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As morning light filters through the curtains, Team’s arm flails out from under the covers in search of the persistent jingling that prevents him from getting an additional five minutes of sleep.
First his hand fumbles over the wood of the nightstand, then the cold surface of his phone, and then the alarm is swiftly replaced with the sound of clattering when he inevitably knocks it straight onto the floor.
Team groans, shoving his face deeper into his pillow as if that’ll make the noise stop.
Pharm once suggested that he change the tone for his alarm from the usual harsh beeping to something a little less jarring to wake up to in the morning. But after snoozing the thing three times, Team’s come to the firm conclusion that it doesn’t matter what noise it makes, any sound is illegal before 10 AM.
On the bright side, he only snoozed it three times. That’s gotta be a record.
It takes another minute or so, but Team does eventually rise from the comfort and safety of the bed, viciously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He scoops his phone off the ground and silences it before waddling off for a quick shower.
When he emerges later, enveloped in a cloud of steam, fully dressed and ready to go, something in the room feels…off. He frowns, scrutinizing the bedroom for anything remotely out of place, anything he could have missed in his post-sleep daze from the bed to the bathroom. And then he spots it.
There, nestled within the sheets, lies Win, still sound asleep.
Confusion settles over Team as he watches Win’s chest rise and fall evenly with every breath, his entire top half exposed with the blanket nudged away, likely from when Team got up.
He knows Win is an early riser. He always gets up before Team, regardless if he needs to or not. Unlike Team, he has a regular sleep schedule. A normal circadian rhythm. This is so weird that he has to walk over and press the back of his hand to Win’s forehead to make sure he’s not running a fever.
Turns out he is a bit warm, but nothing to be terribly concerned about. Still, Team doesn’t like that he’s worn himself down so much that he doesn’t even twitch. He sighs and glances at the clock. Thursday. Win doesn’t have class until noon. Might as well let him rest.
Team tucks a stray strand of hair behind Win’s ear, makes a mental note to pick up some acetaminophen should they need it, and hauls it out of the room with his backpack in tow when a text from Pharm reminds him not to be late.
Again.
It’s roughly around the fifth time Team checks his phone that Pharm asks him what’s wrong.
Two of them are seated together in one of the few classes they share, making idle conversation while they wait for the professor to show up. Team’s been trying to ignore the urge to pull up his messaging app, but he finds himself refreshing it every couple minutes.
Team sighs. “Hia hasn’t replied to me,” he explains, definitely not pouting about it.
“P’Win?” Pharm frowns because, as most people can attest, Win not responding to anything Team-related has to mean he’s either dead or otherwise incapacitated. “Is everything alright?”
“I don’t know. I think so?” Team tries to wrack his brain for anything that could set off warning bells in the last 24 hours. “He might be sick. He was kind of burning up this morning,” he muses. Pharm nods along. “But he seemed fine last night. Maybe a little clingier than normal.”
Win leeching onto Team at night wasn’t unusual in itself; Team prefers it actually. It’s like having his own personal furnace. But they’d been trying to watch a movie before bed and Win had practically fused himself to Team’s side, sleepily nuzzling his face into Team’s neck like he’d rather be scenting him than find out whether or not Nick’s mother will let him marry Rachel.
Now Team is wondering if that was a sign he wasn’t feeling well.
Pharm’s face does something complicated for a few moments that Team can’t decipher, then like he’s contemplating his next choice of words. “Team,” he starts slowly, “do you think that maybe P’Win is—”
“—Yes!” They’re interrupted by the exclamation and the sound of books landing on the table in front of them. There Manaow stands tall and proud, if a little frazzled, catching her breath from the sprint she so clearly just did. “I’m not late,” she proclaims.
“I got here before you,” Team points out. “That makes you late by default.”
Manow pops out a compact mirror to smooth down her flyaways. “A minor setback,” she says, “but I’ll live.”
He pointedly ignores that comment. “Where were you, anyway?” Team continues, returning to his original task of checking his notifications. “You don’t live that far from campus.”
“Were you up late?” Pharm inquires with a smile.
Team grins. “Stay over somewhere?”
“A boyfriend’s, perhaps?”
Manaow points a perfectly manicured nail at them. “You’re demons. Both of you.”
The two of them start snickering, and it’s not long after they’ve finally settled down that their professor walks in to begin the class.
Team flips his phone face down, their previous conversation long forgotten.
“It’s quiet,” Sea says.
Bee nods once, succinct. “Too quiet.”
Team stretches next to them, knowing they’re trying to be discreet in digging for information on why they’re not currently being yelled at by the vice president. He ignores them anyway.
Ae tries the direct approach. “Hey Team! Where’s P’Win?”
Team doesn’t know and it’s beginning to bother him immensely. He aims for casual, shrugging but keeping his gaze trained on the wall. “I don’t keep track of him,” he mutters.
A pause. “You literally do though.”
Team bunches his goggles up and mimes throwing them at Ae, who yelps and dives behind Sea as a defense.
“I’m sure all this energy could be better spent in the pool.”
Dean’s voice comes out of nowhere, and yet it has the three boys scrambling up in record time. Team watches them with amusement, sticking his tongue out at them behind their backs. He pulls it back in and schools his face into something neutral when he finds Dean staring at him.
When Team thinks Dean’s about to speak, his heart drops as he’s proven wrong when his club captain turns and begins to walk away instead.
“P’Dean!” Team calls, rushing to get up after him. Dean only stops walking once he’s reached the edge of the pool. Team halts next to him, dropping his volume. “Did Hia Win show up in class today?”
Dean glances down at his clipboard, expression giving nothing away. “No.”
Team has to tamp down on his frustration, lest he take it out on his senior. He counts to ten in his head before decidedly giving up on Dean as a potential ally and shifting to move away.
He gets about ten steps before Dean’s saying his name again. Team turns his head.
“I’m sure Win’s fine.”
Better than nothing. Team tries to smile, nodding. “Thanks, phi,” he says, then goes to take his place on the starting block.
It’s a short trip from the corner store to his dorm, a plastic bag filled with every type of cold medicine Team could find swings beside him while he digs for the keys in his pocket.
The bag immediately lands on the floor when Team’s hit with the most potent scent the moment he steps into Win’s bedroom. It’s like a wall erupted in front of him, stopping him from entering further. The door clicks shut softly just behind him.
It’s not a bad smell, it’s just unexpected. It’s unfamiliar, but it sparks something inside of Team that wants to draw him toward it, to wrap himself up in it, to be taken by it. The feeling blindsides him out of nowhere, and he sucks in a breath through his mouth, pressing his palms against his eyes until light dances around behind his eyelids.
When he’s a bit more grounded, Team looks over at the bed and spots the head of blonde hair peeking out from under the sheets. The duvet itself is strewn on the floor, like it was haphazardly kicked there in a haste.
Win doesn’t move at Team’s approach, nor does he flinch when he calls. “Hia?”
He stops next to the bed lump, wary as he reaches out to brush his hand through Win’s hair. “Hia,” he says again.
There’s a rustle and a startled shout. The room turns upside down, taking Team with it. His body bounces once on the mattress before being held down in place by a solid weight on top of him. It all happens in mere seconds; Team trying to rouse his boyfriend to finding himself pinned to the bed with Win looming over him, looking near feral. His pupils are blown wide, hair pushed back like he’s been raking his hands through it, skin flushed pink and damp with sweat.
He’s also completely naked.
It’s hard to miss with Win’s cock straining so hard against his stomach that it looks painful. Team gets the strangest urge to put his hands on it, to help. His fingers twitch, but Win’s grip is firm where his hands are wrapped around his wrists.
Team watches his nostrils flare, taking him in, then he’s leaning in to press his nose into the side of Team’s neck, mouthing along the column of his throat as a growl rumbles in his chest. For a moment Team’s lashes flutter, his mind suddenly going blank as a whine builds, instincts screaming at him to go limp and let this alpha do whatever he pleases.
He almost does, too. Despite his confusion about what exactly is going on, Team’s entire body wants to give itself over to the touches, to the promise of pleasure and heat and want and now. Team clenches his thighs together when the threat of slick soaking his underwear becomes far too real.
Then Win’s teeth graze his jaw, and Team gasps, eyes flying open. “Oh,” he says once he can actually breathe through Win’s scent permeating the air around them, the realization washing over him like a bucket of ice water being poured on his head. “Hia, you’re…”
Well, Team’s never claimed to be the brightest bulb. But since ruts happen less frequently than heats, and they’ve been dating for months already, it was just a matter of time.
The sound of his voice must strike one of the more rational parts of Win because he immediately stills, ceasing all movement. Team even feels the pause in his breathing.
“Team,” Win finally groans, his voice a rasp from disuse. He struggles to lift himself away from Team’s throat, opting to just tilt his head away entirely to where Team can no longer see his face. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you were sick,” he pants and whoa, when did he get so out of breath? Team twists his wrists until Win loosens his hold. “I came in to check on you.”
Win puffs out a humourless laugh that instantly grates on Team’s nerves. “‘M not sick,” he mumbles. He still hasn’t moved off Team, but he is straddling his thighs, very deliberately keeping the lower half of his body from touching any part of him. Team doesn’t like it.
Obviously, Team wants to say. “Yeah, well,” he huffs instead, “you weren’t answering your phone and P’Dean was no help.”
He hears a hiss as Win forces air out through his teeth. “Don’t—” he cuts himself off when a full body shiver hits him. “—talk about Dean right now.”
Don't talk about other alphas.
Team gives him a moment to calm himself down before he reaches down and tries to coax Win into lifting his head back up, to look him in the eye instead of the orange of Team’s shirt. “Hia,” he murmurs, “why won’t you look at me?”
Win’s bunched the sheets up in his fists on either side of Team, knuckles turning white with the strain. “Because if I do,” he says through gritted teeth, “I won’t be able to let you leave.”
Team scowls, the words like icy tendrils twisting around his heart. He tries to keep the hurt out of his voice. “Who says I’m leaving?”
"Team," Win says, and it sounds like a plea. "I've never—I don't know what I'll do."
Tired of being horizontal for no reason, Team abruptly sits himself up, the movement causing Win to fly up until he's back on his heels.
"Okay?" Team resists the urge to growl out of frustration. He gets it. He does. Team hasn’t seen an alpha in rut before and Win’s never shared his with another person. If Win were anybody else, if they had been at an earlier point in their relationship, maybe Team would be more cautious. But this is Win. Win is his. He'd never hurt Team, not even accidentally. "So you'll just spend every rut alone then?"
He sees Win frown, mouth opening and closing when he realizes he has no response for that. Team snorts. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me to go, then I will,” he says.
Team watches him flounder, and he knows Win is fighting for the agency to even have this conversation. In a way, so is Team. He may not be in heat himself but the smell of an alpha—and not just any alpha, but Win specifically—in rut is everywhere. It’s pleasant. It’s inviting. It’s a single thin string pulled taut between them just waiting to snap.
Team’s lips curl when he’s met with silence—silence that’s hitting a little too close to rejection. “Hia Win,” he says, and there’s a warning in it that Win picks up on, his shoulders stiffening. Team’s had just about enough. His arm moves without his permission, shooting out and gripping Win’s jaw firmly in hand, all but forcing him to turn his head.
“Look at me,” Team snarls.
Win inhales sharply, eyes snapping wide and locking on him. He clearly didn’t expect that much ferocity to come out of Team, and honestly Team didn’t expect it either, but apparently he’s a bit more affected than he’d like to admit. Whatever has Win listening though.
Team’s pretty sure Win would do anything he says. With a little urging, he has Win rolling onto his back easily, Team throwing a leg over his hips until he’s properly straddling his boyfriend. Win looks on in reverence as Team slowly peels his own shirt off and tosses it to the floor. “You did so good during my last heat, hia,” he says, purposefully running his hands up Win’s chest, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Remember?”
An imperceptible nod. “I want to help you too,” he continues, and slides forward until he's hovering, their noses brushing. "Let me help."
Team sees Win's throat bob, follows his hands when they come up and cup Team's cheeks between them. A purr reverberates and Team’s not actually sure which one of them it comes from.
He waits. Waits as Win goes through several emotions at once before finally, finally closing the distance between their lips.
Team licks into Win's mouth, done playing with patience and dragging a low whine from Win when he pulls away in order to shuck the last remaining layers of clothes preventing him from getting what he wants.
It's tricky, but then Team’s shorts are across the room. Slick is trickling thick down the inside of his thighs and Win stares at it with a desire he's never seen before. It sparks something carnal and possessive in him, the knowledge that he's the one here, on top of his alpha, that he's the only one that can do this to him. That Win wants him.
Team takes Win’s leaking cock and gives it a couple long strokes. The base bulges just slightly where his knot is starting to form. He bites down on the tip of his tongue, positioning the head to where he can sink down until the length of it is seated fully inside him.
The slide is so easy that he hardly feels it. Win lets out a choked moan, “Fuck, Team. How are you so wet?” You, Team thinks. Win’s hands fly up to Team’s hips and his fingers dig in to the point of bruising. Team is too far gone to care about marks when Win is nestled so deep that Team can’t even begin to process anything else.
Slowly, carefully, Team rocks his hips just to enjoy the sensation of being so full. He has his hands on Win’s chest, increasing his pace in increments.
Team probably enjoys it too much, the way Win is obviously struggling to hold himself in check, breaths heavy and staggered, the muscles flexing in his arms. He doesn’t know how different it is to a heat, if Win feels as helpless to his instincts as Team has, with the need so strong that it seems as if nothing will ever be enough.
The ache in Team’s thighs is overridden only by the pleasure mounting in his core. Win’s regained some control, snapping his hips up into Team in time with every downward thrust and it throws Team off balance. But there’s still hesitation in the motion, Win is still holding back and Team isn’t having it.
Doesn’t sex in general have to have at least some degree of trust? Whether it’s a hook-up or a long-term relationship, you’re trusting another person with your body and they’re trusting you with theirs.
Team trusts Win. Win is not trusting himself.
From the hands gripping his hips, Team takes hold of one and guides it in between his legs with a soft moan. Automatically Win’s fingers glide through obscene amounts of slick, finding the spot where they’re connected.
“Come on, hia.” Team leans forward, holding himself at an angle close enough to feel the puffs of Win’s breath on his face. “You’re not gonna break me,” he murmurs. Then the edges of his lips tip upwards, a cheeky grin forming on his face. He bears his hips down in a slow grind, letting Win spit curses. “Don’t you wanna knot me, hia?”
Win’s neck could have snapped with how fast he whips his head up. “Team,” he growls, low, warning. Instead of intimidating Team, it sets a fire alight in his chest. “You do,” he teases. “I want you to.”
Win’s only done it to him once in the middle of Team’s own cycle, so he’s well acquainted with the sensation of being knotted during a heat. But now he’s dying to know how it’ll feel outside of one, to be locked together with Win in one of the most intimate ways when his body isn’t riddled with hormones.
He wants it so bad.
“But you have to fuck me like you mean it.”
That does it. Somewhere between one blink and the next, Team’s on his back once more, wrists secured together above his head. He’d be much more delighted about it if Win wasn’t already two seconds from eating him alive.
“You’re such a brat,” Win huffs, still with an underlying fondness despite their position. He doesn’t give Team a chance to bite back, using his free hand to align them, and then showing absolutely no mercy as he drives his hips forward.
It’s not gentle, nor is it remotely sweet. This is Win letting loose on him just like he wanted, pinning Team down on his cock, angled so perfectly that the noises he makes as a result are loud. Loud and embarrassing. And yet it only spurs Win on, gaining a pace and rhythm that has Team seeing stars.
Team’s lost all ability to form coherent thoughts. All he thinks, sees, and feels is Win. Win takes him apart and puts him back together so well that his orgasm is rapid in its ascent, bubbling low behind Team’s navel. His fingers curl roughly into the sheets. “Hia—” he chokes, trailing off into unintelligible whimpers. “Mm—hia, I’m gonna—”
The sting of Win’s teeth digging into the skin of his neck, marking him up, is what sends him hurling over the edge. He tenses up, allowing the waves of ecstasy to roll over him with Win thoroughly fucking him through it.
And Win doesn’t stop fucking him through it. As the blaze of his pleasure subsides, Team very swiftly teeters into oversensitivity, and that’s where Win holds him; on the precarious line of too much and moremoremore.
Team can’t speak anymore, only mangled iterations of Win’s name and moans that increase in pitch every time he’s sent spiraling into another climax.
And another.
And another.
They come in such quick succession that it feels like one, unending stream of blissful torture. By the time Win works that last bit inside him, pops his knot into Team and comes, Team no longer has any command over his body. He thinks he screamed. His legs are twitching like he’s been electrocuted, he’s breathing hard enough to be troubling, and at some point his hands were freed and have clawed themselves into Win’s back and neck.
Win becomes a deadweight on top of him, panting heavily into Team’s shoulder. He leisurely presses a kiss to the skin and rolls, pulling Team with him so he’s settled comfortably on Win’s chest. Even without the knot binding them, Team couldn’t move if he tried.
There’s a buzz in his ears. Everything’s sticky. The room smells like sweat and sex. Team goes in and out of a doze, lulled by the purr rumbling under his ear.
Eventually he knows they’ll have to come back to reality. Win’s rut isn’t over, but at least they’ll have some reprieve and a chance to clean up before that starts again.
“Team?”
Win’s voice sounds far away. Team doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He’s sleepy.
There are fingers in his hair, coaxing a grumble out of Team. It feels nice though. He leans into the touch, the rest of his limbs too heavy to consider moving anything else. “Wow, you’re out of it, huh?”
Team huffs.
Win chuckles, brushes his lips over his forehead, then sighs. “Alright. Five more minutes.”
Team got mauled.
He stands in front of the mirror, naked, experimentally poking at the pink marks littering his throat and chest.
The omega in him preens at the idea of being so visibly claimed like this, showing the world that he’s taken and proud of it. The swim club member, however, is mortified at the amount of hickeys currently on display.
Not that Win got away light either. Team glimpsed the scratch marks on his back when he had deposited Team on the bathroom counter and turned to start the shower, and winced at his own handiwork. The difference between them though is that Win is utterly shameless and he will show them off.
“What are you doing?” Win muses off from the side, leaning against the doorframe.
Team glowers at his reflection. “Planning my funeral.”
He just barely got feeling back into his legs, but he still stumbles when Win tugs him into his chest, nosing the underside of Team’s jaw. “I think you look gorgeous,” he mumbles, planting a wet kiss on Team’s cheek.
“You would.” Team tries not to laugh when Win picks him up and sits him back on the bed. He cups Win’s face and brings him down to eye level. “Just wait until it’s my turn, you possessive freak,” he taunts, biting down on his lip to halt the smirk trying to make itself known.
Win instantly gets that mischievous glint he’s so painfully familiar with. “Is that a threat?” he growls, playful.
“And a promise.” Win’s eyes flutter closed with a hum as Team slides his fingers into his hair and tugs. “Now come here.”
With eagerness, Win does just that.