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Friday afternoon, Sungho has Sanghyuk pressed down on a bed. Sanghyuk’s bed. It gets messy, like, warranting a trip to the laundry place half a mile away type of messy—neither of them are particularly untidy or sloppy like that, it’s just how it goes—and Sungho would be more likely to experience a post nut breakdown over the sight of his soiled sheets.
So they’re at Sanghyuk’s place, an apartment way too nice for the average college student. Everything from the living room to Sanghyuk’s bedroom is neat, but not spotless, and not without the flavor of Sanghyuk’s personal taste here and there—the stack of sneakers by the door, slightly dirt-brown, probably worth more than Sungho’s full rent in total, and the corkboard on the wall next to his bed with photos pinned in no particular order. Last week Sungho had helped Sanghyuk put up a new picture, in the top left corner. A snapshot of the two of them sprawled out on the floor of Sanghyuk’s even nicer family home, playing with Jjangyi and Daebak.
Anyway. None of that is relevant to what’s happening right now. Except for the bed, arguably, and that corkboard that Sungho sometimes glances at since it’s right next to him, at his height, sitting up, on his knees, spreading Sanghyuk’s apart and holding them there as he fucks him. Relatively fast, because he’s impatient and his rut’s sort of pushing him to be more, how you say, instinctual with it, animalistic. But steady, still. He slides his palms down Sanghyuk’s thighs, to his hips and grips him there, holding him up a little. Sanghyuk’s body is a bit—it lacks the reach sometimes, and Sungho doesn’t want him to strain himself and pull a muscle he’s not supposed to.
Sanghyuk is small, visibly small, and feels even smaller in Sungho’s hands. Which is fine, Sungho doesn’t mind. He’s never really imagined he’d mesh well with someone larger than himself to begin with, and he’s pretty sure he actually likes how small Sanghyuk is. Well, small for someone who’d made Sungho want to shrink back into himself the first time they met. A lot of alpha packed into a 5’7 lightweight Seoulite, and Sungho does mean a lot.
At some point—earlier, maybe a few minutes ago, or was it when they started? Sungho’s not exactly in the proper state to recall any details—Sanghyuk was staring at Sungho. Watching him closely, blinking when Sungho fumbles with his belt buckle, or accidentally gets his elbow stuck on his hoodie while trying to pull it over his head. It’s just the sort of thing that Sanghyuk always does, observing, taking notes of every little thing and filing them away for later. Sungho’s used to it by now. He likes to think that he is, at least, but Sanghyuk does ask him, while Sungho is semi-frantically kissing his neck, nosing him, sniffing him, gnawing on soft skin just a bit, “Is it bad?”. And Sungho does feel his face heat up, out of shame for being so obvious or something along those lines, and Sanghyuk’s eyes turn to crescents, laughing. A splash of a similar rosy shade across his face.
“A little,” Sungho answers in a huff, because it’s true—he’d called half an hour ago, hit by horrible rut cramps, a buildup from early morning. His breathy voice might’ve been a bit too revealing through the speakers of Sanghyuk’s phone, who simply told him, Okay. Come over. The usual.
“Sorry,” he adds, crease in his brow.
Sanghyuk smiles, understanding, “That’s fine.”
Sungho’s hand is already slipping under Sanghyuk’s t-shirt, or tugging on Sanghyuk’s waistband, asking for something he already has permission for. He’s impatient, he really is, sort of alpha-brained at the moment. Which isn’t his fault entirely, since Sanghyuk’s so—nice, and pretty, and handsome, and expressively eager to take Sungho. Sanghyuk goes upright a bit, reaching up, a hand on Sungho’s cheek. He kisses him like that on the mouth, a long, wet kiss, the gentle press of Sanghyuk’s sharp canines onto Sungho’s bottom lip. Sanghyuk moans there, against his lips, when Sungho squeezes his thigh. That does horrible things to Sungho’s psyche and also his dick, twitching, aching to be buried into something tight and warm, so he—well, he pushes Sanghyuk back onto the mattress from there.
In any case, Sanghyuk takes it well. In a very quiet way: minimal noise, partly due to him preferring to bite down on his tongue when he’s reacting to a particularly quick, harsh thrust of Sungho’s dick in him. And barely any drooling, or like, tears. Maybe it’s that Sungho himself is easy to take, not too big or thick, not super rough either. Whatever it is, it kinda works perfectly for Sungho, who probably would’ve hated it a little if Sanghyuk were such a mess while being fucked. Something in Sungho’s brain disliking sloppiness if it’s not, like. If it doesn’t make sense for it to be happening. If it isn’t earned. Not that he thinks sex is meant to be all clean and tidy, it’s just—this isn’t important.
By the end of it, Sanghyuk has his arms hooked around Sungho’s neck, keeping him down low. Wanting him to stay there. Sungho complies without trouble, open-mouthed on the junction between Sanghyuk’s neck and shoulder, smothering himself in Sanghyuk’s nice scent. A really nice scent, even though biology probably meant for them to repel each other to some degree, you know, it’s not exactly in alpha nature to mix with another alpha, but fuck that. Who cares. Sungho—he likes Sanghyuk. He really likes Sanghyuk. He’s grunting as he goes faster, fucks Sanghyuk harder, deeper, really close, feeling the knot coming.
Sanghyuk bites when he comes rather than gasping, or whining—only a little, more or less a kind nibble somewhere on Sungho’s neck, intrinsically an alpha too, nails clawing at Sungho’s broad back but not enough to leave marks. Sungho groans, throaty, until he’s finally stopped coming inside of Sanghyuk, another exhale when his knot expands and fills Sanghyuk. And Sanghyuk palms the bulge in his stomach of Sungho’s knot, like he’s satisfied, a gesture that Sungho never really saw the appeal in.
And then, it’s all over. Sort of. Or that’s where things start, depending on how you see it. Sungho’s stuck here with his knot for at least a good hour, maybe two. They’ve been steadily getting worse, in the sense that they’re longer than they used to be a few years ago. Stubborn knots. Not necessarily a bad thing in Sungho’s mind, as long as Sanghyuk doesn’t seem to care. He’d tell Sungho if he did. He probably, well—Sungho has to assume Sanghyuk likes getting knotted, strangely enough.
After wiping down Sanghyuk, the semen that’d splattered over his stomach and the best he can of what’s leaking, trickling out of Sanghyuk’s hole, Sungho lies down. Almost. It’s more like he’s crouched over Sanghyuk, elbows on the mattress, framing Sanghyuk’s face. He’s catching his breath, sweat dripping down his temples. Sanghyuk had been clenching around him while he came—and Sanghyuk, unfairly, is being cute about it, smiling beneath Sungho, shiny teeth on display. His chest rising, falling to a comforting rhythm. He murmurs something to Sungho, some sort of You’re good, this was good, because if anything, Sungho likes his verbal praise. Sungho pouts, kind of like a kid, and he leans down to kiss Sanghyuk in the middle of his consequently fond laugh.
“Were we still on for dinner?” Sanghyuk asks, a bit sudden and out of nowhere. Sungho is chest to chest with him, flat on top, a solid weight of largely muscle. He feels how petite and shapeless Sanghyuk is under him, which is—whatever, it’s nice. Sanghyuk starts running his fingers through Sungho’s hair, untangling the knots for him. A general aftercare habit. “The one with Donghyunie and his friends.”
“Oh, right,” Sungho says, because he’d really forgotten. “The mini get-together thing.”
“Yeah. That one.”
“Hm,” Sungho says. That’s meant to happen in the evening, in a few hours, but right now they’re a bit— “I don’t think…”
“Yeah.” Sanghyuk shifts around. Getting comfortable, from the way it sounds. “I’m a little tired.”
Sungho draws away then, though Sanghyuk’s hands are still on him, palms cupped to the sides of his neck. Sanghyuk, making eye contact, does a thing with his face. Something suggestive—a sharp curve in his lips, a raised eyebrow.
“Can you text him later?” Sanghyuk asks. He lets out a soft sigh, probably more than just a little tired, which Sungho gets. He’s always the one to fall asleep straight away after they fuck, and once he does he’s gone for hours. Internally, Sungho apologizes to Kim Donghyun.
“No,” Sungho says, though, because he sort of hates texting Donghyun. “He might hate me for flaking. You do it,” he says, and Sanghyuk tilts his head like one of those weirdly conscious shiba dogs. “He likes you way more.”
Sanghyuk grins. “You don’t even pretend to be jealous.”
Sungho’s lips press together in a line. It’s like, he could say that he’s not jealous, because he knows Sanghyuk and Donghyun are just like that. Or that, well, he is jealous, but logically he shouldn’t be, so he’s decidedly not. He opts for neither, instead, he practices something he’s been vaguely more conscious of lately, which is to pause and think—what’s actually better for a conversation during these things? Also, does Sungho even know how to be properly sexy? Certainly not on purpose, because he’s not like, trying. Maybe that’s the problem?
“Well,” Sungho says. He grabs one of Sanghyuk’s hands, rubbing his thumb over the delicate knuckles. “Would you like that?”
Horribly enough, Sanghyuk just snickers.
“Aren’t you cute.”
“Ah,” Sungho says, face undoubtedly pink now. “Ahhh.”
He considers cursing, even. He almost does, but Sanghyuk is laughing at him, pitchy, interlocking their fingers like it’s nothing. So, in the end, Sungho’s not really mad or upset or at a loss. Just a bit mortified, as usual.
Sungho’s always been very aware that Sanghyuk is an alpha. Well, it’s obvious, for one, anyone can tell from his demeanor, even if he is a little introverted and a little awkward. He’s also been generally aware of Sanghyuk’s existence, both of them sharing some connections, from one club to another, a mutual humanities acquaintance, theater is also involved somewhere, some sort of line. Sungho couldn’t be too sure. It all gets very muddled, eventually, and sometime last year, fall semester, they’d landed in the same house party on some fuckass Wednesday night, in a house that reeks of alpha at every corner. The worst kind.
It’s late enough to the point where the majority of the original crowd is gone. Either left early because it’s midterm season and some people do care enough to study, even after shitfacing themselves, or because they’ve paired up with someone, or something like that. Who knows. Sungho doesn’t really care, he came here because he was invited, borderline goaded into showing up, and he’s still working on not letting people convince him into stupid things so easily. Well, it’s a work in progress. And he had his assignments finished for the rest of the week, anyway, so it doesn’t matter too much to him.
It’s not that—okay, Sungho didn’t agree to be here because he knew Sanghyuk would be here. It’s not like that. It’s complicated! And also nothing serious. They’re just—they know each other, they have Kim Donghyun between them as a medium, and Han Dongmin too, to some degree, except he’s more of an annoying little kid that both of them scold from time to time. It really doesn’t mean anything when Sungho sees Sanghyuk walking in with some of his friends—classmates? Dance mates? He doesn’t recognize them, whatever—and is slightly more aware of Sanghyuk’s presence for the entire evening.
What happens then is that Sungho pretends. He pretends that the faint, but sharp note of something cedarwood-y, silky and expensive that cuts through the shroud of sweaty alpha stench couldn’t possibly be Sanghyuk, even though he doesn’t actually know where Sanghyuk is in the stupid alpha house for most of the night. Sungho pretends that he hasn’t been smelling it for hours, no matter how close he gets to another random alpha, brushing elbows with them, the buzz of skin to skin contact, the heat of alcohol. He convinces himself—and he’s very easily convinced, like he said, but he swears he’s taking the steps to fix himself!—that all of this isn’t because he’s particularly attracted to Sanghyuk or anything like that. They’re just, acquaintances, like he said. Barely even friends. It wouldn’t make sense for Sungho to be so affected by the idea of him, as if he’s a, what did Han Dongmin say they were called that one time—a chaser? An alpha chaser? That couldn’t be right. He’s just omega avoidant, if anything.
Whatever. The point is, most everyone is gone and Sungho, reasonably drunk, but mostly level-headed, happens to find Sanghyuk, finally, around the kitchen. Sanghyuk’s sitting on the counter, in fact, scrolling on his phone, making a game out of flipping the red cup in his other hand until it stumbles to the floor and rolls to the toe of Sungho’s sneaker. Sanghyuk glances up then, a glint in his eye. A half-smile, like he’d been waiting for something like this. That look Sanghyuk gives him as Sungho picks up the cup and sets it on the counter, Sungho retrospectively considers the first piece of proof that sometimes, he’s wrong. Not irrational, but just wrong.
Sanghyuk is, comparatively, quite drunk, despite telling Sungho that he’d only finished maybe two and a half drinks. If Sungho weren’t himself, and if he hadn’t known Sanghyuk from before, he would’ve been fooled—Sanghyuk has the tolerance and the flushed face of an omega, by all means. He’s certainly glad that he isn’t, and—well, Sungho’s memory of this part isn’t very clear, but he might’ve uttered something about that out loud, unintentionally. Surely he must’ve, because he does vividly remember Sanghyuk saying: “I could take dick better than some of them.”
Sungho is standing a little ways before Sanghyuk, at this point, slightly distracted by Sanghyuk’s right leg swaying gently, and mostly distracted by Sanghyuk’s abrupt claim about—taking dick? Which is kind of crazy, and Sungho really doesn’t know how to exist right now with this information, especially with Sanghyuk putting his phone away, like this is meant to be an engaging and thought-provoking conversation. Or maybe he’s testing Sungho, in some way, for some reason, Sungho doesn’t know. Sanghyuk isn’t very easy to read when his face is always resting at varying amounts of neutral.
“Um,” Sungho says, and Sanghyuk’s grin seems to widen, just a bit. Like he’s amused, or expected the reaction. “Could you, now?”
“I could,” Sanghyuk nods. He’s slouching. His hands are in his lap, his right leg stopped moving, and his gaze is perfectly trained onto Sungho.
Sungho, very carefully, says, “So, you’ve tried it before, then.”
“Just once,” Sanghyuk says. He grips the edge of the counter, shifting, scooting back to a more comfortable position. Sungho realizes, then, that Sanghyuk does indeed smell like sharp cedarwood, silky, and expensive, and that ultimately, it’s a very alluring scent. “She thought I was an omega. I would’ve been her exact type if I were. You know, like, smaller, younger, omega-ish. Looks breedable, I guess. That’s what she’d told me.”
“Huh,” Sungho says, finding the situation utterly unbelievable, and immediately coughs when his brain starts visualizing what Sanghyuk had described. “I mean, you do. Look omega-ish.”
“I reckon that’s a compliment, coming from you,” Sanghyuk says. “Thanks.”
Regrettably, Sungho doesn’t realize the implications of that until after Sanghyuk points it out. Which is fine, but not really, because Sanghyuk’s laughing, and he’s definitely laughing at him. And it’s worse because Sungho thinks it’s cute, the way Sanghyuk’s body trembles in laughter, his mouth opening surprisingly wide. Somehow even worse is the fact that it’s kind of true—physically, Sanghyuk is the type of person Sungho would probably enjoy fucking. And that’s saying something for Sungho who’s hardly ever attracted to anyone omega-ish these days.
Actually. The worst part is, Sungho had been curious. He’d already tried to imagine it once, and now he’s just standing there, albeit a step or two closer, a sort of strange magnetic pull from Sanghyuk that he’s been victim to. Well, Sanghyuk doesn’t seem to mind. It’s difficult to tell if he’s not into something, but relatively easy to know that he’s being receptive. It’s probably the leaning back Sanghyuk is doing now. The lowering of his chin, easing his gaze onto Sungho. The one, very brief, flicker of his eyes down to Sungho’s… somewhere. He’s being checked out, is the point. And very obviously, at that. Like there’s no reason to be hiding it.
In any case, Sungho ends up asking, “How was it? For, um. For her, I mean.”
Sanghyuk doesn’t even blink. “You’re curious, huh?”
“I just—well, it’s just different,” Sungho says, for some reason, as if he could deflect Sanghyuk’s pinpoint accusation. “Of course I’m curious!”
Sanghyuk says, snickering, “Of course,” and reaches for Sungho’s wrist, pulling him another step closer. The touch is—it’s really electric, it makes Sungho jolt a bit, but he inhales and pretends it’s all fine and that he’s very calm. He really isn’t. Sanghyuk smells even nicer up close, and the knobs of his knees are touching the sides of Sungho’s body, sort of caged in. Caught and trapped. Oh. Ohhh.
“I mean,” Sanghyuk says, voice soft. “I don’t know about her, it’s not like I asked. But I can tell you that from my end, it was good.” He smiles at Sungho rather sweetly, fingers tapping his wrist, as though a suggestion. “I liked it.”
Feeling something crawl up his throat, Sungho says, “That’s good.” He pauses, looking down. Seeing Sanghyuk vaguely beneath him, looking up at him, looking very small, reminds Sungho of his own alphaness. “Would you do it again?”
There’s a quiet Ah from Sanghyuk when Sungho asks this. His mouth is open, sharp teeth peeking out. “Maybe. If you asked nicely.”
“I wasn’t,” Sungho says quickly, embarrassed by himself somehow. Sanghyuk is tilting his head at him. “I’m not, I wasn’t exactly… I didn’t mean… Sanghyuk-ah,” and Sanghyuk just laughs at him, mysteriously.
“It’s fine,” Sanghyuck says, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. A little less mysterious, and a lot more mischievous, all of a sudden. He puts a hand flat on Sungho’s chest, the left side, gently saying, “I don’t need to be an omega for you to like me, do I?” and Sungho kisses him.
Sanghyuk rests his arms over Sungho’s shoulders. Wraps around him, feathery touches along his back, inviting him closer. Eventually Sungho is kissing Sanghyuk’s neck, taking in his inoffensive, pleasantly alpha-like scent, Sanghyuk quietly moaning above him, and Sungho is thinking, Ah. Goes back to kissing Sanghyuk on the mouth, pressing in, gripping the shape of his hips, already hard, straining against his jeans. Heart racing in his chest like it’s his first time again.
He’s right, Sungho thinks.
It’s not that Sungho hasn’t been with an omega before because he has. Just once, though. Sungho—well, to put it nicely, he didn’t like it very much.
That’s all in the past, though. Was it sophomore year? Somewhere around that time. Incidentally, another type of party, a bigger one, Sungho barely knew anyone except for a few faces. One of them was an omega, they were both drunk, the stench of sweat and pheromones was awful, and it was one of those things that just, happened. They’d slipped out the back door, hopped the fence because the guy’s shared house was a block away in that direction.
It was in the middle of the sex, actually, when Sungho decided in his head that this wasn’t for him. It’s not like the sex itself was bad, nor was the omega bad. On the contrary, the guy was really good, too good—he knew what he wanted from Sungho a little too well, and something about that turned Sungho off for good. Omegas, they’re sloppy, desperate. They get like that around Sungho. Spiritually, it bothered him. Physically, he couldn’t get his knot going. He’d assumed it was a medical problem until, after getting with Sanghyuk, and Sanghyuk offering to help him break his ruts, he discovered that his knots were working just fine. Omegas were the problem. Evidently, Sungho had a pretty good reason to keep his distance from them.
Sanghyuk, on the other hand, despite being Sungho’s first confidant, who’d reassured him the whole omega repulsion was fine and relatively normal, thought otherwise. To be fair, Sanghyuk is sympathetic towards omegas, and he’d told Sungho, Well, not all omegas… And Sungho had nodded, though he couldn’t bring himself to wholeheartedly agree. Maybe it was a matter of opportunity—Sanghyuk getting up from the floor of Sungho’s living room, putting down his Xbox controller, returning after roughly two minutes of a phone call. Both hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, leaning against the wall, carefully eyeing Sungho as he starts going on about an omega and heats and… Oh. Sungho shuts off the game.
The thing is, Sanghyuk is more experienced with these things. He knows a lot of omegas, and sometimes they call for this exact reason. “His usual go-to’s are all unavailable, and he’s in a lot of pain,” Sanghyuk’s saying, and the furrow in Sungho’s brow is deepening, “And I don’t mind helping him, if you don’t mind. But you could be there with me, if that’s better. I think you could try, you know. He’s down, I’m down.” He stops and sits back down, next to Sungho on the couch, running a hand over his hair, resting on Sungho’s nape. “I’m saying this because I trust you, Sungho-yah,” he says, softer, eyes warm. “I want you to trust me, too.”
And normally Sungho would outright refuse, because he knows how it’ll play out. A big disappointment for him and whoever the omega is. But Sanghyuk’s good at convincing him into things, gentle persuasion, never pushing too far. Sungho’s pouting, his eyebrows drooping, it’s not fair—Sanghyuk is smiling, mostly with his eyes, and Sungho knows that he likes seeing his troubled faces.
“Ah, okay,” Sungho says in an exhale. He does trust Sanghyuk, and honestly, if Sanghyuk’s there, maybe it won’t be so awful. “Why not. I’ll go with you.”
“Good,” Sanghyuk says, kissing him briefly. Another small praise. “That’s great, actually. I think he’d like it better from a guy like you than me, anyway.”
Sungho’s face scrunches up. “Eh?”
“Well,” Sanghyuk says. “He’s bigger than me.”
Ah. “I see.”
It’s fine. It’s literally fine. Sungho genuinely feels that Sanghyuk being there could be what fixes him in the end, or maybe that he’ll discover he was wrong this whole time. Again. Maybe it was just that one guy from sophomore year. If that does end up being the case, Sungho can live by putting the blame on him and moving on. It’s perfectly fine. They climb into Sanghyuk’s car, a ten minute drive crossing into the neighboring city. There’s a series of streets that starts to feel a little familiar, even though Sungho hasn’t been to this area in a while. He knows this place, actually. Frat row isn’t too far away from here. Huh.
“Who did you say was the, uh, guy?” Sungho asks, turning to Sanghyuk.
“I didn’t mention?” Sanghyuk says, and pauses to concentrate on parking by the curb. Shuts off the ignition, grabbing his phone from the cupholders between their seats. “Myung Jaehyun. You probably know him.”
“Oh,” Sungho says, suddenly wanting to die a little.
The smell on its own is enough. It hits Sungho the second he steps inside, following Sanghyuk. A housemate, somewhat jaded, answers the door and just points them to the stairs, telling them Myung Jaehyun’s room is the one with panda stickers plastered on the door. It’s hard to miss. Sanghyuk says thanks, and Sungho bows his head, feeling his stomach churn as they walk their way over to said door, which turns out to have at least twenty more stickers on it than Sungho was imagining.
Obviously, it gets worse in Jaehyun’s room, an almost sickening cloud of omega assaulting Sungho’s senses. Sanghyuk seems—fine with this, some fucking how. Sungho starts to suspect this isn’t Sanghyuk’s first time with Myung Jaehyun—who is, also, turning over in his bed, the most nest-like omega nest Sungho think he’s ever seen, an uncomfortable amount of clothing articles and pillows and bunched-up blankets and cute character plushies piled up.
“Doing okay?” Sanghyuk asks as he sets his stuff down at the foot of the bed. “My boyfriend’s here too. Sungho.” Somewhere behind him, Sungho is awkwardly lurking, maneuvering the random tees and towels and the one pair of boxers strewn across the floor. Jaehyun, blending into the mess on his bed, hums in response, partly groaning. He does try to get up a bit to greet his visitors. His disheveled brown hair looks, funnily enough, like a bird’s nest. His eyes are puffy and tired, cheeks round, probably bloated to some degree. Jaehyun shuffles around, stirring the air, and it’s—awfully sweet, too sweet for Sungho’s liking. But maybe that’s why Sanghyuk isn’t outwardly bothered by it.
There’s a moment where Sanghyuk moves to the other side of Jaehyun’s bed, taking off his sweater. While Sungho is wondering, Oh, wait, are we already—? he happens to meet eyes with Jaehyun. A part of him is hoping Jaehyun doesn’t remember, but the way he’s pursing his lips, like the cogs in his head are moving, Sungho gets the hint to shut down that hope. They end up staring, and Sanghyuk, noticing, goes “Hm?” at both of them, broadly.
Panicking a little, Sungho shakes his head, “It’s nothing,” and huffs in relief at Jaehyun seemingly too heat-dazed to care. Great. No, this is fine. It’ll have to be fine.
The two of them sit on Jaehyun’s bed, once Jaehyun sluggishly shoves away some of his things so there’s enough wiggle space for everyone. The sight of him letting everything just fall to the floor, admittedly, makes Sungho’s skin crawl, but he supposes it’s not really Jaehyun’s fault in the end. Sungho can be perfectly sympathetic too! It’s just—whatever. Backing out now would be a disservice to Sanghyuk, and also himself. He’s almost a hundred percent sure that he won’t be able to knot Jaehyun, just like last time, but if an alpha’s dick on its own is enough for some relief, then—okay. It’s fine. He’s here to do that, he agreed to this.
“This is, like,” Jaehyun says. He has his sleeves pulled down to his palms, an oddly oversized hoodie, wearing nothing but boxers otherwise. His voice is croaky like he could use a drink of water. Sungho spots the crinkled empty bottles on the nightstand, alongside an inconspicuous pill box with one of its flaps still open. It’s empty inside. “It feels like I’m being interrogated by you guys. Kind of. You’re a bit scary.”
“Isn’t this the sort of thing you wanted?” Sanghyuk says, somewhat smugly, shuffling around until he’s sitting cross-legged behind Jaehyun. As though it’s all part of the natural process Sanghyuk, a hand petting Jaehyun on the head, like an expert handler, guides him down until he’s using Sanghyuk’s lap as a pillow. The rest of his body is laid bare for—well, it’d be Sungho, since he’s the one facing them. Which means—oh.
“Oh,” Sungho mutters out loud, watching Jaehyun’s legs bend up, knees in the air. He winces, even, when Jaehyun whimpers, a high tone, like a hurt dog. Well, he is in pain, Sungho can surmise that much. “We’re— You want me to—”
Sanghyuk is helping Jaehyun’s hoodie off. “Mhm,” he says, tosses it aside, starts taking off his own shirt. “We shouldn’t wait around,” and Jaehyun, on his lap, is very subtly parting his legs, breathing quicker than before. Fuck, Sungho thinks, doing the same, all of his clothes folded into a neat pile. Fuck me.
Sure. Sungho has done this before. To this exact person, for that matter, but Sanghyuk doesn’t really need to know that. “Ah, ah,” he can hear Jaehyun saying when he draws closer, right up to Jaehyun’s lower body, having spread his legs apart. He slips down Jaehyun’s underwear, setting it aside, and—Jesus, he’s wet already. They haven’t even done anything yet. Is it really just the fact that he’s between two alphas that’s doing it for Jaehyun? Jesus.
Sungho starts there. Pressing his lips together and, gathering his wits, fingering Jaehyun, one finger at a time. It’s not very difficult, nor does it seem all that necessary. Jaehyun’s quite loose already and getting wetter by the second. He’s squirming and making little noises, breathy, by the time Sungho’s using his third finger. The whole thing is covered in Jaehyun’s slick, like, an impressive amount of slick. At this rate, Sungho wouldn’t be surprised if Jaehyun ends up orgasming just by being finger fucked, which is. Fine, he supposes.
“Ah, Sungho—” Jaehyun says then, covering his mouth. His face is red all over, his eyes wet and shimmery under the lights. He hasn’t been speaking all that much, some type of heat-related delirium. Omegas are like that. Although Sungho’s only been focusing on prepping Jaehyun, he’s surprisingly, kind of hard already. Okay, well—Jaehyun is pretty cute, and he’s good at making it look good, in a way that’s messy, but undeniably arousing. Sungho did think Jaehyun was good back then, and he still does.
“He’s good, huh?” Sanghyuk says to Jaehyun, looking down at him, patting his cheek. Speaking from experience, obviously—Sungho feels himself blush. Like, of course he’s good, he gets practice in the form of fucking Sanghyuk, but still. It’s just the way Sanghyuk compliments him, that cheeky little smile on his face. Almost makes him jealous of Jaehyun right now.
Jaehyun’s response is a frantic head nod, an enthusiastic Yes that he’s not quite able to verbalize. Or that’s what Sungho assumes, but then Jaehyun starts slurring out, “S, Sungho, could you— can you— It hurts, please, you have to—”
“Oh, oh, give me, one second,” Sungho says, pulling out his fingers maybe a bit too fast, because Jaehyun’s body jolts in reaction and he whines quite loudly. Already feeling exhausted, but at the same time eager to fuck Jaehyun now, miraculously, Sungho licks his lip, fisting his fully erect cock.
He stops for a moment, though, eyeing down Jaehyun and the state that he’s in. Something tells Sungho he—he shouldn’t be looking at any of this. Jaehyun’s mouth hanging open, the peak of his nipples, his cock pink and keening against his stomach, a cute size for a guy as tall as Jaehyun is. It’s just a bit too much for him. Sungho grabs Jaehyun by the hips and gently flips him over, no warning. Jaehyun sort of yelps out of surprise, but not in protest. He seems like he enjoys this more, honestly, he’s sticking out his ass more than necessary, swaying, so very eager and waiting like a good puppy. A puppy?
Anyway, it doesn’t take too long for Sungho to push in, Jaehyun crying out, way louder than Sungho is expecting. There’s zero resistance, Jaehyun’s excessive slick is doing the heavy lifting since he’s rather tight, despite all that fingering. That’s not of Sungho’s concerns now—Jaehyun is warm, warm, clenching so much around him, squelching like crazy when Sungho drags out and thrusts back in. Fuck, fuuuuck, it’s good. Jaehyun’s good, he feels criminally good. Sungho picks up the pace, pressing his palm down on the small of Jaehyun’s naked back, keeping him at least somewhat restrained. So he won’t squirm around too much. Jaehyun’s already—he’s trembling, actually, Sungho can feel it. Jaehyun moans at every punch of Sungho’s dick, and sometimes he turns over his shoulder, just to look at Sungho, just to show him his face, all pink and shining in sweat and features twisted in pleasure. So fucking sloppy. Sungho tries not to stare for very long.
Sungho keeps at it while Jaehyun is doing the thing where it seems like he’s losing his mind, and he probably is, but he’s still perfectly coherent, able to hold a conversation despite all the—noises and babbling. At the other end of Jaehyun, Sanghyuk is there, relatively still. Sungho blinks at him; Sanghyuk is observing them both. A ghost of a smile on his thin lips. Always watching. Hopefully not grading Sungho’s performance or anything cruel like that.
In the midst of Sungho fucking him steadily, Jaehyun is crawling up an inch or two, looking up at Sanghyuk. “Sanghyukie,” he’s saying, punctuated by a whine, Sungho must’ve hit a sensitive spot, “What about— What about you, Sanghyuk-ah?”
Sungho readjusts his grip on Jaehyun’s hips. His eyes are flitting between Jaehyun’s ass, starting to look faintly pink from all the slamming Sungho’s groin is doing against him, and Sanghyuk, calm as ever. “What about me?” Sanghyuk asks, smiling still, easy, fuck. He’s so hot.
It’s just out of sight from his angle, but Sungho’s pretty sure Jaehyun is pawing at Sanghyuk’s crotch. He’s still wearing his pants, huh, he’d forgotten about that. Jaehyun clearly hasn’t, though, there’s a clink he hears, the noise of metal.
“You don’t wanna…?” Jaehyun asks.
Sanghyuk sweeps a hand over Jaehyun’s head, through his brown hair. “I’m pretty satisfied right now,” Sanghyuk tells him, no change in his voice. He’s good at holding his own like that.
“No, but,” Jaehyun says then, and Sungho watches him busy his hands with Sanghyuk’s pants, elbows tucked tight to his body. Undoing the zipper, tugging down his boxers, pulling out Sanghyuk’s cock, just as hard as Sungho is right now. All without Sanghyuk asking; a thought crosses Sungho’s mind, though he’s not one to say such a thing out loud. What a slut. “I wanna, I wanna.”
Sanghyuk makes a noise through his nose. A quiet laugh. “Go ahead.”
That’s how the rest of it goes, for the time being. Sungho fucking Jaehyun from behind, faster now, hasty even, reaching down a hand to fist Jaehyun’s cock because he’d been clumsily jerking himself off for the past minute or so. He just figures, he’ll do it for Jaehyun, he’s got a lot on his plate right now. Jaehyun makes a noise of—gratitude, he guesses, it’s another one of his pathetic whines, except now it’s muffled by Sanghyuk’s cock filling up his mouth. Above him, Sanghyuk is biting on his lip, hissing. His hand, once gently petting Jaehyun on the head, has tension to it now; taking a fistful of Jaehyun’s hair and gripping it, pushing Jaehyun’s head back down on his cock, sucking in a breath as Jaehyun whimpers around him. It’s the loudest Jaehyun’s been thus far, and definitely the messiest. Something about having both ends stuffed with an alpha’s dick, the satisfaction, the unabashed horniness.
Sungho comes without a word, just a long groan—spills out inside Jaehyun, and it’s like Jaehyun is wringing him dry, the way he’s clamping down on his cock, twitching, spasming. It’s Jaehyun next, spurting right onto the bedsheet, and then Sanghyuk, saying in a hoarse voice, “Fuck, Jaehyun, ah, shit,” as Jaehyun keeps his head down and waits it out diligently. Like he’s going out of his way not to waste a single drop of both their come. Sungho, kind of exasperated, wrung out, huffs. These damn omegas, he really doesn’t get them.
The only problem is—well, it’s just as Sungho had expected. He’s not knotting Jaehyun. Jaehyun is shuddering regardless, he’s flopping down on the bed after taking Sanghyuk out of his mouth with a wet pop and some hot, heavy breaths, at some point muttering, Alpha, ah, so much, so full. Almost as if Sungho doesn’t even need to knot him, but that’s not how heats work. Unfortunately.
Sungho’s mouth tilts down, a frown that Jaehyun can’t see from his position, but Sanghyuk can. He asks, “No luck?” Sungho shakes his head.
Sanghyuk peels himself off of Jaehyun, moving until he’s halfway over to Sungho, leaning towards him. He kisses Sungho, short, sweet. “No worries, baby,” he says, and Sungho’s heart soars in his chest.
What comes next is—Sungho isn’t entirely prepared for it either. It’s Sanghyuk patting Jaehyun on the hip, telling him to, “Stay still,” in a tone Sungho can best describe as controlled. Somewhat getting the hint, Sungho pulls himself out, turning away before he has to watch his come drip out of Jaehyun’s raw hole. “Let’s switch,” Sanghyuk says to him then, and Sungho, sensing that he’s out of his element, simply nods, filling Sanghyuk’s spot.
And then, Sanghyuk says in a nice voice, “Good puppy,” flipping Jaehyun over, stuffing his fingers in Jaehyun’s lazy mouth, his drool dripping down the edge of his mouth. That’s when Sungho thinks, Oh, sitting back, watching Sanghyuk shuffle around Jaehyun—his turn—because his suspicions from earlier turn out to be correct. The good puppy that makes it easy for Sanghyuk to tame. The good puppy that makes some sort of sloppy noise, tongue hanging out, the word yes or please or just a pathetic, pleading whine around Sanghyuk’s two delicate fingers. Like, ah, okay. Maybe Sungho doesn’t really need to be here after all. Sanghyuk’s always been the better alpha, hasn’t he?
By now, Sanghyuk’s plan is clear as day. Sungho positions himself behind Jaehyun’s head, and Jaehyun blinks up at him, eyes large and slightly red, tear tracks down his cheeks. You can definitely tell he’s been fucked. Jaehyun looks like he’s expecting something, maybe, and Sungho figures a kiss would be appropriate for the setting. So he makes a point of not kissing Jaehyun, and leaving him alone in general. Except he does copy Sanghyuk from earlier and lifts Jaehyun’s head onto his lap pillow, just to be bare minimum nice. A small token of gratitude for Jaehyun appearing to not care that Sungho didn’t knot him just now, though Sungho really can’t discern if it’s him reading the room, being kind about it, or just being too fucking cock dumb to care. Whatever. Sanghyuk will do it for him either way.
Meanwhile, Sanghyuk is. Well, he’s not being nearly as nice as Sungho is. He’s fingering Jaehyun again, despite him being fully fucked and loose and ready for a second dick. It’s that—ah, Sanghyuk is fingering some of Sungho’s come back inside Jaehyun. To tease Jaehyun. Bully him, even. Jaehyun is complaining, fidgeting, Wah, ah, Sa— Sanghyukie, please just, not that, c’mon, please, and Sanghyuk, thin smile in his eyes, takes his time.
Sanghyuk isn’t that mean, in the end, and Jaehyun really is begging, pleading for it. Like, sincerely going insane for it. It’s likely the overstimulation, if Sungho had to guess. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he watches Sanghyuk push in his cock, Jaehyun underneath him, whining, locking his legs around Sanghyuk’s narrow frame. Although Sungho realizes he should probably be doing something too, or maybe not, he’s too caught up on watching Sanghyuk—he’s never seen Sanghyuk top, he thinks, he’s always happy to bottom for Sungho. It’s, well, it’s nice. Sanghyuk knows what he’s doing.
“Jaehyun-ah,” Sanghyuk says, huffing, there’s sweat going down his temples. He sounds wrecked by sex, like he’s close. Jaehyun, too, his skin feels sticky and gross when he throws his arms over his head, landing haphazardly in Sungho’s lap. He smells like way too much sugar. “You listening?” Sanghyuk asks. Jaehyun whimpers. It vaguely sounds like mmhmm. “How many are you gonna need, do you think?” And Sanghyuk doesn’t even wait for Jaehyun to be able to take a full breath before clenching his teeth, gripping the inner part of Jaehyun’s thigh, fucking him through his orgasm. Ah, Sungho thinks, kind of hard again. Ah, this…
“Just, mm, hah, fuck— just the one,” Jaehyun eventually manages to get out, a whimper, really fucking pathetic. Sungho blinks—there’s an obvious knot in his stomach. The slight bulge that, Sungho thinks, Sanghyuk at one point stares at. Some sort of admiration and self-satisfaction. Well, if it makes him happy.
In the end: It’s good. It’s pretty good, Sungho thinks, all things considered. He likes watching Sanghyuk do this, it turns out, but he definitely doesn’t miss being able to knot an omega himself. He’s fine with this, he thinks. He can live with it. Maybe Sungho can even tolerate Myung Jaehyun, if they happen to do this sort of thing again. Not that Sungho’s looking forward to it. Just that he might, if they do. And they probably will. Sungho, admittedly, still won’t fuck with omegas, and he thinks it’s fine to blame it on Myung Jaehyun, still, internally.