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Seonghwa grabs the boxes from the bed of the truck without much thought, rushing them inside to the wide eyes of the young alpha on the doorway to the building. The rain pours harshly, but thankfully the wind is not an enemy this time.
“Four hands are faster than two!” He laughs, hopes his help isn't taken as an undermining of one's alphahood. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”
“Thank you so much sir!” A warm, deep voice meets him as they dive back into the downpour, making quick work before the cardboard boxes fully sog and break apart. It's not a lengthy affair, really, though the trek upstairs afterwards definitely is.
With borrowed towels from Seonghwa's place over their shoulders after some minimal drying off, they carefully haul the boxes from the doorway to the elevator, then to the apartment beside his own, and the irony makes him smile. Seonghwa wiggles his brows, jutting his head towards the two doors left ajar.
“I'm glad I gave off a good first impression, then.” He jokes, and the alpha chuckles, sweet.
“You really saved my skin… uh…”
“Park. Park Seonghwa.” He reaches out a hand. “Just call me Mr. Park. You?”
“Kang Yeosang. Thank you so much, Mr. Park. I owe you one.”
A big hand, a little rough, but not quite from manual labor, gives him a firm shake. “Nonsense! Kids these days have it hard as it is, don't hesitate to ask for help, alright?”
“Right, thank you again!” Yeosang nods in earnest. His long bangs look like big, floppy ears for a moment. “Have a good rest of your night!”
“You too!”
The door closes with an unsatisfying click. Seonghwa brushes his damp hair out of his face with a burdened breath, peach liquor stubbornly sticking to his hand. The poor thing stank the whole hallway in his relief, scent blockers probably washed off by the rain. Seonghwa's own glands have not needed those for half a decade, but he hopes against hope that he hasn't embarrassed himself enough to deserve a trip to the drugstore.
With a pathetic whimper, he unsticks the underwear from his skin. Some of it is from the rain, at least, he tries to reason with his misery.
If only he was younger, the subtle gray by his temples smoothed out by youthful vigor. Perhaps then it'd make sense to pine.
As it is, he feels foolish, borderline inappropriate. As if the thought of an old omega fantasizing about him could spark anything but discomfort.
♡
“Mr. Park!”
And there he is.
Long, salt and pepper hair haloed by the sun, he stands like an undercover god, a thick knit sweater tucked in comfortable, worsted trousers. Yeosang covers his neck without thinking as his entire body seems to fizz like freshly poured soda.
“Hey, Yeosang!” He calls back, and his smile is so wide, so mesmerizing. His hands flex at his sides. “How've you been?”
Seonghwa places a hand on his shoulder when he's near, warmth bleeding through Yeosang's own shirt. Sometimes, if he's not careful, he'll put himself in the cradle of its grasp, nosing at the gentle caramel diffusing from his wrist— never physically, only in the more shameless corners of his mind, like a relief. God , he wants him enough to dream.
“Tired,” He allows himself to whine, to welcome the fussing and the attention he can only find in this way, purring a little when his hair is stroked. “But I got a few days off work, so I'm trying to push through, to rest easy later.” He doesn't tell him why, doesn't have the guts to explain he's near a rut, and it shouldn't be a concern for his sweet neighbor, so beyond the silly shenanigans of stupid inexperienced alphas as he is.
“Don't push yourself too hard, Sangie.” He coos. “Take it from an old overachiever: it was never worth all the sleepless nights.”
A hum rumbles in his chest, warmth spreading all over. “If I get to end up like you, sir,” He confesses quietly, a little too high on his presence to soften the earnestness. “I'll work even harder.”
Seonghwa can't help his surprise at the words so carelessly spoken, it seems, eyes wide. Yeosang swallows, reels in the need to say something that'll warrant even more surprise to see him flustered just a little longer. When the moment breaks, his neighbor chuckles softly, ruffles his hair— with his sensitive rut nose, the gentle, surrendered notes of caramel and cocoa butter are impossible to miss, hardly displeased.
Yeosang feels, for a second, taller than the city line.
♡
At first, he thinks it's a stray cat meowing by his window, in his slumber ridden brain. Yeosang blinks once, twice, looks around. His gums hurt, his bedside clock reads half past three and he groans, falling back; sleep is never a given in ruts, but he was hoping he'd last a full night before the brunt of it truly hit.
When the noise starts again, his ears catch it clearer, for better or worse. It's not meowing, but a human voice, pushed higher, then higher, then stretched a mile in a moan, cut in little gasps and sweet “ gah ”s he feels on his skin through the wall.
The wall.
This is…
Oh God.
The low, wounded whimper punches out of him before he can curse himself out of it, his attempt to swallow it back tumbling into a deep, restless rumble; his cock is already slightly tenting his pants, easily interested. Yeosang presses on it, almost chastising, but only makes it worse in a state like this. He moans a surprised sound, loud enough there can be no mistake, this close. Across the wall, the sound stops.
His mind splits right down the middle in the quiet that settles: one half, still grasping for common sense, desperately tells him to stop, to pretend none of this is happening and go back to sleep, or out for a run if he needs to; the other half, steadily pressed into the inner walls of his head by his rut brain, thrashes in its spot to tear through the divide and take his neighbor then and there until he's round and bred and sated with his care. Both halves fight for his attention, neither quite sounding right, and in a selfish whim, he takes the path between.
With a hand down his pants, he strokes himself fully hard, thumbing at the slit the way he likes. He'd never be in such a predicament in the first place if pretending had any room in his need for this bleeding sunset of an omega, so instead he tortures the sounds out of himself, reaching out in the only way he can.
There is no way for Seonghwa to be sitting in his room and not hear this, unless he's listening to music while pleasuring himself. To be heard, even more purposefully so , is a dangerous gamble to make.
So he throws his dice, arm over his eyes and knot swelling at the base of his cock, not biting back his growls and moans like he usually tries to.
For some time, nothing comes. He thinks, trying hard to swallow his panic, that it's too far, that his recklessness will cost him, that he’ll disgust the one person he never wanted to disappoint—
A gasp, followed by a little groan. It distinctly reminds him of the sound omegas often make when he first pushes inside, and he pictures what kind of face that'd bring to someone like Seonghwa. Would he close his eyes, mouth agape and wordless? Would he pinch his brows, eyes wide on his, lip caught in his teeth? Would he claw at Yeosang's arms for purchase, would he cry at the feeling of fullness, would he, would he, would he—
“F— uuuck—” Seonghwa cries, and it rings like his very lips are pressed to the wall. Desperately, he needs to know what is making those sounds, how each touch echoes in his body— his body — hips now pistoning up, waistband hitting at the height of his ass, he growls, whines, bites his lip in frustration when his rudimentary calling doesn't materialize the one he wants most, flips himself so he can thrust into his sheets. Like a new orchestral act, the noises pick up; each time Yeosang stops to swallow the pooling saliva under his tongue, he swears he hears a persistent squelching coming from the other side, but he could be just going insane— he certainly feels the part.
A few pumps away from getting up and ending this endless wondering, his unraveling.
It’s sudden enough he’s hardly aware of the wave until it crashes, triggered by a particular sound he can’t really articulate, but that feels commanding; his knot and load are still smaller than what full ruts will make of them, but his cock still valiantly moves with each spasm, each involuntary thrust. Utterly spent, he topples over, ears ringing.
It’s a better orgasm than they usually are on his own, but it still tastes of empty calories. He wonders for a moment if he should say something, bring awareness to this sweet savagery they have now shared, but with release comes the exhaustion his body has denied in preparation for rut. He falls asleep without truly noticing, really, words nestled on his tongue.
♡
Seonghwa wakes to a thundering crash against his bedroom wall.
Before he's properly dressed— emergencies cannot wait for him to change out of pajamas— his feet are rushing him to Yeosang's apartment, heart in his throat and prayers in his mind.
He knocks, calls out for Yeosang; after what feels like an eternity, the door swings open to reveal two things.
The first is an utterly disheveled alpha, only dark gray pants to cover himself and with pupils blown the size of quarters. He seems not fully aware of his surroundings until he locks eyes with Seonghwa and takes a clear, inappropriately loud sniff, leaning slightly forward. The force with which Seonghwa tenses at the sight of a flushed, supple chest is probably enough to break a bone if he's not careful.
The second thing he notices, which arguably could've been the first given how immediately it hits, is the smell.
Fuck, the smell.
Nothing in his body could've braced for the wave of scent that hits him, right where it's soft. His mouth floods with saliva, his skin is set ablaze with goosebumps in wild remembrance. It's been a long, long time since he's felt like this, and it's just as terrifying as it used to. He's not sure what he's even supposed to say, after—
“Mr. Park…” Yeosang doesn't speak as much as he breathes the words across. Light as they are, they settle like a heavy blanket over them both. He swallows. “Sorry. ‘M fine, swear.”
Seonghwa is ready to turn tail and disappear when Yeosang goes to push his bangs off his eyes and instead smears blood across his temple. The wetness goes unnoticed, of course, but his eyes are locked on him, aware yet in a completely different direction.
He moves to grab the injured hand, and at the sight of his forward step the alpha moves right into him, chest to chest. Something entirely catastrophic happens in his underwear at the closeness, and he winces, then shudders at the low sound that reverberates in his young neighbor’s throat. Though neither moves, the heat reaches out across from Yeosang's skin.
“You're, ah, hurt.” And neck deep into rut, no less. Seonghwa grits his teeth through the echoes of this vivid kind of vigor. Yeosang looks capable of crushing the entire building with bare, vein-ridden hands. “Let me— let me see your hand, pup, I won't be long.”
And still, wounded and tired and pumped full of volatile hormones as he must be, the gentleness persists. Yeosang takes a step back, then another, and Seonghwa finds it best to follow his pace, uncomfortably aware of his entire body as he goes. At last, he's offered a bloodied hand, thankfully not bad enough to need stitches, but not exactly a scratch either.
He gets the alpha a seat at the kitchen tabletop, only slightly propped so no more accidents have a chance to take place.
“Where do you keep your first-aid kit, pup?” The endearment seems to settle him easily, Yeosang blinking rapidly before pointing towards the hallway across the kitchen. Something seems to sour his scent a notch, but maybe he's just nitpicking.
“Bathroom.” He doesn't look at him when he says it, eyes on his bloodstained socks and house slippers. There's a layer of shame in his tone once awareness returns, and Seonghwa chooses not to address it.
Though he tries his best, Seonghwa can't help but watch the way his milky, bare skin flexes and twitches, rises and falls with his breaths. The heat radiates up his forearm, pools in his belly; was he a weaker man, maybe he'd ask the questions he is dying to know— is there anyone who'll come to help? Should I be around when it could get your partner territorial? Do you ever wonder what it'd be like with someone like me? —, but alas, he is not. Slowly, he dresses up the wound, careful not to make it painful to take off, but firm enough to endure a rutting alpha.
“There you g… Yeosang?” He gasps, startled. “Hey, why are you crying?”
The young alpha turns away, wiping at his face. “‘M sorry, it's just— stupid rut hormones.”
That softens him some. He ruffles his hair with a smile, hums to save him the embarrassment. “Do you want help cleaning what did that to your hand?”
Red eyed and still wet in the face, Yeosang nods. “Sorry for the trouble so early. You'd think I'd get better at the whole getting up thing after a while, but that was just a logical fallacy.”
Seonghwa laughs, fond half to death. God, he really likes this one, what's wrong with him?
He shakes off the lingering feeling with relative ease, awkwardly patting his naked shoulder. “C'mon pup, go grab a bag and a box to put the glass in, I can see your broom from here.” If he works quickly enough, he'll get out of here sooner and without guilt, he tells himself, only a little bitter.
Because the truth, the ugly, unavoidable truth, is that there is no place more intoxicating than a pretty alpha’s den to someone like Seonghwa. This pretty alpha's den. But he's not allowed to indulge, not even after—
He clears his throat. “I'm sure your partner wouldn't want an old omega stinking up your apartment like this, so let's finish quickly.”
Yeosang, surprisingly, doesn't agree nor deny— it rather seems that, as soon as the words leave his mouth, Yeosang's entire presence closes into itself like an armadillo's plate. Supplies in hand, the young alpha walks past a distantly regretful Seonghwa, headed to his room, and the omega follows only because, in all honesty, he has no idea what else to do.
Inside the bedroom is worse by every possible metric. It smells not only of fresh rut, but also of the things Yeosang enjoys. The mid century modern furniture bears the books of a lifetime, stacked in an order one can't tell from afar, some even piled on the bedside table near where Yeosang broke a lamp this morning. The bed is unmade, and he can only notice the fabric softener scent both because he's been here long enough, and they seem freshly washed in preparation for his rut. The sheets are newer yet, the old set crumpled in the corner, and it seems a bad idea to wonder why that is.
There is a tall planter by the window, along with a few plants scattered here and there, possibly watered recently by the way the earthy smell blends with the tangy peach and generic softener underneath.
They crouch over the broken glass and carefully work their way through the debris, all in a silence Seonghwa doesn't know how to breach.
It turns out he doesn't have to.
“Do you really see me as a pup?”
The question comes so suddenly he can't help but frown. Across from him, Yeosang gathers stray shards, possibly more careful than before, refusing to look his way.
“Does it bother you if I do?”
He looks… haunted, Yeosang. He looks not unlike a slowly crumbling sandcastle, features dimmed of all color and light.
He whispers. “Yeah.” And it's heartbreak, unmistakable. Seonghwa's own heart beats in his throat, ready to flee.
“Why?”
It's like he's not there, the way all his words only amount to pointed little pauses in Yeosang's task; it hurts a familiar pain to not be fully acknowledged when it's all he ever wants, all the time.
“It's not like that,” The baritone meets his ears and the peachy, tangy scent heavies some, gains a sour quality to it. “You keep calling me a pup, and yourself an old omega. It's not like that, to me.”
Seonghwa holds his breath. It's the wrong time to discuss this, when he's still affected, still tender from fantasizing.
“I don't…” Yeosang sighs, bagging the last of the glass from the dustpan. “I don't want it to be like that to you either. Even if you're not— if I'm not— even then. ‘M not a pup, and you're not an unwanted omega.”
Without something to do with his hands, Seonghwa lacks anything that could blunt the strength with which those words land. He blinks away the stinging in his eyes, whispers: “You don't know that.” With a misplaced defensiveness.
Yeosang presses as close as he can without touching him, hot breath hitting the top of his cheek. “I do, though. I know it a little more every time I see you, Seonghwa.” His words land like a brand to his skin, streaks heat in each and every direction like lightning bolts. It's the first time he says his name, and to do it in this tone, in this moment…
“That's not fair.” He gasps, breaking in goosebumps.
“You don't get to talk about fairness, not like this, not— god , not when you smell like that.”
Seonghwa chokes on his reply, unable to land any dismissal when every little bit of him is squeezed out of thoughts. Yeosang's mouth still hovers painfully close to his cheek. When he speaks, it reaches his skin like a kiss.
“I know it looks like I've got everything under control this cycle but I really, really don't.” A pained chuckle, then Yeosang steps back to put the bag away for later, hands faintly shaking as they work. “If you're not up to it I think it's best you leave now.”
Shame licking his cheeks, unable to provide rejection, he still valiantly tries. “Why me?” He asks, rising only to sit on the bed, half melted into the woolen sheets.
Yeosang smiles, slots right between his knees, hands finally allowing themselves to touch when Seonghwa, weak, makes room for him. They grip under his thighs like a snake's bite, arms wrapping around their length to pull him flush.
“You're asking the wrong question.” His eyes are piercing from up close, soft lips parted to taste him in the air. Seonghwa's surrendered body rushes to meet him with a fresh pour of slick, wincing at the feeling. No omega underwear is able to withstand this much without leaking. He can tell the first wave of his rut is about to hit when the scent starts to get overpowering. “Seonghwa, look at me. Why would I want anyone else?”
He's on him without thought, without restraint, a touch of lips he's not allowed to shy away from like most things. Yeosang's hands bury in his hair and tug him closer, he tongues the seam of his mouth to kiss him deeper, harder, growling in his chest as he rises, pushing Seonghwa into the mattress. The weight, the scent, the warmth— it's too much, it's not enough.
He whimpers, ruts up onto the bulge prodding onto his own twitching erection. There's no excusing this, no explaining it away.
And arguably most importantly: there's no taking his alpha, now that he's got him.
♡
Yeosang's mouth is struggling with how much it drools at the scent punching into his every sense. It's hard to speak, to think straight, when all he wants is him.
But, still, he wants to look at every curve, every fold, before he's lost to the blindness of rut. Nothing guarantees that, once this is over, he'll be able to see him like this again. Nothing guarantees that he's not just having his fun with a younger alpha. The thought alone has him leaning to bite a supple, tan chest, and Seonghwa whimpers some more, hair haloed around his flushed face.
Everything about him is addictive— his mouth, his skin, his pretty cock curving towards his hip, the softness of his belly, the soft smattering of hair from his navel to his glistening, puckering hole— god, he'll dream of the sight forever. Under his gaze, the omega squirms, moving to close his legs, but Yeosang's grip is firm, prying them open even wider and up towards his sides. He whines, hands flying to cover his face.
“I didn't— if I knew we— I would've shaved, but—!” The excuse cuts into a surprised yelp when Yeosang buries his face between his thighs, tonguing at his hole to taste, to reassure, to make sure he feels good too. It's sweet, hot, has his cock drooling lazily as he works, nosing his balls every few laps. Above him, Seonghwa writhes, one hand unsteady in Yeosang's hair, the other between his teeth.
It's only when the familiar aches fully settle that he pulls away, face wet and fragrant with slick. He leans in to kiss Seonghwa one more time, finds it twice as dirty as the other times with the way his omega licks into him, bites his lip.
“So perfect.” Yeosang's heart bubbles feverishly up and out his mouth, but he hardly minds it, rubbing his cockhead against a slick, twitching entrance. “Seonghwa, take me.”
Eyes glossed into a starry night, he nods, arms winding around his shoulders. God, he's so beautiful.
Pushing in is only easy physically, in the mechanics of it— Seonghwa swallows him in hot and smooth, like they've been made to slot together eventually. It's a relief, as some omegas struggle to take his size and girth at once, and he doesn't like hurting others in a moment that should be about caring and bonding. He knows it can be a lot, especially when he loses himself, so he chuffs gratefully, nestling his face in the crook of Seonghwa's neck. He smells particularly warm and sweet near his scent gland, gets Yeosang high as he tries not to knot right away, to enjoy sex rather than breeding for once in the days to come.
Each soft kick of hips echoes like an itch, beckoning more strength, more friction, more violence. Seonghwa's hands have migrated to his hair, and he purrs a little when they tug— it feels more equal like this, like they're speaking the same language.
To the gentle symphony of whimpers and groans with each meeting oh hips, he reaches down to stroke Seonghwa’s cock, narrow and lovely in his palm, lets himself be tugged by the hair into a kiss as his omega cums with a few deliberate tugs and the pressure of his knot popping into place. Seonghwa gasps with each new spurt, filled breathless, but there's still gentleness in the kiss he gives Yeosang when he props him on his chest, quiet after the storm.
“You can leave when I sleep, if it's too much down the line.” He slurs, finally able to quieten the restlessness he's been fighting, happily nosing Seonghwa's cheek. As if to prove a point, he hugs him tighter. “Won't let you go if I'm awake.”
A pleased hum. Seonghwa steals another kiss, half asleep himself. “Awfully clingy, are we?”
Yeosang can't help but chuckle.
“You have no idea.”
♡
Seonghwa is caught in the kitchen mid meal, freshly showered and wearing a t-shirt he found in one of Yeosang's drawers. There's an identical set of fruit smoothie, water and meat bites on a tray he'd meant for Yeosang to have once he's awake, but he hardly makes it before a fully naked alpha crosses the threshold, reeking of rut and musk, cock standing in full attention.
“Aren't you going to eat f—” It takes a second for his brain to understand he's being pressed onto the counter, little warning for the cock rubbing at his hole, still a little tender from last time, but no worse for wear as it's pushed against, then into. Yeosang, softly grunting and whining, scents him as best he can, gropes any fleshy spot he can reach with every inch he shoves in, lets a hand rest inside his shirt, squeezing Seonghwa's left pec. It shouldn't feel this hot to be taken so blindly, with such singular focus, but he can feel his cock flush some against the worn soft fabric.
He's equally surprised and grateful his slick is this reliable, making the slide only overwhelming, rather than painful. In all his experience with alphas, none have ever filled him this thoroughly, no matter how much he tries to convince himself it's only because he's been lonely too long. He moans, long and high, clawing at the marble, when Yeosang's cock is fully seated inside, pressing into every good spot at once rather than one at a time if he moves. Feeling him in his throat, he flops, submitting.
Sharp teeth bite into his shoulder to keep him from squirming away, and then come the thrusts, harsh and fast, angled just right. Seonghwa grits back a scream at the very physical realization that whatever he's had before was a clench fisted, softened version of Yeosang in rut.
He can't even delude himself that it's a bad kind of stretch, a painful kind of violence— his thighs glisten with slick, legs nearly give with each drag against his inner walls— the worst admission to make is that, despite all his attempts at modesty, he was made for this and this alone. Embarrassment has the audacity to bleed up his chest and face as he's jostled, red hot.
He can feel himself getting dangerously close soon enough, cock jumping each time Yeosang's fingers brush over his nipple, slick frothy from the roughness of movement. The bite on his shoulder has given place to wet kisses along his jaw, nape, the top of his spine; this tenderness is so jarring, yet so fitting— he can feel release being fucked out him, unable to stop by the strong grip on his waist and chest, caging him with the feeling.
“Yeosang, ah, wait, I'm gonna— ‘m so, fuck—! ”
He's not sure he knows anything to feel the way he does when, in a bout of lucidity, Yeosang both rubs his nipple and reaches to grab his cock, letting his mad, sharp thrusts stroke him with momentum instead. He cries out, shoots cum up to his chest, mewls through each wave that crashes over him, grabbing desperately at the sides of the counter for some tether, something to ground him when he feels like a thrashing live wire. And Yeosang, beautiful, stallion of a man Yeosang:
Doesn't stop.
He keeps plowing into him no matter how much he cries, pulls him back by the hips when he tries to crawl away, eyes rolling into his skull. It's too much, too fast, he feels like sobbing— so he does, loud and choked by deeper thrusts, kept upright by the quick arm around his middle.
When he cums again in utter surprise, Yeosang's naked body presses Seonghwa onto the marble until he can't fight it anymore, face wet with tears and shirt soiled with cum.
And still, he keeps going.
Sure that he's truly, truly spent, Seonghwa lets himself be used, still sobbing softly at wayward spasms. He has too little mind to deny it's simply too much good at once, to the point he doesn't know how to take it.
And then, as if to defy every belief he's ever had, Yeosang knots him, deep.
It's like it's yanked out of him, the third orgasm, rather than something his body does on its own. He's ran dry of cum by now, his cock barely fills out anymore, only twiches in the confines of his borrowed t-shirt, mating pressed onto the countertop.
It takes a good few minutes for Yeosang to be coherent again, and he's glad. Had he tried to speak to Seonghwa right away, he'd be sorely disappointed. The consistent weight is good too, warms where he'd feel cold after something so intense, gently coaxes him down to earth.
“Did I hurt you?” Yeosang asks, nuzzling his hair.
Head stuffed full of cotton, he shakes his head. He hasn't really felt pain throughout it all, though he knows he'll feel it soon. “Go shower,” He nags instead, a little against his will, but Yeosang only smiles, squeezes him tight enough he makes a noise.
“Knot dumb much, Mr. Park?” The tease fizzes all over his skin, summoning goosebumps. “We're still bound.”
Oh.
He doesn't mean to cry any more, but the tears come regardless. In a twist of dynamic, Yeosang coos, reaching to thumb them away, placing a kiss where they once streaked. “Pretty omega. You don't have to stay the whole rut, you know. Let me just give you a bath and then go to bed so you can leave.”
“It's not like that,” He tells him, sniffling some. Pulling the nearest hand into his, he interlocks their fingers, feeling utterly stupid and smitten. “I'm just. Suddenly really happy."
Eyes wide with feeling, Yeosang pulls him into an awkward little kiss.
“Me too. So happy.”
♡
Yeosang wakes to with lips around his cock, gently sucking the tip, delicate hands working the base.
More noticeable, however, is the puffed up, slick beading hole within reach of his face. The next step is reasonably easy to make sense of.
It's an awfully hungry ordeal, Yeosang only half himself when he sucks his own cum out of his omega, sweetened by caramel cocoa butter and the startled noises against his cock, shoved into a drooling mouth a few times as he fucks it upwards, unbidden.
It takes two fingers and a bite at the crease of his buttocks to have him spilling over his chest, clear little droplets from an overwhelmed body. Without much fuss, he cleans himself and the pretty glistening cockhead, learning at last he truly is sweet everywhere, before his mind gets too foggy for trains of thought.
♡
“Hwa…” The sweet baritone echoes against his neck and he hums, pulling back the covers. It can't be earlier than midnight, he thinks, but still fondly holds the face on his shoulder, leans his own against it.
“‘S okay, you can come in.”
Yeosang makes quick work of fucking into him, and he distantly balks at how he only hurts in the absence of his alpha inside of him.
He knows he'll wake later, when the new wave fully crests, but for now the little hip kicks are a low simmering thing.
♡
Seonghwa whines and bites into his hand, hard, as his body jumps with each thrust, barely aware as it is. He reaches down to his cock for some relief, but stops halfway when he notices.
Without thinking, he smooths a hand over his lower belly, realizing with a start how distended it is from the continuous loads.
Above him, Yeosang groans.
“Pup— my pups—” He presses into the bulge, cock burrowing even deeper into him, forcing the swelling knot to catch on his rim every time. “My omega. All— hnng — mine.”
Seonghwa's roll back, and his vision whites out.
♡
Yeosang isn't sure what time it is, really, but then again he never really does in rut. All he knows is Seonghwa splayed over him, smelling delightfully peachy after being filled with his seed and rubbed with his scent for days on end. Without jostling him too much, he guides himself to a hot, puffy hole, still wet from his last release, wetter yet when fresh slick is coaxed out. Still half asleep, Seonghwa reaches behind himself, running fingers along his shaft almost tenderly as Yeosang inches inside.
“Never ge’s old,” He mumbles, propping himself up a little to allow room for thrusting up, though this time Yeosang is lucid enough to start slow. Fuck, it must've been days like this already, if his rut’s about to break. Seonghwa only sighs, though, envelops him in his heavenly heat without complaint.
He's right, too: it never gets old.
“Wanna end it in a sweet note?” Yeosang asks, hands stroking along his back. Seonghwa nods against his neck, breathing in his scent. “Okay. Brace for me, baby.”
It's strange how they meet like this, with only residual instinct. They've been an alpha and omega when he was bending him over and fucking him bred, but like this, in the half light of either the curtains or twilight, they are, for all intents and purposes, just Seonghwa and Yeosang. And if he's truly honest, had it been anyone else, perhaps he'd lie and take care of this last stretch of cycle by himself.
But it is Seonghwa. It's the one his alpha brain keeps attempting to claim as his, despite the lack of binding words between them. He feels the preciousness of this moment in his very bones.
Yeosang squeezes the meaty globes of his ass, weak, pulls him down against his thrusts before sliding himself inside one last time and cumming, deep and hot and breathless as he pumps the omega through his own orgasm, triggered by the knot.
And then, silence.
“Seonghwa?”
Seonghwa raises his head from the spot in his neck to look at him, then, mouth agape at the lingering feeling. “Yeah?”
His hair is a mess, hair tie long lost amongst the sheets, an assortment of red marks across his sleepy face— he's so beautiful Yeosang feels tears well up in his eyes. He reaches a hand to hold his face, kisses him one more time.
“Go out with me.”
Wide eyes, then a big, sunrise of a smile.
“I mean. After a good shower, a nap and food—hopefully some cleaning up too, I guess… I'd really like that.”