Work Text:
A vessel for my dream
I knew exactly
How to fill his shoesDon't walk away from me
I will always love you
But how will I know?
Trick or treat?
"This just isn’t working, Tasha,” Steve sighed.
“You’ve barely tried, Steve! Half a dozen dates is not a large enough sample for you to decide you are doomed to a lifetime without an omega.”
“It’s hard to try when every omega the agency sets me up with either laughs when they see me, or mistakes me for another omega and then gets really embarrassed when I say ‘no, I’m the alpha you’re supposed to meet’. Every one of them acts ashamed to be seen with an alpha barely taller than they are—and that’s just the gals, I haven’t even been matched up with one guy, let alone tried to take one on a date.”
“Uh, yes, hence why I suggested you try this agency that specializes in challenging matches. If you think you’re got problems, try spending a few days as a petite female alpha.”
Natasha gestured toward herself, and Steve flushed, embarrassed now at his behavior to his friend. “I’m sorry, Tasha. I’m not trying to diminish your own situation, you know I’m not. It’s just frustrating as fuck, and…I think the agency is about to give up on me too. Having a consistent failure doesn’t look good on their record. Definitely not something they want to put in their advertisements. I mean, at this point, I’m not even sure I want to date. Alphas can survive without omegas. Not enjoyably, granted, but you know, toys and hands are things.”
“Definitely not enjoyable,” Natasha deadpanned. “You’re my best friend, Steve, and I want you to live your best life. Try one more, just for my peace of mind. If you don’t click, then call the game, for now anyhow, and I promise not to nag. Much.”
Steve threw a pillow at her. What, they were called throw pillows for a reason.
---
Tony S, the email from the dating agency announced. Steve scanned the paltry information they provided as a matter of course—you had to get to know somebody better and ask them personally to share any more. Steve hadn’t made it that far with any of the omegas he’d been matched with. This one was male, and an engineer, an unusual line of work for omegas, enough so that it sparked Steve’s curiosity. He was himself not one of those alphas who thought omegas didn’t have brains, but too many other alphas seemed to, and it was frankly infuriating. Maybe if nothing else, he would get some good conversation out of this outing; people tended to not expect an alpha to be an artist, either, and it put some omegas off from the get-go, but maybe this fellow was unconventional enough himself.
Steve spruced himself up as much as possible, and made a reservation at a nice restaurant. It wasn’t the level of place that attracted the super-rich, but it was fairly swank. Not the sort of place Steve frequented alone, but one of the perks of a good steady job with a prestigious comic publisher was the ability to occasionally afford a small splurge. On the appointed day and time, he settled at his table, sipped on a glass of wine, and divided his attention between the entrance and the clientele. People-watching was a favorite activity of his, and he always got great ideas for his art that way.
The wait-staff bustled around, managing to be at once swift and silent. At a far table, a group of omega ladies sat and chatted, tittering behind the veils that draped their lower faces. Some were thick enough to conceal everything from the bridge of the nose down, others so translucent Steve wondered how they accomplished their stated purpose of protecting the wearer’s hypersensitive sense of smell. He supposed they must somehow, though, or else high-class omegas wouldn’t bother to wear them everywhere they went.
His notice was pulled away from the gaggle by a flutter of activity at the hostess’ station. The hostess herself was engaged in conversation with a dark-haired man who clearly did not look like he belonged in a high-end establishment. Instead of a suit, he wore faded jeans, a T-shirt that was clean (at least it didn’t smell dirty, not that alpha smellers were as sensitive as omegas, especially across a room full of other people) but bore faint grease stains, and work boots that were clearly for work and not for show. Steve amended his initial impression; the guy didn’t belong in the front of the establishment. He was probably here to do some repairs, and was asking directions to his destination. Steve mentally saluted him—people who worked with their hands deserved far more respect than they got.
His second judgement call also went right out the nearest window when instead of exiting, the man glanced into the dining area, leaned in close to say something more to the hostess, then marched right up to Steve’s table. “I’m told you’re my date,” he said with a flashing grin above meticulously kept facial hair. “I’m Tony.”
Steve struggled not to choke on his wine. “I—ah—hi!” he managed finally, looking the man up and down, half expecting this to be a prank, and to see this gorgeous guy—gorgeous omega, he could tell now that he was closer, despite the absence of a veil—to turn around and walk right back out.
The looks did not go unnoticed. “I don’t dress up for first dates,” the man went on, his smile fixed in place. “If someone can’t handle me at my garage-rat worst, they don’t deserve me at my best. May I?”
“Um, yes, please, sit. Of course—your intro said you were an engineer so I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’m Steve, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
The faint hint of a sweet omega scent strengthened, blended with the bouquet of someone who worked with machinery. Strawberries and motor oil should not have been as alluring a combination as they were, but this man was very alluring, small in physical stature but with a huge personality that was the polar opposite of everything society expected an omega to be. “I admit I thought you were a repairman, so you caught me off guard. How’d you charm your way past the hostess?”
“Oh, I am a repairman. I mean, I, um, know the guy who owns the place, and I come over and fix things when they need it, so I know all the staff. And all the food,” Tony added as he flipped the folded napkin at his place open and spread it on his lap with all the panache of a titan of industry. “So anything on the menu that you aren’t familiar with, let me know. I hear you’re an artist! My…boss is really into art, maybe she has something of yours in her collection?”
“Afraid not,” Steve laughed. “I draw comic books.”
“No shit? Now that must be a fascinating job. Tell me more.”
It was a small shock how easily Steve found himself opening up, sharing tales of the misadventures of the artists and writers he worked with, over soup and grilled fish. It was not so much of a shock that watching Tony lick the filling from the restaurant’s signature homemade sandwich cookies from his fingers was such a turn-on. “Well, this has been a lovely encounter,” Tony said. “Shall we carry it up to the roof? I hear the view from the bar up there is pretty spectacular.”
“It is. I’ve been up there with my bosses a couple of times. It’s just that, you know, no omegas allowed.” Steve remembered finding that appalling, but the place was adamant; the rooftop bar was no place for delicate omega sensibilities. It was all leather banquettes, cigars, cognac and alphas, a place where business deals and matches of all kinds were struck.
Tony opened his mouth as if to argue; then his eyes (big, gorgeous dark eyes with those ridiculously long omega lashes) did this thing as if turning inward in thought for a heartbeat, and his mouth snapped shut. ‘Of course. How silly of me.”
Steve hastened to continue, “But I’d really like to see you again, if you’d like. We should plan to go somewhere less…restrictive? I mean, you’re no ordinary omega, but I’m not exactly your typical alpha either.”
“No complaints from me on that score. Being a little alpha, logic would tell me you probably have to be twice as tough.”
“Damn right.” Steve felt himself flush a little; that was a compliment, wow! “No reason either of us have to knuckle under to the establishment.”
“Stick it to the man, huh?” Tony laughed. “I'm in, then. Something less highbrow, maybe.”
---
A few nights later, Steve found himself at Penn Station boarding a train, Tony by his side talking a mile a minute yet laughing more than he spoke. They rode halfway out Long Island and disembarked at the entrance to a carnival; Tony didn’t say how he had known about it, tucked into a field between two small towns, and Steve didn’t ask.
They spent all day and half the night, riding, eating everything in sight, poking through art and crafts on display for sale, and a tent full of used books. Tony was radiant, his dark hair mussed from the wind on the rides, traces of cotton candy stuck to his goatee and mustache, his face alight. He hadn’t seemed overtly uncomfortable in the fancy restaurant, but he had suggested something less refined, after all, and he was utterly in his element here, cheerful to alphas, betas and omegas alike.
The glow didn’t lessen until a gaggle of teenagers dodged around them, giggling, wearing rough store-bought veils. Both Steve and Tony watched them run by in the gathering dusk, amid the lights of the carnival flickering to life, and then Tony grunted, “Ridiculous. Pretentious, the whole damn thing. Fuckin’ veils are a--a status thing, now, for these kids, like dressing like your favorite celebrity, or buying secondhand designer purses or shoes.”
“Well, there is a crowd, even though it's outdoors,” Steve noted. “I’m sure all omegas aren’t the same, but maybe they can’t handle it without the veils to filter the scents?”
Tony almost spat. “They can handle it. Omegas may be a little more sensitive, but we aren’t the fragile flowers the system makes us out to be. If that was the case, why do only omegas from rich families wear veils nowadays?” While Steve stammered, Tony stormed ahead. “It’s just a prestige thing, nothing more. Omegas sometimes have some discretion about how they look or how thick or ornate they are, but by and large, it’s their alpha’s dictate, if the omega has one. If they don’t, it's cultural pressure. If it was an actual physical need, wouldn’t you think the omegas who work for a living would need them more? It may have been useful at one time, but now? Now, it’s just the system controlling omegas. Omegas end up in jobs where wearing a fancy veil might not be easy or feasible. Can you see an omega working in a hospital, struggling with a fancy veil over their necessary medical mask? a garbage collector? A caregiver changing diapers? And let’s be real, those are jobs where something to block external smells might actually come in handy, but they don’t wear them. Hell, it’s a wonder the law doesn’t actively forbid it—there’re enough things the law blocks omegas from doing, without either an alpha, or enough pull or influence to get by.”
“That much is true,” Steve allowed. “If you see omegas mentioned on the news, it’s usually making one out to be a hero for something reasonable they did, but they’re never at the top of any field. They’re nurses, but not doctors; staff, but not politicians; employees, but not executives. Like you! Tony, you’re brilliant, anybody could tell that after talking to you for five minutes, but I bet advancing much farther in your job would be tough if not almost impossible, wouldn’t it?” Steve was struck nearly breathless—how had he not seen this, the injustice of it? “I can only think of one big business off the top of my head that’s run by an omega, Stark Industries, and do we even know if that guy AE Stark actually runs it? He might just as easily be a figurehead, just stuck out there behind his veil and sunglasses, waving at the TV cameras, while alphas make the decisions.”
Tony halted. “In all fairness, I know a little bit about that particular situation, and AE doesn’t particularly like the nuts and bolts of running a company. He’s happy to stick to inventing and let the people he put in place do that stuff. You’re catching on though. If he were any other omega, he’d be stuck in some garage, if he was lucky, or married off to the first alpha that could make a case for it.”
The passion in Tony’s voice swelled, and Steve had to admire it. No wonder he’d always heard it said that omegas had to stick together; the system was stacked against them. “What can I do to help?” he asked simply. “I want to, but I’m just one scrawny alpha.”
Those dark eyes, already bright, fairly blazed now. “One alpha,” Tony said, pointedly leaving out Steve’s self-imposed insult, “in a very unique position. Look where you work, Steve. People read comics, people of all ages, but especially young people. Comics that subtly expressed the idea that the existing system is unfair to omegas, that omegas are people and not property, that omegas can do anything anybody else can, without being hampered and concealed ‘for their own good’—those could make a huge difference in this world.”
“Yeah,” Steve breathed, his mind whizzing with ideas. “That’s true. Alpha kids seeing that could learn not to sell omegas short, and omega kids would have something to look up to.” He squared his shoulders. “Can’t make promises, other than I’ll give it my best shot. You deserve that. I mean, all omegas do, but you especially.”
“What makes me so special?” Tony teased, his demeanor lightening.
“You just are. No omega ever took me seriously, or acted like I was an alpha they’d be willing to be with.”
“Like I said, omegas are people too, which includes some being assholes who can’t see past their noses.” Tony slipped his arm through Steve’s and nestled in close. “Just call me one who can see past veils.”
---
After that conversation, Steve felt as though his mind had been opened. In the past he had walked quicker past veiled omegas, not even glancing their way for fear of offending. Now, he couldn’t help but look (briefly; he didn’t want to be called a stalker), and wonder what the man or woman looked like behind the curtain of fabric; why they wore it; whether they would want to put it aside. They should at least have that choice, he thought.
At work, he began subtly, as Tony had said, or as subtly as he could, which, granted, often wasn’t much. Tasha had often called him a small bull in a china shop, but on this mission, he did his best to rein that impulse in. In team meetings to plan future storylines, he started to suggest more omega characters, in more active roles, with more lines and better motivations. There was pushback; the debate over bringing an omega onto the publisher’s signature superhero team was an epic one. Still, Steve felt like he was making some headway. Even the other omegas he worked with expressed surprise at his outspokenness. He just shrugged, and said he was dating someone who inspired him.
He went out with Tony several more times, on a wide variety of outings they chose together, from choosing fruit at a farmers market, to cheering on Tasha’s new boyfriend in, of all things, an archery competition. After this long, a dating pair would usually be considering taking a promising relationship to the next level, but Steve hadn’t made that advance to Tony yet, because… something was off.
The more time they spent together, the more Steve felt something was just missing. Tony happily listened to him talk about the comic business, his art, his co-workers, the small but gratifying inroads he was making in changing his bosses’ attitudes about omegas. The thing was, Tony rarely offered any similar comments in return. Steve tried to ignore it, until the night Tasha cornered him. “I’ve met this omega half a dozen times, and I can tell how close you two are getting, but neither of you have told me anything about him. I’m this close to planning you a bonding party, but you’ve got to give me something to work with,” she said. “Some backstory, some likes and dislikes. Hell, Steve, the man’s last name would be nice!”
Steve started to argue, and then realized he couldn’t. Oh damn…I really don’t know his last name. What the hell? “Tony’s just really private, Tasha. I promise, I’ll ask him if it’s all right for me to share some particulars with my friends. I think he just didn’t want to move too fast.”
After she went home, he sat down and thought, note pad in hand (he was old-fashioned that way; taking notes with pen and paper helped him organize his thoughts). What did he actually know about this luminous omega he was half sure he was falling for? Yes, Steve knew he was an engineer, a tinkerer, an inventor. Tony showed up for dates sometimes with dirty hands, or a smear of grease on his eminently kissable nose, so the extent to which he dove into his work was plain. Steve couldn’t remember him ever saying exactly where he worked, though. He had that side gig at the fancy restaurant, but other than that, specifics were few and far between. Where did he live, who were his friends? Steve surmised that as an unconventional omega, he might have had trouble meeting an alpha who wouldn’t try to change him to suit them, and wouldn’t quash his drive toward equality, hence why he had signed up for an especially discreet dating service.
There were, though, Steve realized, other reasons people hid their backgrounds, or didn’t tell the whole truth to people they dated. Now that he zeroed in on it, he recalled several times Tony had started to say something that might have been revelatory, then paused, or rephrased, or backed off. He did talk, on occasion, about his work life, like the mention that his boss liked and collected art, but his personal life was a closed book. Steve didn’t want to think he’d lie, but why, when he had opened up so readily about his feelings about omegas’ struggle for their human rights, would he not share something as basic as his own last name?
Unless it wasn’t his name, exactly. Tony felt so strongly about alphas lording it over omegas, treating them like possessions; maybe he had been bonded before, still carried that alpha’s name, and was ashamed of it. Or…Steve shrank from the thought, but maybe he was still bonded, unhappily so, and had secretly joined the dating service looking for an outlet.
He hated to even consider it, but the theory did fit what he knew, which was damn little. The only way he was going to get it off his mind now, though, was to ask.
The next hurdle was exactly when and how to ask. Steve was not one for dancing around a touchy subject (unlike Tony, he thought, and was both hurt and angry with himself, for thinking it, and with Tony, for being the reason he was thinking it). That meant putting off the conversation wasn’t going to happen. If Steve was going to get his heart broken, finding out that the one omega he had truly connected with was the one omega he could not possibly have, he wanted to get it over with.
It might have been more tactful to wait until their next date was over, but again, tact had never been Steve’s strong suit. If he was being toyed with by an omega stepping out on his alpha, then dammit, he was going to find it out before he spent one more minute of his precious time in a charade. He and Tony had planned to meet at a coffee shop they favored uptown, but Steve texted and asked him to come to his apartment instead. When he heard the knock, he steeled himself and opened the door. “Tony, good. Listen, before we head out or, whatever, we need to talk.”
The way Tony visibly crumpled told him everything he needed to know. Steve almost just asked him to leave right then and not come back, but he supposed, as close as he had thought they had become, he owed Tony the chance to explain. In the next moment, he could practically see Tony put up a wall, a brittle hard shell, accompanied by a sharpening of his scent, a tart nearly-sour note. That fixed smile he remembered from their first date, when Tony had expected to be turned away, appeared for the first time in a very long while, too. It hurt, to see it, but Steve was hurting too, so he waited.
“Yeah, I figured that was coming. Hoped it wouldn’t, but, hey, you put up with me longer than most. I know I’m an asshole, and you probably think I’ve been stringing you along. You’re no dummy, though, so I knew sooner or later you’d figure me out. Just do me one favor, and be nice to the people at the agency, okay? They’ve done me a solid more than once, and this is my fault, not theirs.”
“So,” Steve forced himself to say, “you already have an alpha?”
Tony stared for a moment, then let out a harsh small laugh that was anything but amused, and nothing like the abandoned, joyful laughs of their adventures together. “What’s that got to do with anything? And why would I be working with an agency if I already had an alpha? I don’t want an alpha, particularly, except for the obvious reasons. Although if I did, it would definitely be you. I’ll have to take one sooner or later, and it shouldn’t be somebody I’ve lied to about who I am. That’s a deal breaker, I’m sure, but this whole agency thing was just for…I can’t say for fun, exactly. it’s just, when alphas are throwing themselves at you without knowing who you really are or even giving a damn, just interested in what you are and what they can gain, sometimes you just want some actual interaction with actual human beings, as an actual human being.”
Now Steve was completely lost. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”
“What you said. We need to talk. That’s never a good way to start a conversation, but I understand you being pissed off. I assume you feel like I’ve led you on when I wasn’t serious. And I admit, I wasn’t serious, to begin with, but I could be! With you, I mean. I know that now, and I’m sorry. If you need your agency fee back, you feel cheated, you’re not interested in dating me anymore, I can probably talk them into it. My name can make a lot of stuff happen.”
“Your…name. Tony, I don’t know your name. You never even told me that much!”
“But you…said we needed to talk. The only reason I can come with for that is, you found out who I really am.” Steve blinked, and Tony gave an irritated little huff. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you? Fine, dammit. Yeah, I’m him. Tony Stark.”
“Tony…Stark.” Steve frowned in confusion. Unless AE Stark was publicly pretending to be an omega (and who in their right mind would do that, unless for some strange business scheme), he couldn’t be Tony’s alpha. “You never talked about your personal life, or you’d change course whenever you did. I thought it was because you were unhappily bonded, and looking for an alpha to fool around with. But it’s because…you’re related to AE Stark?”
“Steve. You fearless, slightly dense, feisty little alpha. I am AE Stark.”
---
From there, everything unfolded in a way that left Steve torn between kicking himself for not figuring it out, and telling himself he couldn’t have possibly figured it out. Honestly, the general public didn’t even know the A in AE stood for Anthony, let alone know what the infamous ‘international omega of mystery’ looked like. Both of those mindsets, however, took a swift backseat to the absolute imperative of assuring Tony he did not hate him for hiding his true identity. “Now that I think about it,” Steve told him, “and, I mean, it’s not as if I spend a lot of time looking at the society pages of the news, but every time you’d be at some function you had alphas lined up around the block just to get close to you.”
Any other omega, Steve imagined, would have been thrilled at the very thought, and taken it as the highest of compliments. Tony looked like he was going to be nauseous. “The operative factor in all those situations is, they know who I am. They have no interest in me for me, they don’t care about my brain—well, except for what they might be able to palm off as their own work, because why should an omega get any credit for something that requires thought?” He fairly spat, and Steve began to see the root of his bone-deep hatred of the prejudice disguised as sympathy for poor hapless omegas. “Anyway, I was sick unto death of it, and my friend Pepper suggested this, so I signed up for the dating service just to get some interaction with real people. The only time those fucking veils have ever come in handy. I can run around in public in ratty old jeans and a grease-stained t-shirt and nobody’s the wiser.”
“One thing I’m dying to know, now,” Steve ventured. “The restaurant where we had our first date—you said you did some work in the kitchen for them. Does the owner know who you are?”
“As much as anybody does, I guess,” Tony smirked. “He’s me, too.” As Steve gaped, he went on, “I almost slipped up when I suggested the rooftop bar—if I had my way it would be open to everybody, but there are still some social norms I have to stick to, for the time being. Same goes with wearing veils during public appearances. Yes, I have more money than I know what to do with, but one wrong move and suddenly I’m just another unmated omega with next to no rights and barely any legal personhood.” He grimaced. Steve did too; the thought of everything Tony had worked for being stripped away without thought by a system he had himself paid little attention to enraged him. “Of course, I use the roof myself, but only when the place is closed. The staff has standing orders, if I come in unveiled, to not acknowledge who I am unless I give the high sign.”
“And here I thought you just charmed your way in. Maybe promised the hostess a favor,” Steve kidded.
“Probably could’ve,” Tony grinned. “but no, Kirsten runs a really tight ship there. She didn’t do anything that day she wouldn’t have done any day. Although, in all fairness, I think that was the first time one of my agency dates took me out to dinner at my own restaurant. Not that I minded, at all, mind you. It’s just funny, that’s all.”
Steve chuckled with him, then dared to reply, “We’ll have to go back sometime…after closing, you said?...when we can go up to the roof together. If that’s something you’d want to do. With me, that is.”
Tony’s eyes widened, something Steve honestly hadn’t thought possible as huge and limpid as they already were. “I—You—you want to keep dating me? Really? Because, I understand if you don’t, and it seems you don’t want to punch me, or do something worse, which is great, and maybe we could stay friends because I lov—I like so much about you, but we don’t have to—just because—”
The way Tony babbled was adorable, but Steve really needed for him to be quiet for a minute, so he took the most direct approach to getting that result, by covering Tony’s mouth with his own. A surprised little mmph? was replaced by an inquisitive and pleased hum as the kiss went on, and the acrid tang of unhappy omega scent softened into something Steve reveled in. “You said,” Steve breathed when they finally came up for air, “that you didn’t really want an alpha, but if you did, you’d want it to be me. What can I do to persuade you?”
Tony licked his now-pink lips. “Kiss me a few more times like that, and keep helping me fight for my rights and the rights of all omegas, and I’ll consider it.”
“Deal,” Steve said firmly before setting to work on the first half of that promise.
---
Steve slipped into the back of the big room on the ground floor of Stark Industries’ headquarters. Fans turned slowly overhead to disperse and manage the collected scents of the press corps that were assembling. Their passes were color coded, red for print media, green for online, blue for TV networks and so forth. The big beta at the door had done a double take when he saw Steve’s white pass. Then he had scrutinized Steve’s face, and with a little smile, let him in.
At the appointed hour, a door up front opened and AE Stark strode in. He carried himself like an alpha, Steve had to agree, but knew too that that was most likely a part of the exhaustive (and exhausting) front he had learned to keep up in order to be taken at all seriously as the omega and sole heir of the Stark industrial empire. Flashes went off and voices rose in a tumult as the man took his place at the podium. He wore his usual sunglasses, with a veil looped over his ears and draped over his lower face; but as the ruckus died down a bit, he took the shades off. Steve thought once again that if he had paid attention to the news even a little, he would have recognized Tony the instant they met. How in heaven or hell’s name could you hide those glorious eyes?
He really didn’t focus on what Tony was saying at first, until he began to pick up a murmur of surprise from the people around him. When he tuned back in, Tony was giving a very toned-down, but no less heartfelt, version of what they both half-jokingly called his Omega Manifesto. Stark Industries had always been a leader in positive treatment of their omega employees, but he was announcing changes that would essentially put them on the same footing as alphas and betas. The company would no longer require bonded names, benefit eligibility would be identical for all, and veiling was to be totally optional. “If anybody doesn’t like that, they can come take it up with me personally. I’m not putting that off onto CEO Potts’ very capable but overburdened shoulders,” Tony said, and with that, reached up and whipped off his own veil.
The room went insane, but Steve was frozen. I should never have made that smart remark that our whole misunderstanding wouldn’t’ve happened if he didn’t wear those damned veils. His eyes, however, were all for Tony’s big, bright grin. He aimed it first at a shocked-looking redheaded woman in the front row, and then toward Steve. “One more thing I wanted to mention, in case anybody wants to get bitchy with me about veil or no veil, is, today I’m also announcing my impending bonding. Furthermore, not only would my alpha rather share my handsome face with the world, he’s also made it clear that’s my decision. So, here you go, world. I’m Anthony, aka AE, Stark, soon to be Stark-Rogers. Nice to meet you all.”