when Kevin pulled his helmet over his eyes, Andrew took a strip of an old shirt they'd shredded and he'd scented and ties it through the bars off to the side of his wire face guard on his helmet. Kevin enjoyed getting to smell him from even across the court, eventually tying two together so he could chew on the material when he was really focused.
The hardest for him was when Andrew got him a collar. He'd been unable to make eye contact with the rest of his teammates as he trudged through the lockerroom. Conversations lulled or stopped completely as people took in the sight of his and Neil's matching chokers and the silver bands around Andrew's wrists. Alphas wore those. Not omegas. Allison had been giddy at the prospect of designing them. They had an etching on the inside, the silver ring welded on. It was only coming off with power tools. Hexagonal in its shape, hugging his neck without restricting his movement or breathing. Imposing but comforting; Andrew as a piece of jewelry.
Andrew would pull him down with a finger looped through the metal, kissing him tenderly before biting at his chin and sending him off to get changed out as he went into one of the changing stalls.
Their first interview wearing them had been absolute hell for Kevin. Allison suggested making the announcement for their new stadium and training facilities same day, but it had been thrown out the window the second Andrew stepped into the room and stood by the door to watch. His cuffs were on proud display, and it took under a minute for the connection to Neil and Kevin's chokers to be made.
The first question had made Kevin's blood boil, and he was usually the one to remain level-headed.
"Why would you dedicate yourself to an omega like Andrew Minyard?"
The edges of his vision blurred, and while colors didn't shift, he finally understood what it meant to see red. He grabbed the man's microphone and tossed it behind him at his table. He didn't give an answer, instead calling up the next reporter, ignoring his angered cries of property theft.
She was a bit smarter, but still asked, "Since when did you decide to submit to an omega?"
"Since he saw me as a person and not for my lack of presentation," Kevin said coolly before turning away from her. There was a tiny woman in front of him now. He could catch the whiff of alpha rolling off of her in muted waves. "What?"
"Will your new facilities still have private changing stalls like the Palmetto Foxes are known for?"
Kevin had to bite back a smile. "Yes. We'll have a dozen in either locker room."
"And I remember from looking over the blueprints to see to separate infirmaries?"
"Injured players don't need the stress of a perceived enemy nearby when they're injured. I've seen a lot of players thrown into stress cycles because they had to share an 8 by 8 room with the player they'd tried to choke out."
"That's very considerate. Are you planning to petition other teams to follow suit with such designs?"
Kevin shrugs. "I think consideration for others is something this sport is severely lacking, but something easy enough to work on. We're working on a grant program to offer funds to those smaller stadiums and teams to remodel to achieve the same end goal if they are interested."
"Do you have any information about that available?"
Kevin glances at Jeremy and after receiving a shake of his head, he offers the woman a polite, sad smile. "Not yet, unfortunately. If you want to speak with Mr. Moreau, I'm sure he would be happy to share information and offer you some exclusivity about the launch."
She smiles and holds out a gloved hand. Kevin sees Andrew nod in his peripheral before reaching out to shake it.
He stays standing, reaching to settle a hand on both Jean and Neil's shoulders. "I think that's enough for today," he starts. The next half is drowned out by reporters shouting questions, demanding to know more about the collars and cuffs, but he says, "I have a weekend with my mates and I do not plan on being away from my house any longer."
The drive back, Kevin in the passenger seat of Andrew's truck, Neil in the center with the console folded up, he sends a text to Jeremy. "Saw her talking to you. Give her access once details confirmed."
He responds with a thumbs up emoji and then, "She was very polite + respectful. May consider keeping her for statements. Yes?"
"You two," Kevin says, clicking the door lock to stop them from climbing out of the vehicle. "Jeremy wants to keep that last reporter for statement releases. Thoughts?"
"Yes," Andrew says, and Neil nods his agreement.
And maybe he comes back from that weekend with a ring of hickeys surrounding and under his collar, a barely perceptible limp to his gait, and is a bit more relaxed in practice, that's between him and his partners wearing mouth guards. Chewing and chewing, Andrew's splitting in his mouth after Kevin scores on him. Maybe he's dragged from the after-practice huddle, spouting off remedial drills as either partner pulls him from the court by an arm each. Maybe they finally break in the secret room with a panel in the wall off their new dugout before the rest of the building is finished. Maybe he gives the paparazzi outside a show as he lets Andrew and Neil parade him by with fresh hickeys overlaying the old ones and a much more noticeable limp this time.
That's for him and his mates to worry about. Andrew can choke the nosy ones out later, after he's done cradling Neil and Kevin like they hung the stars in the sky and finished bruising his own constellations into their skin.