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Billy knows the routine.
The auctioneer looks at their eyes, their teeth, their hair. He inspects their skin for marks, measures their height and weight, and has them strip down to inspect their various assets. Billy drops his briefs without shame, keeping his gaze leveled straight ahead. They will not break him for this. He’s suffered worse.
“A fine set,” the auctioneer says finally, and Billy doesn’t like the way his eyes move across their bare skin. He can feel Chrissy shaking next to him and longs to reach for her hand. But he can’t, because showing affection for her will show weakness. It will only end in punishment for her, and for him.
“I thought so,” Rick says, as though he has presented a set of pedigree dogs instead of human beings. “I’ve trained them for years for this. They have perfect manners, appearance, education, and every skill an Alpha might want in an Omega.”
“Every skill?” the auctioneer asks, and Billy squirms. The man sounds far too eager.
“Hosting, cooking, conversation, breeding…” Rick rattles off the many, many skills that Billy and the others have been instructed in for the last four years. It’s a long game but high-quality Omegas sell well to rich Alphas. And Billy, thrown out on the street at fifteen, had no other hope than to accept the offer of training.
“And they’re all untouched?” the auctioneer asks, his eyes gliding over the soft curve of Chrissy’s breast, Barb’s gentle red curls at her pubic bone. Billy chokes down on bile rising in his throat.
“Virgins every one of them,” Rick says smoothly. It’s…close enough. Billy was sucking dicks for money when Rick had found him, but he’s never been fucked. And living on the streets, that had been hard enough. “But they’ve all had the proper lessons. They should know how to please their Alphas and be ready for breeding when the time comes.”
“Good,” the auctioneer says finally and waves a hand dismissively. “Get them dressed for the auction. We don’t want them too covered but the rules say we can’t have them naked on stage.”
“And yet he needed us to strip,” Patrick mutters quietly, just to Billy’s left. Billy’s heart clenches a little. While Rick had been strict, demanding the best out of them, and sometimes cold, he’d never been cruel or unreasonable. He wanted money and beaten, broken Omegas weren't in his best interest.
But the Omegas that had been trained alongside Billy are his family. For four years, they’ve lived together, eaten, played, bathed… he’s spent every second with these five and now they’ll be separated forever. He knows how Chrissy laughs, a sudden, bright sound, as though she’s surprised by her ability to even giggle. How Barb pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger. That Patrick had run away from an abusive father, just like Billy. That Alexei had been trafficked into this country and got lucky with who had bought him. The kind of music that will get Vickie out of her chair. Every quirk and dislike and habit has been absorbed as though they were his own, he knows them so well. He can’t imagine waking up tomorrow, alone instead of part of a pack.
“Alright,” Rick says, clapping his hands together. “Clothes back on and to the dressing room. We’ve prepared for this day, so I want a good showing. Chrissy, you must stand up straight on stage. Billy, don’t scowl.”
Billy immediately pastes on such a bright, sunny smile that Rick must know that it’s fake…he just can’t prove it.
Getting ready is…arduous. They’ve already been primped this morning, bathed and trimmed and plucked within an inch of their lives. Now they are pushed into various items of clothing for approval before they can have hair and makeup.
Billy’s chosen outfit is a pair of tight trousers, of a shiny black material that clings to every curve. His shirt is bright red that dips open revealingly at the chest, showing perfectly smooth skin. He’d tried to argue but Omegas aren’t allowed to have body hair apparently. He’s put into an expensive pair of black boots, matched by a leather belt and a thick band at his wrist.
The others are shoved into various garments - a soft-looking sweater for Patrick, a green sundress for Barb, a pleated skirt for Chrissy. At home they can wear whatever they like for their lessons but they probably should get used to being treated like mannequins, easily posed, with no say in what they can wear.
At the facility, Billy corrects himself. The building where they’d been raised the past few years was no longer home.
They’re some of the last lots, so they’re ushered out of the dressing room in a line. They stand in the corridor while numbers are affixed to their clothes and Billy squirms as the paper is pinned to his shirt.
“Don’t disgrace me,” Rick says firmly, looking each of them in the eye. He lingers a little on Billy, the one most known for having a mouth and making a fuss. “I’ve invested a lot in you, to make sure that you will have good lives going forward. The last thing I want to hear is that you’ve been returned to the auction house because you’re not fit for purpose. Understand?”
They all nod, even Billy, who bites down on his sharp retort. It’s not as though Rick is doing this out of the goodness of his heart; rather it’s the hefty pay day that comes with his cut.
They’re shuffled along the fading carpet until they reach the door for backstage. It smells like wood polish and dust, and even from here the sound of the auctioneer rings out crisp and clear as he accepts bids for the current Omega.
Chrissy trembles, the first of the six of them to be called up. When the burst of applause signifies that the current bid has ended, she turns as white as a sheet.
“Be brave,” Billy hisses to her before she’s pulled on stage. The last look she gives him is terrified, something so vulnerable and desperate for help that Billy grabs for her hand, damn the consequences, and squeezes her fingers tight.
“A wonderful female Omega is next on our list,” the auctioneer says, and Billy’s gut churns with hate at the memory of how the man had looked at Chrissy. But she’s being ripped away from him, delicate fingers slipping through his as the attendant bundles her through the curtain.
“A beautiful young woman,” the auctioneer continues. Billy digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palm, praying that she stands tall on stage and doesn’t drop her gaze. If she shows weakness, in a room full of preying Alphas…
“Incredible hair, with bright blue eyes. Healthy, 160 centimetres, and perfectly proportioned. No known illness or flaws, a spectacular specimen to be a wife and mother. Gifted with athletics, singing, and baking, this is the match for any Alpha seeking a true docile Omega.”
Oh, Billy is going to puke.
“Next,” the attendant says in a bored voice, gesturing Billy forward. He can hear the sounds of bidding out on stage, as people put a price on his best friend. He doesn’t want to but his feet move him a few steps forward, just behind the thick red curtain.
“Sold!” the auctioneer shouts, slamming his gavel down. Billy tries to repeat his own words back to himself - be brave, be brave - but they don’t seem to be having an effect. Chrissy has been sold, headed off to who knows where and his turn is next.
“And now, a marvellous specimen,” the auctioneer says and for fuck’s sake, why does he always have to sound as though he’s drooling? “182 centimetres, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Toned and tanned, ladies and gentlemen, originally hailing from California.”
“Go!” the attendant hisses, holding open the curtain with one hand and shoving Billy in the small of his back with the other.
He misses the rest of the auctioneer’s spiel as he stumbles onto the stage, blinded by the bright lights. But he keeps on walking, finding the small X that marks where he’s meant to stand. Blinking a little under the spotlights, he stares out defiantly at the audience.
Most of the people are lost to shadows but the first few rows are visible enough. Several of them are holding little red cards, indicating that they’ve already made a purchase. If he remembers correctly, the really high rollers sit closest to the stage. For the most part, they all look normal - mostly suits and smart dresses, and a trio of men about Billy’s age in jeans and leather jackets. They hold a red ticket and Billy wonders who they’ve bought.
“Shall we start the bidding at ten thousand?” the auctioneer asks brightly.
There’s a man in the front row, just below where Billy is standing that catches his attention as he holds up the paddle. Billy looks over the man’s sharp jaw, the cold eyes, and prays that he isn’t successful.
He’s maybe a little older than Billy, with sleek blonde hair down to his jaw and pronounced cheekbones. He’s dressed all in black, from his shirt to the heavy watch on his wrist. Billy has no idea who this man might be but he can see his future when he looks at him.
“Thirty thousand!” someone else bids, and Billy exhales, just a little. The second bidder is an older man, with dark hair and wire-framed glasses. He’s old enough to be Billy’s father but he lacks that malicious aura the first bidder is dripping with.
But the first bidder holds up his paddle again, once more moving into the lead.
“Fifty thousand,” the second bidder challenges and there’s a ripple of interest around the theatre.
Well. Billy might just be a hole to these people but at least he’s an expensive hole.
“Going once?” the auctioneer says, waiting with his gravel held high. The first man hesitates, flicking his eyes over Billy as if considering whether this is a wise purchase.
Keep the paddle down, Billy wills silently. Do not fucking bid on me.
“Going twice!”
The man considers once more and for a heavy beat, Billy fears that the paddle will raise into the air, signaling his intent for sixty thousand. But the seconds stretch out almost painfully, each one passing by at a snail’s pace, until finally the man slowly shakes his head.
“Sold!” the auctioneer crows, perhaps imaging the commission off such a sum. “Thank you, sir, if you come and receive your ticket. You can pay and claim your Omega after the auction.”
Billy staggers off stage, somehow tangling himself up in the curtains as he tries to find his way out. That’s it. He’s been sold. In an hour, he’ll be paid for and leaving this place, meant to smile and bear some Alpha’s pups for the rest of his days.
The sold Omegas are all being ushered into a waiting room and Billy finds himself escorted right up to the door. The room is nearly full when he enters, so the auction must almost be over.
“Billy!” Someone crashes into his, throwing arms around his neck and Billy only just catches Chrissy to swing her around before she takes them both over. He squeezes her tight, grateful to have this time with her.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a furious whisper once he’s put her back onto solid ground. “What happened?”
“Thirty thousand,” she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know who has actually bought me…the three men in front. They only had one paddle.”
Billy frowns. The three men in leather jackets, looking somewhat out of place amongst the designer label suits. But it was clear that they had money, as the leather was real, rich and supple, and the silver rings on their fingers were genuine.
He hopes that they just came for support and don’t intend to share Chrissy.
“Fifty thousand,” he says, dropping his voice down to avoid being heard by the many curious eyes watching him and Chrissy. “I thought the scary guy in the front row was going to win…”
“I saw him!” she says, eyes wide. “He was staring at me the whole time. He didn’t bid on me though.”
“Some older guy got me,” Billy says, wrinkling his nose. Still, it could be worse. Maybe he’ll be more like a trophy husband. Sure, maybe he’ll still have to have a few kids but there’s a chance he’ll be left in peace.
“It’s scary, not knowing,” Chrissy confesses, fingers curling into the soft silk of Billy’s shirt. Billy presses his nose into her bright hair, trying to soothe himself with her familiar scent. This room is windowless, likely by design. No one wants to find their purchase has slipped out of the window to freedom.
“I know,” he says, because they could be going anywhere to anyone. Life so far has been a picnic compared to what might be next.
The door opens to admit Patrick, who looks queasy under the bright lights. They open up their little circle of two to accept him.
“How was it?” Billy asks urgently. Patrick is funny and kind, considerate to a fault. He’s talented at any game or puzzle he can turn his hand to, beating them all at anything from basketball to chess to strategy games. Billy’s sure that he would have sold well.
“Not bad,” Patrick says finally, shaking his head as though he has water in his ears. Billy can understand it - the stage felt like being in a fishbowl. “Thirty-five thousand. I think it was a couple who bought me.” Billy makes a face. That could mean anything.
Not long after, their remaining friends join them and the six of them cling together, waiting anxiously. The other Omegas watch them warily, either suspicious or jealous of the obvious bond between them.
“Maybe one day we’ll find each other again,” Chrissy says hopefully. “Maybe we’ll be allowed to…” But her voice trails off, her eyes overwhelmed with tears. Even Chrissy can’t find the hope necessary for this moment. So they hold each other and wait.
Several more Omegas enter the waiting room but then that’s all. The door remains closed, all twenty of them crammed in together with nothing to do but count the seconds. Then, finally, a heavy bell tolls and they all flinch at the sound.
“That’s it,” says another Omega nearby, looking grim. “The auction's over. Everyone’s paid up.”
“They’ll collect us soon,” Barb whispers, her pale face streaked by tear marks. Billy reaches out and wipes them away. None of them can go out there looking like this.
After what feels like an eternity, the door opens. There’s a stern looking woman, with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, staring at her clipboard with a frown.
“Lots one through four!” she calls impatiently. “Follow me, please.” There’s a beat then four Omegas separate themselves from the pack. She escorts them out, slamming the door shut behind her.
“What number are you?” Chrissy whispers, practically shaking. Billy chokes down on his fear, trying to think about his number. He’d been given it when he’d arrived, a paper number that had been closely clipped to his dressing gown in the dressing room.
“Fourteen,” he says. Chrissy was before him so she’ll be thirteen. They’ll be taken out together, along with Patrick and Barb. But Alexei and Vickie will be in the next lot. Panicked, Billy reaches out to squeeze their hands. Judging by their expressions, they know that the separation is coming for them faster than the others.
“We will see each other again,” Billy says fiercely. “We can’t let this separate us. No matter how long it takes, we’ll find our way back to each other. Got it?” They all nod tearfully, although it hasn’t helped. One far off dream of being reunited isn’t enough against their very imminent future.
Lots five through eight are soon called, followed by nine through to twelve. Billy holds them all just one more time, trying to remember every tiny detail of his friends. But the woman returns quickly, tapping her foot as she calls for their lot numbers.
Billy tries not to look back when they leave Alexei and Vickie behind, but he can’t help himself. They look like little lost ducks in the middle of the room, holding hands, and then the door closes behind them and they’re gone from sight. Billy chokes down on the lump in his throat, reminding himself that very shortly, he’ll have to say goodbye to the others. There’ll be time for crying later.
“Thirteen?” the woman calls and sure enough, the three musketeers are waiting for Chrissy. She flinches in fear and Billy takes her hand.
“This is Chrissy,” The woman says to the men and Billy’s oddly grateful that she used Chrissy’s name. He couldn’t bear it if they were reduced to just numbers. “And the registered Alpha’s name is…Eddie Munson?”
“He’s our band mate,” one of the men explains. They’re an odd collection of people but a band suddenly makes sense. “We’re on tour a lot…we thought he needed some company other than his guitar.”
“You’ll like him,” another one explains, looking almost anxious, as though Chrissy approving of their guitarist is the most important thing in the world. Which is bizarre when they’ve bought her - they could do anything they like with her and yet they’re worried about her opinion. Billy exhales, just a little. These men look harmless and if this Eddie is anything like them then Chrissy will be fine.
Chrissy hugs them all quickly and when Billy crushes her to his chest, he breathes in the scent of her strawberry shampoo for the last time.
“I love you,” he whispers into her bright hair. “Don’t forget that.”
“Fourteen!” the woman calls, while he’s still reeling from the loss of Chrissy. The older gentleman steps forward, staring at Billy with those stern eyes. Fuck, he looks like a school principal.
“This is Billy,” the woman says, checking her clipboard for his given name. “Mr Harrington?”
“One of them,” the man says, still assessing Billy. Billy tries not to bristle. He’s got to live with this man going forward. Best not start off on the wrong foot. “He’ll do just fine. Say your goodbyes now.”
Billy hates the command but does as asked. He hugs both Patrick and Barb, expressing love and hope and courage to them as best he can in the few seconds that they have. But then it’s time to go and Mr Harrington escorts him down the corridor and through the front doors.
“A tedious process,” Mr Harrington sighs, checking his watch with impatience. “Honestly, I’d hoped to never need to attend one of these auctions…but it was the easiest option. Ah, here’s our car.”
Something dark and sleek pulls up to the curb next to them and to Billy’s shock, Mr Harrington opens the rear door and gestures for him to get in. Billy sits down on the plush seats, not at all surprised to find a minibar in the back and a dividing window between them and the driver. This is some rich people shit.
Mr Harrington gets in on the other side and smartly knocks on the partition. “Home, please!” he says firmly, before sitting back in his seat. He’s hardly paying any attention to Billy, as though he’s done nothing extraordinary with his day. Maybe to these people, buying people is just something unexceptional.
“Excuse me?” Billy asks, finding his manners at the last moment. His mouth and his attitude always got him low points in their etiquette class.
“Yes?” Mr Harrington asks, leaning forward and retrieving a water from the minibar. “Oh, I am sorry. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please,” Billy says, thrown by the casual offer. He’s not sure what he’d expected from his Alpha but it wasn’t…this. “I just wanted to know…what do you want from me?”
“From you?” Mr Harrington asks, eyebrows raised above his frames. Billy reaches out and snags a soda. They weren’t really allowed them at the training facility. Too much caffeine and sugar. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Well, you bought me,” Billy explains and wonders if the others are going through this clusterfuck. The man paid out fifty thousand dollars specifically for him. And Billy knows that it’s almost too high a sum for some Omega pulled in off the street, no matter how well trained he is. “And I was just wondering…why?”
“Ah,” Mr Harrington says knowingly. He opens the lid on his water, taking a long thoughtful sip. “Well, you see, Billy, I didn’t buy you for myself.”
“Oh?” Billy asks suspiciously. Maybe this is a trend; not sure what to get for a loved one’s birthday? Have a suitable wet hole! Who cares much about the human being it belongs to.
“My son,” Mr Harrington explains, looking aggrieved at the mere mention of the man. “He has potential but he needs to settle down, try and live up to some of his responsibilities. He’s so far failed to find a mate so I chose you. You’re young, healthy, attractive, and can give us suitable grandchildren. I was assured that your training was impeccable in all areas and I believe that your appearance and hobbies will appeal to Steven.”
Oh shit. Billy would almost prefer being some old guy’s trophy Omega.
“Does he know I’m coming?” Billy asks, dread starting to creep into every pore. He struggles to undo the tab on his soda, fingers shaking.
“He was aware that I threatened to do this if he didn’t shape up,” Mr Harrington says crisply, staring dead ahead, as though this makes delivering the news easier. “I’m not entirely sure he believes that I’ll follow through.”
“So, no,” Billy says flatly, slumping against the seat. Oh God. He’s about to be delivered onto a platter to some guy who probably doesn’t even want him. “Does he even like men?”
“My son likes everything,” Mr Harrington says, with such obvious bluntness that even Billy feels uncomfortable. “But to produce children, he needs an Omega and out of all of the options available today, you are the one I feel he will like the most.”
“He might not,” Billy says, because this is something that he never considered. Sold to the completely wrong Alpha… Mr Harrington is a reasonably attractive man for his age and he must be in his late forties? Billy has to wonder what traits he shares with his son, and wonders if he’ll get to see a picture before he meets his future Alpha.
But Mr Harrington just smiles, something smug and rather infuriating.
“We’ll see, shall we?” he says and then will speak no more.