MetaDeprivation - 4. MetaPrompts Unprompted17: Doms (MW8)

“Stop fussing with it, Prime,” Brian slapped the Alpha’s hand away from his WWP-branded tie.

“It’s too tight,” the red-head complained like a little boy being dressed up for a so not exciting trip to his auntie, who would ruffle his hair, press him into her strangely-scented and overdeveloped bosom, and force him to tell her about whether he already had a girlfriend.

“It isn’t, it’s perfect,” Brian insisted by slapping it back to the bigger guy’s chest.

Prime just grunted and looked longingly at Isaac.

For some reason, the 3rd enforcer had been the only one allowed to don a tight dark-gray wife-beater that basically showed not only his incredible hunkish figure but also bits of every one of his tattoos. And that was very much on purpose. He wanted to show he clearly didn’t belong to the place they were heading for. Or Prime wanted. Or Colt.

When the elevator had reached the 35th floor, Brian exited first.

One of the ladies behind the reception desk – young, chestnut haired and with a well-done make-up, dropped her receiver at the sight of the tall blond man with that toothpaste advertising smile and form-hugging dark-blue suit; her breathing accelerated; and certain body parts of hers were spontaneously preparing themselves for something that would make her forget she was engaged.

When Prime followed, even hunkier, even taller, and even more worthy of propagating his DNA, the second lady with platinum-blond hair worthy of the Eighties, appropriately dressed in a dark business suit, provocatively removed her glasses to nibble on one of its temples, while imagining to nibble on something much bigger, longer, meatier, more living.

And when Isaac, covering their six, approached in this party of four, the balding and somewhat overweight security guy in a very bad-fitting uniform casually rearranged his midsection as if saying: ‘Hi, there? Quickie?’

All three employees were so captivated by the smart-blond Apollo, powerful-red Ares, and naughty-blond Hermes, that Colt had to clear his throat twice until the lady put back her glasses, casually opening the top button of her blouse to reveal just a hint of lace, and acknowledged his existence by trying to say as professionally as she could: “Van der Wald & Hampton. How can I help you?”

“WWP Inc, we are here to see Mr. Groot,” Brian intervened.

Colt managed not to roll his eyes as the lady blushed in excitement being addressed by this demigod, while the younger one pushed her chestnut hair back revealing a tender swan-like neck.

“He’s awaiting a certain Mr. Loope.”

“That’s me,” Prime barked. His nose twitched in displeasure.

“Great. He’s expecting you.” With visible reluctance, she got up to guide the guests to Mr. Cees Groot, CEO of Van der Wald & Hampton.

Three minutes later they sat opposite Mr. Groot, who was indeed a big, height- and width-wise, gentleman; with perfectly groomed black hair with gray temples that shouted ‘expensive,’ a suit that shouted ‘expensiver,’ and a watch that shouted ‘so expensive you should be blessed your mortal eyes could steal a glance at it for once in your life.’

Prime wasn’t impressed. Neither by the expensive wood of the conference table, the size of the CEO’s office, the view to the South of Manhattan displaying the Statue of Liberty to its right in perfect proportions, or the fact next door were at least four enforcers with guns. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt, moved on to really important stuff.

Mr. Groot’s very dark eyes, smart, powerful, perceptive, seemed to smile at how little his display of wealth intimidated his four visitors; a rare event in his life as the richest alpha on the planet; thanks to the fortune of the Hampton Pack. He was slightly irked about that enforcer who had so made no effort at all to fit in and stood a bit behind his superiors, in boots, cargo pants, and tight wife beater, showing off his muscles, tattoos and an ‘I don’t give no shit about all of this’-attitude. It didn’t help that he recognized this enforcer to have been in his pack until his 23rd birthday.

“It’s such an honor for us that the White Wolf Pack visits us.” And Cees said it with such sincerity, that Prime even believed him. No scent to indicate otherwise.

“The honor is all mine, Cees, thank you for receiving us. Next to me are my Meta, Colt, and my first Beta, Brian. And I’m sure you recognize Isaac.”

“Gentlemen, such an honor.”

Obviously, the honor didn’t go so far as to offer food, but Prime didn’t care. This wasn’t pack business, this was business business.

“How can I help you?” Cees pushed the tray with water and glasses towards his guests but didn’t flinch when he saw Prime, the Alpha, pouring a glass for the smaller man with unremarkable facial features, a boring goatee, and lifeless eyes. He had heard about the Meta, the White Wolf; his enforcers had told him everything, but he hadn’t been aware how not-impressive this man looked.

“Well,” the Beta started opening his briefcase, “we have been going through some of our financial records briefly – we had some nasty visits by the IRS …”

“Oh, I know those,” Cees interrupted sympathetically.

“They had some odd questions about option purchases on April 13 and 14, 2015.”

“That’s quite some time ago.”

“It is. And I guess we would have never spotted them, if not for the IRS questions,” Brian continued. His smile was a bit forced. “It seems on the evening of April 13 and morning of April 14 in Asia, nearly 10 billion dollars’ worth of options were bought at several stock exchanges; Chicago, New York, Frankfurt, London, Paris, Milan, Tokyo, and Hong Kong.”

“That is quite a big investment,” Mr. Groot whistled.

“Indeed. We all know what happened on April 13,” Prime said it in a way that indicated he wouldn’t elaborate.

Mr. Groot nodded.

“We inquired because of the unusual date; and we could track most of the purchases to these legal entities.” Brian handed over a piece of paper with companies incorporated in at least five countries.

“I see,” Cees answered; his smile getting slightly forced as well.

“Now, we don’t have all the T's crossed and I's dotted, but it would be extremely helpful if you could use your connections to help us in finding who’s behind this,” Prime asked; trying to ask as normally he didn’t have to ‘ask.’

Cees rearranged his tie clip and nodded. “Of course. Always here to help the White Wolf Pack. I had two enforcers fighting that day.”

“Yes, you did,” Prime confirmed with his deep voice.

“It would be quite a PR issue if any wolf-related institution had taken advantage of the death of more than 200 wolves to enrich themselves with the outcome of that battle,” Brian pointed out the obvious.

Mr. Groot nodded in tacit agreement.

“I think that would be all,” Prime ended the meeting cheerfully – to Cees’ surprise.

The host got up nonetheless and guided them to the door. He shook hands with the three of the men – Isaac was already outside checking the surroundings and ignoring the security guy before he said: “I trust this meeting stays fully confidential.”

Brian nodded with a smile, Colt wasn’t even included in this question, and Isaac ignored him; Prime, kind of annoyed by the initial sexual tension and then the alpha-to-alpha tension, answered with his trademark alpha voice that suggested ‘castration with a smile:’ “This meeting never happened. Nor did any of the activities of the KingArthur Funds in Jersey. I’m sure the homeless and vets in New York would appreciate some help.”

And with this, under the panting of two women and one man, and the very suppressed growl of another man, they entered the elevator. And with a “Have a nice day” by Brian which led to the two women running to the toilet to change their pantiliners, they left.

And small, gentle hand put itself into Isaac’s small of his back.

By the time they had reached their hotel suite, Isaac was shaking. The worry about the former marine breaking down because of PTSD crossed their faces.

Colt handed his jacket to Brian before he hugged the shaking enforcer. He nuzzled his face into the muscular neck. And then bit. Hard. Really hard.

Isaac moaned in pain, welcome pain, in desire, in relief, in peace.

“It’s okay, boy. You’re not them,” he petted the back of the enforcer’s head; enjoying the scratches of hair only 1/16 inch long.

“I’m okay,” Isaac whispered, not so ok-ish.

Colt set himself with the enforcer on the bed, let themselves fall on the pillows and spooned the man. Only slowly Isaac’s breath got regular, his sea scent calmed, and his apricots turned gently sweet.

The enforcer let Prime open his boots and drag them off him like the pants afterward. When the alpha had gotten out of his suit – carefully hung by Brian – he suggested: “Isaac, I’ll hold you now. Colt needs to do some work.”

Isaac nodded.

When Colt closed the doors to the bedroom of their suite, his face smiled clemently at his Alpha holding his enforcer protectively and brotherly. Isaac would be fine once they had left New York City.

“I hope he does the right thing,” Brian opened a Coke for Colt and himself a beer bottle.

“He has no choice. He knows we know who’s behind these purchases.”

“Greedy asshole.”

Colt just tilted his head. He didn’t mind people wanting to get rich. He didn’t even mind people taking advantage of certain painful events to make money. After all, the Hampton Pack had sent enforcers to help in the battle. And their main profession was to make money on Wall Street. What he did mind was what Mr. Groot had been up to over the past two years. He had established a special fund (‘King Arthur’) that bought stakes in key suppliers of WWP companies, some of their key distributors and even in one of the banks that handled a large chunk of long-term debt and the cash management of a wide range of WWP companies. Assuming malicious intentions, this Fund – and therefore the Hampton Pack – could cut off supply, demand, and cash of the White Wolf Pack livelihoods in one go. “It’s just a power thing,” Colt concluded.

Before they had come to New York he had explained it all to the Inner Circle: “As far as I understand, until the mid-90ies there were around eight powerful packs in North America; the Golden Chestnut, Winter Fir, North Quebecois, Olympia, Grand Rapids, Iron Mountain, Monongahela, and our Hampton Pack. They had their position for different reasons; Golden Chestnut academia and military, Winter Fir because of history, North Quebecois because of bondspacks, Olympia because of all the connections up to Alaska, and so on and on. And Hampton because of Wall Street. And of course, in our modern world, money is the most powerful tool of them all; so they were kind of a ‘Primi inter pares.’”

Prime didn’t even ask.

Instead, Brian barked: “So?”

“We’ve destroyed their leading position. The Chestnut Pack is in shambles, Fir destroyed, the North Quebecois is officially not our bondspack anymore, but acts largely as such; we have several other de facto bondspack – Key, West Montana, and South Maine; not mentioning our connections to the Feldberg, Espoo and Southern Poland packs. We have become the leading pack.”

“They want to dominate us,” Prime had stated in his pretend-simple mind.

“What are we going to do about?” It was the first time Isaac had spoken up. After all, he had come from there, and he felt ashamed.

“We are going to dominate them!” Colt answered with a smirk.

“And why do I have the feeling you’ll get off on that?” Brian kissed his Meta’s forehead. “How?”

“PR threats, my dear!”

“Cool. And then we talk about how we get you off on that …”

“He’s fine now. All clear,” Prime joined them, accepting a beer from Brian.

“I didn’t expect him to take it so hard,” Colt wound himself into Prime’s arms like a little puppy.

“Cees didn’t like him being there, another indication they are not top dog anymore,” Brian added.

“Isaac could feel the danger coming from them,” Colt agreed.

“And why was my Meta so quiet during the whole meeting?” Prime tried to lighten the mood.

“You guys did a perfect job. I’m just a consultant,” Colt answered. The heat covering his back and neck was sensual.

“You guys can take the second bedroom,” Brian giggled at the sight in front of him.

“Oh, I’m certain he wants all three of us. He needs to make sure, we’re still his after those women and men undressed us with their eyes in that office …”

Brian’s eyes widened, a door opened, and Colt flustered: “Hey, a Meta needs to protect his claim!”

“Metas!” Prime joked and waved at Isaac to come into the room. “Guys, let’s teach this little manipulative dom a lesson!”

Colt grinned.

Nobody, and especially not Isaac, needed to know who had invited Isaac’s parents to that meeting in the WTC on Sep. 11, 2001, while never showing up himself.

Now he had to concentrate how to deal with three horny beasts in one bed … one day he would write about that.