Chapter Text
It starts small.
A scent on his pillow. Not Nam-gyu’s—his own. Warmer, sweeter than it should be. Unfamiliar in a way that’s deeply intimate, like smelling someone else on your skin and knowing no one’s touched you. Myung-gi’s been waking up irritated. Tense. Restless in the mornings, tangled in sheets with his shirt pushed up under his arms, sticky with sweat and a sharp, unsettled pulse in his throat. The apartment feels humid lately, close, like the air is heavy with something unspoken.
He doesn’t mention it. Not when Nam-gyu slouches in with his usual half-limped walk and that slight, knowing look on his face, like he can smell it too. He probably can. Alphas have good noses. He has a good nose.
Or had.
Myung-gi wipes at the back of his neck in the mirror, staring at his flushed skin. His body’s been wrong lately. Tighter. Hungrier. His patience is thinner, his clothes fitting weird, and the way Nam-gyu’s been looking at him is off. Too long. Too direct. Like a challenge. Or a dare.
“What?” Myung-gi says one morning, catching Nam-gyu watching him while he buttons his shirt. It’s three in the afternoon. The light is low and gold through the shitty blinds, cutting across Nam-gyu’s face like a knife.
Nam-gyu shrugs, chewing on a thumbnail. “You’re acting weird.”
Myung-gi seems to mull it over for a second. He’s pretty sure Nam-gyu is trying to piss him off, which is nothing new. He grits his teeth. “I’m not.”
Nam-gyu presses further, a little snippier this time. “You’re sweating like you’ve got something to say.” He grins, sharp and too casual. “You’re the one radiating heat like a broken oven. You sick?”
“No.”
But his stomach turns. And the worst part is that he isn’t sick. His vitals are fine. His routines are clean. He’s been tracking himself since he got out of the Game, charting everything—weight, sleep, diet, scent cycles. He’s always been a little obsessive. It kept him sane. This isn’t something he can graph.
The next time they sleep together, Myung-gi stays on top like usual, but it feels different. Something inside him pulls, gnaws at him, cravings deeper than anything he’s used to. He wants to bury himself in Nam-gyu and curl in. Hide. Not out of dominance, but from something gnawing in his gut. Something needier. Desperate. It makes him reckless with his hands, too gentle at the end. Nam-gyu notices.
“Didn’t think you were the clingy type,” Nam-gyu mutters afterward, voice not unkind. More like curiosity worn thin.
Myung-gi tries to ignore him. It's not unlike Nam-gyu to say some stupid shit for the sake of hearing his own voice. But when he shifts under the covers, Nam-gyu noses at the back of his neck, drawing in a breath. He freezes.
“...You’re kidding.”
Myung-gi stills, his whole body locking in place. “What?"
Nam-gyu pulls back, slow, pupils blown wide. He looks like he's about to say something, lips pursed as if he can't get a single word out. What a fucking asshole. Myung-gi is sure his dignity is about to be shredded.
The moment stretches on, the air thick with unspoken tension. Myung-gi’s breath hitches, and Nam-gyu’s proximity is burning him from the inside out. That silent stare, undressing him with cold eyes that look more and more predatory with every passing second. The pressure in his chest grows worse, and he knows that if he doesn’t break away, he’s going to lose it. He's going to let Nam-gyu see how much he’s already lost control.
The other man leans back slightly, still too close, but he pulls his hand away from Myung-gi’s shoulder, as if sensing the tension in the room. Myung-gi’s pulse doesn’t slow, though. If anything, it’s faster now, erratic.
There's a flicker of something dark in Nam-gyu's eyes, something like suspicion, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he just clicks his tongue, his expression a perfect mask of mockery. “Forget it. You’re just acting weird, but I don’t have time to figure out your girly shit.” He leans back into their shared bed, stretching lazily as if nothing happened, like he hasn’t just walked Myung-gi to the edge of something he can’t escape from.
Without a further word, he pulls the blanket over him, clicking the bedside lamp off and heading to sleep.
Myung-gi is left lying on his side, chest heaving, his mind still reeling, the heat coursing through his body making it feel impossible to think clearly. The room is too hot, too small, and he’s too aware of everything—the heat, the way his body reacts to every single thing Nam-gyu does, the way the scent in the air is not his own, how it’s slowly driving him insane. He tries to make the night pass faster, shutting his eyes
---
The next day, everything feels worse.
It’s not even the morning yet, but Myung-gi’s already awake, restless and irritated. He’s tossing and turning in his bed, drenched in sweat, the covers tangled around his legs. His boxers are clinging to him uncomfortably, but it’s not the heat from the room that’s bothering him. It’s the way his skin feels alive—too sensitive. Nam-gyu is an early riser, and for once he's thankful to have the bed to himself. It's excruciating, the way his body reacts when he catches Nam-gyu's scent on the pillow. The way his brain screams for him, even when he doesn’t want it to.
Myung-gi doesn't mull it over, he can't afford to. Getting up onto shaky legs, he clambers to the bathroom to wash his face, before settling down into the living room with a cup of much needed coffee.
Nam-gyu strides into the living room around noon, setting his laptop down on the table, stretching like a cat. His movements are lazy but deliberate, and the moment he sets foot inside, Myung-gi can already feel that familiar pull. That urge to push him away, and yet not. The thing inside him is pulling tighter every time Nam-gyu’s around, and it’s too much.
Nam-gyu smirks as soon as he sees Myung-gi on the couch, eyes glinting with something like amusement. “You look like shit,” he says casually, sliding onto the couch beside him. “Not sleeping well?”
Myung-gi doesn’t respond right away. His skin is burning, every part of him hypersensitive. His throat is tight, but he manages to speak, keeping his voice as level as possible. “None of your business.”
Nam-gyu doesn’t seem deterred. Instead, he scoots closer, too close, and the heat between them intensifies. His shoulder brushes against Myung-gi’s, and he feels it like an electric shock, making his breath hitch. He has to fight the instinct to lean in.
“So touchy today,” Nam-gyu muses, voice light but with that hint of something nefarious behind it. He’s not even looking at Myung-gi directly, but he’s doing everything he can to make him aware of just how close they are. He reaches out casually to adjust the armrest, but his fingers brush against Myung-gi’s wrist in a way that feels intentional, lingering just a little too long. “What’s the matter? Still angry about yesterday?”
Myung-gi’s fingers tighten around the edge of the couch, the pressure in his chest growing unbearable. “Just leave it.”
Nam-gyu grins, that teasing, cruel smile spreading across his face. “Can’t. You’re the one who’s acting weird. You’re giving off this... vibe. You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re practically begging for me to do something about it.”
Myung-gi turns his head sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. “Shut up, Nam-gyu. I know you're just trying to piss me off.” His heart pounds out of his chest, and he feels nothing short of sick.
Nam-gyu doesn’t buy it. He leans in closer, his scent wrapping around Myung-gi like a shackle, making his thoughts scatter. “You know, I’m starting to think I was right yesterday. There’s something about you that’s... off. Something different. You really sure you’re not in heat, Myung-gi?"
Nam-gyu says it like a joke, but it feels more and more plausible the more Myung-gi thinks about it. He's pretty sure he knows already. He's not dumb. But he can't bring himself to think it's real.
His pulse skips a beat, and his breath catches in his throat. He clenches his jaw, but he can’t stop the way his pulse is racing. “I’m not,” he snaps, the words coming out too quickly, too desperately.
Nam-gyu raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. He leans back slightly, but not enough to give Myung-gi any space. “You sure smell like it. Seems like somebody got bitched.”
Myung-gi is fighting to keep his composure, but the heat is making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Nam-gyu is right. He knows Nam-gyu is right. Which only makes him feel worse. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out, to grab Nam-gyu and push him away, but it’s as if his body wants to lean into it. Wants to stay close. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore it. “Fuck off.”
Nam-gyu leans in again, but this time he’s almost touching Myung-gi’s ear with his lips, voice low, playful, yet laced with something cruel. “You’re getting all worked up, Myung-gi. If you weren’t such a stubborn idiot, you'd be bent over this couch, asking me for it.”
Myung-gi’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He’s not sure if he’s about to lose control or if he’s already lost it. His body is so hot now, it’s overwhelming, and he can’t seem to pull away from Nam-gyu. He pushes himself back into the couch, trying to make space, but it’s like there’s no room to escape. "Fuck off, Nam-gyu. I'm serious.”
Nam-gyu watches him, eyes glittering with amusement. He doesn’t let up, his presence suffocating, almost hypnotic. “Let me take care of you, Myung-gi. You don’t have to be so proud."
Myung-gi feels a flicker of irritation surge through him, too sharp to ignore. He grits his teeth, jaw tight, trying to hold back. But Nam-gyu is too close. His scent is in the air, thick and intoxicating, mixing with the heat in his own body. The weight of the space between them feels like a magnet pulling them together, but everything about Nam-gyu, about the way he keeps pushing, is driving him to the edge.
Without thinking, Myung-gi reaches out, his hand grabbing Nam-gyu’s wrist with a sharp yank. The sudden movement jerks Nam-gyu back against the couch, and before he can react, Myung-gi shoves him down, pinning him firmly into the cushions with a force that surprises them both. Nam-gyu’s back hits the couch with a soft thud, but instead of struggling, he just looks up at Myung-gi with that same lazy grin.
“Really?” Nam-gyu drawls, raising an eyebrow, his voice thick with amusement. “This is how it’s gonna be?”
Myung-gi’s heart is pounding in his ears, his breath shallow and fast. He’s not sure if it’s the frustration or something else entirely, but he leans down, using his weight to hold Nam-gyu in place. His hand moves to Nam-gyu’s chest, pressing him deeper into the couch, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. His body is tight, tense, the heat radiating off him too much to ignore.
Nam-gyu just stares up at him, completely unbothered. His legs are still casually spread out, one foot propped up on the coffee table, the other just hanging over the edge of the couch, as though Myung-gi’s grip on him is nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Myung-gi almost growls, voice low and full of challenge. His fingers dig into Nam-gyu’s chest, holding him tighter as the words spill out before he can stop them. “You think you can keep pushing me like this? I’ll make you regret it.”
Nam-gyu’s grin only widens, his hands coming up to grasp Myung-gi’s wrist, but not with urgency—just a light pressure, like he’s humoring him. “Big words. But I don’t see you making any moves.”
Myung-gi’s frustration flares. He leans down further, his face hovering inches from Nam-gyu’s, the heat between them palpable. Every inch of him is burning, but it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something darker, something that’s been building, breaking through the surface of his control. “I’m not playing your games,” Myung-gi mutters, his voice hoarse. His hand moves from Nam-gyu’s chest, his fingers grazing the side of his face, pushing back a strand of hair.
Nam-gyu’s eyes lock onto his, a vibrant hunger flickering in his expression, a challenge in the way he holds Myung-gi’s gaze. “No? Then leave. Get up and go, if you don't want this.”
For a moment, Myung-gi is still. He could pull away. Could let go of this damn control. But something is snapping inside him, and he can’t stop. The frustration, the need—it’s all mixing together, and it makes him lean down again, pressing his lips to Nam-gyu’s in a fleeting, heated kiss. It’s messy, rushed, desperate, a flash of emotion that Myung-gi can’t hold back any longer.
He pulls away suddenly, breathless and unsure. Nam-gyu just looks up at him, eyes bright, mocking and pleased. Myung-gi’s hand still grips Nam-gyu’s shirt, but his whole body feels like it’s on fire. He needs more.
Nam-gyu shifts slightly under him, a low snicker escaping his lips. “That didn't take long.” The words are taunting but soft, like he’s savoring the taste of them.
“Shut up,” Myung-gi hisses again, but this time it doesn’t have any bite. He’s too raw, too exposed, like something vital is breaking open inside him. The need pulses through him, and he knows Nam-gyu can sense it, even can taste it on him.
He should get up. Should pull away and go back to pretending like none of this is happening. But instead he stays there, hovering over Nam-gyu, the heat between them thick and suffocating. His fingers tremble, and despite himself, he leans down again, this time slower, more deliberate.
“Needy.” Nam-gyu murmurs against his mouth, the words barely more than a breath. There’s no mistaking the challenge in his tone.
Myung-gi hesitates only for a second before kissing him hard, all anger and hunger and desperation rolled into one. He hates how much he wants this, how much he needs it, but the moment their lips crash together again, something inside him gives way completely.
Nam-gyu makes a low sound in his throat, almost a growl of satisfaction. His hands come up to Myung-gi's back, pulling him in closer until there’s no space left between them. Myung-gi's mind goes blank with heat and want; it's almost painful how badly he needs more.
The room feels even smaller now, too close, too hot. Myung-gi’s thoughts are scattered to the wind along with his pride. He pushes Nam-gyu further into the couch, his knee pressing between Nam-gyu's legs, pinning him down while he kisses him fiercely again. His hands are everywhere, tangled in his hair, sliding across his collarbone, gripping his shoulders as if holding on for dear life. He’s losing himself in the heat, in the way Nam-gyu smells and tastes, and he can’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop.
Nam-gyu’s fingers dig into the small of Myung-gi's back, pulling him closer yet, until Myung-gi feels like he’s caught in a blaze that might burn him alive. Their mouths are frantic, clashing, tongues meeting with wild urgency. Myung-gi groans against Nam-gyu's lips, the sound raw and needy, almost unrecognizable to his own ears.
Only when his chest burns for oxygen does he pull away for real, panting heavily. He feels weird. Not like himself. But the ache in his abdomen is fulfilling, deep. It drives him.
He’s doing it his way. He doesn't care how badly his body cries out for something else, how Nam-gyu’s scent has him feeling weak, unfulfilled. He knows what he needs. He knows what will make him feel best. And Nam-gyu knows it too. But he's in denial, painfully stubborn. He's not willing to change things up, not yet anyway.
In a familiar action, he starts to slide Nam-gyu’s pants off of him, fingers hooking in the elastic of his boxers. The man underneath him shifts, lifting his hips to make it easier.
The rustle of fabric is barely audible over the pounding in Myung-gi’s ears. His fingers tremble where they’ve hooked into Nam-gyu’s waistband, and he can feel the heat radiating from the other man’s skin—soaked into his palms, rising in waves. But it’s the scent that undoes him.
Nam-gyu’s scent has always been weak to him. Muted, unnotable unless he was up close. Myung-gi always watered it down to his status, as there was no real reason for them to be affected by each other. He considered himself to be superior, a prime example. Stronger, more capable than Nam-gyu.
But not now. It’s like something has split open. Nam-gyu’s scent spills out in slow, choking tendrils, dark and sharp. Tinged with something biting like citrus and smoke, but underneath it all is that heavy, grounding base note that hits Myung-gi like a drug.
It's overwhelming. Familiar and alien all at once, and it wraps around his brain like static, like instinct. His whole body pulses with it. For the first time in his life, he's wet. The unfamiliar sensation between his legs is cold, unyielding. His erection presses up against the fabric of his boxers, now stained dark grey, and he audibly whimpers at the friction.
Nam-gyu breathes in shallowly, and Myung-gi can feel it, feel the way his own scent shifts in response, going sweeter, heavier, thick with some deep, unconscious surrender he hasn’t given voice to. With a tut, Nam-gyu finishes what Myung-gi couldn't. Stripping them both, clothes now a tangled mess at their ankles.
Another audible, yet unfamiliar noise keens from Myung-gi’s throat as the humid air bathes over him. While usually composed, he can feel himself losing his grip. His control wanes, instincts pulling at his reins.
Greedy hips jolt forward into Nam-gyu, one hand on each side of his waist. Myung-gi’s breathing is labored, tears already welling in his eyes as he begins to grind down onto the man below him. He slides so easily against him, shaft to shaft, relishing in the quiet groan he pulls from Nam-gyu.
Spikes of pleasure crawl up his spine, hips speeding up, trying to keep a hold of the fleeting pleasure, chasing it with everything he has. Somehow, it's too much, but still too little. Even as Nam-gyu arches up to meet him, smearing the copious fluids over both of them, it's still not enough. But he can't stop. Can't will himself to pull away, even when he's desperate for more.
“Aww, poor Myung-gi.. Is it too much?” Nam-gyu coos at him so sweetly, it makes his legs tremble. Despite being on top, he's never felt so vulnerable in his entire life. Every touch is like hot coals, and the suffocating scent of Nam-gyu is a level of asphyxiation he would die happy from.
His head dips down to Nam-gyu’s neck, an instinctive position that he usually takes when he's about to mark the other. But it’s different, now. He can't bring himself to bite down, to establish dominance. He can only lap gently at the skin, nosing at it like it's the only oxygen he can breathe. His hips pull back from the other, just to slide lower.
It's only been a few minutes, and he's already making a mess. His slick tip prods at Nam-gyu’s hole, spreading his fluids all over the area. Like always, Nam-gyu spreads for him eagerly, legs lazily locked behind his back. There's no strength in it, yet. But it helps to keep the balance.
He knows Nam-gyu doesn't need prep. They've fucked so often that the man’s insides are practically made to fit him. Myung-gi pushes again, now sliding his shaft into the space between Nam-gyu’s cheeks. It feels so good, so perfect. His head spins, as he impatiently bucks into the warmth. He can't pull himself away from Nam-gyu’s neck, drooling into his pulse, inhaling every bit of him. It's so embarrassing. He can't see Nam-gyu’s face, but he doesn't need to. He can see the shit eating grin from miles away.
It's desperate, clumsy, his tip catching on Nam-gyu’s entrance but not steady enough to get it in on his own. He's close to crying from frustration, glassy-eyed. His breath is heavy and wet on Nam-gyu’s neck,
“Please—” He whines against the skin of Nam-gyu’s throat, desperate to get inside of him, those sloppy thrusts getting him nowhere. “Come on, Nam-gyu. Help me..” He doesn't recognize his own voice. He'd never beg for something like that.
And yet, he does. And his pleas are answered swiftly, as Nam-gyu’s hips angle upwards. It's instant now, his tip pressing into the man’s awaiting hole, forcing himself into the warmth with a cry.
It feels beyond good. Nam-gyu’s always been pretty tight, but accommodating. It's a familiar feeling that he's found himself getting used to, but today it feels new. Intense. Euphoric. He doesn't waste a second, nails digging into Nam-gyu’s flesh as his hips jolt to life. He can't take it slow, can't bear another second of it as he buries himself up to the hilt.
Myung-gi can feel Nam-gyu clench around him, legs twitching behind his back as he drives into that sweet tightness, heavy breaths as he pulls away from the man’s neck at last, slack-jawed and hungry. Nam-gyu looks good, straining to take him, eyes frantic yet hazy. He’d usually let his gaze linger until Nam-gyu got annoyed, but he didn't have the patience this time. Not when he needed it so bad.
His hips pull back as far as he's willing to part with the other man, before he slams back in, making both of them groan. He's so sensitive that every thrust feels like he's on fire, rocking in and out of the tight heat. It's so easy, so noisy, as his thrusts gradually pick up in speed and strength.
Before he knows it he's physically slamming into Nam-gyu, hitting his prostate in strokes so violent that the couch shakes underneath them. It's a cacophony of moans and cries from both of them, though Myung-gi is considerably louder. Nam-gyu’s always vocal, loud, but it's a change for Myung-gi. He can't help it, not when it feels so good.
“Shit—” It comes out as a hiss, loaded and needy. His chest is flush to Nam-gyu’s now, pinning him down, heart to heart. His hips ache, but he can't stop. The sound of skin slapping is unbearably loud, the momentum picking up as Myung-gi inches closer and closer to climax.
“Come on, Myung-gi. Harder. I can take it..” He hears Nam-gyu below him, feels him deliberately pulse around his shaft. Myung-gi almost growls.
He's close, teetering on the edge of something dangerous as he continues to plow Nam-gyu into the couch. He can barely will himself to pull the whole way off, only managing an inch or two out of his walls before he pushes back in. Blunter rougher thrusts ram right into Nam-gyu’s prostate, and judging by the man’s sounds, he's close. Probably as much as Myung-gi. Legs lock tighter around his back, and it aches. He feels his spine shift under the pressure, but it's too good for him to complain. He can barely move, trapped in place— And he feels himself starting to expand.
Myung-gi’s head throws back in ecstasy, his knot starting to swell up against Nam-gyu’s innards. It's impossible to pull out now, impossible to even move as his partner’s walls convulse around him, leaving him shaking, whimpering for more stimulation. It's too much, his knot constricting the already tight space, and it's enough to drive him over the edge.
With Nam-gyu’s name on his tongue, he cries out— A burning hot flash striking through his whole body. It comes in heavy waves, weighing him down, as he spills inside of Nam-gyu, emptying everything he had deep into him. It feels like he'll never stop, like he'll never be able to pull away. And he's not mad about it. Not with how Nam-gyu squirms, not as thick ropes spill from his neglected cock.
He's raw, oversensitive, unable to pull out until Nam-gyu’s orgasm dies down, gripping his knot tightly, refusing to let him pull off. He leans down, sweaty forehead against Nam-gyu’s, helping to work him through the aftermath with gentle swivels of his hips. They're both messy, slick and sweat stuck to their skin. Bodies that are far too warm slot against each other, craving the suffocating warmth.
Arms lose their original position to wrap around each other. It's gentle, soft. Rocking against each other in comfort, as Myung-gi feels himself softened up enough to pull out. Yet, he doesn't. Nam-gyu didn't seem too rushed, head buried into his chest. The hand that rubs circles in his back makes him feel.. safe. Protected. An urge that never arised.
Neither one of them says anything, not wanting to ruin the moment. But Myung-gi’s head is on overdrive. Thinking, processing.
Was that really a heat? Was the bitching thing really true? It wasn't uncommon for Nam-gyu to say things for the sake of it, usually to piss him off. But he couldn't shake the feeling. Not when everything felt off, different. Not when he couldn't even behave like himself. His heart falls to stomach as he feels an unfamiliar dissatisfaction, deep in his gut.
Shaky fingers snake around the back of him, a digit prying in between his legs. A cold, wet sensation greets him, unfamiliar. He doesn't produce slick. Alphas don't produce slick. He's never even been penetrated. Slick is for..
His breath catches in his throat.
Shit.