Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even in a business known for being cruel and cutthroat, Felix dresses in light and pastel colors. Sometimes even in the occasional satin shimmer or glittery detail as an accent. They are not colors a secretary usually wears, since their role is to blend in with the background while doing most of the legwork, Felix knows that very well. However, his boss always has words of approval for him when he wears them. So Felix does. It’s in his very nature—to follow orders, to seek praise. He thrives on it. And in an environment like theirs, he has adapted to survive on the syrupy sweet poison of the one man in particular.

Felix is pretty sure that the color preference is because it offsets Bang Chan’s inherent darkness. Sometimes it’s to lighten the shadows, as if trying to prove that no man with such an angelic looking company could ever be as vile as others say. And other times it’s to paint the black tones with greater contrast, as if by keeping Felix by his side he is issuing a threat to life itself. An unspoken or else, a black claw-tipped finger caressing a freckled, pale throat. To others, Felix is the pretty, cream-colored canary perched on his boss’ shoulder, or tucked by his side during tense meetings, or being prompted forward by a firm and heavy hand on his lower back when it’s time to leave.

It is a type of protection, being in the spotlight next to such a powerful man. However, it also brings attention. Felix doesn’t miss how the businessmen at the other side of the table look at him, either. It’s something he’s gotten used to. Sometimes it comes in the form of covetous gazes, eyes that follow him with a heaviness that’s both scary and exhilarating. Sometimes, in the scoffing dismissal of those who think Felix isn’t better than the dust staining their polished shoes. And on fewer occasions, in the rare fraternizing pity of a misguided soul that still retains a bit of heart in their world.

Felix does not let them know that he does not, in fact, need any saving. He knows his place, has carved it for himself with his bare hands that fateful day he said yes when he did not know if he could say no.

His place just happens to be by Bang Chan’s side. As a pretty adornment to the intimidating businessman.

He is not the only one that benefits from their arrangement, however. Bang Chan also likes that Felix is always there for him, ready to be bent over the surface of Bang Chan’s mahogany desk, or pushed against a high bookshelf, or whatever surface is most suitable at the moment. On those times, Felix knows to be careful—not to wrinkle any paper that’s left on the surface of the desk, not to tap any key from the keyboard in front of the screen displaying the video feed of the men currently presenting something Felix can’t quite process anymore.

His boss likes to undress him most of the times. He takes off Felix’s suit jacket, and unbuttons his shirt, so he has the freedom to roam over his smooth torso, his perked pink nipples. He also removes Felix’s dress pants, so that he feels the expensive fabric of Bang Chan’s slacks against his sensitive bare skin as his boss unzips himself.

Felix is always ready for him. His boss doesn’t need to prepare him, he just aligns his hard cock and slowly sinks inside the waiting slick warmth. Felix doesn’t twitch, doesn’t sigh or moan at the stretch as Bang Chan enters him fully, even when most of the times he doesn’t think his body can take all of him in he’s so big. He just bites his lips, which won’t even appear rosier than usual after they’re done thanks to his colored lipstick. Just one of many tricks he has learnt while being under Bang Chan’s direction.

Sometimes his boss is quick, maybe when they’re in a room where they shouldn’t be, or somewhere someone could easily enter, and he fucks him fast and efficient, like a scheduled daily meeting that should have started five minutes ago. Those times, Felix tries to keep his orgasm at bay, only to ultimately fail because he’s weak to this type of fucking. He comes quietly, containing his mess with his own hand, and afterward trying not to move too much as overstimulation hits him yet his boss keeps going, because the goal is his release, not Felix’s. On some occasions Felix has come more than once, and he has to make an extra effort not to appear like the trembling newborn fawn he feels like when they have to exit the room.

And other times, his boss wants to take his time with Felix. When they are somewhere private, or when there is a sizeable block in Bang Chan’s schedule, he goes slow, unhurriedly fucking in and out of Felix as the minutes go by and the endless chatter from the online meeting is barely more audible than the wet sounds of his gentle thrusts. Felix has to fight for his life to contain the pleasured sounds trying to escape from his lips, because Bang Chan has the habit of not muting himself and he never bothers to tell Felix about it. So Felix silently gasps and shakes as he is taken apart in the most tender way possible, on and on until the time runs out and his boss changes the pace to fuck him ruthlessly in order to find his own release.

Felix has mastered the art of putting himself back together, dressing himself like the clothes had never been taken off him to begin with, combing his hair to its proper place, dabbing the dewy sweat away. Bang Chan’s cologne does the trick to mask the scent of sex on both of them.

While they have never been caught, Felix is aware of the looks trailing them when they go out of empty meeting rooms, or when they are left alone for hours in Bang Chan’s office. He has grown immune to them, has grown to take them for what they are—envy that he gets to fuck this man. Someone whose sheer size would have anyone on their knees pleading to be manhandled, with a gaze so intense to make ice melt. Someone whose signs of age only make them more attractive, from the faint lines on his severe eyes to the streaks of silver that decorate his slicked back hair.

Bang Chan is also a man of manners. He opens his sleek black car’s door for Felix when he wants to bring him back home. The hired driver knows where to take them without being said, the same way he knows to pull up the partition that often does a poor job of masking what’s going on in the rear seat. The drive is short, and Felix is always presentable when they step out of the vehicle to the gated mansion.

Felix knows Bang Chan’s home like he knows his own, and he accompanies his boss as he enters his home and greets his wife with a kiss on her lips, and his son with a bear hug. Felix himself greets Bang Chan’s wife with polite kisses to her cheeks, and the kid with a pat to the head.

It is getting late, so they sit at the grand table to have dinner together. As the husband’s secretary, Felix dutifully fulfills his role of staying silent while eating what the cook prepared that evening. He listens to his boss’ wife retelling her and her son’s day, filled with the mundanity of high class problems that Felix will never understand. The kid often chimes in and blabbers about his day too, and Felix makes a point to listen to him when his parents inevitably do not.

Afterwards, he waits patiently as the couple puts their son to bed while sitting on the too firm to be comfortable sofa. Bang Chan usually takes him to his office after he is done with his family duties, which means sometimes he is clothed, sometimes he is not.

On both scenarios, his boss fucks him. In his study, most often on his low sofa, or one of the armchairs. Or in the guestroom, with a bed that’s bigger than Felix’s own will ever be, a place he is in so often that it has eventually gained some of Felix’s belongings. His toothbrush. Razor. Underwear.

Felix tries to be quiet as his boss fucks him here, too.

It is kind of a problem when his boss takes it as a challenge.

After all, he had the room specially soundproofed for him.

Chapter Text

When the aliens come for the humans, they're not like on the movies. They're strange and otherworldly, sure, but they're beautiful. Even with the two or three sets of eyes, or the too sharp teeth, or the prehensile hair. The first time Jeongin sees one, he almost can't believe his own eyes. Such beauty shouldn't exist.

Another thing the movies got wrong is that aliens eat humans. When the clash ultimately happens, it doesn't even come down to a mismatch in their technology. The aliens are the predators, plain and simple, and there is no other way around it.

The day Jeongin's human shelter is compromised, he's prepared to meet his end, has made peace with the inevitability long before his human companions fall, or rather, get eaten. That's not to say he's not scared shitless when a green six-limbed unearthly creature plants itself in front of Jeongin. He would like to say he tried to put up a fight, but the scary reality is that he's so entranced by the thing's beauty that he lies there, frozen.

Only to watch another alien slam into it.

The second alien is even prettier—the color of lilacs, with cerulean hair and yellow accents. That's all Jeongin can see at first, because the aliens move too fast for him to discern anything else. The fight is fluid yet brutal, in a way that makes it all too obvious these beings don't belong in this galaxy. Jeongin still hasn't come to terms with the fact that the aliens are fighting for him when the scuffle ends, and only one alien gets up and comes for him.

The lilac one.

He has three sets of eyes, two smaller than the other, two sets of arms, one with claws, the other blunt-tipped, and a tail. And he's absolutely breath-taking. Jeongin is almost forlorn when he closes his eyes to meet his end.

Except the end doesn't come.

There's no sharp bite. There’s no dragging him away, or shouting. There's just… silence. From this alien, that is, because all around them the carnage keeps going on.

Jeongin's breath is shaky as pries one eye open. He flinches when he sees the alien right there, crouched in front of him. He shuts his eyes and bites back a whimper. The pain will come any second. He can just hope it'll be quick. Or that he’ll loose consciousness from the pain. Either is fine with him, he's not picky.

Suddenly, there's a new sound. It's difficult to discern what it is when his eyes are still firmly closed, but the more he thinks about it, the more it seems like… rumbling?

Despite every cell in his body screaming at Jeongin to do the opposite, he opens his eyes. The alien is still there, same as before, watching him with his unnerving attention and even more unnerving beauty. But he seems to be breathing heavily now, his torso swaying slightly with his… is he purring?

Jeongin blinks, astonished. What does purring in aliens even mean? No one bothered to teach them alien mannerisms or behaviours when they began invading. Is it a threat? Or maybe that's their main form of communication?

Before he can reach a plausible explanation, the alien acts. In a move that's so fluid it's almost hypnotizing, he grabs Jeongin's hand and pulls it to—his chest. The instinctive shout of alarm stays lodged in Jeongin's throat as his pulse thunders in his ears. With his palm firmly pressed against the alien’s torso, he braces for a pain that, once more, doesn't come.

“What—?” Jeongin asks when nothing else happens.

The alien’s hand is gentle but firm around his, and the skin he feels under his palm is warm, but also soft, like suede. And it's vibrating with each of the alien's breaths, the vibrations spreading up his arm. It's… calming, somehow. Is that his strategy? To calm him, lure him, so he can eat him? If that's the case it's not really achieving it's goal, but also… maybe it is.

Jeongin tries to pull away, some act of self-preservation finally kicking in, but it's useless. The alien is both bigger and stronger, and for some reason, he wants Jeongin there, feeling the rumbling in his chest. Looking at his eyes doesn't provide any answers either, if anything it's even more disconcerting because of how different they are. The angular shape is fairly normal, but the iridescent colors or the striated pupils definitely aren't.

The alien leans in, just a couple of inches, making Jeongin flinch in fear. But he doesn't bare his beautifully terrible teeth, and instead, some strange clicking sounds come out of the gill-like gashes at the side of his neck.

Okay, this is what communication is like, then.

“I… don’t… understand,” Jeongin says, carefully.

The alien inches a bit closer, clicks again, and grabs Jeongin's other hand to give it the same treatment. And this time the alien's hair joins in, coming to surround him, entwining around his hands, his torso. Gently keeping him there. With both hands on the alien's vibrating chest, it puts Jeongin so alarmingly close to the human-eating alien, and even though Jeongin's heart is still valiantly trying to leave his chest, it's… different. Whatever this alien seems to be doing, it's certainly not about eating him. Not yet, at least.

“Okay, I—I feel you,” Jeongin breathes.

A couple of clicks, and then the alien lowers his head, until—his forehead touches Jeongin's. Jeongin fights against the new bout of fear at the close proximity, but when his eyes timidly flutter open again, that's when he realizes.

Oh. Oh.

His hands on his chest. The blue hair trapping him, but cocooning them, together. Their foreheads, touching.

They might come from different galaxies, they might not have the same vocal cords to communicate. But Jeongin can recognize affection when it's like this, this close, touching him.

He doesn't dare believe it for the first few exhilarating seconds. He can't move, can't speak. And then the alien makes a soft sound that's like a trill, and something's squeezing Jeongin's trachea. He doesn't know what this is, but maybe, just maybe, it doesn't mean certain death for Jeongin.

His muscles unlock all at once, the fight abandoning him and leaving him weak. He sways and falls into the alien's arms, body pressed flush against that still rumbling chest, and it's soothing. So soothing that even when there's a crunch nearby and his alien tenses limbs and hair all around him, he's not afraid. Even when he growls, warning whoever it was away from them, Jeongin doesn't cower.

He was so ready for death, that being met with safety is like swallowing shards of ice to quench one's thirst.

The alien trills above him, and that's the only warning Jeongin receives before he's lifted, then carried, safely held aloft in the alien's many arms. He has barely had any time to start panicking about where they're going or what this change entails for him when a blunt-fingered hand comes up to wrap around Jeongin's face. No. To… cover his eyes? The hold is delicate, careful, and since nothing else happens and the alien keeps walking who knows where, Jeongin relaxes back into him.

The screams and sounds of scuffling are only faint now, as if the fighting were happening far away. However, the nauseating stench of blood and death permeates every intake of breath, and it's so horrible Jeongin has to hold his breath for as long as he can, breathing as little as he can.

A soft trilling sounds near his ear, then something rubs the top of his head at the same time that he feels the warmth of the sun on his skin. The alien keeps moving, however, so Jeongin clings to him as they go gods know where.

Jeongin hears the soft crunch of earth, the stomping of big creatures nearby, the occasional clicking back and forth. And then grass becomes a hard sounding surface, and the warmth on his skin is gone, replaced by the coolness of recycled air.

Wait, are they…?

The alien loosens his grip on him, and Jeongin has to blink to clear his hazy vision and adjust to the light. He's in—a room. Pod is probably the better term. It's small and circular, just enough to hold a… nest? Made of something similar to wool. And a basin, or tub, big for only one—

That's when his clothes are ripped from him, the alien's clawed hands shredding them like they're no more than melted butter. Jeongin lets out an undignified squeak as he tries to fight his impending doom. Of course the alien just wanted to eat him peacefully, and without the cumbersome and tasteless clothes. How could he be so dumb? How could he believe he would find a different feat from all the other humans?

Jeongin clenches his eyes shut, keeping his hands pressed to his upper body, muscles locked in fear. He's expecting it when the clawed hands come for him again, lift him in the air.

He's not expecting it when warm water suddenly surrounds his legs, waist, then upper body.

Jeongin gasps, clutching the edge of the metal yet viscous tub, unable to understand what's going on. He's half the mind that he's about to get boiled in this big sized pot when the alien grabs one of his arm, and—scrubs it. As in, washing it, with an oily substance that becomes suds when put in contact with water. First one arm, then the other, uncaring of how Jeongin tries to get away each time. By the time the alien moves to his back, Jeongin has more less understood that for some reason, the alien is cleaning him up.

Is the alien a picky eater, and that's why he wants his food to be extra clean? And if so, why does it make Jeongin feel like a particularly unruly cat being washed by its owner?

The purple claw-less hands move to his front and Jeongin yelps and tries to get away, but suddenly the blue strands of hair are there, wrapping around him to keep him in place. He still squirms and fights all the way as those big, foreign hands wash all over his chest, his abs, then lower—to his legs, thank the gods—then his feet, which Jeongin unsuccessfully tries to kick away.

He’s still trying to fight air when he’s pulled off the tub and gently dropped off in the pod’s nest. It really is as soft and fluffy as it seems, the material drying him in no time without being left wet and uncomfortable. There’s clucking above him, the lilac-colored alien watching as Jeongin retreats further into the nest, away from him and his fateful end as food for this breath-taking creature. Because this close, in the quiet of the private pod, the alien seems bigger and prettier than before. It’s ironic that extra-terrestrial life follows the same rules of nature on Earth—beautiful things are often the deadliest.

The alien climbs into the nest, putting it into evidence just how laughable Jeongin’s attempts at escaping were. In less than a fraction of a second the alien is on top of him, hair wrapping around his wrists and legs. Jeongin can only watch as the marvelous creature looks down on him with his multiple, iridescent eyes, the gills on his neck quivering as that soothing, trilling sound fills the emptiness between them. This time, despite what his common sense is telling him, he knows not to be afraid when the alien leans down to rest his forehead against Jeongin’s.

“Will you eat me now?” Jeongin asks, and even though his heart is beating fast in his chest, he keeps his eyes closed, his voice calm.

A few clicking sounds. The forehead pressed against his shifting, as if to rub their skins together.

“I wish I could understand you,” Jeongin whispers.

Just for a few seconds, he lets himself wonder. If there could have been a world where cohabitation would be possible. If Earth’s technology, or maybe the aliens’, could have made communication between them easier.

But he’s dinner, and the beautiful alien is about to eat him.

The purring comes back, louder than ever in the enclosed space, more soothing than before. So, maybe, no dinner yet? The sound makes Jeongin open his eyes, still not believing that these deadly human-eating beautiful aliens are capable of such a thing. Granted, he doesn’t really know its meaning, but he’s choosing to believe it doesn’t herald teeth and blood.

He lifts a hand towards the naked chest of the alien, and he lets him, even if the hair stays gently wrapped around his wrist. He once more marvels at the softness of the alien’s skin, and the vibrations of the sound under his palm. He lets his other hand join the first and, when the alien doesn’t move to stop him, he maps his front, until he finds the place where the vibrations are the strongest, in the human equivalent of his sternum.

The alien lets out a soft chirping sound, then leans down to rub his chin on Jeongin’s chest. He tenses at the closeness of the alien’s mouth, but the creature doesn’t seem more inclined to eat him than he seemed before. The alien chirps again, and then he’s flipping them, until he’s on the nest with Jeongin, breathless, on top of him.

“What—?”

Like that, sprawled on top of the alien’s bigger body, is certainly not a position to be eaten in. He thinks. Rather the opposite. The purring is still going as the alien surrounds him with his four arms, the clawed ones wrapped around him, and the blunt-fingered ones touching him all over. As if now it’s his turn to map Jeongin’s body.

Jeongin goes rigid, but there’s virtually nothing he can do to stop this, or even understand what’s fully going on. He clutches the alien’s chest as the big and soft hands caress his shoulders, his neck, his back. It’s… pleasant? The purring makes Jeongin’s whole front vibrate in its cadence. When the mapping inevitably moves to Jeongin’s waist and below, he tries to shift backwards, away from the wandering hands, but something stops him. Something big, and hot, and slick, accidentally grazing the sensitive skin between his legs. Is this…? But it possibly can’t…? There’s—no way?

The alien drags him back up, away from his—his erection, and Jeongin is so stunned by his discovery he doesn’t move when the lilac creature resumes his touching. He just clutches the soft alien skin, breathing heavily as the curious hands draw closer, and closer. When the thick digits inevitably find the apex of his thighs, Jeongin jerks away in instinct, but he’s still trapped and the alien just holds him tighter, in place. Jeongin whimpers and shuts his eyes tightly as the fingers come back, insistent now that they’ve found a plausible mark. They slide up and down his seam, pressing with the slightest pressure, delving between the puffy lips. Jeongin bits his lower lip as the gentle fingers trace and map his most sensitive place, his hips jerking away uselessly.

The chest beneath his rumbles in a gentle growl as one finger pushes into him, but it’s dry and painful, and Jeongin lets out a scared cry. To his surprise, the alien stops, and Jeongin pants heavily on the rumbling chest as the hand draws away. Maybe that’s it. Maybe the alien was curious about his anatomy, and now he’s felt how incompatible they are—Jeongin hasn’t seen the alien’s cock, just feeling it was enough to spook him for life—and now he’ll give up.

And eat him, probably, now that he’s useless for this.

But the hand comes back and this time it’s wet, and when he drags slick fingers over Jeongin’s pussy, it feels good.

“Fuck, wait—mmh!” Jeongin tries, but the digit is pushing into him again, and this time it slides in, just a bit. It’s still painful, and Jeongin whimpers as he claws on soft and unyielding skin.

Maybe the alien understands his pained sounds, because he doesn’t push further, but doesn’t retreat, either. Instead, he has his other hand join in the fun. Even though he braces for it, Jeongin can’t hide his reaction when the new fingers inevitably find his clit, and stay there, pressing, circling, rubbing the tight bud that has Jeongin moaning and writhing on top of the alien.

Jeongin would ask himself how does this alien know what to do to get him slicking up in pleasure if it weren’t for the fact that he’s seeing it in real time. Like a child experimenting with a new toy, the alien figures him out, until Jeongin’s breath starts catching in his throat, his sounds pitching higher. It doesn’t even take that long, not with the dual stimulation of being filled and having his clit toyed with, and soon he’s trembling and clenching around the alien’s finger as he comes with a breathy, broken moan.

The alien trills, leans up to rub his cheek against Jeongin’s forehead and crown, as if… praising him? For coming? Jeongin is mortified.

“That’s—That was—” Jeongin pants, but the alien’s digit slides out of his wet core only to push back in, and in less than a second Jeongin is too busy scrambling to ground himself against the pleasure to utter any rational word.

The lilac creature seems to have his anatomy fully figured out now, because he deftly relaxes him enough to take one finger, then two. Each feels better than the last, and Jeongin is helpless to contain the moans leaking out of his bite-swollen lips. Even when he’s scared of what’s about to come when the fingers finally leave his core and he’s shifted backwards, he’s trembling and turned on beyond belief. It’s not even his fault, the alien just seems to know what to do to make him feel good.

He still gasps in shock when a hot warmth is pressed against his slick pussy, making him slide up and down its length. It has a distinct phallic shape, which makes sense, but it also has some texture, which definitely doesn’t. Like ridges, all over its surface, small but distinct enough to be felt. For some reason, it only increases the gnawing hunger inside Jeongin. Being almost eaten probably messed up his head, because he wants to know how it feels, wants to be fucked by this oddly gentle alien that so far seems more invested in his pleasure than anything else.

There’s a tender graze from the back of a claw over his cheek that makes Jeongin turn to watch the alien’s pretty, iridescent eyes. He could get lost in that gaze, he knows. It’s so distinctly not human, but they’re bewitching, alluring. A timid trill, and then a blunt tip is pressed against his entrance. Jeongin starts quivering in twisted anticipation before the alien gently starts pushing inside, and it’s so hot, so slick, his eyes glaze over. He feels the first ridges against his sensitive flesh, sparking throbs of pleasure up his spine, and soon Jeongin is crying out because of how good it feels, but also because it’s too much. The alien is too big, they’re different species for goodness’ sake, definitely not meant to fuck humans. But the creature is gently insistent, holding him in place on top of his soft yet muscled body, pushing in slowly, so very slowly.

In just a matter of seconds it’s already too much, too big to fit in Jeongin’s smaller frame, but it somehow keeps going, squeezing itself to fit in his body as if its consistency were different than a human’s. As the alien keeps slowly gliding inside, Jeongin is going into sensory overload. He feels each ridge, each nub of the textured cock making its way past his rim and into him, dragging deliciously over sensitive walls. Jeongin’s body seizes, all on its own, his back arching and toes curling as a new orgasm crashes over him. It’s completely unexpected, and Jeongin breathes heavily as his system attempts to assimilate all the pleasure.

The alien croons at him with his strange sounds, wipes his overwhelmed tears. It’s such a caring, human gesture that Jeongin feels immediately soothed, even going so far as to close his eyes and nuzzle the thick purple finger. The alien trills at him. And then begins moving. Jeongin feels the shift under him, feels the alien’s hips gently roll up, driving his cock further into him. It wrenches a breathy moan out of his lips, he’s just so full, and then it steals the air from his lungs when the length slides out. Jeongin is helpless as he clutches the alien’s torso, scrambling for purchase as the creature initiates a slow but relentless cadence in and out of him. He feels blind with pleasure. He moans, writhes, claws at the alien, but he keeps going, single-mindedly intent on fucking him.

Jeongin comes, more than once, just like this. Each orgasm sweetly extricated out of him by gentle alien, who stops to trill at him and nuzzle his forehead when Jeongin is panting and coming down from his high, as if rewarding him for a job well done. Jeongin feels undone with pleasure, unraveled as he’s tenderly held down and fucked until he can barely remember the unfathomable situation, that he’s human and this is an alien taking him.

At some point, the alien must tire from the position, because he flips them again so Jeongin is on his back, his legs spread wide to make room for the alien towering over him and crowding him against his nest. Jeongin is keenly remembered of the fact that they’re different species when the alien starts fucking him in that position, because there’s no way a human can fuck like that—sinuous like water, yet powerful.

Jeongin stands no chance against the alien. He loses count of how many time he orgasms under the alien, loses sense of his delirious moans as he’s taken to heights he didn’t know possible. There’s no shame or self-consciousness because there’s only pleasure, fucking, and the beautiful alien who doesn’t seem keen on letting him go any time soon.

At some point he’s brought back to reality by the shape of the alien’s cock changing. The creature is fucking him with even more vigor now, and there’s something in the base of his shaft that’s expanding.

“Wait! I don’t—I can’t—” Jeongin babbles, clawing helplessly at the big body on top of his.

But the alien doesn’t understand him, and also doesn’t wait. He thrusts into him again and again, dragging that—knot? Is that the term?— deliciously in and out of him. It keeps growing, until it starts making the slide difficult, and that’s when the alien pushes in with one final thrust, shuddering with visible tremors as Jeongin gasps at the fullness. Warmth blooms inside him, so much of it that he distinctly feels it filling him. He thanks his stars that their species are most definitely incompatible and the alien can’t actually get him pregnant.

The alien rubs the soft skin of his cheek against Jeongin’s sweaty one, and his purring and his trills must be too good at relaxing him, or he must be too tired, because he drifts off under heavy sleep.

☾

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but when he opens his eyes to the softness of the nest beneath him and the coolness of the empty air around him, he’s alone. He leans back down and lets out a weary sigh. What has just become of him?

He checks his whole body for injuries or—something, he’s not sure—but other than his sticky skin and tender, leaking pussy, he seems to be fine.

For now, at least.

Because he knows all too well that one romp with an alien doesn’t make him suddenly become not-food.

He focuses on the things that he can actually do, for example, cleaning himself of the many fluids staining his skin on the bathtub the alien washed him on before. Se shifts to the edge of the woolen nest, but he totally underestimated the feebleness of the human body, because as soon as one feet touches the ground, his muscles give up and he goes down on the floor, hard.

He can’t even pity himself because a sound on the other end of the room startles him, and suddenly he’s too bare, too exposed and vulnerable and human. He can only draw breath again when his shaking eyes focus enough for him to see it’s his alien—wait, no, the lilac alien. He’s not his.

A few clicking sounds emerge from the alien, whose many eyes are narrowed down on him, and hell, if that is anywhere similar to a human mannerism, that means Jeongin is in trouble.

He’s going to become food now, isn’t he?

He can’t keep a small frightened sound from escaping him as the alien closes the distance between them with a few strides and leans down to—scoop him up, and carry him back to the nest.

Okay, Jeongin can stay in the nest, yes.

“I just… wanted to clean myself…” He tries, even though he knows it’s useless to attempt any form of communication.

More clicking sounds, and Jeongin’s mind unhelpfully takes it as if the alien were reprimanding him. He almost has the urge to pout as he lets himself be gently gathered onto the alien’s lap, and he finds that he’s missed the touch of skin on skin, where his is smooth and the alien’s is soft, with his suede-like skin. Multiple big arms hug him and caress him all over, and the creature trills while his many iridescent eyes stare intently at him. It’s like a more elaborate and affectionate way of saying hello. At least that’s what Jeongin thinks this is, since luckily there’s no new erection poking him—and thank the gods for that, he needs a bit more rest—and the alien doesn’t look more likely to eat him than before.

The alien draws back, and that’s when Jeongin notices the small object on his hand. It’s like a stone, or crystal, polished to a spherical shape and gleaming like there’s something not quite from this galaxy inside it. Jeongin looks at the alien, then at the stone, trying to figure out what’s going on here. He’s about to try to offer to take it thinking that maybe it’s some kind of gift when light ripples out of the stone, creating a wall between them for a few seconds before it melts into nothing.

Huh.

Jeongin looks up at the beautiful alien, stupidly expecting some kind of explanation. That’s the thing, though. He’s expecting the same clicking and unintelligible chatter. That’s why his heart seems to stop in his chest when the sound that reaches his ears is in the form of a melodic, clear voice.

“At last,” the alien says. Says, not clicks, or trills, but with actual human spoken words.

Jeongin can’t keep his eyes from widening, his lips from parting in surprise. The alien keeps talking, though the vibrations Jeongin feels through their bodies are still the same ones as before.

“My name is Hyunjin,” the alien—Hyunjin—continues, undeterred by Jeongin’s shock. “What is your name, my dear mate?”

Chapter Text

There’s a light-colored and flower-patterned silk robe waiting for Jeongin when he gets out of the shower. The softness of the fabric when he puts it on is like no other, all shiny and sleek as it slides over his skin.

Jeongin hates it.

He hates it as much as all the other variations hung neatly on the armoire, all silk, all light tones, all more expensive than anything Jeongin owns. Still, it’s better than being naked, so he ties it around his waist with a loose bow. There’s no point in making a more long-lasting knot.

He pads out of the room with light feet, careful not to make too much sound, but one quick glance tells him that no one is else is here. Sighing, he drifts towards the massive black leather couch, where he lays down and closes his eyes.

Maybe he can catch a few minutes’ worth of sleep. Who knows if he will rest at all tonight—it’s not something he gets to decide.

The quiet doesn’t last long. After what seems like only five seconds, a big, warm hand on his bare thigh brings him out of his light dozing.

“Hi, Jeonginnie.”

The voice is soft, and gentle, in a way that greatly contrasts with the man that owns it.

No one would ever say that Bang Chan is gentle.

Jeongin leans up slightly, startled, but Chan is there, taking his sleep-numb lips with his and pushing him back down on to the couch. There’s no reservation in his kiss, no stops pulled. Chan’s eager mouth swallows the little protesting noise Jeongin makes.

“You look as lovely as always,” Chan murmurs against his lips, letting up just enough so he can undo the flimsy robe covering Jeongin’s naked body.

Jeongin doesn’t take it as a compliment. After all, this man is the one responsible for choosing the outfits Jeongin is allowed to wear while he’s in his home.

For a while, that is.

Chan sits up to take in Jeongin’s naked form, now framed by the silk gown fanning all around him. With apparent unhurriedness, he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt, then rolls them up his forearms. The fabric is white, ironically, laughably, despite how every time Jeongin expects to see some of the black of his soul, or the red of his hands, staining it. Jeongin doesn’t look at him do it, but his gut clenches all the same.

“I’ve been looking forward to coming back home,” the man says, uncaring of Jeongin’s non-verbal rejection. “To you, my dear.”

Strong arms grab Jeongin’s hips and yank him closer, and Jeongin lets him, even though his legs kick up in an instinctual reaction when thick fingers press against his well-prepared entrance. It doesn’t feel good—at first. Because Chan knows his body by heart by this point, and he knows how to crook his fingers and how to press them inside him so that it makes pleasant warmth bloom in his core.

Jeongin’s breath catches when Chan irrevocably finds his pleasurable spot, then he bites his lips, reigning in any potential sound. No matter how good Chan will make him feel, no matter if he’s fucked one time or twenty, Jeongin will not give him the satisfaction of hearing him moan.

He won’t.

The shower he took earlier was thorough, so Chan doesn’t have much reason to prolong his fingering. In fact, Jeongin is of the mind that Chan only does it to watch him squirm and try to deny the pleasure. But still, only when Chan has had enough, or when the man’s desire is more pressing than his twisted fascination, does Chan finally take his fingers out to unbuckle his belt.

Jeongin is leaking, slowly, over the skin of his abdomen, but neither of them pay attention to his erection as Chan takes his thighs and positions himself. Jeongin turns his head away from the man on top of him just as the blunt tip of his cock starts pressing inside. He feels Chan’s pleasured grunt against his hot neck, and after one long, smooth thrust, Chan is completely sheathed inside him.

“You feel so good,” Chan whispers as he starts a rhythm that’s nice, not too fast, not too slow, but just enough to rob Jeongin of his breath.

He doesn’t reciprocate. Not with words, nor with actions, nothing. He wields the little defiance he’s able to, because he can do nothing else.

It would be better if Chan were efficient; if he went to Jeongin, got his pleasure, then left. But this man, as enigmatic as he is vile, always takes his time. He draws it out, relishing every act, getting his own kind of sick satisfaction in the fact that Jeongin cannot tell him no. So no, Jeongin cannot find it in himself to be happy to be the reason why Chan makes their encounters so torturously long.

Because it’s like this every time: he’ll fuck Jeongin slowly, so slowly, until his body has no chance but to respond and ignite in pleasure. He’ll delight in how that pleasure shows in Jeongin—despite his attempts to prevent that—, and then he’ll make him come. And only after Jeongin is completely spent he’ll fuck him selfishly, with short and sharp thrusts meant to chase his own high. Jeongin thinks him all the more evil for it, to make him come first, as if he’s Chan’s priority.

This time it’s no different. Jeongin doesn’t try to hide, because he knows he’ll be chastised if he does. So he keeps his arms grounded on both sides of his head, clutching the edges of his wrinkled silk robe as his back arches, the orgasm overcoming him. His lips throb something fierce as he comes down from his high, but he finds relief in the knowledge that this is almost over.

He’s expecting it when firm hands grasp his hips and he’s hoisted up, and then Chan fully lets himself go. Jeongin grits his teeth against the onslaught, his attempts at keeping himself quiet made more difficult because of the overstimulation. Chan comes mercifully a few moments later, releasing deep inside him with a faint groan. When he lets Jeongin gently back down, he can still feel his fingers, as if they had been branded on his skin.

“I have something for you,” Chan says into the panting silence, dragging light fingers over Jeongin’s torso, making the skin break out in goosebumps. “I’ll give it to you later.”

Jeongin doesn’t have time to reply—with a resolute no, thank you, that is—when they’re interrupted.

“There’s a message for you, sir,” Chan’s henchman slash secretary walks into the living room, and it’s such an appropriate timing that Jeongin wonders if he hadn’t been listening in all the while, waiting until they were done.

Chan is never fazed to see his men like this, in various states of undress or engaging in less than decent activities, and he just sits up and zips himself. Jeongin, however, is not as unflappable about being naked or getting caught in the middle of sex, so he scrambles to get up and cover himself with the forgotten robe.

“Go ahead, Seungmin,” Chan orders, though his eyes follow Jeongin’s hasty form.

Jeongin has no interest in hearing about what evil deed Chan was responsible for this time, even now that he’s grown somewhat desensitized to it, a contrast to the sick feeling he got the few first times. He scoots off the sofa to leave the men to their business, but Chan wraps an arm around him and pulls him back until he’s straddling him, his back to Seungmin. Jeongin fights the urge to try to get out of Chan’s grip—he detests when other people see him struggle.

What does it matter if Chan’s workers think he’s here willingly?

Chan tugs him until he’s pressed flush against his front, a mockery of an embrace between lovers. To add insult to injury, he traces gentle fingers all over Jeongin’s spine as he listens to Seungmin’s report. Jeongin only half listens as he bides his time, something about substances being used in certain areas to provoke power struggles, and honestly, he wishes he could be anywhere but here.

He only needs to wait until the two men’s discussion becomes more intense, more focused, until he sees his opening to slither away from Chan’s grasp, who lets him go this time.

Not that he can go far, though. Not when he’s in this man’s apartment. Or anywhere, really. Few people have the power needed to escape one of the city’s most influential men.

Air. He needs air. Making for the balcony, Jeongin is greeted by a cool breeze on his hot cheeks when he steps out through the sliding door. He can’t hear Chan talk from here, and the darkness is a welcome and soothing reprieve. He props his arms on the cool stone of the balustrade, and rests his chin over his forearms.

On the street below, so far he can barely make out the shapes, gentle traffic flows in both directions. Jeongin stares at it, finding calm in the repetitiveness of the motions, the dancing of the small lights that never stop. He wishes he could be an inconsequential person, lost in the density of the metropolis below, forever unnoticed. By everyone—except for one. The one person Jeongin would do anything for.

Chan doesn’t let him daydream too long.

“Thinking of leaving me?” The cloud of expensive cologne embraces Jeongin before the warmth of Chan’s body does.

“No,” Jeongin says, and he wonders if it sounds as dead as to Chan’s ears as he feels inside.

“That’s good,” Chan croons, low and dark, leaning down to kiss the back of Jeongin’s neck. It triggers a tiny shiver, one of thrill and expectation. Jeongin’s personal feelings about it have never mattered. “I’m not done with you tonight.”

And Jeongin can’t do anything as Chan pulls his silk gown up, exposing him, and wastes no time in pushing back inside him, hard once again. They barely make any noise as Chan fucks him once more against the balcony, slow and intent, inescapable. Pleasure blurs Jeongin’s sight, until he can’t see the city lights properly anymore.

It doesn’t take long for either of them to come, and when Chan finally disentangles himself from Jeongin, there’s come leaking down his inner thighs, tremors traveling down his spine.

“Good boy. Your brother gets to live another day,” Chan praises, and threatens, at the same time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, too, if you want to keep it that way.”

With one last kiss to the skin beneath Jeongin’s ear, Chan goes back into the apartment. Only then does Jeongin take notice of the piece of glossy paper next to him on the balustrade. His heart beats loudly in his ears as he takes it, revealing a photo of Minho. In it, he’s smiling, oblivious to his picture being taken and of who exactly is taking it.

Jeongin’s throat aches, and not swallowing doesn’t help it ease.

He pulls the robe closer to himself, pocketing the picture, as if keeping it close to himself would make his brother safer.

The thin expensive garment isn’t enough to guard him of the cold.

Chapter Text

The lanterns are lit as soon as the sun dips below the great stone arch, guiding the omegas’ path to the bathhouse. There’s quiet laughter as naked feet traipse on the short grass, not quite drowned by the steady beat of drums that sound from the heart of the village—drums that will not stop playing until the sun rises again, after the ritual is over. The bathhouse has been specially prepared for them, the spring water replaced with bracker fern infused water, incense steadily burning on golden plates decorated with flowers.

There’s a current of unspoken energy thrumming through all of the participants, and Felix feels it in his shaky pulse as he braids Hyunjin’s hair. Two braids, one on each side, to be joined in the middle as a single one. Simple, yet beautiful, like everything is to be on this day.

“I wonder if the gods will help Changbin choose me,” Hyunjin says as he rubs shimmery sandalwood powder over his forearms, then his neck.

Their bath earlier cleansed them of their natural omega scent, and the powder will further inhibit their pheromones. Tonight they’re meant to be anonymous. A receptacle, for fortune and prosperity of the village.

“We can hope,” Felix smiles at him, finishing with his hair.

Felix is not like Hyunjin in this regard. He doesn’t have a preferred alpha among the villagers, someone that has caught his attention or his heart. This ritual is quite popular even outside their village, attracting alphas from all over, and it’s an opportunity for Felix to find a potential match, despite his parents’ prohibition to participate. But he’s an adult now, he can decide what’s good for himself. And he chose to do this.

“My turn to braid your hair.” Hyunjin gets up from the low stool to exchange places with him.

Hyunjin’s fingers are light and gentle on Felix’s hair, and Felix lets the pleasant touch soothe him. He’s always liked people touching his hair, has kept it long for this very reason. In front of him lay various jars of clay containing the powdered sandalwood, and he scoops a bit of the perfumed powder to rub onto his arms, his torso, his legs. It leaves his skin feeling velvety smooth, and with a faint shimmer that has him raising his arms to better admire the minute sparkles.

Almost ready.

The spring prosperity ritual has existed in their village for generations. In a small village like theirs, it’s a ceremony designed to ensure that there will be many newborn pups the following year. Participation is voluntary, but it never fails to draw volunteers of all types, and most everyone in the packs look forward to taking part once they become of age, Felix included. And now, it’s finally his time.

Not long after Hyunjin finishes with Felix’s braids, the priestess calls upon the omegas—fifteen in total—so they can move on to the next part of the ceremony. Felix seeks Hyunjin’s hand as they begin walking out of the bathhouse, and his friend squeezes him back. They’ve been talking about this moment for weeks, and it’s finally here, happening, to them.

The lanterns that guide their way to the temple are red this time, just a taste of what awaits them inside the sacred place. Red is everywhere—in the drapes over the walls, in the mantle covering the main altar, in the translucent curtains that separate each of the fifteen smaller altars in a semblance of privacy. One altar for each omega, cushioned to ensure that the participants stay comfortable through the time it may take for the mating to finish.

They gather in front of the main altar, overflowing with flowers and food offerings. One by one, the omegas step up so the priestess and her helpers can place a mask over their heads which will conceal the omega’s identity while they perform their duty. After all, the importance is not in the person—and thus the alphas will not know the face or the scent of the partner they choose to join with tonight.

Felix is almost vibrating with anticipation when it’s his turn. The mask is big, and a bit heavy, and together with the thin and almost translucent white shift they’re the only items Felix will be wearing the next few hours.

When all the omegas are masked, they’re led to their designated altar, and Felix is separated from Hyunjin to take his own. He tries to hide the shakiness in his limbs as he climbs and lies down on the stone slab, adjusting his mask and gown and then clenching and unclenching his hands.

There’s only waiting left.

Outside, the drums increase their pace—the sign that the alphas are entering the grounds. Felix swallows dryly as the buzz of new voices, strong and decidedly alpha, reach them. And maybe too soon for his heart to settle, the alphas are inside the temple, circling the altars, calmly deciding which omega their gods are calling them towards. It’s what will guide them to choose one of the nameless bodies offered to them, or to choose to forfeit the rite—not an unusual occurrence, and one without shame.

The voices have hushed now, and Felix only hears their firm steps as he waits to be chosen. He can’t see much beneath the mask, just hazy shapes barely distinguishable in the low light of the sandalwood scented candles.

It comes rather quickly. A touch, a graze on the skin of his thigh. Felix can’t help the way his muscles jump at the sudden presence of touch—the reduced visibility making him feel things all the more.

“Shush,” he hears the alpha’s warm voice soothing him. “No need to be scared, darling omega.”

Felix’s blood, warmed by the thrilling anticipation and the sweetness of the herbal bath, is momentarily tinged with ice. That voice? For a moment, it seemed… But it can’t possibly be—No, there’s no way.

The hand becomes two, warm and big, slowly caressing the skin of Felix’s thighs up and down, the thumbs dipping into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. Felix’s skin breaks in goosebumps, the expectation about what’s about to happen sweetly choking him.

Because the gods have finally chosen someone for him.

“It’s okay, beautiful omega,” the voice whispers, and Felix swallows, straining to hear it more clearly.

The hands stop on his knees and gently push his legs open, making Felix’s breathing hitch. He feels the man stepping forward, taking the place between his parted thighs. When the hands retake their caressing stroke upwards, Felix prays his quivering isn’t too apparent. He doesn’t want to spook his designated alpha because of being too excited.

Felix feels the only piece of clothing on his body being shifted upwards, uncovering him for the alpha.

“Oh, honey, you’re all wet for me.”

The voice is stronger now. Fuller. Leaving Felix with absolutely no doubt of who is talking to him, spreading his legs, admiring his slicked pussy.

The alpha is his father.

His cry of surprise is robbed from him when thick fingers graze his pussy lips, roving up and down his seam, spreading the wetness they find.

How could this happen? The priestess didn’t—? Yeah, Felix isn’t supposed to be here, his parents think he’s staying with Hyunjin, but… his father? Attending the rite, when he’s mated to his mother?

Felix doesn’t have time to freak out because the fingers are now pushing into him, gliding easily inside with the aid of his omega slick. He arches his back at the intrusion, a gasp ripped out of his throat as he tries to accommodate the digits.

“So reactive,” the alpha—his father—croons. “No wonder you were my chosen. We’ll have fun tonight, yeah?”

His father bobs his fingers in and out, and Felix’s lips are parted silently as he struggles with the feeling. Around him, in the altars next to his, similar sounds of coupling and praising voices are heard, a soundtrack to drown out all reason.

There’s no way Bang Chan knows this is his son. The mask, the scent inhibiting herbs, everything was designed to make the omegas unrecognizable. He could tell his dad, to get him to stop, but then won’t he get angry at Felix for participating in the tradition when he said he wouldn’t? He’s never been one to lie, to go against his parents’ wishes, he can’t… he can’t let them down now, with this.

But.. shouldn’t he? If the alternative is to be fucked by his dad?

The fingers leave his body, and there’s a stretch of silence that makes Felix pause. Is his father stopping? Did something give him away? Did someone come and get the man away from potentially making the biggest mistake of his life?

But there’s no newcomer. And the next thing Felix knows, a hot bluntness is pressing against his cunt.

His time has run out.

In an unconscious move to spare himself, Felix’s legs kick out, trying to push the alpha away. But there’s nothing he can do when his dad is already between his legs, pressed and poised to penetrate him.

Chan just laughs fondly at his struggling, catching his thighs to keep him open and gently pushing himself into his son’s body. Felix feels every single millimeter of that hot length as it enters him, slow, frictionless, ripping a keen out from Felix’s throat. Even if he had brain cells to spare and be scared about his voice giving him away, his voice is whiny, high, so unlike him.

It feels so good, too good. But—how? How can it feel this incredibly good when this is so wrong? When it’s his own father doing this.

“Hush, you’re okay, sweetheart,” Chan soothes him, still pushing inside and oh gods just how big is his dad? Felix gasps, and squirms away out of pure instinct, but there’s no escaping his father’s hold, keeping him in place as he pushes in that last stretch. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll have you moaning in no time.”

Felix’s eyes are wide beneath his mask, his mouth slackened as he tries to adjust to the sensation of being so incredibly full. A finger pad grazes his clit and he yelps, his hips bucking as if electrocuted. His father won’t be deterred, however, and he circles the bundle of nerves with bold fingers, sending sharp throbs of pleasure through Felix.

He can’t—He’s going to—

Felix’s hands fly stop his father, but he’s strong, incredibly so, and nothing Felix does stops the alpha from working him in a frenetic rhythm until he’s clenching.

“Reactive and feisty, the gods really are looking out for me this year,” Chan murmurs, fond, as if that’s a trait that makes an omega even more adorable.

That’s all it takes. Felix’s back arches away from the altar and his already hazy vision blurs further as the orgasm crashes onto him, unforgiving. His body spasms around the hot, unyielding length still buried deep in him, and he hears a faint grunt as his father rubs him through the aftershocks.

“That’s it, sweet omega. You just lay there and take all the pleasure alpha gives you. Alright, sweetheart?”

Felix sobs as the wicked length inside him retreats, slowly, carefully, not giving him time to fully come down from his high. Just to push back in and steal his breath once more.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” Chan praises, and he must tire of Felix scrambling to stop him with his hands, because they’re taken and pinned to the thin mattress, fingers interlaced. “That’s it,” he adds, just as he starts a series of rolling thrusts that have Felix’s eyelids fluttering, his toes curling.

Oh gods, this feels so good. Is it worse if it feels this good? Or does that redeem him from being a participant of such an illicit copulation? Why did the gods devise his father as his partner?

He doesn’t know. But what he knows is that his father is better than any partner Felix has ever had. Maybe it’s because of the forbidden act, or maybe his dad is just that good at mating. Something Felix should never, under any circumstance, have found out.

“Soon I’ll give you what you need, sweetheart.”

Felix doesn’t understand, thinks that maybe he’s referring to another orgasm, but then he feels it. With the next thrust, the swelling knot at the base of his father’s cock meets his cunt, and he can’t help the dismayed cry that leaves his lips.

He can’t. There’s no way he can take his father’s knot.

No, no, no.

He tries to fight it, to buck away from the fucking, to claw at his dad’s hands. But he’s pinned down, unable to avoid this, any kind of resistance rendered futile against his dad’s fucking.

“Honey, it’s fine. Be a good sweetheart and take my knot, hm?”

The next thrust forward is firm, forceful, and Felix feels split open—in the best of ways, painlessly—as his father’s knot sinks into his body. His orgasm crashes over him, long and inexorable, and he almost misses the warmth that blooms just after, directly in his core.

There’s no way this is happening.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” his father says, heavy, coming down from his own high. “You did so well for alpha. Now be a good omega until my knot goes down, yeah?”

The hands pressing Felix’s own to the altar lift away, then come back to massage the cramped muscles of Felix’s body. First one hand, then the other. Felix barely feels it, too busy regaining his breath and coming to terms with the fact that his dad just released inside him, and knotted him. That it’s his dad’s knot keeping him plugged, so his seed has time to take.

He swallows around nothing, and his eyes start to burn.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” the alpha keeps praising him. “You were wonderful.”

His hands leave Felix’s, which stay motionless, because what’s the point anymore? It’s done. So he doesn’t stop the touch as it travels lower, to Felix’s thighs, rubbing softly back and forth.

“Can you be wonderful again for me?”

The hands converge on the apex of Felix’s thighs and stroke his clit, and Felix instantaneously tenses, his pleasure once more reactivated as if by a lightning. His father has fucked the resistance out of him, so Felix doesn’t fight him this time as his dad brings him to orgasm. Once. Then twice. So sweetly, so expertly wrung out of him, that he can’t help the overwhelmed moans leaking from him.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Chan placates the whiny omega as he comes down from his third climax on his knot, the second on his fingers. “You just feel so good around me, I can’t help myself. But it won’t be much longer, now.”

For what? Felix wants to ask, but he feels like he’s been taken apart by so many orgasms. He’s boneless with pleasure, and pinned, under the alpha’s wants.

He doesn’t need to ask, though. Because soon his father is moving again, his knot deflated enough to allow the movement as he retreats from his body.

Only to thrust back in again.

“Wha—?” Felix babbles, breathy and broken, in a way he can’t control.

“We have to make sure it takes, dear,” Chan explains, calmly, indulgently, as he rolls his hips out and then back in. “I can take you again. So you just lie there for me all pretty, alright?”

Felix would have protested, but his dad thrusts into him again, and again, and he can’t think, can’t speak, when he’s this mindless with pleasure. He can just take it, body quivering, high pitched moans ringing, as his dad’s cock fucks into him.

On the second knot, Felix loses his will to fight, rendered to being just a waiting omega body. On the third knot, he’s accepted his new reality.

Come morning, when the alphas leave and the drums stop playing, when the omegas take their masks off to feast on the delicious food offering.

He will have been bred by his father.

Chapter Text

Seungmin doesn’t recognize the man in the suit and big black trench coat, in the same way he wouldn’t recognize anyone else in this subway—everyone is anonymous, preoccupied by their own worries, immersed in their own world. He doesn’t know him, and yet, he keeps glancing at him.

Maybe it’s his long silver hair, slicked back with a few stylishly placed strands framing his face. Maybe it’s the aristocratic features, the regal dips and prominent relief that make the picture of someone not so easily forgotten. Or maybe it’s the classy way he dresses, in a suit that fits him so well one just knows he’s not in league with everyone else.

Seungmin finds lots of excuses, yes, an habit that his mind is taken with. But even all those excuses don’t explain why the man seems to be closer every time Seungmin discreetly eyes him. As if he were shifting in a way that doesn’t draw attention, moving when there’s movement, readjusting around the new passengers. Until—

Until he’s standing right in front of Seungmin.

It’s all in your mind, Seungmin tries to convince himself. It’s just his pent up frustration feeding daydreams into his tired brain after a long day of university and extracurriculars. Seungmin should know better. He barely interests guys his age, why would someone who is the very definition of a silver fox be interested in him?

Still, his heart beats deafeningly in his ears when the man grabs the metal bar above Seungmin’s head, and fucking hell, his shoulders are so big that he’s practically caging Seungmin in against the train’s metal wall. Not that he is, of course. The man is just big, and his placement—close, but still respectfully so—happens to box him in, separating him from the rest of the subway train. If it were any other occasion, Seungmin would even feel grateful that the man’s body so easily blocks the noise and the light and the stares that only tire him out even further. As it is, he tries to be polite and stare somewhere off to the side, away from the man who’s probably just waiting to get off at the next stop.

He doesn’t get off, though.

And instead of going away, he comes closer.

It starts with a shiny polished shoe coming between Seungmin’s scruffy sneakers. Suddenly alarm bells are ringing in Seungmin’s ears, but when he looks up the man isn’t even looking at him. So maybe it’s nothing, maybe the man just didn’t notice he’s getting too much into Seungmin’s space. But then it’s the man’s thick thigh pressing against his crotch, and there’s absolutely no mistaking that.

Seungmin inhales to tell the man off, shove him away, anything, but the air gets trapped in his lungs, the words dying in his throat. Because the man is looking down at him, in a kind of dark and intense gaze that Seungmin can’t help but categorize as predatory, and for some reason it freezes him in place, the fight draining from his muscles before it even began.

And yet, despite the way his mind loves coming up with possible explanations for everything, he doesn’t know why he doesn’t react when a big, calloused hand finds its way under his clothes. Seungmin isn’t even hard, but the man knows exactly what to do, how to stroke or squeeze to make him so. He’s powerless under the man’s gaze as he starts jacking him off in the middle of the subway. He feels pinned, even when the hand on his cock is the only point of contact. And he feels like no more than prey as he comes with a silent, bitten-off moan under the stranger’s deft touch.

Seungmin is panting after his high, eyes half lidded as he tries to ground himself after coming in fucking public. At least it’s over now. For some reason the sexy older man wanted to get him off in the middle of the subway, and he got it. Now he can just disappear as quietly as he appeared and Seungmin can secretly stash away this memory in his spank bank as he reconsiders many things about himself.

Except the man doesn’t move away. And instead, he grabs and turns Seungmin so he’s facing the subway door.

Oh, hell, yesno.

But Seungmin’s vocal cords might as well be nonexistent, because no sound makes it past his lips as the man slips a hand under his clothes again, this time seeking his back entrance. Seungmin’s lips part as those thick fingers massage him there, quiet, but insistent, until his body gives in under the man’s demands and soon there’s a finger, then two, bobbing in and out of him.

Seungmin can’t even spare a thought for the rest of the passengers, still innocently going about their day without knowing what’s going on just a few paces away from them. He can barely clutch the sleek metal wall as the fingers open him up, stroke his insides, occasionally brushing past that spot that drives the air right out of Seungmin’s lungs.

When the fingers retreat, he doesn’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment. But as he hears the telltale sound of a zipper, he knows he was wrong. That he should be scared. Except he’s turned on beyond belief, and the feeling gets morphed into wicked anticipation instead.

His eyes flutter when there’s a blunt hotness against him. And then that hotness pushes in, slowly bullying its way inside his body, and Seungmin doesn’t think he can be the same ever again. He feels the man’s heavy breathing, now, against his nape. And for an instant he wishes he could see him, see the handsome features and charismatic lines, and most of all, to feel that gaze trapping him again. Just for an instant, though, because then the man is moving, fucking him so excruciatingly slowly that it shouldn’t even feel good, yet Seungmin feels dangerously close to coming.

The man fucks him like that, slow, avoiding drawing any attention to them, but relentless, driving Seungmin crazy with each slick glide inside him. He can’t even care that his panting his fogging up the subway car’s window, but he notices it when a big hand wraps around his mouth to keep him from crying out as his orgasm crashes into him.

Seungmin feels unraveled, alive, wrong and euphoric all at the same time. It leaves him useless when the man pulls out of him and rearranges his clothes.

Useless, when the car doors open, and he’s pushed out onto a stop that he’s not sure is his own.

Useless, as the man hails a taxi and guides him into it with a firm hand clasped on the nape of his neck.

And even more useless as he’s carried into an unknown hotel room, dark, with barely any light, and a bed bigger than his own room.

There, he finds out what it is to be fucked by a man whose gaze is powerful enough to make him feel like prey.

And whose hunger greatly outmatches what Seungmin thought was possible.

Chapter Text

Jisung doesn’t remember being kidnapped. One moment he was partying in a friend of a friend’s house, and the next he was waking up in a room he doesn’t recognize. Which isn’t all that out of the norm, if it weren’t for the bright lights directed towards him, or the—latex?—outfit he doesn’t remember putting on, or the alpha currently growling under him. Because Jisung just woke up on his lap.

“I’m sorry—” Jisung scrambles away from the similarly latex-clad alpha, but he finds that… he can’t. His outfit is decked with leather cuffs on his wrists, ankles, and thighs, that are tied to anchor points in the alpha’s outfit.

He—he’s tied to the alpha.

“It’s useless, Jisungie,” the alpha rasps, and Jisung goes stockstill. He recognizes that voice.

“…Minho?” He asks, unnecessarily, finally daring to look at the alpha’s eyes which he’d tried to avoid after waking up in such close proximity. He knows Minho. The too-handsome-to-be-real alpha that he got introduced to in the party, and who Jisung decided to avoid lest he make a fool of himself while drunk. “What—what’s going on?”

“Fuck if I know,” Minho says. “Do you happen to have a friend who’s into voyeurism?”

“Why do you—” Jisung trails off when he notices them. Cameras, at least four of them, focused on them from different angles. Each with a red dot shining in the otherwise darkness of the room beyond the spotlights.

He begins trembling. This has gone from a prank to something much, much darker.

He renews his efforts to disentangle himself from Minho, but his hands are tied to cuffs on Minho’s shoulders, and his ankles, to the alpha’s knees. Similarly, Minho’s wrists seem to be tied to Jisung’s waist, and his ankles anchored to the floor. It’s useless. He just ends up sliding back down on Minho’s lap. On Minho’s very naked lap.

Jisung’s gasp is drowned by Minho’s curse. “Fuck. Please, Jisung, please don’t move.”

Whatever outfit they dressed them with, its purpose is loud and clear. It covers them from neck to ankle, save for their crotch, and the glands on their wrists and neck. And because of Jisung’s clumsy attempts to disentangle them, because of his wiggling around, Minho is getting hard.

Jisung freezes in place, barely breathing while the alpha is panting, the powerful thighs under Jisung clenching and unclenching. But it’s like a newly discovered itch—once you’re aware of it, you can’t stop feeling it. It’s impossible not to feel hyper aware of the gradual swelling under him, or the way their scents, exposed through their outfit’s openings, is sweetening. Jisung really, really doesn’t want to. But he finds himself getting wet anyway.

He knows the moment Minho smells it on him, how he becomes eerily still, his whole body coiled tight.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung whispers, twisting his head to the side, hiding where he otherwise can’t.

Minho growls, the sound raising goosebumps on Jisung’s skin before it’s cut short.

“Not your fault,” Minho says in a gruff voice, swallowing with a thick sound. “I’m sorry, too, I’m trying—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Jisung feels the hands tied to his waist moving, as if clenching and unclenching.

The seconds tick by, filled with only their harsh breathing, the heat between their bodies, and their scents sweetly melting into each other. Jisung is no slouch, he keeps up his routine going to the gym. But there’s only so much time he can take keeping himself lifted and away from Minho’s lap before the muscles of his thighs begin shaking.

“Jisung?” Minho asks when he lets out a whimper.

“I’m—mmph!” Jisung begins before he succumbs to gravity, his bare, wet pussy meeting that heavenly hotness beneath him. He’s so turned on, and the ache of his muscles are sending mixed signals to his system, that he can’t help the instinctive grind on Minho’s half hard cock.

He immediately lifts himself up with a gasp, but the damage is done, and Minho grunts as his hips kick up reflexively, his biology seeking that inviting sweet wetness back on him. They both separate with a chorus of ‘sorry’ and pants and quivering muscles. Jisung’s thighs ache, and he soon has to use his grip on Minho’s shoulders to keep himself up.

But he knows it’s just a matter of time. And that the cameras will be there to record every single detail of it.

The next time Jisung’s muscles fail Minho is there, holding him up by his hips and accepting Jisung’s panted thanks against the side of his head. Jisung doesn’t watch, but he feels the strain of the alpha’s muscles as he tries his best to keep Jisung’s body up and away from the unavoidable mistake that’s looming closer and closer in the horizon.

In the end, no one breaks into the recording room to save them from a fate that none of them wants. And when Minho’s arms fail after an extenuous fight against gravity, the angle of their hips is such that his cock notches against Jisung’s cunt, slowly and sweetly impaling the omega as he goes down on his lap.

Jisung is so wound up from the exertion and misplaced arousal that he can barely part his mouth in a silent moan as he tries to take in Minho’s hard length. He’s so big and so perfect, a full body shudder travels through him as he tries to get used to the unwelcome sweet intrusion.

Minho isn’t faring any better, his forehead pressing against Jisung’s shoulder as his body quakes in barely aborted moves.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hips jerk, then shift back down. “Sorry, Jisung, fuck.”

Jisung doesn’t have words to reply to him that it isn’t his fault, that it was his strength that failed first. That he shouldn’t worry because his cock feels really, really good.

He bides his time, waiting until the reverberating echos of pleasure subside, waiting until his muscles stop aching. He doesn’t know how to feel about moving, but it’s the right thing, right?

“Sorry, let me try—” Jisung whispers, lifting himself upwards again.

“Wait, don’t—” Minho warns, but it’s too late.

Because Jisung has lifted himself up to his knees, dragging himself up on Minho’s cock, only to find that their range of movement is so limited and Minho’s cock has swelled so much that not even at this limit is enough to dislodge him. And that the slickness of their juices and their sweat only makes him slip back, sinking once more on Minho’s length.

That seems to do it for Minho.

With a grunt, his hips jolt forward, into Jisung, but this time it’s not a one-off movement. This time his body is kicked into action, the last coil of restraint snapped as instinct takes over the alpha. Jisung cries out as he’s bounced on Minho’s cock, his thighs powerful enough to lift them both as he fucks up into him, again and again.

It’s so fucking wrong but it feels so fucking good. Neither of them want this, and neither of them want to be filmed while their bodies succumb to their baser instincts, but it’s not something they can escape, not like this. Their biology has primed them for the act, and their hind brain just needed to take over. After that, it’s a dance of chasing bodies and voicing their pleasure, all while tied up to each other so there’s no chance of refusing this.

Jisung comes first, undone by the tension and exhaustion and involuntary pleasure. He jolts on Minho’s lap, head craning back as the orgasm rips through him, molten and sweet. The alpha grunts in response to the right heat spasming around him, nose inexorably finding the gland on Jisung’s neck exuding the sweetest of scents after his release. His hips increase the pace even more, until he’s stuttering and grabbing Jisung’s waist to push him down to the base. Until Jisung is taking his knot, rapidly swelling and locking them together.

“Minho!” Jisung cries out, scrambling to push himself away, but it’s too late. He can’t move away from the alpha knot tying then.

Minho takes his time to reply, as if too much into his head after releasing inside Jisung.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He tries to lift Jisung away, but they both hiss at the pain. “I’m so sorry, Jisung, fuck. I wasn’t thinking, my body just—fuck. Sorry. Sorry.”

His voice is shot and wobbly, and Jisung can’t help rubbing his cheek to the side of his head as an offer of comfort.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers so only Minho can hear. “Whatever happens in here, it’s not your fault.”

Minho breathes harshly, as if he’s just one step away from a meltdown, body rocking back and forth in Jisung’s embrace. Jisung offers his neck with a tilt of his head, and Minho takes it, greedily inhaling his calming scent.

Jisung doesn’t know what will happen to them in this room where they’re the center of attention for the cameras.

But at least he has Minho.

That’s what he tells himself when Minho’s knot goes down. What he repeats internally when they try to shift away, to dislodge Minho’s cock from Jisung’s pussy.

And it’s his mantra when they inevitably fail once more, and the action only makes Minho get hard again, which restarts the cycle all over again.

Chapter Text

Soft, forgettable music plays from the Bluetooth speakers undisturbed by the clacking of keys as Minho types on his mint-colored led keyboard the last lines of code that appears perfectly color-coordinated on his main screen. The other screens serve different purposes, like the one on the left, with a browser window open for research, or marketplaces, or anything he might need at the moment. But his favorite is the one on the right, vertical and different from the other two.

Minho takes the still steaming mug of coffee as he leans back on his black leather chair and takes a break from his code to look at the live feed of his room in the basement. There’s a total of three views, ensuring he can see anything that goes on, completed with the sound that’s always connected to his speakers, on the chance that he might catch something interesting going on.

This is his favorite past time. The thing that makes the long hours of his work worth it, just looking to the right and seeing his favorite person right there.

Waiting for him.

Deciding it’s as good a time as any to get his reward, Minho locks his computer and gets up from his rolling chair to fetch some cheesecake from the fridge. He feels the anticipation rise in the pit of his stomach as he makes his way down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom with his fingerprint.

The room is dark, but that’s to be expected of a space with no windows. The only lighting comes from the solitary screen on a bare-bones desk off to the side, an after-thought compared to the big bed occupying most of the available space.

“Jisungie, I brought you a treat,” Minho announces as he switches on the overhead lights.

Jisung turns around from the wooden chair by the desk, and Minho has the delight of seeing Jisung blinking cutely as he tries to adjust to the new light—he probably didn’t even realize it was already morning outside—and then his eyes widen as he sees the cheesecake in his hand.

“Thank you—” Jisung exclaims, reaching for the dessert.

“Uh-uh,” Minho chastises, moving the plate away from Jisung. “First, where’s my kiss?”

It’s a fight to keep the smile off his face as Jisung hurries to comply, throwing his arms around him and joining their lips. Minho almost doesn’t want to let him go, but he’s a man of his word, so he does.

“What were you doing, honey?” He asks his guest as he watches him eat the cake.

This is something he looks forward to every day. Providing for Jisung, giving him what he needs, treating him with foods he knows he loves. Getting an eyeful of full-cheeked Jisung as he eats what Minho gave or prepared for him is the best type of bonus.

Jisung tells him about the song he’s been composing all day, which Minho knows because every time he’s take a break and stolen a glance to his live feed screen, he’d seen Jisung doing exactly that. When he’s done with it, Minho will upload the song himself to Jisung’s SoundCloud, since the downstairs computer doesn’t have internet—he himself took out and burned the connections of the wifi chip, and there’s no Ethernet cable on this level of the house. This way, Jisung can continue to thrive even when he’s staying with Minho. It works perfectly well for them.

Minho had planned on being patient and waiting until Jisung had finished the whole slice of cake, but as he watches the man chew, with his adorable cheeks and his cute lips, he just can’t help himself. He takes away Jisung’s plate and leaves it on the desk, before he leans down to pick the man up.

Jisung clings to him with a squeak, but he lets himself be carried and laid down on the bed. Long gone are the days when Jisung used to fight him, where he’d squirm to get away, or plead with his big round eyes to let him leave Minho’s home. Now, he’s the breathing picture of submission, letting Minho undress him so he can get lost in the uninterrupted span of skin, so sweetly malleable as Minho adjusts their positions and takes his knees on the crook of his elbow. His body has also adjusted to him, and it greedily welcomes his hard cock as a sigh escapes Jisung’s lips, and he doesn’t cover his face as Minho initiates a firm and hard cadence with his hips.

Minho has lost count of the days, as well as the times he’s come here to his basement to fuck Jisung. Because he missed him, or because he needed a break, or just because he wanted a good fuck and he had Jisung’s warm body waiting here for him.

There’s something about Jisung’s softness despite his strength—how his body irrevocably yields beneath his, how soft sounds start leaking from his plush lips with every roll of Minho’s hips, how an adorable flush of pleasure starts at his cheeks and moves down his chest.

Minho is not a man of art, but he does know Jisung is the world’s most beautiful masterpiece.

He’s beautiful as he moans under him, beautiful as he writhes and clutches Minho’s hands where he has them locked and intertwined, beautiful as he comes, untouched, and lets Minho keep fucking him to find his own release.

On the headboard, gently bumping against the roughly painted wall, are the hooks where Minho used to chain Jisung’s handcuffs jingling with a clinking sound. Minho hasn’t had the heart to take them out, even if he doesn’t use them much these days. It’s a memento of their first days together, of how he used to keep his Jisungie chained to the basement bed so it would be easier to subdue him, to show him how they had been born for Minho to love him. That it was a destiny written in the stars from the very first moment they’d locked sights. Nowadays Jisung knows, he understands, so he hasn’t had the need to use them—except sometimes, on the occasion he’s craving excitement, Minho still does. Because his Jisungie remembers too, and every time the pink leather handcuffs are placed around his beautiful wrists, he moans a bit louder, squeezes him a bit tighter.

Jisung is perfect, and Minho needs nothing else and no one else when he already has him.

“I love you, honey,” he whispers against Jisung’s kiss-swollen lips, still rolling his hips deep inside the man, extricating every possible sweet sound he can from him.

“I—nnh—love you, too,” Jisung replies.

The sweetest words Minho has ever heard, but also powerful, enough so to make him take up his pace, because nothing is sweeter than Jisung blooming under his love.

Over, and over again.

Chapter Text

There’s a mastery to being quiet, skillful, and unseen in the palace of the great king Yeongjo. It’s an art all the servants have had to learn, and Jeongin is just one more of the countless forgettable faces that live to make this place flourish.

Maybe not so forgettable, in his case—not after the crown prince Chan asks for him specifically to serve his dinner one night.

Not even a thousand years of experience could help conceal the trembling of his hands when he’s given the small table with the crown prince’s food served in silver plates. There’s a hush to the room when the guards open the doors, and Jeongin feels his heart in his throat as he sets down the tray before the prince. He's ready to scurry out of the prince’s room when a pleasant, full voice stops him.

“Sit.”

One of the crown prince's personal maids procures a cushion and places it crosswise to the man, just where he would sit his personal guests. Jeongin obeys, because he can't do anything else, even when he feels more confused than before. Of course, palace servants belong to the royal family, and it's not unheard of for one of its members to take their enjoyments on them. But not crown prince Chan, if rumors and word of servants’ mouths are to be believed. And no prince would entertain a servant if his aim is taking them to bed. There's no need.

A servant taste tests the food, then the crown prince begins eating in silence in the warm light of the room’s lanterns, tinting everything with a golden touch. Jeongin doesn't dare raise his gaze from his lap where he keeps his hands neatly folded.

A touch on his chin startles Jeongin out of his calmed trance induced by the quietness of the room and the faint clinking of silverware as the prince eats. It prompts Jeongin’s eyes to leave the security of the floor, but still, he dares not look at the prince in the eyes. Not until.

“Look at me.”

So Jeongin does.

As a servant not in the crown prince’s direct service, Jeongin has always watched Chan from afar, following the silver shine of the decorations of his pristine clothes as he walked through the buildings followed by his entourage, or as he took his horse to ride out of the palace. He’s never seen him up close, for the simple fact that all servants need to bow when the royal family is near.

Except for now, when he's given explicit permission—no, orders—to do so. Prince Chan's face is regal, with prominent features that make him handsome in a way one could never forget, and his eyes speak of authoritativeness and kindness. It's his gentle gaze that makes Jeongin's breath catch in his throat.

Those few seconds last as long as grueling years. Jeongin sees the prince's eyes rove all over his face, before stopping on his lips. He can't stop the faint intake of breath when he feels a warm, calloused finger brush his lower lip. But just when Jeongin thinks the prince is drawing closer and closer to him, he's let go.

Jeongin returns to his demure position feeling like he's been struck by an invisible bolt of lightning. He hears the prince hum before returning to his meal, and he wonders if this was a test, and if he passed.

He doesn't have to wonder long.

“You will serve his highness in his bath.”

The eunuch doesn't care that Jeongin has received no formal instruction on how to bathe royal family members, he just points an age-weathered finger towards the direction that the crown prince took after he finished his meal.

Jeongin has no option other than to follow.

A cloud of steam engulfs him when he opens the door, and the light is even dimmer than that of the crown prince's room, more titillating. The sound of rippling water reaches his ears from where prince Chan is sinking into the giant tub.

There's no one else.

“Come here,” the prince orders.

Jeongin's feet obey before his mind has understood what's going on here. From this point of view he can only see the prince's naked shoulders, muscular broader even than he seemed when he had clothes on. He has to curb the string of desire that unravels upon seeing such a formidable man, and he keeps his face neutral as he rounds the tub so he can stand at attention before him.

“Well?” Chan asks, looking pointedly at the basket with cloths by the edge of the tub.

Jeongin has never bathed a member of the royal family. But he swallows thickly, grabs one of the cloth sponges, and sets to work.

Washing the prince's back and shoulders is easy enough, since it's within reach, and the prince doesn't tell him he's doing it wrong. But the front is much more difficult, and he finds himself sitting on the edge of the tub, twisting awkwardly to be able to reach the skin.

Is this how the usual bath servants go about it?

“Would you come closer?”

A hand tugs him forward, and Jeongin slips.

Right into the bathtub.

He flails with his arms, panic surging within him as water surrounds him, weighs him down because of his clothes. He instinctually reaches for the nearest surface available to keep from drowning—that surface being the naked chest of the prince.

“A-apologies,” Jeongin stutters and hurries to pull himself away when he realizes, feeling silly now that he got his feet under him.

The prince, apparently, won't have it. He grabs Jeongin's hand and pulls him close, much closer than Jeongin would ever had dared. Jeongin's eyes traitorously flit to his.

“Here, you'll feel more comfortable if you take this off.”

Jeongin doesn't speak as the crown prince removes his servant clothes, removing layer after layer off Jeongin's trembling frame until he's left in only his underclothes, so white and thin that he might as well be wearing nothing. The water makes the fabric cling to him like a second skin, the thin white material turned translucent.

“Go on,” the prince demands, leaning against the edge of the tub once more.

But this time, as Jeongin retrieves the washcloth and retakes his previous task, prince Chan doesn't stay still. This time, he circles Jeongin with his arms, caressing the skin of his waist, his backside. Jeongin bites down the gasps that threaten to leave his lips and concentrates on the washcloth, his hands, and the prince’s body. His muscular, unfairly attractive body.

His cheeks are flaming by the time he's almost done. There's no way he can remain unaffected, being in such close proximity with the crown prince, but also being so blatantly appreciated under his hands.

“You please me,” prince Chan murmurs, tilting Jeongin's face up with a warm hand cradling his cheek.

Jeongin doesn't know what's hotter, if it's the steaming water from the bath, or the defined body in front of his. His breathing hitches, is heart beating in anticipation as the prince lowers his face.

The seconds pass, counted in the slowly trickling water from their bodies. Jeongin doesn't dare move from the prince's hold.

“Chief eunuch, have him ready for me,” prince Chan calls out without breaking his gaze away from Jeongin's eyes, and Jeongin barely hears the faint reply of affirmation.

Jeongin feels as if he's in a trance when the crown prince finally draws away from him, leaving the bathtub as more servants swarm to attend to him. The servant prince Chan had called, the chief eunuch, comes before Jeongin with two more servants to help him dry up and dress with new clothes—nightclothes, yet still finer than anything Jeongin has ever worn.

“You are to do whatever the crown prince demands of you,” the chief eunuch instructs as he takes him back to the room.

As if Jeongin would ever consider doing anything else. One does not say no to the crown prince. However, that's not the only reason. In an unexpected turn of events, he’s somehow looking forward to it. The moment during the dinner, then during the bath… it made him think that a night with the crown prince might not be unpleasant.

The chief eunuch announces his arrival, and he's ushered inside.

Alone.

Crown prince Chan is sitting on his bed, and one lifted arm towards Jeongin is all he needs to prompt the servant forward on badly concealed unsteady feet.

Jeongin's stomach is in knots as he's pulled down on Chan's lap, the cool of his light clothes chased away by the man’s high body temperature. The instinctive, nervous grip on his tunic is easily pried away by warm hands as they once more undress him—this time completely. It's probably an insolence, but Jeongin can't keep his eyes off Chan's face as he does it, too caught up in the powerful intensity of his gaze.

He's made to lay on his belly, and his apprehension grows when thick fingers, slick with some kind of oil, brush his entrance.

“Relax for me.”

Jeongin does, and finds that the touch is not entirely unpleasant. That when he's relaxed enough for one finger, then two, there's a dull kind of pleasure that makes him swell. And that when the prince finds and abuses one particular spot inside him, sweet involuntary sounds begin leaking out of him.

The fingers retreat, and suddenly there's heat against his back, and something much bigger pressing against him. He clutches the bed sheets as the shaft slowly sinks into him, filling him to levels he didn't think possible. And when Chan readjusts his grip, and starts moving, he can't do anything but lose himself in the pleasure.

Jeongin doesn't return to the servants' quarters until the sun has fully risen the day after.

And the following night, he's called to serve the crown prince yet again.

Chapter Text

Cherries. Fresh cherries, still a bit too green to be plucked from the tree, a bit too sour for Hyunjin to seek his teeth into. That’s the hint of smell that wafts towards him as they trickle into the practice room. It’s not the first time, either—he’s been getting whiffs of the same scent here and there the last few days whenever he’s around the members. Probably just a newly used shampoo, or perfume, in that way where new scents are noticed at first before melting into unnoticeable familiarity after. But it’s… nice. Makes him want to turn his head, to sniff again and take in more of it.

He has more pressing matters in his hands, though, like nailing the hard as fuck choreography they’re learning for the new comeback in a couple of months. So he pours himself into practice, ignoring anything else that’s not dancing, the choreo moves, and the new song.

Maybe he tries a bit too hard, because he starts feeling a hint of tension all around his forehead and the back of his eyes. He tries to blink it away, to push it aside and ignore it, but it keeps coming back. When they get a ten minute break, he slumps against the mirrors and presses between nose and eyebrows.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jeongin asks, sliding down next to him with his bottle of electrolyte water.

“Yeah, just a headache,” Hyunjin half whispers half groans, taking the opportunity to scoot over and rest on Jeongin’s shoulder.

Their youngest omega doesn’t push him off, like he always does with everyone, so maybe Hyunjin looks as shit as he feels. He won’t be the one to point it out, though, too content to snuggle him when he can.

Cherries, again. Faint, but there. Probably Jeongin’s newest shampoo, he knows the omega likes to try skincare and bath products like he’s trying out fingernail polish colors.

It’s cute. It suits Jeongin.

“When are you going to Busan?” Hyunjin asks, closing his eyes. It’s better like this, without the lights glaring into his eyes. He feels like he could fall asleep here, which is strange because he should be keyed up from the exercise.

Jeongin takes one beat too long to reply. “Tomorrow.”

Hyunjin hums. There’s no reason for Jeongin to lie, though, so he just lets it to.

“Mmh miss you,” Hyunjin murmurs, reaching with a hand to smother his hair, like he’s done countless times.

And Jeongin… lets him. Stays in place, for him to fondle to his heart’s content. Something warm blooms in Hyunjin’s gut, rippling outward, making him want more. Snuggle Jeongin. Hug Jeongin. Bite—wait, that’s not right—kiss Jeongin.

“Break’s over, let’s go again,” Minho calls over from the front of the room, breaking whatever spell was holding Hyunjin.

The dance practice ends as it should—with all of them exhausted and not wanting to set foot on it again for at least a week—and they filter off to dinner in one of the family restaurants nearby. Usually they’d go straight to their dorms, but this will be their last night together before their week-long vacation pre-comeback, so they stick to their tradition.

Hyunjin snatches a seat next to Jeongin, and they eat their weight worth’s in meat, soup, and noodles. It’s loud and chaotic and so very them, and Hyunjin feels a pang of sadness that they won’t be together for the next few days. Which doesn’t make sense, because he’s seen them every day for the past three weeks.

“—and then Innie out of all people had to tell the poor man he was wrong—” Hyunjin catches the tail end of Jisung’s story, everyone joining in to laugh.

“Our Innie has grown up so much,” Minho emphasizes, leaning over from Jeongin’s other side to squeeze the omega’s cheeks.

It’s such a common occurrence. The whole pack loves to dote on and tease their youngest, it’s just one more way they like to show their affection. What’s not common is the ugly feeling that rises inside Hyunjin, red and hot, demanding to be let out and—no. Hyunjin is a beta. And betas do not growl.

Hyunjin swallows the feeling, almost chokes on the effort it takes. What’s wrong with him? Why is he so angry? He takes a sip of water, and looks back only to see Minho still bothering Jeongin.

Enough.

He reaches over with his hand, bypassing Jeongin to push Minho’s face away from the omega.

“Stop it,” he says, voice a bit raspy despite having just drank water.

Maybe he’s coming down with something.

Minho relents with a lighthearted laugh, but Hyunjin finds that he doesn’t want to leave Jeongin to Minho’s mercy again. So he lets his hand drop over Jeongin’s shoulder, surreptitiously pulling him a bit closer. No one stares or points it out, but Jeongin turns to look at him for a few pregnant seconds. Hyunjin picks at his food with his other hand, even though he’s not hungry anymore, until Jeongin’s attention goes back to the rest of the group.

It feels good, like this. It feels right.

It doesn’t feel right to separate from him once they’re done eating and it’s time to leave. It doesn’t feel right when he smells pine, and sandalwood, and apple pie, as they stumble out of the restaurant and pour onto the streets.

Did they all decide to wear cologne today?

And it certainly does not feel right when he enters his own apartment alone, not even with Changbin who mumbled an excuse that Hyunjin didn’t even hear before ditching him.

He drops heavily on their designer sofa, pulling his phone out to try to get his mind off the foreboding feeling.

It doesn’t help.

He accidentally drifts off for a few minutes or more, but when he wakes up again, that gnawing sensation has become overwhelming.

He needs to be with Jeongin.

He’s not sure why, maybe his gut is telling him that something wrong will happen, maybe he’s getting mixing signals and he just ate something bad. But he needs to see Jeongin. Just to check, and then he’ll come right back and chalk it all up to insomnia-induced paranoia since he hasn’t been sleeping all that well lately. That’s probably it.

He doesn’t call, he just races through dimly lit streets until he arrives at Chan and Jeongin’s apartment building. When he lets himself in and takes the elevator, there’s so much tension in his body that his teeth hurt from gritting so hard.

He rings the bell. Then rings it again when it’s not answered in five seconds, then again.

“Fuck’s sake, Jinnie, it’s past fucking midnight—” Changbin answers the door. Hyunjin can’t even ask about his flatmate being here because—

Cherries.

So, so many cherries. Not like before, too green to be harvested, or eaten. These are sweet, perfectly ripe, with generous scoops of sugar added to the concoction, like slow-cooked syrupy marmalade.

Suddenly, he’s ravenous.

He storms inside the apartment, uncaring of Changbin’s questioning shouts that he leaves behind him. He knows the apartment, yet he’s not really following his memory. He’s following the mouth-watering smell of the best candied fruit he’s ever smelled, designed for him.

He slams against a wall of pine.

“What’s going on?” It’s not alpha voice, but almost.

Hyunjin can’t answer. Because just then Minho is coming out of Jeongin’s room, half naked, bringing more of the delicious cherry scent with him, and suddenly he sees red.

He doesn’t make the conscious order to bare his teeth, to hunch his shoulders in an awkward but powerful position, or to snarl, but his body does. He’s about to—charge? Throttle? Bite? The opposing alpha when a hand, harsh and unyielding, closes on his nape.

“Calm down,” Chan says, and this time it is with alpha voice.

Hyunjin blinks, his breath caught in his chest, and he doesn’t go down but it’s a near thing.

“Why is he—?” Minho asks, coming to stand beside Chan. Hyunjin doesn’t see Changbin, but he smells tobacco leaves behind him.

Wait. Since when does he know Changbin’s scent is tobacco leaves? And Chan’s is pine?

“I don’t know,” Chan answers. “Hyunjin? Can you hear me?”

Hyunjin swallows thickly, trying to make sense of everything now that the blind rage is gone due to Chan’s scruffing. His brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, his ears ringing—

“Hyunjin?”

Jeongin.

His voice reaches him, clear as a spring water fountain, dissipating the haziness in his brain. His sight zeroes in on the omega, looking adorably flushed, hair tussled, soft body covered with a bathrobe.

And cherries. So, so many cherries, sweet and delectable, making him salivate.

He goes down on his knees.

“Go back, Jeongin. Hyunjin isn’t—” Minho starts, and Hyunjin’s growl cuts him off.

How dare he keep him away from his omega?

“Everyone, stop,” Chan orders, and though he’s not scruffing Hyunjin or using his pack alpha advantage, Hyunjin complies. “Hyunjin. Did you lie to us about being a beta?”

He’s glad he’s sufficiently clear-headed to gasp in affront. “I am a beta.”

The thing is, he is. He’s been a beta all his life. His blood work confirms it, his identity card confirms it.

Then why does it feel so wrong to say out loud?

“You are an alpha,” Jeongin says, voice soft and lovely, coming closer to Hyunjin despite the other three alphas’ clear disapproval. Hyunjin feels more humbled with every step the omega takes, and when he stops in front of him, Hyunjin is glad he’s already on his knees. “Did you come here for me?”

There’s a hand hovering over the nape of Hyunjin’s neck. Another, resting on his shoulder. And a third one placed on his bicep. Strong, alpha hands ready to stop him and pull him back from the pack’s youngest omega if he so much as breathes wrong. But the frazzled, raw anger from before has completely vanished, leaving behind something warm and kindling that takes roots and cements his position there, on his knees, in front of his omega.

“Yes,” Hyunjin says, simply, because he doesn’t feel capable of putting into words the inescapable pull he felt towards Jeongin, the need to meet him this very night. His voice is rough, as if he’d been screaming, and there’s a slight lisp to his pronunciation, as if his teeth don’t quite fit in his mouth.

He’s rewarded by a delicate hand threading through his hair, prompting his eyes to flutter shut, a new wave of sweet cherry scent engulfing him and making him shiver. He can’t contain himself. With a small strangled noise, he wraps his arms around Jeongin, bringing him close so he can nuzzle his soft omega stomach. He feels the surprise in the omega’s body, jolting in his gentle hold and halting his caresses, and in the hands on his back and arms, tensing in preparation.

But he can’t care about anything else, because all he can feel is Jeongin, his inviting omega softness, his delicious scent pouring all around him, just as it should be. It’s so perfect he feels like he’s buzzing in untapped energy, shaking with anticipation in his own skin, all of it condensating in—

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin huffs.

“Is he purring?” Minho asks.

The adorably fragile hands resume their stroking through Hyunjin’s hair, and he purrs louder, giving in to the urge to rub his chin and cheek over Jeongin’s stomach. Cherries mixing with smoky wood and amber, his scent with Jeongin’s, alpha and omega.

Is he? An alpha? He’s not, but… he’s smelling his pack’s scents, something betas can’t do. He’s purring, which betas can’t. His canines ache, as if they were bigger than a regular beta’s. And that scent, smoke and amber, an alpha scent, feels undeniably his. Like seeing himself in the reflection of a mirror.

He doesn’t know how is it possible. He's twenty-five, worlds away from the presenting stage, and besides, his clinical tests confirmed him being a beta. But that’s not important. What’s important is the omega still within his arms.

“Leave him to me,” Jeongin declares, pausing the strokes over Hyunjin's hair to hold him close. It just gives Hyunjin the excuse to tighten his hold on him, greedier for more.

“You can’t be—” Minho starts.

“Are you sure?” Chan cuts him off.

“Yes. And I’m not so far along my heat that I can’t make my own decisions.”

His heat. That’s what it is. The reason for the sweetness in Jeongin’s scent, the ripe and delicious quality to it, and the reason why all the alphas of their pack are here.

...the reason he felt compelled to come tonight?

Jeongin turns to look down towards Hyunjin, cradling his face to make him look up at him. "You won’t hurt me, right?”

Hyunjin would rather cease existing than be the reason for Jeongin’s pain. “Never.”

Jeongin smiles, soft and warm, and Hyunjin’s chest aches.

“Take me to my room?”

Hyunjin’s body obeys, tightening his hold and picking Jeongin up as he stands. The omega has always been the slighter one, but tonight he feels even smaller, more fragile. In comparison, Hyunjin feels like he's overflowing with power, like he could run a marathon if Jeongin wanted him to.

None of the alphas protest or follow them into Jeongin's room.

Jeongin's room.

Jeongin's nesting room.

Hyunjin stops short at the sight of Jeongin's nest, fluffed up with extra pillows and blankets, so soft and inviting and so Jeongin. He wants. He wants to be allowed into this nest so much he feels terrified. With a new tightness in his throat, he carefully lays Jeongin down onto the pile of white bedding, but doesn't climb in after him.

“Can I?” He asks, knowing he's been explicitly asked to stay yet needing to ask anyway.

He watches Jeongin shuffle on hands and knees until he finds his preferred spot, curling up on it and extending a hand towards him. “Yes. Come here.”

So Hyunjin does, and the smell of cherries is so thick here he has to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. His teeth hurt, but it's an inconvenience he can easily ignore when his priority lies right there, in front of his eyes.

“What do you need?” He asks. He feels painfully ignorant of how to help an omega through his heat because he's never done it in the past, and he doesn't want to assume anything and get it wrong.

“For now, just cuddling. My heat hasn't fully hit yet. But maybe…”

“Tell me,” Hyunjin says over his hesitation. Whatever it is, he'll do it.

“Take your clothes off? I like the feeling of skin.” Jeongin says it slowly, hesitantly, and Hyunjin can't tell him that he'd climb mountains if Jeongin so much as hinted it because he's too busy taking all his clothes off.

He's a bit sad to see Jeongin did quick work of his bathrobe at the same time and he can't undress the omega, but it's okay because Joengin is prompting him down for snuggles so Hyunjin hurries to comply.

The nest is soft and pillowy under his back, but Jeongin is all warm and smooth skin, and he can't help his greedy hands from wrapping all around the omega to bring him close. Jeongin nestles into his body instantly, arms clinging, legs threading between his, and it's perfect. So perfect, his—purring starts again, a soft background noise under their breathing.

“I love when you do this,” Jeongin whispers, moving to rest his cheek against Hyunjin's chest. And maybe it's embarrassing, but his purr only kicks up, louder than before, pleased that it pleases his omega.

Hyunjin would be lying if he said he didn't want to take his time exploring all the expanse of soft skin at his disposal, but this isn't about him. So he settles for caressing the skin he has within reach, just a mindless back and forth over the same zone. He can't help himself.

There's lots of things to say, and many more things Hyunjin doesn't think he'd have the answer to even if he wanted, but neither of them talk for a long while. Hyunjin has never been one for softness, but having Jeongin's body pressed against his, and the nest cocooning them, he gets it. He never wants to leave this place. Or Jeongin.

“Your alpha scent is so nice,” Jeongin breaks the quiet standstill, inching his nose just a bit upward. “Like amber, so warm.”

It's nothing Hyunjin did consciously, yet he still feels proud. His alpha scent pleases his omega.

“You do, too” Hyunjin rasps. “I've been smelling cherries all day. I thought it was smelling someone's shampoo—your shampoo.”

Jeongin hums and lifts slightly off Hyunjin's chest, just enough that he can see the rosy tint his cheeks have taken, the glossy sheen to his eyes. It's so adorable on the omega, Hyunjin's heart skips a beat.

“Can I…?” Jeongin asks, licking his lips.

Hyunjin has no idea what he's asking, but still he replies with a firm “Yes. Anything you want.”

And that's how he gets a cute rounded nose pressed to the hollow of his neck, inhaling directly from the gland Hyunjin was sure didn't exist until tonight. He has to fight to keep himself still, perfectly so, for the omega to do as he wishes.

Jeongin lets out a faint sound that Hyunjin wants to hear a million more times, and rubs his nose and cheeks over it. He's scenting him, Hyunjin now recognizes it, prompting his scent out more just to rub it on his skin, while also rubbing his on Hyunjin's. Sweet cherries and smoky amber becoming intertwined until it's their scent. Hyunjin's hands twitch on Jeongin's hips, and he has to swallow the growl that's climbing up his throat. Not in anger, of course, but in possessiveness.

“You smell so—” Jeongin starts, before latching his plump lips over the sensitive skin of Hyunjin's neck gland.

His reaction is immediate, his hips bucking up as his hands hold Jeongin more firmly against himself. But he's not the only one affected, and Jeongin grinds down on him while keeping his lips on his neck. He whines, and Hyunjin's body responds in a heartbeat, folding his leg slightly so Jeongin can get the friction he seeks. He's wet, so wet that Hyunjin suddenly feels parched in a way he's never felt, a thirst that will only be quenched when he gets his mouth on the cherry scented slick currently coating his upper thigh. Still, Jeongin's wants are his priority, so he settles on helping the omega rub himself against him.

It's a soft and quiet affair, but he knows he'll remember the muffled sweet sounds that Jeongin makes as he nears his edge and then tumbles over it with cute shivers forever.

He goes pliantly when Jeongin pushes him down and rises to straddle him. He helps the omega balance as he positions himself over him and sinks on his hard length. And he watches, more enamored by the second, as Jeongin takes his own pleasure as he rides the first waves of his heat.

Hyunjin lets him set the pace, lets him take as much as he wants as long as he wants. And when Jeongin gets too tired to keep going, he takes over, pushing the omega down on his nest, and spreading his legs to bury himself in that sweet heat over and over again.

His first knot is a foreign but pleasant sensation. He doesn't have time to freak out over it, however, because Jeongin is incredibly pleased by it, letting him know in words, with his body cutely spasming over the unfamiliar swell, and with the richness of his satisfied scent.

Hyunjin has never been an alpha before today.

But for Jeongin, nothing has felt more natural.

Chapter Text

Jeongin notices the stares. He’s the quiet, introverted middle child who has grown up in his older brother’s shadow and been kept one step behind his younger brother’s spoiledness. He’s the token introverted friend in a group of extroverts that knows how to listen, and more importantly, how to watch.

So yes, he notices them. But he can’t seem to place them.

Felix’s friends are wonderful right from the start. They’re kind, and welcoming, and chaotic in the way only friends that have become family are. It’s heady, to be allowed in their midst, to get a taste of such pure and unadulterated belonging.

He’d been hesitantly excited when Felix, who he’d met over the summer in an internship, invited him to come up all the way from Busan to spend a weekend with them in Chan’s cabin. And while six new people all at once were a lot, Jeongin felt like he already knew them, from how often Felix talked about them.

It goes both ways, too. They seem genuinely curious to know more about him, to interact with him and let him speak over the cocophony of the many voices. He should have known Felix’s friends would be just as nice as he is. And—yes. Just as attractive, too.

The weekend isn’t over yet but he’s already mourning the time when he’ll inevitably have to leave them.

They take their time preparing dinner, from the snacks to the main courses, and the drinks that keep things lively along with music and games. Chan and Minho are the main cooks, and Jeongin can’t help stealing glances at the capable, glove-clad muscled men tending the grill. Changbin is explicitly—and loudly—barred from the kitchen or the vicinity of the cooking appliances, so he helps Hyunjin and Jisung lay out the foldable tables outside. When Jeongin asks to help them they tell him to ‘sit there and look pretty’ as means to help the dinner preparation, an expression that makes Jeongin visibly blush. And comply, of course. He’s being told by six unfairly attractive men that he’s pretty—what else is he to do?

Felix keeps him company as the tables get filled with more and more food, laughing and being very liberal with the physical contact, a detail that has Jeongin feeling like he’s glowing from within. Such is the impact of having the attention of Lee Felix. When a few plates becomes a full table complete with the steaming cacerole and the juicy grilled meat, they all dig into the hard earned meal.

It’s then, as the sun sets and the food disappears by the minute, that those stolen looks and knowing smiles coalesce into something Jeongin can’t ignore anymore. It’s one thing to be the night’s novelty, and another one—this. Whatever this is. What started as flattering is slowly turning into something Jeongin can’t figure out.

However, he swallows down the slight nagging feeling and concentrates on the easy banter and endless anecdotes from his new friends. It’s nothing. He knows Felix, he spent two whole months with him this summer.

The sun sets, the drinks becoming even more drinks as the crickets sing loudly in the background, so loud it makes Jisung spring out of his seat to see if he can capture the critter.

“Try this one,” Felix distracts him from Jisung’s futile endeavor, offering him a plastic cup. “I think you’ll like it.”

And really, why would Jeongin say no?

So he takes it, and his face scrunches after just one sip.

“It’s bitter,” he comments, and he can’t help being mesmerized at how Felix laughs in mirth. He’s just so pretty.

“I know, but give it one more try. It’s pretty addictive.”

Jeongin does, because even though his first reaction was to recoil, what Felix said is true and he finds that his tongue is craving for more. So he takes one more sip. Then another. Until he’s downed the whole cup, and he’s licking his lips wishing there were more.

Felix laughs, a type of free laughter that makes the blonde tilt his head back, then swoops in to kiss Jeongin’s cheek.

“Did so well for me,” Jeongin thinks he hears Felix whisper, but he probably misunderstood because he’s too busy trying to keep his cool and not blush furiously like his body is valiantly attempting to.

But Felix is Felix, and he just kissed Jeongin. On the cheek, sure, but still.

He tries to act non-chalant and tune back into the ongoing conversation, but he finds that it’s difficult to catch whatever it is they’re saying.

Huh.

He looks around the table, to all the wide smiles and easy chatter that’s a non-stop for this group of friends. His eyes, however, stray back to his plate again and again. Like they’re too heavy, like he’s too tired to lift his gaze higher than that.

Is he getting sleepy now? It’s not even that late. And he can’t blame being drunk, because he’s the chatty type of drunk, not the sleepy one.

He tries to open his eyes more, to move his hands and feet around to wake his body, but finds that he… can’t. Not really. His muscles move as in with a delay, and he has the sensation that he’s looking upon himself from far away.

What’s… going…?

The lights dim bit by bit, until everything is dark.

He swims in a warm cocoon of darkness, where everything is calm and pleasant. He feels pressure around him, and then like he’s floating, untethered by gravity. It’s only interrupted by a very soft surface that rises to meet his body, and he eagerly melts into it.

He doesn’t register the hands that gently strip him of his clothes, until he’s laying, bare, on Chan’s bed. He doesn’t twitch as he’s spread open and carefully prepared by small lubed hands. And he doesn’t hear the discussion of who will go first, or who wins the argument in the end.

Seungmin takes him first. He’s gentle as he slowly bullies his cock into Jeongin’s unresponsive body, so much that even his curses at his tightness are gentle. However, there’s nothing gentle about the frenzied rhythm he sets once Jeongin’s pliant body has become used to him. He can’t protest, he can’t push himself back to meet Seungmin’s eager thrusts. Jeongin is the perfect doll, just a warm and inviting body to be used. And cherished, when Seungmin leans down to kiss the center of his back as if thankful.

Jisung goes next, and Jeongin doesn’t react at the tight, tight fit, or at his powerful, unchecked thrusts into him. His limp body jolts with each stroke, his breath shortened with every move, yet he doesn’t wake. He also misses the hot way Jisung comes undone inside him, all erratic thrusts and overwhelmed sounds that end in appreciative squeezes of Jeongin’s supple flesh at his disposal.

It’s with Hyunjin that Jeongin starts seeing the flashes. The blurry shape of a muscled body towering over him, holding his legs open and sinuously moving in and out of him. It’s there one second, then gone back to a heavy darkness the next. He tries to fight it, to understand what it is he’s seeing, but it’s not a battle he can win. He thinks he feels the fluttery pressure of gorgeous lips pressed against his temple before Hyunjin’s warmth retreats. He misses it immediately.

He doesn’t know at what point he got hard, but the next time his brain decides to take in visual information, he sees a flash of someone riding him. No, not someone—Felix. Decidedly recognizable because of his blond hair, moving up and down his cock. He sees the pretty flush staining his cheeks and neck, and wishes he could reach out and touch him. He feels the pleasure of the stimulation, but it melts into a dull pleasant heaviness that only adds to his sleepiness. He distantly hears the sweet sounds of Felix coming, and though he curses whatever is going on with his system because he doesn’t get to see him when he does. He does, however, feel the soft weight as Felix nuzzles for a few moments afterwards.

When it’s Changbin’s turn, some of the haziness has cleared, enough to understand that they’re all taking turns fucking him when he didn’t have a say in it. That’s when he tries to get them to stop, to let him catch his breath and understand what’s going on. But his strength is paper thin and his resistance is easily brushed aside by wonderfully muscled limbs. He comes for the first time—that he knows—on Changbin’s cock, the pleasure so intense it makes him black out once more. Which is why he doesn’t register it when Changbin strokes his hair carefully away from his face, pausing to admire his sex-flushed cheeks.

By the time he resurfaces, it’s Minho who has him pinned down, almost sweetly, indulgently, while he rolls his hips into him in a relentless rhythm. Jeongin can’t move, can’t fight him, as he’s fucked for the—sixth? Time that night. By that point, he has enough brain cells awake to recognize that the deep sleep he fell in wasn’t natural at all, and they must have drugged him during the night. Was it the food? The drinks? They’re both questions he can’t quite yet utter, but Minho seems all too happy to have him babbling indistinctly while bouncing him on his cock. Jeongin gets a passionate bite on the flesh of his neck courtesy of Minho’s high when he comes.

Jeongin has regained more mobility by Chan’s turn, but he has no hope of prying himself free from him, not even on his best day. Chan deftly manoeuvers him into his desired position, then fucks him with a drive that has Jeongin clutching the sheets for support. He comes, once, on Chan’s cock, but Chan keeps going. On, and on. Even when he turns Jeongin over and makes him lie on his back. Even when Felix comes into his field of vision, draping himself over Jeongin’s torso and capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Even then, Chan keeps fucking him.

“You’re perfect,” Felix praises. “You did so well for us, baby.”

Jeongin can’t reply because he’s being fucked too hard for coherent speech, but it doesn’t matter because Felix keeps praising him, telling him how good he is and what a perfect fit he is for them.

Chan comes just as he wrings one last orgasm out of Jeongin’s sweaty, filthy body. Felix shifts just enough to let Chan lean down to kiss Jeongin, hot and filthy and entirely perfect.

When Jeongin’s eyes close again, it’s not due to whatever drug they used on him, but from exhaustion.

And there’s a bone deep satisfaction, a soul level contentedness, that makes him wonder.

If they would do this, all over again, some other time.