Chapter Text
{ 1 }
He’s standing at the top of a precipice and all he can hear is the sound of the ocean surging in his ears, his blood loud like a storm in his skull. Like an overly-taut violin string. A single drop of water barely hanging onto the tip of a grass blade. A trembling needle poised at the surface of the skin. The gravel is loose beneath his feet.
If he moves, he’ll surely fall.
—
There’s no time to react when Beomgyu’s body collides into his, slamming him into the door with a loud thump that knocks the wind right out of his body. They’re not even kissing, but Beomgyu is rubbing up against him again, like he had done when they first entered the house, but this time Beomgyu is mouthing at his neck, hot and wet, and Yeonjun is so hard it’s actually starting to really hurt.
“Wait, Beomgyu—” Yeonjun forces out.
“I—please,” Beomgyu pants against Yeonjun’s ear, his deep voice rich and husky, “I need you.”
Holy mother of god. This is fucking torture.
Yeonjun knows now that in a previous life he had performed some terrible, unforgivable acts of violence, because he doesn’t know what he’d done in this life to deserve this. Perhaps he’d committed some unfathomable war crimes, or perhaps he’d jaywalked one too many times.
“Beomgyu, you only think you want me because of your heat,” Yeonjun tries to say, his hands hovering on either side of Beomgyu’s febrile body. He’s uncertain about the current state of his hitherto crumbling resolve and whether or not it would withstand the weight of Beomgyu’s desire directed solely at him. So he keeps his hands away at a safe distance where they won’t find themselves running along the dip of Beomgyu’s waist or stroking over the swelling of his hips, “It’s just because I’m the only alpha here.”
“No,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head, tickling the side of Yeonjun’s neck with his long strands of hair, “just you. Only you. Always been you.”
It’s like missing a step, his heart suddenly entering zero gravity and lodging in his throat as he slips, the loose gravel beneath his feet sliding away from under him; the waves crash heavily against the rocks—his eardrums; he closes his eyes and holds his breath as he plummets.
Beomgyu presses even closer, his hands gripping onto Yeonjun’s shoulders as he brushes his lips against the shell of Yeonjun’s ear, a soft caress that feels like a surge of electricity, “I only want you.”
—
Up until this point, Yeonjun had exercised an extraordinary amount of self-control. Ask anyone who was witness to this event, and they would vouch for him. They’d say that anybody else in his position would’ve snapped and lost control hours ago.
And Yeonjun, he’d always prided himself on his willpower and his tenacity in everything that he did, previously unwavering, steadfast; his spirit unshakeable.
But as we all know, they did also claim that the Titanic was unsinkable.
—
The air is so thick with Beomgyu’s scent that Yeonjun feels intoxicated, his mind blurring, his inhibitions starting to melt away into the sweet scent of fruit and flowers. They collapse onto Beomgyu’s bed and his mouth immediately finds Beomgyu’s as he cages him within his arms, looming over his smaller body like a predator who has his claws around his prey’s throat.
Beomgyu tastes better than anything Yeonjun could’ve ever imagined. His tongue strokes the tip of Beomgyu’s as the omega opens up beneath him, opens himself up to be devoured and savoured; he tastes just like an addiction that Yeonjun knows he will never beat.
To think he had deprived himself of heaven for so long, he thinks, as he breaks away from Beomgyu to reattach himself onto his neck. He sucks at the soft skin, nips at it, listens to the pretty moans dripping from Beomgyu’s open mouth into his ears like honey. The alpha inside Yeonjun is going fucking batshit insane, slamming itself against the walls of Yeonjun’s psyche and with every kiss and moan and breath, it gets closer and closer to breaking out.
Beomgyu keens, lifting his hips and grinding against Yeonjun, and he responds by pressing his knee forward to allow for the friction to push Beomgyu even further. A smile curls at the corner of his lips when Beomgyu moans again at the sensation, his fingers digging painfully into Yeonjun’s shoulders.
“Let me take care of you,” Yeonjun whispers, “What do you want? Tell me what you want.”
Maybe it’s a little mean to ask him that when he’s barely coherent, but he wants—needs—to hear it from Beomgyu.
“Y-you,” Beomgyu whispers, “I want you.”
“I need you to be more specific, baby,” Yeonjun replies, the pet name slipping out so naturally that he only noticed he’d said in retrospect. He lifts a hand so he can push Beomgyu’s hair out of the way allowing him to see the already fucked out look on his face, lips kissed swollen and red, like candied cherries, “Want me to what?”
Beomgyu whimpers, his bottom lip catching in his teeth.
“Want me to fuck you?” he spares Beomgyu the embarrassment of vocalising it out loud, reaches a hand in between them, brushing against Beomgyu’s member on the way down. He soaks up the wrecked noises that escape him in a deep kiss that leaves him breathless, “Want me to breed you? To fill you up with my seed? Put some pups in you?”
He palms the front of Beomgyu’s pants and the omega lets out a little broken sob, and Yeonjun can see a tear slip out from the corner of his eye. He leans down and kisses where it rests on his temple, tasting the sting of salt on his lips.
“Yes, hyung,” Beomgyu sniffles, “please. All of that.”
There’s a twisted part of Yeonjun that wishes he could oblige, but the risk is too high and he’s sure it’s just the heat talking. Fuck, and he knows he’s saying some real nasty shit that he’ll probably regret once the post-nut clarity hits him. But that’s the last of his worries, not when he’s got Beomgyu underneath him pliant and open to everything that Yeonjun can give, and practically begging for Yeonjun to come inside him.
His inclination to follow logic and what he believes is the ‘right thing to do’ evaporates into thin air with every aching kiss and desiring press of digits into invisible bruises.
He rucks up Beomgyu’s shirt and begins by gives his chest some attention. He mouths at the skin that leads down to his nipples, and he takes one in his mouth, running his tongue in a slow motion around the sensitive bud while restraining him with a hand on his abdomen so he can’t buck up like he wants to. When it sounds like Beomgyu’s about to burst into flames at the simple action, he pops his mouth off.
Then he’s moving down further, the rough drag of his lips a stark contrast to the smooth skin beneath them. The sunlight glances off his piercing, catching his attention for but a brief second as Beomgyu twists his body, overwhelmed by the attention he's receiving from the alpha. Yeonjun runs his tongue over the cool metal, dancing along the jewel, and Beomgyu’s muscles tighten up beneath Yeonjun’s hands at the sensation. As Beomgyu is trying not to combust, he inches his boxers down. Before he dips his head down, he gives one teasing lick along Beomgyu’s now weeping cock, a bead of pre-cum collecting at the tip of his tongue, but that’s it—despite all the omega’s needy pleading and begging and against his own smouldering need to have that cock in his fucking mouth. He lowers his head between his legs, and he’s ravenous, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Wrapping an arm around each leg, he presses a firm kiss against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, feeling Beomgyu tense up yet again as he does so. Yeonjun flexes his fingers, appreciating the way they sink into the supple flesh.
Delicious. That’s how Yeonjun would describe the scent surging from Beomgyu in pulsing waves, every heartbeat a beckon. He can’t stop himself from salivating as he mouths at Beomgyu’s thighs, working the delicate tissue with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, and the omega’s hand comes down to grip at Yeonjun’s hair with shaky fingers. With every bit of pressure from his mouth he causes those fingers to falter. When he’s finally satisfied with the constellation of bruises decorating the previously unmarred skin, he moves further down still.
Immediately, a burst of sweetness erupts on his tongue, like the juice of fresh fruit in the summer. Beomgyu cries out in uninhibited pleasure the moment he touches him, and his soft thighs clamp down on either side of Yeonjun’s ears. With the hands already on his legs, he pries Beomgyu’s legs apart once more and takes that as a green light to continue. He’s so fucking wet down here that Yeonjun has to wipe some of it off his chin before he licks hungrily into him.
He’s so perfect.
Perfect in every fucking way.
Everything about Beomgyu just makes Yeonjun crave for more. He wants to taste every molecule of him, drink up every sound he makes, wants to mark every inch of him, inside and out. Wants to feel him between his teeth, against his tongue, and under his fingernails.
Beomgyu’s fingers are tangled in his hair, but he doesn’t even have the strength to hold on. Yeonjun can feel them twitching against his scalp as he fucks Beomgyu open with his tongue, and he’s letting out the most delightful noises: moans and stifled sobs that only serve to spur Yeonjun on. Beomgyu rolls his hips, like he’s trying to fuck himself down onto Yeonjun’s tongue, so needy and drunk off his pleasure.
Yeonjun presses a hand down hard onto his hips, stopping his movements and god, the noises. The whimpering, the moans. Yeonjun can feel himself going crazy, his grasp on himself and his senses beginning to loosen and slip. He pushes his tongue deeper, relishing in the sweet cries dripping from between Beomgyu's sugar-glazed lips, and the peach syrup spilling over his tastebuds.
When he pulls back, after wiping his mouth and licking the ambrosia off his thumb, he wastes no time to push a finger into him.
The slide in is an easy one, and Beomgyu sighs as Yeonjun starts to finger-fuck him with one hand, the other placed on his thigh to keep his legs open. He looks like a fucking masterpiece like this, spread open on the bed, his hair framing his beautiful face like a dark halo, long eyelashes fluttering against the flushed skin of his cheeks. His mouth falling open, slack as pleasure takes over, eyes glazed over trying to focus on Yeonjun, so filled to the brim with lust that Yeonjun gets impatient, shoving another finger into him and stretching him open as much as he can so that he can get on to the main event.
He’s not even afraid of hurting Beomgyu because the omega underneath him is writhing and moaning so wantonly that Yeonjun knows that Beomgyu was ready for his knot hours ago. When Yeonjun presses his fingers against his walls, without warning, Beomgyu's entire body locks up and he cries out, one hand reaching down to grab onto Yeonjun’s wrist in a weak attempt to still his movements, the other flying up to cover his face as he shoots white stripes all over his own stomach. Yeonjun almost finishes in his pants watching Beomgyu come untouched, with just his fingers alone.
God fucking dammit.
He truly is perfection.
Beomgyu breathes out as Yeonjun leans down to nose his hand away from his face so he can kiss his cheek in an action so tender that it has Beomgyu's breath hitching in his throat as his entire body trembles. But he’s still running hot like he’s sick with a fever, and it’s not long before his cock is back to attention, his refractory period pretty much non-existent because his body wants to be knotted so bad that it doesn’t allow for breaks until it gets what it wants.
“Good boy,” Yeonjun drawls as he pulls his fingers out of him, coated in Beomgyu's slick and his own spit, “because I’m not fucking done with you.”
He sits back on his knees and begins to work on his belt buckle, looking down at Beomgyu with a weighted gaze that needs no words to translate its intentions, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna feel me for days,” he says, and Beomgyu stares up at him, “fuck you, then knot you…”
Beomgyu swallows thickly, blinking up at Yeonjun with those big, unfocused, doe eyes of his. He whips his belt off, and then he’s grabbing him and flipping him over onto his stomach, and the omega just allows himself to be manhandled like a ragdoll. He reaches under Beomgyu’s hips to pull him up so that he’s presenting to Yeonjun, all fertile and primed, and he runs a firm hand along from the base of his spine, a deliberate pressure against the overly sensitive skin, up until he reaches his nape.
With a firm grip, he closes his hand around the sides of Beomgyu’s neck, digging right into that scent gland of his, scruffing him in a way that turns Beomgyu into a weak, malleable mess. He pulls him up, arching Beomgyu's back in a beautiful bow so that he can speak low into his ear,
“How does that sound?”
—
He wishes he could forgo the condom, but even in his hazy state of mind, he knows that that is a really, really bad idea. As much as his instincts want to dump his load into Beomgyu’s extremely receptive and willing body, he knows future-Yeonjun will thank him later for not giving in and knocking up his friend—though he supposes the term ‘friend’ would be used rather loosely now.
His movements are getting sloppier and less precise now, and he fumbles with the condom with his unsteady hands, having to attempt multiple tries at rolling it on. Because he’s about to actually fuck Beomgyu. His wet dreams are finally becoming a reality, and the mere premise of it sends Yeonjun’s mind and body careening into the rapids.
He’s shaking by the time he’s leaning over Beomgyu with his dick his hand. His mind is filled with cotton and lead, unable to believe that this is happening, even up to the point where he’s lined up with his tip pressed against Beomgyu.
Nothing could have ever prepared him for the ecstasy that he feels when he finally pushes in and hears the omega moan low and heavy as he’s being filled so deeply and intimately. He swears he blacks out for a fraction of a millisecond the moment he enters the heat, smooth and slick and so fucking tight; his mind is a fucking war zone, a static-filled, garbled mess of thoughts and sensation and emotions that he can’t get in order right now.
His fingers dig hard into the gentle curve of Beomgyu’s hips as he tries his best not to just go straight into fucking him like a feral animal, even though Yeonjun knows that Beomgyu’s body was made for this—was designed to take it as hard as Yeonjun was willing to give it. If he was going to be honest, the slow savouring of this moment was more for a selfish reason, if anything. He wants to commit this moment to memory, wants to carve it into the crevices of his brain and etch it into his fingerprints.
Beomgyu’s breathing becomes heavier as Yeonjun inches his way in slowly, and then he lets out an exhale that sounds like relief when Yeonjun finally bottoms out with a low groan, his tensing muscles turning into jelly as his body tries to relax and adjust to Yeonjun’s cock inside of him. He presses a kiss to Beomgyu’s spine, and he runs his hands along Beomgyu’s waist, admiring the taper beneath his fingertips. And then he starts to move.
The omega cries out, collapsing onto his front as his hands reach out to grasp onto a pillow with a white-knuckled grip as Yeonjun holds his hips up and starts to fuck him with violent fervour, pulling out only to slam back into him mercilessly. But he takes it, just like he’s meant to. Hot breaths of air get knocked out of his lungs with every thrust; Yeonjun watches him intently, the saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth and onto the sheets, his hair obscuring the look in his eyes…though Yeonjun has a pretty good idea of what he might look like.
Devastatingly pretty, even when he’s face down, ass up, with his teeth catching on the fabric.
Yeonjun pauses for a moment when he realises that Beomgyu hasn’t made a noise for a little while now, and he strokes Beomgyu’s hair, “You okay?”
The younger doesn’t say a word, but he nods, and then he’s pushing back desperately against Yeonjun, fucks back onto Yeonjun’s cock like it’s the only thing that he can think about, and that alone breaks something inside of Yeonjun.
He feels it like a shattering of chain links.
He pulls out and yanks Beomgyu up by the shoulder and turns him around before the omega can protest, because he wants to see his face, can’t handle the idea of not being able to watch the pleasure that will overtake his expressions when Yeonjun eventually knots him. He moves up the bed to sit against the headboard, and he wordlessly pats his thighs. The omega obediently crawls into his lap, and without needing to be asked, he takes Yeonjun in his hand and sinks down onto him, both of them moaning at the same time as he does so. With how fucking wet he is down there, he re-enters with no problem.
At first, he makes Beomgyu ride him, his fingers holding onto Beomgyu’s lithe waist as he fucks himself with Yeonjun’s cock like the good little omega that he is, stupid for his cum, begging for his knot, and desperate to be bred. He tilts his head back, and Yeonjun’s blood sears through his veins, boiling hot beneath his skin, at the sight of the exposed expanse of pale, unmarked skin right in front of him like a blank canvas, waiting.
For him.
He attempts to quell the urge by leaving a love bite on his shoulder, where the loose shirt slips down far enough for Yeonjun to leave a mark that can be easily covered up later, if he so wishes.
When Beomgyu begins to slow down, Yeonjun doesn’t allow for a lull and takes over. He tightens his fingers on Beomgyu and fucks up into him, setting a rough pace and pulling Beomgyu down onto himself so he can reach as deep inside as he can; he wants Beomgyu to feel him in his oesophagus, like it’s his sole purpose in life to rearrange his guts.
“F-fuck,” Beomgyu pants, and it's the first thing he’s said in a while. Yeonjun smirks up at him.
“You like that?”
Beomgyu nods, his own member hard and leaking, but Yeonjun won’t touch it—not now, anyway.
One hand is holding onto the headboard behind Yeonjun’s head for dear life, and the other is gripping painfully onto Yeonjun’s shoulder like he’s trying to snap Yeonjun’s clavicle in half. His lips are shiny with spit, so tempting and enticing, so Yeonjun wraps his arms around Beomgyu’s waist, pulling him into his own body so he can lean up to capture them once again. He wants to possess Beomgyu, wants his own scent and Beomgyu’s to be entangled in such a way that they’re practically one in the same and inseparable.
Beomgyu fits within the circle of his arms so perfectly, especially in his lap like this, his long hair draping over Yeonjun’s face as they kiss languidly and softly, even as Yeonjun continues to thrust into him.
“You smell so good,” Yeonjun mumbles when they break apart, and then he rambles on, “you smell so fucking good, shit—you taste so good. My perfect, gorgeous, lovely omega. Mine. All mine.”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu whispers quietly into the thick air, “always was. Always will be.”
The implications of the words, the promises of past and future and now, ignite something inside Yeonjun that erupts like a thunderous volcano. With a low growl pulled from the depths of his chest he pulls Beomgyu off his cock and shoves him roughly back onto the bed, crawling back on top of him and kissing along his collarbone, then his neck, licking along his pulse and feeling the blood rushing beneath his tongue.
He stops right at his scent gland. He passes over it once with a gentle graze of his teeth and his tongue, almost like a request. He feels Beomgyu shudder beneath him, a tremble that racks through his entire body and then he’s hooking his ankles together over the small of Yeonjun’s back, guiding him back inside, and then closer and tighter still. The taste of him is so divine, it’s like dipping his tongue into the pools of Elysium.
His teeth are itching now.
No.
No, he shouldn’t.
He can’t.
He clenches his teeth, hard, to the point he wonders if they’ll break, but the thought of claiming the omega underneath him pushes Yeonjun closer and closer to the edge.
“I’m gonna knot you,” Yeonjun pants, through the intrusive thoughts invading his mind, trying his best to give Beomgyu a warning.
“Please,” Beomgyu begs, “I need it, need you, please, please, please.”
Yeonjun can’t say no to that.
How could he?
He finally slides his hand down and wraps a warm hand around Beomgyu’s neglected cock, and he has Beomgyu crying out at the simple touch. He jerks him off with rough, impatient movements, if only because he himself is teetering on the very edge and he’s determined to get Beomgyu off before he finds his own. When Beomgyu’s hips stutter into his grip, Yeonjun only tightens the fingers around his member.
Beomgyu pulls Yeonjun down, but he doesn’t even get to kissing him, because when their lips are millimetres away, Beomgyu instead moans, loud and unabashed, the heat of it kissing Yeonjun instead. Their lips only brush against each other as he comes into Yeonjun’s fist. Yeonjun watches, pupils blown out and dilated, at the way Beomgyu’s eyes shut tight while he writhes underneath him. All the built-up pleasure explodes inside him like a bouquet of fireworks, and the previously unshed tears finally roll down his cheeks as he’s overtaken by pure ecstasy with uncontrolled gasps and whimpers, his bottom lip flicking out from between where it was clamped tightly between his teeth.
“Bite me,” Beomgyu demands from him, as his eyes open slowly, and it’s so suddenly authoritative that Yeonjun for a moment thinks he heard wrong, but then he speaks again, “I want you to bite me, make me yours. I want to be yours.”
The words alone have Yeonjun tensing up on the spot, but then Beomgyu is clenching down painfully hard around his cock, and his legs are tightening around his waist like he’s trying to stop Yeonjun from pulling out, like he fucking wants Yeonjun to actually finish inside and breed him and—fuck—that’s what has Yeonjun coming with a loud moan, releasing into the condom instead of into Beomgyu like he so desperately wants to.
And then Beomgyu is pulling Yeonjun down, but it’s not for a kiss. He’s pulling him down and tilting his head to the side.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
It’s all too much for Yeonjun. The scent immediately engulfs him. It fills every part of Yeonjun’s body like he’s being drowned, heady and intoxicating and all-consuming and yet all he wants to do is sink deeper and let it submerge him completely.
He opens his mouth, feeling the saliva pool in his mouth.
And then he takes the bite.
The omega cries out both in pain and pleasure as Yeonjun’s teeth clamp down onto his neck like a vice and his nails threaten to cut into Yeonjun’s skin, his entire body taken over by the sensation of being claimed.
There’s a rush of energy that courses through Yeonjun’s body and he feels the most intense head-rush he has ever experienced in his entire life. It feels like diving headfirst into arctic waters and breaking through the ice. It feels like being yanked from earth’s gravity only to be sent crash-landing back through the crust. He feels both weightless and heavy, cold and hot, like his mind has been thrown into the endless abyss of space yet grounded and so present and here in this exact moment, with his teeth buried in sweet flesh.
The metallic tang of blood drips onto his tongue, and Yeonjun startles. He apologises with a swipe of his tongue when he comes to and realises his sharp canines have pierced through Beomgyu’s skin.
And then he feels it, the beginnings of his knot swelling at the base of his dick. He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to focus on the overwhelming sensation that is coursing through his body. When he finally calms down, he takes some deep, meditative breaths, willing his heart to slow.
When he finally opens his eyes he looks down at Beomgyu. The omega looks like he’s passed out, eyes closed and taking some slow breaths of his own. Yeonjun gently taps him on the face.
“Hey, Beoms,” Yeonjun calls out gently, and the omega groans and cracks open an eye, “you okay?”
The omega is still dazed, not even gracing Yeonjun with a response as his head lolls to the side. Yeonjun gently dabs at the blood on his neck with the blanket, grimacing at the bright red splotches on the linen. His eyes are half-closed and far away, like he’s not sure who or where he is. Yeonjun strokes his hair and runs his thumb softly over his cheekbones, trying to bring him back to the present.
It’s only when Yeonjun’s knot continues to grow that he whimpers and tries to shuffle further up the bed and away from him, probably because of the discomfort of being knotted, and that movement causes it to catch on his rim. The sensation feels like a lightning bolt down Yeonjun’s spine.
“Ah, fuck, don’t—don’t move,” Yeonjun stutters out, hand flying out to grab his hips to still him before he rips Yeonjun’s dick off.
Beomgyu makes a pained noise as Yeonjun’s knot gets bigger and bigger still, and Yeonjun leans down to kiss him, running a hand through his hair and then resting it on the side of his neck where he’d bitten him. His fingers massage the bruised skin as it deepens in colour, hoping it’s enough to distract him from the pain.
Once he thinks he’s finished tying to Beomgyu, he manoeuvres them carefully so that Beomgyu is resting on top of him, and he pushes Beomgyu’s head down so he can lay on his chest. He scrapes his nails along his scalp, and even though he’d spent a good part of the afternoon sweating, his hair still feels like silk between his fingers.
They lay like that for a while, with Yeonjun carding his fingers absent-mindedly through his hair and watching the strands spill like water, cool against his warm hands. The other hand is rubbing Beomgyu’s back, the tips of his fingers stroking gently along the seam of his spine. If Yeonjun tilts his head down, he can barely see the darkening mark on the side of Beomgyu’s neck.
“How long?” Beomgyu asks with his cheeks squished against Yeonjun’s solid chest. He squirms a little bit, feeling the tug of it inside him, and Yeonjun bites down hard on his bottom lip as to not moan and ruin this little moment of tenderness between them.
Yeonjun blinks, and his hand pauses in Beomgyu’s hair for a second, before he resumes.
“I…I don’t…actually know,” Yeonjun admits, and then he takes a deep breath, “I’ve never—you’re the first person I’ve actually…y’know. Knotted.”
Beomgyu’s fingers are twisted in the front of Yeonjun’s shirt, and his fists tighten in the worn-soft fabric of his shirt as he buries his face into Yeonjun’s chest, inhaling his scent, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun says quietly, “‘oh’, indeed.”
Eventually the rapid breathing begins to slow, and Yeonjun can already feel the air starting to clear as Beomgyu’s body stops trying to draw in a mate, satisfied with the outcome. It’s like he can actually breathe again, his lungs finally getting the chance to expand properly. Sure, the room smells like sweat and sex but it’s not the suffocating, muggy, inebriating fog that it was before.
Yeonjun manages to stay awake just long enough for his knot to finally go down, though it feels like his brain overheating and his body is lagging; all he wants to do is go to fall into a deep sleep for the next twenty-four hours. He does his best to not wake Beomgyu up as he pulls out and rolls him off so that he can discard the condom and get them both dressed. Luckily, Beomgyu stays fast asleep through it; the heat must’ve drained him of all his energy.
As he’s fighting with his pants leg and the way it wants to be both inside out and outside out, he contemplates going back to his room, unsure of how Beomgyu is going to react when he comes to. Yeonjun can’t help but worry. What if Beomgyu emerges from his heat and instantly regrets everything that had happened? How could he ever face him again? Because if that’s the case, then Yeonjun is ready to book his flights to Iceland tonight, where he will live out the remaining years of his life as an isolated sheep farmer, far away from here.
But then he looks down at Beomgyu, at the mess of long, black hair splayed over the pillows, and the angry looking bite on his neck, snoring softly away into his plush feather pillows. And he remembers the way Beomgyu had asked—begged—for him, how he had spilled sweet, desperate reassurances against his ear and down his neck, had kissed him with an aching sort of longing that couldn’t all be attributed to just being drunk from his heat.
So he climbs back into bed, and shuffles closer to Beomgyu, and even in his sleep, the omega gravitates towards him, falling into Yeonjun’s waiting arms and tucking himself into Yeonjun like he’d always belonged there.
Because he does.
Always has.
Always will.
His hair tickles Yeonjun’s chin and it makes it harder for him to get comfortable, but it’s okay. More than okay.
With the arm currently not pinned under Beomgyu, he wraps it around his shoulder and gently cups the back of his head in his palm. He cradles his sleeping form close against his own body with a slight tremor in his fingers that betrays the storm inside him—but only to the lenient silence of the room, and allows Beomgyu’s heartbeats to tick against his chest steady like a metronome and soothing like a lullaby.
Beomgyu’s hair is light and soft against his lips as he leaves a kiss on his forehead.
And he falls asleep; he dreams of being in an orchard in the summer, running between the trees; of crushed vanilla pods and cherry blossom petals.
And soft beneath his feet and high above his head…are rows, and rows, of peaches.
—
When he wakes, it’s because there’s a warm body stretching against him. He hears the satisfying cracking of joints, and blinks his eyes open to see Beomgyu moan at the feeling of relief, exhaling as he relaxes and flops bonelessly again. His hair is a horrible mess, and his lips are chapped, but to Yeonjun he looks nothing less than perfect.
He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Beomgyu speaks, voice husky and soft in his lucidity, “Hi.”
“Hey,” Yeonjun croaks out, following it with a long, satisfying yawn.
“Ugh,” Beomgyu pushes Yeonjun’s face away with his sluggish hand, “morning breath.”
“Fuck off,” Yeonjun scowls, and then he does a quick breath check, and in his humble opinion, it’s fine, “and it’s not even morning, shithead.”
With a yawn of his own, Beomgyu groggily pushes himself up with a raspy groan, and Yeonjun doesn’t miss the wince when he gets into a sitting position. He checks the clock on his bedside table. They’d lost a couple of hours, but it’s still light outside, even though the sun is starting to make its way below the horizon.
Beomgyu stomach growls.
“Same,” Yeonjun comments with a small laugh from where he’s still lying on his back. He was starting to also get the hunger pangs, “How about you go get washed up and I’ll go make us some food? You stink.”
Beomgyu scoffs, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed, “That’s not what you were saying earlier.”
And Yeonjun is unable to stop the flush rising high on his cheeks as he waves him away with a tired hand, “Go have a shower.”
Beomgyu only laughs, an airy, beautiful chime, as he gets up and walks around the bed, grabbing his clothes on the way out. Yeonjun tries not to stare at the blossoming bruises on the inside of Beomgyu’s thighs that his shirt isn’t long enough to cover, and at the almost glowing red bite on the side of his neck.
—
“So,” Beomgyu starts, stabbing his chopsticks into the egg yolk and letting it run over his noodles.
“So?” Yeonjun parrots back at him, unwilling to be the one to bring attention to the elephant in the room. He knows he’ll have to look it in its beady little eyes and deal with it eventually, but he’s hungry and tired and the whole situation is still so fresh in his mind, and to do so feels like digging a finger around inside a bleeding wound. Some part of him even wonders if this is still all a fantasy in his head, and he’s about to wake up soon—surrounded by shampoo bottles—and realise he’d slipped over in the shower as he was trying to jerk himself off and knocked his head.
He stares at the noodles floating around in his bowl. It was the only thing that Yeonjun could find that he could make quickly so that it’d be ready by the time Beomgyu was out of the shower, and honestly, as much as he wanted to make something nutritious for the omega who’d just come out of a heat—albeit a much shorter heat than usual, thanks to Yeonjun—he was also feeling a little worn out himself.
They also probably shouldn’t be eating on Beomgyu’s bed, but honestly the sheets are already in need of a deep clean and a round of sanitising anyway.
“I…thank you,” Beomgyu says, running a fingernail against the smooth edge of his bowl where the scalloped design is starting to chip. His eyes are cast down, staring at the wrinkles in the duvet covers that rest over his legs.
“Uh, no problem,” Yeonjun replies awkwardly.
He feels like he should be the one saying thank you to Beomgyu.
“And um, I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” Yeonjun looks up, “Why are you sorry?”
Beomgyu rubs his nose, and then he runs a tired hand down his face, “For being dumb and forgetting to take my suppressants.”
“Oh, right,” Yeonjun answers, relieved. For a split second he’d thought Beomgyu was going to hit him with a ‘sorry, but I don’t feel anything for you and this was a huge fucking mistake’, though he supposes that’s still on the table, “You were stressed, there’s no need for you to apologise.”
“But if I wasn’t so stupid—” Beomgyu chews his bottom lip.
“Hey,” Yeonjun calls out, and Beomgyu glances over to him and it feels so strange to have Beomgyu’s eyes focus on him again, “you’re not stupid, stop saying that. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, I put you in a really awkward situation where you had to…” he takes a breath, “you shouldn’t have had to—”
Yeonjun shakes his head, “Beomgyu—”
“It was selfish of me, and…I’m sorry I kept asking for you,” Beomgyu clears his throat, “I hadn’t even considered your feelings and if—if you don’t feel…” he sighs, “I hope you can forgive me. If you want we can just move on from this and forget—”
“Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says, louder and firmer this time, and he finally succeeds in stopping Beomgyu in his rambling, “please, stop.”
And Beomgyu does. He stops and looks at Yeonjun, waiting for Yeonjun to say something.
Shit, he hadn’t really thought this far ahead because he didn’t actually think Beomgyu was going to stop to listen to him. He has so many things he wants to say, but now that he’s here, in front of Beomgyu, he finds his tongue feels too heavy for his mouth and his head is a pocket of helium, ready to float him up and out into space.
“There is honestly nothing you’ve done that would require my forgiveness.”
“Not even making you spend my heat with me?” Beomgyu asks softly, and Yeonjun wants to reach over and either slap him upside the head or wrap him up in a big hug. The way he makes it seem like Yeonjun wouldn’t beg him for a chance to do it all again, like it wasn’t a literal dream come true. It was so painfully, heart-wrenchingly naive of him.
“You didn’t make me do anything,” and in the silence, Yeonjun continues, “you think I would’ve if I didn’t want to?”
“No, but—”
“Beomgyu, Beoms,” Yeonjun holds out a hand, because he needs to not be interrupted. He's only just gathered the last remaining drops of courage to speak and his heart is thumping away in his chest like a bird trapped inside, flying into the glass over and over again in a desperate attempt to escape. And just like a bird it freaks the fuck out and starts shitting all over the floor, and that’s why his brain decides that this is the right moment to start glitching out, “Listen, I…you—I—okay, hold on, I—fuck, okay—”
Yeonjun holds a hand out, and then he places it over his mouth and stares at the bowl of noodles in his lap. His tongue and his brain weren’t fucking communicating, and Beomgyu has now gone from being despairing and apologetic to furrowing his eyebrows in concern.
“Hyung? Are you…okay?” Beomgyu leans forward and waves a hand in front of his face, “Dude, blink if you can smell burnt toast—”
“I love you.”
It leaves his mouth in awkward, stilted syllables that feel too large in his mouth. Like fruit falling from a tree and landing on the soft grass below in muted thumps. Then it comes to an abrupt stop. A squealing of tires against asphalt, and his own hand slaps over his mouth again.
It’s not what he was planning to say, but it’s what came out. It wasn’t the eloquent confession he was planning in his head, it wasn’t the touching, emotional, heartfelt message that he had hoped for. But it was what he got.
The ensuing silence is deafening.
Neither of them speak, nor do they eat. They just sit there, with their lukewarm noodles, processing everything that had transpired in the last couple of hours and the words that are now suspended in the air with unspoken thoughts and pending replies. Yeonjun’s hand slowly leaves his mouth to return to its spot on the side of the bowl.
After a spell, Beomgyu puts his bowl aside, and he reaches over to grab Yeonjun’s to put it away as well when it’s clear he’s not going to finish. Beomgyu hadn’t said anything in response to Yeonjun’s sudden confession, and the longer he waits for him to, the stronger the urge to throw himself onto oncoming traffic.
“You…love me?” Beomgyu finally asks, voice low and soft and deep, resonating inside Yeonjun’s chest.
Yeonjun buries his face into his hands. He can feel the rapid rise of heat to his cheeks burning into his palms and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears.
And then Beomgyu laughs. The sound surprises Yeonjun and he peeks through his fingers.
Wow. Yeonjun is having a crisis, and he’s laughing.
He doesn’t lift his head, choosing instead to let out a muffled, “Shut up,” into his hands.
“Are you really going to act all shy now?” Beomgyu asks, his laughter finally dying down but not coming to a complete stop, “You literally had your dick stuck in my ass for like, an hour—”
“Beoms, c’mon,” Yeonjun lifts a weak hand to stop him.
“Okay, sorry, sorry, I just—” Beomgyu takes a deep breath, “that was so unexpected. Sorry for laughing, it wasn’t to be mean, I promise, it was just the first reaction I had. My body just…didn’t know what to do.”
Yeonjun moves his hands away from his face so he can watch from the corner of his eye as Beomgyu sighs and places his hands on his lap and starts wringing his fingers. He’s got his lips pursed, like he wants to say something; Yeonjun waits with bated breath. There were so many ways this conversation could go, and Yeonjun begins to run through all the possible scenarios in his head, all of which involve Beomgyu rejecting him in some way. Gently, deadpan, with a laugh, assertively.
He can’t even bring himself to look directly at Beomgyu. He doesn’t know if he can handle seeing the look on Beomgyu’s face when he tells him all the reasons they can’t be together or why this can’t ever happen again.
“Why did you keep it from me?” Beomgyu finally asks softly, leaning in and tilting his head in an attempt to get Yeonjun to look him in the eye, “All this time.”
“Because I didn’t…I didn’t want to fuck things up between us,” Yeonjun sighs, trying not to stare at the bite mark on his neck, a stark reminder of what they’d just done—what he’d just done, and a resounding antithesis to his words, “I couldn’t risk losing you as a friend.”
Beomgyu laughs quietly, “Well, now we know that’s not true.”
“But it was a very real possibility in my mind.”
“Why?” Beomgyu asks, “Do you think our friendship is weak enough that it could be broken just like that?”
Yeonjun sighs, “No.”
“So?”
Yeonjun looks up finally, at the feathery fan of lashes around Beomgyu’s eyes and the way the light from the setting sun refracts through the window and makes his irises look like galaxies. Nebulae swirling around his pupils that Yeonjun could see himself falling into. It’s the golden hour, and Yeonjun is jealous of the way the sun so easily reaches in to kiss his skin.
“Do you intend to hurt me?”
“No,” Yeonjun replies immediately, and then he repeats, softer this time, “no.”
He shakily reaches out to touch Beomgyu because he needs to feel him, needs something real and grounding to convince him that this is real and that he hasn’t locked himself away in some wishful fantasy. His fingers barely brush the back of his hand, and it’s only now he can see and feel how nervous he is really, the tremble in his hands obvious against Beomgyu’s, “You know I would never.”
“So, ask me,” Beomgyu moves his hand forward, his fingers moving gently make themselves at home in the space between Yeonjun’s, and there’s yearning that he senses in the pressure between his knuckles, “please.”
Beomgyu holds Yeonjun’s hand like a lifeline, like the moment he releases it, Yeonjun will disappear. Yeonjun squeezes back, and then he’s lifting it to his face so he can brush the tip of his nose against his pulse and press his lips against the sensitive skin on the inside of Beomgyu’s wrist that smells of peaches and vanilla and cherry blossoms and…something else.
Yeonjun pulls away, and then he’s leaning over, and Beomgyu meets him halfway. The kiss is ephemeral and chaste, but it holds so many emotions, apologies, declarations…
“And just so you know," Beomgyu whispers into his lips, “I love you, too.”
Promises.
—
He stirs to the sounds of quiet voices talking, one a low murmur, and the other a voice muffled by the speaker. He’s still feeling awfully sluggish, so he keeps his eyes shut, and it’s not like he means to eavesdrop, it’s just that the broad chest that his head is pillowed on is so very warm and comfortable that he doesn’t want to give it up just yet. Without alerting Yeonjun that he’d awoken, he drags his cheek along his chest and shuffles a bit closer, feeling the arm around his waist tighten just a fraction.
“Wait, what the fuck?” and he recognises that voice as Soobin’s. Despite the words, his tone was anything but angry. In fact, he sounded excited even, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Dude, keep your voice down, he’s sleeping,” Yeonjun shushes him, “and yes, I’m fucking serious.”
“Fuck!” and then it sounds like Soobin is shaking the phone, and then there’s thumping like he’s running with it, before his voice returns a little further away, “Guys, guess what happened?”
There’s some indistinct conversation, and then he can hear the squeal from Kai, just as Taehyun says, “It was about fucking time.”
Some excited chattering happens, and some more rustling before Kai’s voice comes in clearer than before, “Congrats, hyung!” he whisper shouts.
Taehyun’s voice joins in again shortly after, “Yeah, you finally did it.”
“Yeah, finally. We’re happy for you,” Soobin adds, “for you both.”
“Seriously, it was a long time coming,” Taehyun says.
“Thanks guys,” Yeonjun says, his voice soft and filled with something that Beomgyu has only started to recognise, “Fuck, it’s actually crazy, you know? I never thought…I really didn’t think I had a chance.”
What an absolute idiot, Beomgyu thinks. If anything, it was Beomgyu who thought that this was something that could have only happened in another dimension, one where he wasn’t so afraid of not being good enough.
“You were literally the only one that thought that,” Soobin says, and in that brief moment it feels like Soobin is talking to him, not Yeonjun.
“Thanks,” Yeonjun replies softly, and he takes a deep breath, Beomgyu’s head slowly rising and falling with the movement, “I’m…dude, I’m so fucking happy,” and his voice is so small and a chuckle escapes him, like his happiness is unable to be contained in his body and is beginning to spill through the cracks, “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”
And it’s the unalloyed honesty in his voice, the exposure of the soft, vulnerable underbelly of his emotions that has Beomgyu finally lifting his head just a touch so he can press a gentle kiss against the skin right beneath his collarbone.
“Oh fu—” Yeonjun jumps at the sudden touch, “shit, Beoms, were you—did you just wake up?” he asks, face flushed, mind probably reeling from possibly being caught saying some disgustingly cheesy things.
“Hyung!” Kai’s voice yells through the phone and he lifts his head to look, and he can see the three of them trying to crowd into one screen.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Soobin greets him with a warm smile, waving at Beomgyu.
“‘Sup,” he greets them, throwing up a feeble little peace sign at the camera. In the front-facing camera, he looks like absolute shit: tired eyes, chapped lips, hair looking like a hornet’s nest built on top of his head.
“Oh, not much, we were just trying to study when we heard the news,” Taehyun says, “congrats, by the way.”
Beomgyu only laughs shyly, covering his face with the blanket that he has pulled up to his chin.
They had fallen asleep again right after their lunch and their talk, too tired to do anything else, their minds and bodies feeling like they had been filled head-to-toe with concrete. It probably wasn’t the right thing to do since it was only going to make it harder to fall asleep come the veil of nighttime, but Yeonjun had laid down and opened his arms, and when Beomgyu crawled over and rested his head on his chest, it was game over. He’d succumbed to the warmth almost immediately—not like he could ever stand a chance.
“You should probably get back to studying,” Yeonjun says, “I mean, we probably should, too.”
Soobin sneers, “You just wanna get back to cuddling.”
“And what if I do?” Yeonjun shoots back.
“Yeah! What if we do?” Beomgyu joins in, biting his bottom lip in challenge and raising a fist at the screen.
The other three just laugh until Taehyun waves his hand as if shooing them away, “Alright, fine,” he says with big grin, “we’ll leave you two to it, then.”
“Have fun!” is the last thing they hear from Kai before the video chat ends with a click.
Yeonjun breathes a sigh of relief. His face is a starting to resemble a tomato.
“For what it’s worth,” Beomgyu says, “I’m so fucking happy, too.”
He turns his gaze to Beomgyu, and then he smiles, a fleeting little thing that disappears when he glances further down, and then he’s lifting a hand and brushing his fingers over the stinging bruise on his neck in a silent apology.
“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” Beomgyu lies.
It hurts. It hurts like a motherfucker. Every turn of his head makes the entire area feel raw and open again. Every gentle touch feels like a deep prod into a fresh bruise, into a dehisced wound.
And yet, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Never in a million years would he have predicted that he would be in this position. To have Yeonjun’s teeth marks branded into the side of his neck, to have Yeonjun here, with him, enveloping him in his scent—Beomgyu had sworn that this was just a fever dream, an illusion, a trick of his brain. The man that had, the second he had introduced himself, subsequently plagued his thoughts and ripped his own heart right out of his chest and held it hostage within the cage of his fingers.
Ever since he had learned his name, Beomgyu had known—right there and then—that from that moment onwards, there was nobody else. Even when he thought that it was all a pipe-dream, when he had tried to fill the void with faceless, nameless people, he knew it was as futile as trying to convince himself that he was totally okay living his life not having experienced the feeling of Yeonjun’s affections poured into him.
But now…now, he was here. Here, with Beomgyu.
“C’mere,” Yeonjun mumbles, and then he’s pulling Beomgyu up for a kiss that Beomgyu just melts into, his entire body submitting completely and wholly to the man lying under him with his hands in his hair.
Lying on his chest, hands curled into the thin fabric of his shirt, they break apart and Yeonjun dips down to press a kiss on the side of his neck. It sends a shiver up Beomgyu’s spine, the gentle skim of his lips against the tender wound. He remains on top of Yeonjun for what feels like hours, with his head against Yeonjun’s shoulder and Yeonjun’s hands running up and down his spine in a steady motion that almost coaxes him back to sleep. Part of him wants to, but part of him knows there’s other things that need to be done.
“I don’t really feel like studying,” Beomgyu grumbles.
“No,” Yeonjun agrees, “me neither.”
And so they settle back underneath the blankets, pressed so close together that they almost coalesce. Yeonjun pulls up some youtube videos about conspiracy theories on his phone and watches with unfeigned interest. Beomgyu rests his head back on his chest; he listens to a man describe a civilisation of lizard people that lives in the centre of the Earth in one ear, and Yeonjun’s steady heartbeats in the other.
As he traces a lost pattern into Yeonjun’s skin with a delicate finger, he notices belatedly that Yeonjun’s scent has changed. Interlaced in between the threads of his scent was that of something new. Like…peaches and vanilla and…was that cherry blossoms?
It’s not something he’s smelt before, but he recognises it instantly for what it is. A message to broadcast that from here on out, there was no uncertainty that Yeonjun was Beomgyu’s, and Beomgyu was Yeonjun’s. As simple as that.
And then he wonders: what does he smell like now?
He closes his eyes and buries his nose into the crook of Yeonjun’s neck as he wraps his arms around Yeonjun, holding him tight, and he feels Yeonjun’s arm come up to squeeze around his shoulders.
His own scent, of course, that he now knows is of peaches and vanilla and cherry blossoms, but braided in between the sugary sweet notes, there must be something warm, something soothing.
A comforting smell that feels safe, swaddling him up in a tender embrace.
Deep, rich, and familiar.
Sandalwood…and lavender.
His.