Gabriel, apparently immune to the social tension that swirled in the air in ripples and eddies around them, cheerfully introduced his colleague to Will. “Brent, this is Detective Will Adams from SVU. He’s working on the Suarez case. Will, this is Brent James, who is now handling the bulk of our criminal defense work. I’ve got a hearing in ten minutes, so I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Gabriel vanished down the corridor at speed, but neither of them noticed. They were both working too hard trying to figure out how to proceed. 

Will decided to speak first, and poke a little fun at himself in the hopes that bygones could be bygones. It hadn’t exactly been personal the other night, he really didn’t date Alphas. Will just wished he hadn’t made it sound so personal when he declined the drink. He didn’t know why he’d felt so shaken up and irritated by Brent that night. It’s not like he didn’t get hit on with some regularity, often enough by Alphas, and it hadn’t been an egregiously rude or annoying example of a pickup attempt by anyone’s standards. He shot for a friendly, self-mocking, how-much-of-a-jerk-was-I? tone. “Ah, if it isn’t Brent. This is nice and awkward. You must be thrilled to run into me again.” He held out a hand for a shake.

Brent grinned good-naturedly and took the hand. “Actually, I am, Will. Watch out, mean streets of Baltimore, here comes Detective Will.” 

“Bruh,” said Will, and looked away, blushing and grinning back because he knew he and his own basic-ass whitebread name had been owned, and fairly.

Brent observed this little warming up and looked encouraged. For a moment, Will thought Brent was going to let it go at that, but no, Brent wasn’t quite done messing with him, even if he wasn’t angry about the snub.

 “Oooh, look at this! Sore subject!” Brent observed. “Did you grow up yearning to be named something cool and intimidating and manly like Rod or Dick or Shaft? Wait, Shaft was a cop, too! It was Shaft, wasn’t it? ‘Shut your mouth!' 'I'm talking ‘bout Will!’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it? You’re all torn up inside because you got a nice, unthreatening name. Is that childhood trauma I smell?” Brent bent and took a deep whiff for theatrical purposes, and suddenly Brent jerked upright, face going pink, then pale, then pink again as a strange expression crossed over it. Will just kept himself from lifting his arm and smelling his armpit to see what in the hell had made Brent make that face.

There was an awkward pause before Brent continued speaking in a somewhat taut voice, “Me too on the childhood trauma, actually,” Brent said, soldiering past his own interruption of his bit, “I wasn’t that thrilled about Brent growing up. You can call me something else if you like. Something epic and manly. We could workshop it. What about…B-dog?” 

“That sounds like something an Animal Crossing neighbor would decide to call you.”

“No, they called me B-Beans and Rutabaga, thanks. But sadly, I haven’t had time to play in a while. Jamestown is probably overrun with weeds and my house is probably crawling with cockroaches. I imagine that’s historically accurate for the Jamestown settlement, at least.”

“I would not have pegged you for an Animal Crossing devotee.”

“Clearly you haven’t gotten to know me well enough yet, Rutabaga,” Brent said, smiling his winningest smile.

Will gave him a look.

“Is that what a sardonic brow is? Oh my God, I totally get it now. It is hot,” said Brent, covering his mouth with his fingers in faux dawning comprehension.

Will gave him a darker look, but the corner of Will's lip quirked suspiciously. 

“You talk a lot of shit, you know that?” Will informed him without heat.

“Oh, I assure you, that was the god’s honest.”

“I still don’t date Alphas.”

“Not even very nice, respectful, woke, friendly, Omegan Rights Attorneys Alphas with whom you have mutual friends and a fun little ‘will they, won’t they’ energy going?” Brent asked innocently.

“Not even then.” Will tried to sound serious, because he was serious. He just didn’t do it very convincingly, even to his own ears.

“Well, then, let me buy you a cup of coffee for which I will clearly get nothing in return but the satisfaction of knowing that I dared to dream.”

“Jesus,” said Will, shaking his head in bemusement. “Do you have an off switch?”

Brent shrugged. “If I do, my mother couldn’t find it.”

“That poor woman, whoever she is, deserves angel’s wings when she gets to heaven.”

“From your lips to God’s ears. So that’s a ‘yes’ on the coffee? A ‘yes’ just so you can put me in my place and make me throw away my money?”

Will looked at his roguish, persistent suitor. Even to Will’s critical eye, Brent was a magnificent specimen of a man. Absolute unit. Unreal. Had to be at least six-six, rock solid build, burnished gold hair tapered on the sides and in back and parted with mussed waves on top. On his chiseled face was, in a slightly darker shade of blonde, a perfectly managed but not manicured scruff of hair that skated right down the line between stubble and beard. He was lightly tanned even in mid October and his eyes looked… what color was that? He’d have to lean in and get a close look to really pin down the color, and Will was not going to attempt that.

This guy wasn’t just an Alpha, he was an action figure. An Avenger. He was ridiculous, honestly, like he was ripped from the overheated fantasies of some romance novelist. Will would have laid good money down that Brent had been fucking a wide swath through the Baltimore metro area yuppies’ singles scene since his arrival. Probably been through all the readily available Omegas in his social circle, got bored, and now wanted something a little bit risqué before resuming the hunt for his “mate.” 

Will was of two minds on this dilemma. First, that he could easily stand his ground and teach Brent that not everyone was buying what Brent was selling. Second, that the quickest, and probably the most entertaining way to make Brent lose interest was to just go ahead and fuck him. He reeked of one-and-dones. Not the toxic kind, no, not superhero guy. This would be the friendly, agreed upon in advance, everyone on the same page kind. The fuck option would clear the sexual tension, too, and maybe Will would get a great lay into the bargain. It had been a while. A good while. How long had it been? Months, plural, that he preferred not to count. Damn. A no-mess, friendly, no dating, no small talk fuck might do him some serious good. They’d log each other on their workplace romance sticker charts and that would be that. And it would not count as dating an Alpha. 

Will was so absorbed in justifying the fuck plan that he had already forgotten what the other option was. Something about teaching Brent a valuable life lesson? Whatever. The zipless fuck plan was better. Hadn’t Erica Jong called it “the purest thing there is?” He’d made up his mind, or Erica had made it up for him.