Work Text:
Jisung is drenched in sweat.
He’s just finished a back-breaking home pilates workout and is lying on the hotel floor – he’s not allowed to go to the building's 24/7 gym, and there isn’t a yoga mat in sight –, stomach expanding and contracting rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, when the door beeps.
He knows it’s Minho. The door is only openable from both sides with a card, one that only the alpha has possession of at the moment.
Jisung curses internally. He’s not prepared yet. He was supposed to take a shower, get clean, change into fresh clothes, be lying languidly on his bed when Minho returned. But now he’s panting and hot and definitely reeking, his sweat always mingling heavily with his scent when he exercises. The beta instructors are never bothered by it in his classes back in the dormitory, but he knows Minho is going to catch one whiff and be insatiable.
Minho takes a few heavy steps inside, silent. Jisung can imagine him standing in the middle of the room, eyes dark and thirsty, drinking in the sight of him.
Another couple steps, and Jisung’s nostrils flare when Minho’s scent floods into them – sharp, smoky pine. It’s familiar to Jisung these days, stronger than it usually is. He’s turned on right now, Jisung knows, cock already pressed firmly against the zipper of his slacks.
The thought pleases Jisung, as if Minho were actually his alpha and not just a client. Jisung doesn’t have an alpha and never will, but it’s not hard to pretend Minho is his. After their first appointment, Minho had requested Jisung be only available to him, a fact that still makes Jisung’s insides squirm happily. Minho doesn’t want any other alphas touching him. It means something, maybe.
There’s the sound of clothing rustling before Jisung feels the alpha’s hand card over his forehead, brushing a piece of limp hair away.
Jisung squints his eyes open. Minho is squatted beside him, gaze shamelessly, hungrily drifting over his supine body. His hand moves down to stroke over a sliver of Jisung’s belly, visible from where his shirt has hiked up. Jisung feels a shiver run up his spine from the touch, cold against his flushed skin, his cunt already tightening around the plug secured inside it.
“Get up,” Minho orders abruptly, reaching down to slap Jisung’s thigh through the thin fabric of his shorts, sharp enough to make him wince. He doesn’t look once at Jisung’s face, just bracing his hands on his knees to stand up.
Jisung scrambles to follow, rising from the ground, eyeing Minho as he strides over to the breeding bench.
It’s dark, sleek, modern, and was here when Jisung first arrived at this hotel, undoubtedly ordered for the room in advance. Minho never books their appointments in his house. It would be too personal, Jisung thinks. Minho doesn’t like personal.
Minho finally casts him a glance over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. It’s sharp, sly, something Jisung has seen countless times.
“Over here, omega,” he calls, patting the bench before walking away, towards the bathroom.
Jisung is sure Minho does know his name – it must be on his files, after all –, but he’s never said it. Only omega. He wishes he would call him by his name.
Jisung hesitates for a moment. He really should take a shower, get rid of some of this sweat, wash his hair, even though he knows he’ll be filthy again soon, anyway, after Minho is done with him.
When Minho is around, though, he’s not supposed to do anything the alpha doesn’t command. If he’s lucky, and Minho either leaves tonight or tells him to bathe, then he’ll be able to go to sleep clean. If he’s not, then he’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when Minho’s gone again.
He moves over to the bench, nibbling on his bottom lip as he stares down at its shiny, leather surface, memories tingeing his thoughts.
It was disgusting this morning, a mess of bodily fluids. Minho doesn’t often spend the night in the hotels he books for Jisung, but he had yesterday, and had fucked him shortly after waking up.
Jisung had been forced to lay – slack-jawed and cotton-headed, pressed flush against his own day-old slick from the night before, and sticky with his fresh – on the bench as the alpha went about getting ready for the day, only unbuckling him just before he left.
Thankfully the housekeepers came around noon today to clean it. Jisung had been asleep, mid-nap on the large, plush bed at the foot of Minho’s, when they arrived, with tittering voices and fluttering footsteps.
They had barely glanced at him as they went about their business, but Jisung had still felt sour embarrassment churning in his gut as he groggily watched them spray disinfectant and wipe rags down the bench. Cleaning up his sloppy mess.
He always feels a rush of shame when Minho is gone, about what the alpha has done to him, what he’s done to himself. It never lasts long.
Jisung mounts the bench slowly now, until his ass is raised high into the air. His stomach and chest flatten against the long middle piece, wobbly knees and elbows braced, bent, against the flanking lower sides.
Turning his head to rest his cheek on the cool leather, he stares at the window to his right, able to see his reflection there, and waits for Minho to return.
Jisung can hear him showering, though it’s quick, not lasting longer than five minutes. The bathroom door opens soon after, footsteps approaching him.
Minho doesn’t need to restrain Jisung, or so Jisung tells himself. He wouldn’t move if the alpha told him not to. But he doesn’t speak to Minho, not supposed to, so he’s never voiced this thought. And besides, Minho seems to like tying him up. Jisung shouldn’t do anything to take away from his pleasure.
So what ensues next is a familiar routine. Minho doesn’t waste any time buckling his ankles, securing them to the bench, before abruptly yanking his shorts down to rest just below his ass. He takes hold of the plug in Jisung’s ass, pushing it further in, twisting. Jisung clenches around it as it jostles, arousal pooling in his stomach, cunt tensing around its own plug.
Minho chuckles, tugging the plug out with little difficulty, Jisung’s hole still wet with the alpha’s cum from this morning.
Jisung can’t help but mewl uncomfortably at the loss, so used to feeling full. His hands squeeze into fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms, hole puckering uselessly around nothing. Desire is starting to rear its head within him. Hot. Desperate. This is always how it goes.
Minho pokes and prods at his hole for a bit. He slides a finger inside, and Jisung blushes when a rush of slick immediately surges from his cunt, trickling down his thighs.
In response, Minho’s finger slips out to swipe against Jisung’s newly slick-wet thigh, and a moment later there’s the lewd sound of it popping out of pursed lips, followed by a satisfied hum. Jisung’s mind preens at the reaction. He must taste good.
His wrists are next, buckled when Minho rounds the bench, and then his neck, after the alpha bends down to take the heavy leather collar laying on the floor, chained to the bench. He steps back when he’s done, keen eyes scraping over Jisung for a moment, inspecting.
Minho is so handsome. It’s strange that he doesn’t have a pack – with his amount of money and good looks, Jisung is sure he could successfully court a free omega, start one, have pups. But he doesn’t, and for the last year has continued to occasionally rent Jisung.
Jisung doesn’t know if he sees other omegas, from the agency or not. A large part of him hopes he doesn’t.
His hair is still damp, Jisung notes, most likely scrubbed dry with a towel. He’s not wearing the suit he returned in, but rather a pair of basketball shorts, a simple black t-shirt that offers Jisung a good view of his lean biceps.
During his various appointments with the alpha, Jisung has deduced that he doesn’t particularly like formal attire. If Minho’s still around in the morning, he’ll stay in his pyjamas until last minute, and whenever he returns, he’s always quick to change into something more casual. He never has just changed before showing up. Jisung thinks he doesn’t want to be seen in public not dressed up. For his image, or something.
But he doesn’t seem to care about his image around Jisung. Looking comfortable, homely – he’s always let him see him like this. It warms something deep inside of Jisung, the part of him that wants a good alpha to father his pups. Minho would be a great father.
Minho never fucks his cunt to make that happen, though. And even if he did, it still wouldn’t do anything. Jisung is pumped full of birth control, and when he isn’t anymore, when his time with the rental service is fulfilled, he won’t ever know the father of his future pups, nor get to keep them. He’ll be a breeding bitch for the endless pupless betas out there, alone in a sterile hospital, until he’s old and barren and sent to some faraway, crowded retirement home.
Still, the thought of Minho’s cum doing anything but just sloshing around in him and dripping out, instead actually breeding him, putting pups in him, makes his cunt throb, his hole tighten almost painfully hard around empty space. He pants, cheek hot against the bench.
Minho returns to the other side of the bench after studying Jisung for a bit longer, apparently happy with what he sees. He rests a heavy hand on one of Jisung’s cheeks, before reaching to stroke his other along his cunt.
Jisung’s mind stutters at the touch when it drags over his clit, dousing him in a brief, almost nauseating wave of pleasure, but it disappears as soon as it comes.
His finger thrusts back into Jisung’s hole a moment later, warm and wet. A second one joins it shortly after, and even a third, a fourth slide in with little resistance, cork-screwing around, jutting up until they hit a wall.
It’s impossible to have any self-control when any alpha, even the ones Jisung used to see before Minho started renting him, is fucking him. But only Minho can unravel Jisung so quickly from just his fingers in his hole. It’s as embarrassing as it is exhilarating.
He melts against the bench, letting out a whine – this keening sound from the back of his throat – as he wiggles his hips, raising his ass higher into the air, trying to entice.
It works. The room is dizzyingly thick with Minho’s scent now, filling Jisung’s nostrils, making his eyes water. Minho lets out a low growl, slapping Jisung’s ass and squeezing it harshly.
Jisung whimpers from the sting, but still gets on his tip-toes to thrust his hips up even further, until the straps on his ankles are straining, and he can’t move any more.
“Bad omega,” Minho scolds, swatting his ass again on the same spot. Jisung falters at the reprimand, feet planting back onto the side pieces, hips dipping down. “I’ll fuck you when I want to. Don’t try and excite me.”
Jisung whines forlornly, tears welling in his eyes, mind clouding with the feeling of being bad.
If Jisung were Minho’s omega, he’s sure he wouldn’t scold him for something like this. He’d like it. But Jisung is supposed to be pliant, docile, obedient. He’s a hole to be fucked, a toy to be played with. Nothing more.
“You’re such a whore,” Minho says conversationally, continuing to fuck his fingers into Jisung’s hole, lazily twisting them this way and that, thrusting them in and out. They squelch as they move, the sound obscenely loud, making Jisung’s cheeks flush darker. “So wet for me.”
Minho seems to talk more when he’s horny. He isn’t usually around to say much of anything to Jisung otherwise when he’s rented him, except for the time a few months ago when he was in rut. He hadn’t left once then for days on end, and had hardly shut up when he was fucking Jisung. But in the brief periods of respite from the alpha’s insatiable appetite, he had barely spoken a word.
“An omega whore,” Minho continues, voice low. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? My omega whore?”
My omega whore. Jisung preens at the phrasing, even if, logically, he knows it’s just from the possessive hormones pumping through the alpha right now. Jisung is hardly his, even though he rents him so often. They don’t share a bite. There’s nothing real between them.
There’s already drool pooling in the corner of Jisung’s mouth, dripping onto the bench, collecting there in a small puddle as Minho’s fingers continue to dig into his hole. Jisung whimpers when they abruptly slide out with a pop, leaving him empty once more. He squirms on the bench, hole tensing needily, hips shifting back and forth in tiny movements, mind heady with desire.
He wants Minho to fuck him – not just his hole, but his cunt, wants him to fill him, to knot him, to breed him, to mate him. He wants to bear Minho’s mark on the side of his neck, wants to have and nurse his pups, wants to wait in his nest for Minho to come home from work everyday, rolling in his scent and, and, and –
Jisung’s tongue lolls out of his mouth when Minho wets his hand once more with the sticky mess between his legs, rubbing against his clit again. His thighs try to snap closed around it, but the bench’s restraints stop him, eliciting a throaty whine. Minho wipes his hand down Jisung’s hole, before gathering more slick from his cunt, and then there’s the sound of sopping wet friction, and Jisung knows he’s jerking himself off with it.
The thought of Minho using his slick to pleasure himself is enough to make Jisung moan, but when the alpha pushes into him a few moments later, no warning given, it grows in intensity, a loud, wanton thing that surges forth from somewhere deep in his belly.
Jisung loves Minho’s cock. He’s never even seen it, the collar always enough to limit his neck’s mobility to peer around, and the alpha never undressed otherwise around him, but it always feels huge, sliding in easily, the sheer amount of slick dripping from his cunt and shoved into his hole an efficient lube.
It fills him like the plugs never will, seeming to stretch into all corners of his body, as Minho forces himself in deeper, deeper, until he bottoms out with a grunt, pressed flush against Jisung’s ass.
“You’re so sloppy,” Minho growls, strong hands finding purchase on Jisung’s hips, blunt nails digging into his skin. He tugs back, before ramming back into Jisung again. “So fucking sloppy, omega.”
Jisung’s arms tremble, still braced against the bench, as Minho finds his rhythm, hips rolling, cock thrusting into him. His mind is going fuzzy, crinkling like it’s a paper in Minho’s fist, being crumpled into a small ball.
He was made for this, his mind babbles at him. To be fucked dumb on an alpha’s cock.
“A-Alpha,” Jisung can’t help but stutter, even though he knows he shouldn’t speak, even though he’s unsure of what he’s even begging for, voice high-pitched. “Alpha, p-please, please –”
Minho sucks in a sharp breath, squeezing Jisung’s hips with such intensity that Jisung’s sure he’ll leave bruises behind.
“Bad omega,” he rasps, raising a hand up to swat his hip. It lands with a crack, sending confusing tendrils of spiky pain-pleasure up Jisung’s spine. “Don’t talk.”
His thrusts pick up after that, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, intermingled with Jisung’s echoing moans. His brain already feels like it’s been put in a blender, ground mush between his ears, his body quivering around Minho’s cock. He’s going to cum, with hardly any stimulation like this, ass stuffed full of Minho’s cock. He knows it, can feel it, cunt pulsating and gushing slick, clenching around the plug, eyes rolling into the back of his head.
“Please,” he wails, wriggling fruitlessly against the restraints, tears gathering in his eyes. “Please, alpha, please, please –”
Minho grunts, swatting half-heartedly at his hip, though it barely hurts.
“Don’t talk,” he grounds out hoarsely.
Minho’s scent spikes, swirling and potent, so strong Jisung could choke on it. And he wants to, when he feels Minho’s cum pouring into him. He wants it in his mouth, wants to bury his face in Minho’s scent gland afterwards and drink his scent, too. Wants to swallow them both down, wants them to permeate him, wants to feel them festering in his stomach as Minho fucks his cunt, spilling into him, knotting him, fertilising him, and –
An orgasm rips through him harshly, abruptly. Jisung wasn’t even anticipating it anymore, so lost in his thoughts, and his back arches as it wracks his body, head flickering like a glitching television, a wave of pleasure washing over him.
The room is silent save for Minho’s stilted, heavy pants. Jisung blinks, dazed, at the window, seeing his wrecked reflection staring back with half-lidded eyes. Drooling, flushed, tongue hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth, limp hair hanging in his eyes.
“Didn’t think you would cum,” Minho laughs harshly, palming Jisung’s hip, swatting it once more. His voice is gravelly, deep. “You really are such a whore, omega. Cumming from just my cock in your hole.”
Jisung mewls weakly in response, both from the words and the sensation of Minho’s cock jostling in him as he pulls out. The plug quickly finds its way back inside, locking his cum in Jisung.
He wishes it was in his cunt instead. He wishes the plug there was a knot. He wishes Minho would pup him. But he won’t. He can’t.
Jisung tries not to blame Minho. Jisung belongs to the rental agency, after all, not him. But sometimes – now being one of those times, when he’s coming down from the high of an orgasm, mind sputtering back into motion like a poorly-oiled machine – he truly wishes Minho would just mate him. Wishes he would unstrap Jisung from the bench and gather him in his arms and clamp his teeth down on his neck, on his scent gland. Would make him his.
Minho could. That’s the worst part of it. It’s happened before, to other omegas in the rental agency, in the heat of the moment, consensually or not. The agency can’t possibly rent out mated omegas, nor send them off to be bred, and so legally they fall into the hands of the alpha in question, their responsibility. A loophole to freedom, or some form of it.
Jisung has heard horror stories. Alphas who have ripped out their omega’s scent gland, or burned it, to damage and nullify the bite. Those omegas never return to the agency, their scents permanently marred, sour and bitter, hardly desirable. Jisung doesn’t know where they go when that happens. He doesn’t like to think about it.
But Minho wouldn’t do that. Jisung is sure of it – or maybe not, but his deliriated mind is right now. Minho would mate him, and take him home, and give him pups. He would be a good alpha for Jisung, he would take care of him. His alpha. His alpha. But he won’t.
A sudden cough draws him from his thoughts, followed by a sharp swat on his wet thigh.
“Stop thinking.” Minho inhales raggedly, unbuckling the straps from Jisung’s ankles now. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but your scent is souring.”
The reprimand makes him whimper, tears pricking anew at his eyes. Even if his scent souring isn’t necessarily his fault, he can’t help but feel like Minho must hate him for it. Must not want him anymore. He’ll never hire Jisung again. Guilt churns in his belly at the notion.
Minho appears in front of him then, a sheen of sweat glistening on his bare legs, arms, face. He slaps Jisung’s face lightly, the sound loud in the room.
“Stop thinking, omega,” he repeats firmly.
The slap barely hurts, and doesn’t do anything but make him want more of the alpha’s touch. Jisung sniffles, staring up at him with wide, searching eyes. Minho’s nose wrinkles, and Jisung’s guilt grows tenfold. He must smell terrible.
Trying to divert his thoughts elsewhere doesn’t work, though, as Minho releases his head and goes about unfastening the collar and wrist binds. The thought of Minho hating him has branded itself in Jisung’s mind, worsening his mood, despair descending on him like an inky cloud.
Minho rises and leaves the breeding bench with one last resounding smack on Jisung’s ass, making him mewl, more tears leaking from his eyes. But the pain is nice. It grounds him for a brief moment, makes him feel better. But dissipates in the blink of an eye, thoughts continuing to taunt him.
Minho will never mate him. Minho will never breed him. Minho will never be his alpha. Minho hates him. Minho will find some pretty, free omega and mate them instead, will knot them, will make their belly swell with pups, will let them nest in his home, and kiss them when they’re going to sleep, will hold them, will soothe them. But never Jisung. Never Jisung. That life isn’t for him.
“Hello?” Minho’s voice echoes throughout the room.
Jisung stirs at the sound. He groggily flops his head to the other side, seeing the alpha there, lingering near the bed with a phone pressed to his ear, changed now, cleaned up a bit, in dark slacks and a button down. He’s already wearing his coat, his shoes. He’s leaving soon. The realisation only distresses Jisung more, and he lets out a small, pitiful noise. He doesn’t want Minho to go.
“Yes, hello,” Minho continues, and his eyes flicker up to meet Jisung’s as he sniffs the air, face twisting into a grimace. “One moment.”
He strides over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and Jisung chokes on a sob.
He’s avoiding him. His scent is too much. Jisung tries to think of something, anything else as he slowly rises from the bench, limbs trembling beneath him.
He decides to think about sleep. He wants to sleep. He wants a piece of Minho’s clothing to sleep with. He wants Minho wrapped around him as he sleeps.
He can hear Minho’s muffled voice behind the bathroom door, but can’t make out what he’s saying. The plug jiggles in his ass as he moves sluggishly towards his bed, and the thought of it currently trapping Minho’s cum in him has his thighs clenching all over again, and he finds himself abruptly changing directions, flopping down onto Minho’s bed instead.
The sheets don’t smell that strongly of the alpha, since he’s only spent one night sleeping on them, but it’s still there, faint and distinct. Jisung inhales heavily, nuzzling his face into them. He wants this everyday. He wants all his sheets to smell like Minho. He wants all his clothes to smell like Minho. He wants to live in a house – in a world – that smells like Minho.
“Omega,” Minho says, and Jisung gasps, head jerking up to see him standing on the other side of the bed, looking down at him.
He isn’t supposed to go on Minho’s bed, for scent reasons, since it would stain the sheets, and definitely is now. He’s breaking the rules, and only breaks them more when he scrambles to get up from the bed, trembling, unable to keep the apologies from tumbling out of him.
“I-I’m s-sorry, alpha, I’m so – so –”
“Don’t talk,” Minho orders firmly, and Jisung’s mouth snaps shut as he looks up through wet lashes to see the alpha’s arms crossed, face grim. “I’m cutting our time together short. You’re obviously upset and need to be settled, so I’ve called someone from the agency to come collect you.”
Jisung blinks, brain fumbling with the alpha’s words. He’s cutting their time short? Minho was supposed to have rented him for a week this time, and it’s only the second day now, but he’s sending Jisung away already?
This is all wrong, this isn't how it's supposed to go. Jisung sinks to his knees, thoughts hazy and barely comprehensible, save for the insistent feeling that he's upset Minho, a bad omega. He needs to beg for forgiveness, he needs something, anything from the alpha, and crawls across the floor to round the bed, stopping at Minho's feet. His arms bend, his head bows to the ground, until his forehead is touching the ground.
Minho inhales sharply above him, prodding a booted toe at the side of Jisung’s head.
“Stop that,” he says, voice faint. “Stop that, omega. Get up.”
Jisung doesn’t listen, just squeezing his eyes shut, breaths shallow. He needs Minho to stay. He needs him to forgive Jisung for ruining the night. He can’t leave yet, he can’t end their appointment like this. He needs…
Footsteps thud through the hotel, and the door beeps a moment later, then slams shut. He’s gone.
Tears make their way steadily down Jisung’s cheeks, gathering on the wooden floor beneath him, as a sob wracks his chest. Another follows shortly after, and he digs his forehead into the ground, revelling in the dull pain it leaves behind, as self-soothing as it is a punishment.
The plug in his ass feels patronising now. Part of him wants to pull it out, to wash Minho out of him, erasing any trace of the alpha from his body. But a bigger part of him says no, and can’t even bear to leave this position. Begging forgiveness from hollow, open space, like Minho will appear again soon, to tell him it’s okay.
He won’t, Jisung knows distantly. He’s in his car, or a taxi, right now, probably going home.
Where he’s going doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that it’s away from Jisung. Somewhere far, far away. Somewhere he can’t follow.
It hurts.