Archive of Our Own

Minho pretends to read the poetry anthology his sister's mother-to-be gifted him last summer, while watching Jisung through his lashes.

They're sharing a travel carriage.

The guard tightens his sword belt, rolls his shoulders, glances outside twice.

It's excessive.

"You're fidgeting," Minho states, turning another page he hasn't read.

Is Jisung nervous because of what happened last night?

"Apologies, my prince," Jisung clips. Formal, extremely. Stilted. Not unusual. Still uncalled for.

Minho has known these guards for twelve years.

Last night, he overheard them fuck each other, apparently. Gasps, one of them cursing. A charged flavour of breathing.

Minho's an omega; he hears everything. They were right outside his chambers.

Did they expect him not to listen?

Jisung loosens the leather sword belt around his hip, not a minute after tightening it. Cracks a knuckle, taps his boot against the patterned floorcloth.

Stops himself.

Starts again.

Through the window, he watches Changbin ride alongside the carriage, straight-backed and staring at the snowy mountaintops in the valley ahead.

Birch trees shadow the dirt road, their skeletal branches bare.

Poor planning, Hannie, Changbin's voice rings in Minho's ears, what about the wedding?

Minho shakes his head. "Under the weather, guard?"

"Not at all, my prince." Jisung strokes his own eyebrow.

That distance, again.

He starts studying the forest and bare branches to avoid Minho's gaze, as if he knows Minho's heard him egg Changbin to hurry up, fucking do it last night.

But how could Jisung know?

How could he know?

He could only guess, could assume, correctly, that Minho's a perverted, eavesdropping omega freak.

"Open the window, guard." Since Jisung would rather look at the birch trees instead of at his prince. Minho snaps his book closed. "Don't drown your prince in your distress."

He does like Jisung's scent, though. Driftwood, distinctively saline. Alpha, but salty and woody instead of sour. Minho hates the sourness of most alphas.

He likes Hyunjin, instead, who smells like russian honey cake.

Layers upon layers.

Changbin's head snaps to the carriage the moment Jisung opens the window. Today, Jisung's scent overpowers his, not a chance. Changbin's horse sidesteps closer, hooves clattering the dirt ground.

"Han," he calls out, neutral. "Everything secure in there?"

Jisung makes himself small against the carriage wall. "All good."

"How are you managing?" Changbin edges closer. His horse's flank nearly brushes the carriage wheel. Has he noticed the spike in driftwood? Is this the reason for his worry? "Perhaps we should—"

"I'm managing, hyung." Jisung snaps, brushing his palm against his stomach like it's cramping. "Let me."

Minho gawks at him. He's never seen Jisung snap.

Changbin threads the horse rein between his pinky and ring finger, then back to his thumb, not even flinching at Jisung's passive-aggressiveness. "We're still far from the estate, I'm afraid."

Jisung's leg bounces faster. His scent concentrates more the harder he worries about it, of course. Minho breathes through his mouth. Fine dust, stirred by the horses' hooves, glitters in the air under the peek of sunlight that warms the worn velvet seats.

Changbin whistles first, then calls out, "Driver, if you could pull over at the next clearing?"

"Sir?" The driver turns to them. "We're still two hours from Gangwon-do, the wedding procedures start at—"

"Driver." Changbin's tone, although calm, brooks no argument. "Next clearing."

Minho drops his book onto the cushioned seat, and it bounces heavily on it.

The carriage lurches as they veer off the main road into a grove. As soon as the wheels stop, Changbin swings down from his horse and yanks the carriage door open.

It's Minho's turn to snap. "What's wrong, guard?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with, sir, my sincerest apologies for the trouble," Changbin says in a single breath, his back rigid. "Han, here, ride outside."

Jisung stares at his boots. "I don't think that's—I can handle it, hyung."

Handle what?

"Not a suggestion." Changbin's eyes meet Jisung's, and Minho kind of feels like he's intruding. "Fresh air, Han."

Jisung shakes his head. "I'm sure I can—"

"Han," Changbin says. In alpha voice. He's using his alpha voice on Jisung.

God, does that even work on other alphas?

Minho's left knee trembles. He can't be trembling in front of people. "Guard." He folds his legs. "I asked what's wrong…?"

The inflection at the end of sentences is an omega thing. Minho avoids it generally, but can't help it right now, not when his knees are trembling because he's heard one word spoken in fucking alpha voice.

"Nothing's wrong, sir." Changbin shrugs, voice back to pleasant normality, keeping the carriage door open for Jisung. "Carriage sickness."

Minho bites the inside of his cheek. Are they lying, or is he paranoid? That would be a first. Paranoia. A while ago, the palace physician examined Minho privately, then claimed everything was "normal" whilst glancing at his mother's ladies-in-waiting.

They'd been checking if he was pregnant, he realised later, because apparently three days of nausea meant omega biology had finally caught up with him.

It hadn't. Male omegas are and will always be infertile.

Minho hates not being told things that directly concern him.

And he doesn't even fuck alphas.

Changbin asks, "do you need—"

"No helping, hyung." Jisung jumps the two steps from the carriage to the ground. "Please don't help me in front of people."

People? Is Minho just people now? "One of you rides with me," he announces on impulse, head buzzing. If nothing's going on, he'll act like nothing's going the fuck on. "Can't let your prince travel alone."

The driver shifts uncomfortably on his perch. The other guards maintain their positions further back on the road, out of earshot.

Jisung wipes sweat from his forehead, then flinches, like his own touch is too much.

"I'll ride with the prince," Changbin decides. "Han will take my horse."

"I—right, hyung." Jisung takes a shaky step towards Changbin's stout horse, then stops, looking at Minho like he wants to—

"Han." Changbin's eyebrows lower into a scowl. "Look at me." Jisung's head turns to him. Minho's heartbeat raises. "Can you make it to the palace?"

Jisung nods, then shakes his head, then nods again. Changbin stretches a hand towards him, but Jisung stumbles backwards, his palms rising defensively.

"Don't, hyung, please."

Changbin's hand drops. Jisung's fidgeting, sweating. Recoiling. Keeping his distance, it's weird. They've never been close but they are… kind of, yeah, close-adjacent?

As far as protocol permits?

Years ago, at his first week as a personal guard, Changbin caught Minho sneaking out to the stables at dawn, leather hunting boots in hand. Instead of reporting him, he'd picked up Minho's spare bow and followed him into the woods.

They all hunt together now, it's their tradition.

Last time, the three of them stood for hours so physically close to each other Minho could count Jisung's eyelashes as they tracked a twelve-point stag through frosted pines.

"Sir," Jisung had whispered, pointing. "There." He sounded giddy, grinning wide and genuine. "Royal stag, sir—ha, it's fitting, meant for you."

Minho nocked his arrow, exhaled, then hesitated. The twelve-point stag lifted its head, ears twitching. Minho could't see much but he heard them twitch. Jisung stayed perfectly still, not breathing, he didn’t so much as blink until Minho loosed the shot.

When the royal stag fell, Changbin clapped Minho’s shoulder, saying "Clean kill, sir, such nice shot," before remembering himself and stepping back with a respectful half bow. But his proud grin lingered.

Minho tossed them strips of jerky from his pack after skinning the stag while Changbin cleaned and sharpened Minho's knife for him. "Eat," Minho had said. "You’re both shivering."

Jisung feigned outrage. "Alphas don't shiver, sir."

"Sure, I meant a perfectly voluntarily trembling of your limbs."

The guards chuckled.

Now, Jisung won’t look at him normal. "Han Jisung." Minho leans forward in the carriage doorway. "Get in the carriage."

"Sir?" Changbin turns to stare at him, head tilting to the side.

"He's in no state to ride, is he?" Minho slides across to the far corner of the bench. "He rides with me, you ride alongside just like we were doing, and we get to the palace without making any more of a scene."

Jisung looks between them. "I can't—being enclosed with you, sir, I might—"

"Might what?"

Changbin rushes to the carriage door. "Sir, perhaps it's better if—"

"If what?" Minho snaps. "He's not going to… what is he going to do, fall asleep on duty? Is he drunk?"

Jisung climbs stiffly into the carriage, knees knocking into one another. Changbin reaches out to help him, then catches himself and pulls back.

"The window stays open," Changbin asserts. "And if anything—"

"Nothing will happen, guard," Minho interrupts, doing his best interpretation of his own mother whenever she steps in to solve alpha mishaps. "If it does, I'll pretend not to have seen it."

Stone walls and golden banners surround the northeastern estate, the courtyard packed with servants handling off-season flower arrangements. Daisies, winter jasmines, camellias. Lilies, even, how fitting.

Crates of wine are being stacked into twin piles, and while all other flowers are white, his sister's favourite purple irises line the whole entrance path. Nice touch. Minho's stomach drops as he takes it all in.

She'll be gone after the wedding.

Married off to the northeastern prince, too far for casual visits. Minho and his sister have grown alongside him, treated him like cousins, far away relatives, like all royalty does And he's a good guy, but the thought of marriage will always feel foreign to Minho. Weddings are about strategy. Alliances.

He presses his forehead against the cool glass, watching a group of guests in formal hanbok mill through the outer gardens, thinking about how it wouldn't be strategic for anyone to marry Minho.

Jisung hasn't spoken the entire journey. He's curled against the opposite corner, knees drawn up, breathing through his mouth like a gizzard shad. Every few minutes a shudder runs through him.

As a courtesy, Minho pretends not to have noticed it.

The carriage jerks to a stop. Changbin has secured his horse before the other guards have even started dismounting. He clicks the carriage door open. "Can you walk?"

It's unusual for an alpha to get sick. Omegas often do. Alphas supposedly have the better immune system.

Jisung nods, but when he tries to stand his legs buckle. Changbin catches him by the elbow. Gently, way too gently; are the other guards seeing it? Minho checks. No, they're busy removing their saddles. One of them cracks a joke about saddle sores, and the other guards chuckle.

Minho doesn't get the joke. He pretends not to have heard it.

"Where's the temporary camp, please?" Changbin asks the estate servant with stringy grey hair who's holding a scroll with what must be the wedding schedule or a list of guests.

"East wing, sir, but the prince needs to be escorted to—"

"I can manage myself, please." Minho steps out of the carriage, smoothing his travel-wrinkled robes.

Changbin looks at him, his jaw doing this thing where it tightens like he's physically biting back what he really wants to say. Minho wishes he would just say it.

"Sir, the protocol is that—"

"I'm aware." Minho gestures towards Jisung, whose sweat plasters his hair to his forehead. "Get him sorted, guard, I'll find my chambers. Meet me there in the later hours."

"Your Highness!" One of his sister's ladies-in-waiting rushes over, all fluttering hands and energy. "We've been waiting, the family wants to greet you before the afternoon meal course, and—"

"Tell them I'm settling in first." Minho keeps his tone pleasant. Her voice itches physically, even, like mosquito bites. "I've been in a carriage for hours."

Changbin doesn't wait for further permission. He calls for another guard to fill in his spot while trying to loop Jisung's arm over his shoulders. Jisung refuses to let him.

Minho watches them disappear around the corner of the main palace, the other guards still collecting their gear. His nose twitches in their absence, soaking in the last shreds of drifwood that wafts through the cold air.

What if Minho follows them, steals an item of their uniforms, any item, really, just to carry their scents with him?

Fleeting thought.

"Your Highness." The lady-in-waiting hovers, side-eyeing the servant who has the scroll as if he's not doing his job correctly. "Shall I escort you to your chambers?"

"Oh, dear." Minho tears his gaze away from the corner of the palace entrance. He'd rather find his own way, but that's clearly not going to happen. "It would be my pleasure."

It won't.

She leads him through the main hall. He doesn't ask for her name, she doesn't offer it either.

His sister appears at the top of the grand staircase, beautiful in pre-wedding finery, smelling of apples and Minho already misses her. Hers is such an easy scent. Joy in the simple things. "You look terrible," she says fondly, descending toward him. "Rough journey?"

"Something like that." Minho's head pulls back as his shoulders push forward, grimacing for comical effect. "You look… like a princess, sister." While he can call her sister.

From tomorrow on, she'll belong to a new household and they'll refer to each other formally. Her mother-in-law will be called mother.

Her brothers-in-law will be her brothers.

And Minho will be—

"Well, one of us has to." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

The guest bed swallows Minho whole. Drowning in goose down, his spine will be permanently bent from it. Four cups of wine during lunch. His sister caught his eye from across the table halfway through his third, raised her eyebrows at him.

Really, brother, she said, no words needed.

Minho raised both his glass and the corners of his lips at her.

Now, his mind won't shut up. Happens when he's drunk, this thing where sounds tumble over themselves. It's way more controlled when sober.

Omegas suppress their heats in parts to tone down their hearing, but Minho can't pretend he doesn't enjoy the wildness, the range of his natural instincts. The hearing is useful whenever he's hunting; compensates for his omega-typical short-sightedness. And right now, he searches through sounds, past the kitchen staff and the palace guards chattering, past his mother, who's discussing seating arrangements, until his ears catch on—

At first, it's only their breathing. No words. Exhales, vocalisations.

Pretty sure it's them, something in Minho's ear tells him that. He should tune them out, he knows, but instead… a wet sound—lips, maybe? Then a gasp that's definitely Jisung's, followed by, what, a hand hitting a wall?

Minho's fingers curl into the sheets. It's been so long since he's tried to hear something that far away. He needs to be drunk for that. They must be in the east wing still, though, near enough for that amount of wine to let him tune into their voices like a compass finding north.

"Hyung—" Jisung's voice breaks off. Minho twists on the bed, spots of heat blooming through his body as he focuses as hard he can into trying to conjure Jisung's voice back into reality. That's when he hears, "—not made of glass, are you—fuck, how weak are you?"

Minho's hand drifts down, sneaking into the side opening of his silk robe. His ears burn.

More rustling. Changbin growls warningly. Someone's pushed against… a door, maybe, a bedpost? Something solid.

Jisung whimpers, breathy, and Minho's cock twitches. It's involuntary.

Another thump, like a knee hitting wood, then Jisung curses.

Are they fighting? Sparring? Is this how alphas—

"Not—fuck—not like that," Jisung gasps. "Hyung, if you—"

Another wet sound, maybe Changbin's, like, spitting on him, what the fuck? Minho's mind fills the gaps. He rolls his hips against the sheets once, experimentally. Then a second time.

Feels so good his spine lightens up like a sparkler.

He's used to reassurance and zero resistance, easy-flowing slick. Wet skin on wet skin. With Hyunjin, everything's so comfortable Minho once fell asleep mid-sex. More than once, it's not even embarrassing at this point, Hyunjin finds it funny.

That's kind of their dynamic.

"Fuck—" Jisung's voice shakes as he says, "so weak, you can't even—"

Minho physically feels his blood rush down and he's hard now, properly interested. It's wrong to listen, worse to enjoy it, but—a grunt. Changbin's? New movement, more rustling, like they're wrestling. Are they? Jisung protests, and Changbin chuckles. Minho wishes they'd talk more, spoke louder, let him hear it a bit better at least.

He slides his hand lower, cupping himself, and he's so wet a line of slick damps down his inner thigh, pooling on the back of his sack.

His body knows what it wants.

Sometimes, when Minho's fucking omegas, he worries he's not enough, but they're so sensitive it ends up working out.

Is Jisung sensitive? Sounds like it. He whines, and Changbin must have him pinned, right? Minho pictures him pressing Jisung down, one hand grabbing the high collar of his crisp white undershirt.

The fabric of Minho's robe feels watery, must cost more than servants earn in a year, and he's going to stain it. Fuck, Minho's going to ruin the—

Jisung's voice zaps through his brain static. "So wet, hyung, it's so wet—"

Minho's breath hitches.

Wet.

Who's wet? Which one of them is—

He flips onto his back so fast his head lags behind. The silk robe pools open, his cock jutting up hard and leaking against his navel.

He wraps a tight fist around himself, knowing that jerking off is the objectively wrong path to take here. He shouldn't, but as his other hand scrabbles for the edge of the robe and bunches the fabric away from his body, Minho forgets all etiquette and starts pumping himself hard and rough, the way he knows will get him there the fastest.

His hips jerk up into his grip. He hears someone's hand slap against wood again, palm flat, fingers spread. Maybe hallucinates it. Strokes himself faster, free hand pulling the sheets away from where sweat starts to dampen his back.

Pressure builds at the base of Minho's spine, boiling hot, coiling tighter and tighter.

"Fuck, fu-uck—" Jisung's voice breaks at the vowels. "Hyung, you can't even—don't—let me…"

Minho's back arches off the bed, his toes curling. The silk robe slides further open, exposing him to the half-lit chambers, and he kind of wishes someone was watching. His fist flies over his slick cock and he bites his lip so hard he tastes copper.

Wet, Jisung said wet. Which means—

Images. Changbin pinned beneath Jisung, or Jisung spread open for him, one of them slick, dripping wet like an omega.

Fuck, Minho likes omegas so fucking much, how pliant they get for him, how they let him do whatever he feels like. Including falling asleep. It's ridiculous.

Alphas don't get wet, he knows that, but he's heard some can.

Do they, when they're with each other?

"Don't." Changbin's voice cuts through, rushed in a way Minho wasn't expecting. His heart beats faster. "Not yet, I—"

"Fuck, hyung, just—" Jisung begs, "please, I'm so—"

What are they doing?

Minho squeezes his fist around himself.

Why can't he see it? A glimpse, only, three seconds looking is all he needs, just to picture the scene better.

Jisung on his knees, his mouth open, Changbin holding him back by his hair. Minho would die to pull on Jisung's long hair. But no, that wouldn't make sense—maybe Changbin's the one spread open, denying himself while secretly wanting to be filled; Jisung between his legs trying to push inside, waiting to knot him.

Minho's fist stutters.

Can alphas knot each other? Hypothetically.

He's never heard of it ever being tried.

But Minho hasn't heard of a lot of things. Doesn't know what he doesn't know.

"Not yet," Changbin grits out, voice rough like it's hard to breathe. "Wait, shit—wait—"

He thinks of Jisung's thin fingers wrapped around Changbin's throat. Jisung pinning Changbin's wrists above his head, grinding down onto him, trying to fit his huge, fucking monstrous knot inside his tight little alpha hole.

Then Jisung whines like an angry pup. Minho's stomach clenches.

Are they edging each other, taking turns—Changbin's broad shoulders looming huge, his muscles straining as he pins Jisung down?

Another whimper. Jisung's, for sure. "Hyung, I—it hurts, I need to—"

Is he always this fucking whiny?

"Breathe through, listen to me," Changbin whispers in his alpha voice. "Slow down." All commands.

Minho inhales deeply. Exhales, listening. Slows his hand.

Hell, how hot is it that they can make him do stuff without even knowing they're having that effect?

More wet sounds, even wetter somehow. Minho's hand edges himself slower and slower, drawing it longer, imagining Changbin's fingers working Jisung open, or four of Jisung's stretching Changbin the way Minho himself likes to feel stretched.

"Oh, my—fuck, hyung, my knot." Jisung gasps, and Minho's brain whites out.

Knot. His alpha knot, fuck, is he really going to—

Minho's never seen a knot in real life. Really, can alphas knot each other?

What are the—like, the mechanics?

"Hyung," Jisung pleads. "Please, we've done it before, you—"

"Not like this." A growl. "Not when—shit—"

Loud pounding. Bang. Someone's being flipped. Minho pictures Changbin manhandling Jisung onto his stomach.

"Okay, hyung, say it." Jisung sounds aggressive, hissing the words through his teeth. "Say it, you never fucking say it, I'm gonna make you—"

Minho's cock throbs in his grip, leaking straight onto his belly as slick pools beneath him. So much for trying to keep the sheets clean while he's sleeping in borrowed chambers.

The coil in his spine winds tighter until it starts turning painful.

"Nah, ha, ah," Changbin rasps, so low Minho almost misses it. "Alpha—"

Minho comes with a bitten-off gasp, spilling over his fist and across his stomach, orgasm hitting white-hot and violently stealing his breath. His spine bows so sharply it hurts, muscles locking as the waves tear through him, pale come streaking the flushed skin of his abs.

Then he collapses back against the pillows, breathing hard, letting go of his spent cock. Sticky come cools on his skin, but the robe's safely bunched to the side, somewhat clean, half of it awkwardly clumped under Minho's shoulder blades.

His ears can still track them, but it's harder now that he's lost all mental capacity to focus. Did Minho really just get drunk to hear his guards go at it while he jerks off to the thought of them?

That's royalty for you. How unbecoming of him.

He stares at the ceiling, body feeling loose, but his mind won't stop spinning. In the back of his ears, he hears Jisung groan deeply and satisfied.

Minho's cock twitches, half-interested again.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

Evening falls. Minho's been poked, prodded, fitted for tomorrow's ceremonial robes, subjected to conversation with random relatives whom he kindly pretended to care about all afternoon.

Now, he paces alone in his borrowed chambers.

His guards still haven't shown. He kind of hoped they would, wanted to see how they would react, if they would continue acting weird. The palace assigned him two unfamiliar betas for the shift—competent enough, he supposes, but they stand outside his door like decorative vases.

Minho crosses to the window that overlooks the east wing. Can't tell which room might be the guards' quarters.

The moon hangs fat and silver above the courtyard, illuminating a couple few servants who are still draping more and more white flowers all over the lakeside dock and the gazebo.

Too beautiful a night for Minho to be this restless.

A knock interrupts his brooding.

One of the beta guards pokes his head in. "Sir, your presence is requested in the southern parlour. Family gathering."

"Tell them I've retired for the evening."

The guard chews on his lip before saying, "your father was quite insistent, sir."

Of course he was. Minho smooths his robes, checking his reflection in the bronze mirror. Dark circles shadow his eyes. "Very well."

He follows the guard through three large corridors downstairs, the archways dripping with garlands of white jasmine and ivy. When they get to the parlour, his father holds court near the fire, deep in conversation with an old, wrinkly-faced cousin he doesn't recognise.

Minho's arrival barely registers.

His mother catches his eye and gestures him over with a tilt of her head. "Your personal guards…?"

"Resting, I assume."

Her eyebrow arches. "Both of them?"

Minho grinds his teeth. "They've been travelling for days, dear mother, surely the family can spare my guards one evening."

"Of course." She sips her wine, staring at him like she's reading between the lines. Few things are more uncomfortable for Minho than feeling seen by her. "Although it's… unusual."

Minho says nothing. Unusual, indeed. He wishes he had an answer to give her.

Outside the arched windows, the east wing remains mostly dark.

Minho retreats to the window alcove, nursing watered wine because it's going to be a long night.

His sister's surrounded by well-wishers, he'd only be in the way.

The blaze from the parlour's chandeliers stabs his eyes like micro-knives, voices layering over one another.

It sets his teeth on edge.

How long until it's okay to leave?

An omega cousin with yellow floral robes corners him, eventually. She's recently gotten engaged. Opal ring, huge, too large for her finger. Minho nods, smiles, compliments the ring while his skin crawls on the inside.

He lets her prattle, and prattle she does.

Would Minho, too, be prattling, if he, like her, were on suppressants?

It's obvious she's on them; her smile is too chill, too genuine for how maddening these gatherings are.

Many bodies, too small a space.

Someone's discussing flower choices by the kitchen. The jasmines smell dazzling, where are they from?

Minho sips the wine, grimacing even though it's watered down, tuning out his cousin in order to let his hearing drift past the door, down the stairwell, through the courtyard…

Jisung's voice cuts through, "—haven't eaten since—," then it's gone again, swallowed by Aunt Choi, who's laughing way too fucking loud, why can't she shut the hell up?

A servant drops a bottle in an adjacent saloon, and Minho flinches, angling his head to the side.

Hungry, maybe, is Jisung hungry?

What happened to his rations?

The cousin touches Minho's elbow, smiling at a passing young alpha servant who carries a tray of sparkling wine flutes. "—don't you agree, cousin?"

Minho blinks. "Absolutely."

For sure. Whatever it is.

His mother glances in his direction. She knows. An omega too, though she hides its downsides better. Flits between groups, smoothing over the King's bluntness. It looks exhausting.

It's always been exhausting to watch her.

Minho drifts to the refreshment tables that line the far wall while his cousin is still mid-sentence.

"Excuse me, cousin." He doesn't wait for a response. Doesn't think she'll mind either.

She's left staring at her own reflection in one of the massive bronze mirrors, her voice fading behind him.

Servants have laid out enough food to feed twice this gathering. Roasted duck, honeyed ribs, rice cakes stuffed with chestnuts and wrapped in lotus leaves, candied ginger. Wedding excess. Steamed buns still warm enough to fog the silver platters.

Minho folds a cloth napkin and tucks it inside the side pocket of his cochineal red robes.

He folds another one, loads it with whatever won't crumble or drip.

A servant approaches, but Minho waves him off. The trick to authority as an omega is mastering casual independence.

Minho half-smiles at him. "I'll prepare my own plate."

The servant bows and retreats.

When Minho looks behind his shoulder at the floral-robed omega, she's disappeared into a cluster of aunts conversing by the gilded columns.

So, Minho adds more duck and two more buns, wraps everything in a second napkin. Chews on candied ginger as a distraction, tucking the bundle of food into his pocket.

If someone sees him slipping out the corridor, nobody comments on it.

The omega spare prince who hunts every week, every season, and sleeps with other omegas; they've stopped expecting good behaviour from him years ago.

The beta guards outside straighten when he emerges. "Sir?"

"Retiring," Minho says. Aren't their babysitting shifts over by now? "Don't disturb me."

They exchange glances but respectfully bow. Minho suspects his confidence might scare them. "Of course, Your Highness."

That, or his titles.

He walks towards his assigned chambers until the corridor bends, then doubles back, taking the vine-covered outdoors servants' passage instead of the main corridor.

The bundle of food weighs his robes down irregularly, pulling it sideways, stretching the fabric.

Minho's instincts guide him. He slows his pace, listening, his oak slippers clicking against stone as he flees all the way towards the east wing.

Voices, so many of them.

He finds theirs under the crickets, getting louder and clearer the closer he gets to a storage room from where saline driftwood scent drifts into the indoors stale air.

He would recognise Jisung anywhere.

"I'll go get our rations." Changbin's in there as well. He sounds rushed. "If you promise you won't run away and ruin things for us."

Oh, great timing.

Minho's stomach flutters.

He finds the half-hidden door, lamplight spilling under its frame, and pauses outside, eavesdropping without the need to glue his ears to the wood.

Such a useful skill, really.

"As if I could move with—"

Minho knocks. Three sharp raps. Silence ripples. Stone into a lake.

"It's me," Minho calls, but he bets they can already scent him. "Open up."

Footsteps.

The door cracks open, and Changbin's face appears, his eyes wide, overly bright like cornered deer. "Sir… what are you—"

Minho pushes past him, ducking beneath the low doorframe.

Such a cramped room, a prison cell would be more spacious. Windowless, with an oil lamp hanging from the rusty ceiling hook. Four dusty shelves with chipped pottery line the wall, and there are two clay vessels filled with water; one with a carved horn serving as a lid, the other with a half-submerged washcloth.

In the corner, someone's dragged out low pallets and laid a reed mat over its slats.

Jisung lies there, shirtless, propped halfway up against the wall with a golden ceremonial banner from some past winter festival hastily thrown over his waist and right shoulder.

Why is Han Jisung, the guard, bare in a storage room is a question Minho never thought he would ask.

Minho should avert his eyes and give him privacy, but he won't, no. He won't. He could. But he's not that good of a person. It's not in his personality. Jisung's chest glistens with sweat as he straightens his back from his slumped position, maybe as a show of respect.

Minho wouldn't mind if his guards forgoed some formality with him, honestly. Hates the artificiality of it.

"You—shouldn't be here, my prince." Changbin steps forward, almost caging Minho into the dusty shelves.

His robes will get terribly dirty.

"Neither should you both." He's not scared of Changbin. "Yet here we are."

Changbin's undershirt hangs open, so sweaty it's slightly translucent, the line of hair from his chest to his uniform trousers matted to his golden skin. It's so warm in here. Stifling. Minho's body temperature rises to the point he wouldn't mind stripping bare.

The air smells of warm ocean breeze.

He gets a bit lost in it.

What did Minho come here for, anyway? "I brought—"

Food.

Jisung shifts on the pallet, and the banner slips lower, exposing the jut of his left hipbone. He's flushed pink from chest to hairline, pupils blown so wide his eyes seem almost fully black, and he's panting.

Looks like a goddamn painting.

The oil lamp flickers like it's not often lit.

"Sir—" Changbin steps back, raising his arms to show Minho his bare palms. "We weren't—this isn't—"

So much salt in the air, Minho's eyes must be red. It's the first time a salty scent doesn't make him crave sweetness.

Some weird part of him wants to kneel beside the pallet, press a hand to Jisung's forehead, check his temperature. Coax some water into him, cook him a real meal. Climb onto his lap.

His traitorous cock stirs.

"Relax." Minho shakes these thoughts away. "Not like I care." Blinks until he can focus. "I won't tell my mother." Breathes through his mouth. "Brought you dinner, figured you'd be stuck with… whatever slop they're serving the guards."

He pulls the napkin from his pocket, unwraps it and spreads his gatherings across an overturned crate as Changbin hesitates before shutting the door.

The duck and buns are still warm, slightly dampening the napkin cloth underneath.

Changbin stares at Minho, then at Jisung, then at the mouthwatering spread. "We had rations."

How many hours ago? "Delicious, was it?"

Must've been early morning.

Changbin grimaces like the food might bite him. "Only royals eat for pleasure, my prince."

"Royalty came to you tonight, how lucky." Minho gestures toward the spread. "The family won't mind, I'm certain, that gathering will go on for hours."

"A gathering, sir?"

"Overwhelming." Minho shrugs. "Thought I'd escape before my head split open." He picks up a bun, tears it in half, and extends one piece to Changbin. "Eat, please, you look… terrible, all due respect."

They've both got bags under their eyes the size of Minho's steamer trunks, Jisung's deeper than Changbin's.

He needs his guards fully recovered. Misses their presence, honestly, and it's not even been a full day.

Other guards are neither as interesting nor as interested in Minho's inner workings and skills and, well, general thoughts as them.

It's reciprocal.

Changbin accepts the bun, then seems to realise what he's done—taking food from his prince's hand like they're equals.

A second passes before he unclenches his jaw and decides to start eating, turning around so Minho won't watch him chew.

In Minho's book, that's a victory.

No need for him to have to throw Changbin half a fucking bun.

Minho reels in a smile, picking a particularly well-roasted piece of garlicky duck and holding it out for Jisung, who's been awfully quiet.

"Guard." Minho keeps his voice gentle. "Still under the weather, are you?"

Except Jisung makes no move to accept it, gaze lingering on Minho's throat before dropping to his collarbones, where the formal robes have shifted askew during his walk here.

He stares, really stares, until Minho starts to wonder if the heat of this room or a fever caused Jisung to lose brain function.

"Guard," Minho calls out, his heartbeat rising. "Take what your prince is offering."

Jisung inhales sharply, lifting his chin. He looks at Changbin rather than at Minho, and—why is that?

Is it wrong of Minho to feel offended at being ignored?

Feels different from when he avoids interacting with people of his own volition, because it's not often that things are not about him. Now his sister's wedding is not about him, Jisung's sickness is not about him…

Reality check.

Changbin nods, just a curt half nod, and that's when Jisung accepts the duck, yet he doesn't eat it. He holds the meat between two fingers like he's forgotten its purpose.

The guards keep exchanging glances, shifts of eyebrows. Tilts of chins.

Minho feels weird about being left out.

He asks, "not hungry, guard?"

Jisung hums, taking a bite, then chewing duck like it's concrete. He swallows, just once, then offers Changbin the barely touched thigh.

It's all quite mechanical.

"Was." Jisung wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, finally speaking, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Thank you for your kindness… sir."

Minho narrows his eyes. Why did that honorific sound hard to say?

Is Jisung challenging him?

Changbin crosses right in between Minho and Jisung, interrupting their staring match to reach for one of the clay vessels.

He fills the carved horn with water.

"Not thirsty, hyung." Jisung turns his head away. How petulant. The banner slips even further down, fully exposing his shoulder, chest and his waist. A thin little waist, all lean muscle and narrow ribs. "Not for that, at least."

What?

A bead of sweat trails down Jisung's sternum, and Minho tracks it all the way past his waist to his—

"Han." It's a warning. "Please."

The salty part of Jisung's driftwood scent sharpens. Should Minho leave, let them handle this?

He stays rooted in place.

Changbin brings the carved horn to Jisung's lips. "Drink."

Minho's stomach flutters as he watches them interact like this. In public, they barely speak to each other despite working and training together.

All guards are basically silent.

"Come on… one cup, you need the hydration." Changbin presses the carved horn against Jisung until its apex indents the base of his neck. "Don't make me have to dote on you."

"As if you don't like doting on me, hyung." A smile creeps on Jisung's lips. "You're so good at it."

Changbin jerks his wrist and splashes water on Jisung's face. It drips from his chin to his collarbones.

But Jisung's right, Changbin's so good at caring.

When Minho's leopard cubs first arrived from the southern traders, the smallest one refused to eat for three days. Minho tried everything from warm milk to raw meat, even grinding fish into paste, but the cub mewled pitifully and turned away until Minho had given up hope.

Changbin noticed it before Minho asked for help. Showed up at the enclosure with strips of venison he'd soaked in bone broth overnight to soften, then fed the cub by hand.

"The smallest ones need the scent of pack to feed, sir," he'd explained, letting the leopard pup gnaw his knuckles. "They're solitary adults, but some cubs feel unsafe unless their meat has been hunt by other leopards."

Minho's mother had been impressed.

"Your guard is more attuned than half the omegas at court," she said, not the slightest as an insult. "They should learn a thing or two from him."

Then there was the first time Hyunjin visited during pre-heat, shaking so badly he couldn't stand straight. Minho had frozen, useless, but Changbin appeared with hot tea from the kitchen, then stood silently by the door offering his soothing iron scent.

Jisung finally drinks the water, giving in.

"Can't he grab water himself," Minho interrupts, "whenever he's thirsty?"

Isn't it a bit weird for another alpha to do it for him?

Changbin's face goes blank.

Was that the wrong thing to ask?

Jisung juts his chin as if asking Changbin for permission, and when he gets it, he pulls the banner from his lap as if to show Minho his—

Minho blinks.

The reed mat covers most of the pallet's edge, but now Minho can see a black horse rein peeking out beneath it. As Jisung lifts his right arm, dragging up the mat, it shows his right wrist is bound to the wooden slats underneath.

Bound to it, what the fuck?

The leather reins loop around his wrist multiple times, crisscrossing over themselves and bulkily knotted to the wood.

They're wider than ropes, harder to cinch, but they're holding. Barely.

"Oh." Minho says stupidly, pulse hammering into his eardrums. "You tied him up."

How tight are those, did Jisung beg Changbin to do it? Did Changbin not give him the choice?

As if reading Minho's mind, Changbin says, "he asked me to."

"I did," Jisung confirms. His gaze finds Minho's, who holds it. Measuring dominance like dogs. "Easier to be nice if I can only use one arm."

What does that even mean?

Minho's throat dries. He needs water.

"Can I have some?" Changbin hands him the horn without comment when Minho accepts defeat in the staring match. He's never craved defending his honour until the end like alphas seem to feel the need to. "Why—" The water's lukewarm, slightly metallic, earthy, but Minho drains it at once before asking, "why only one arm…?"

Omega inflection. Minho can't run from it.

Jisung's tongue wets his chapped lips. "Still wanna fight," he says with a shrug, shoulders a bit less tense now that he's won the dominance thing against Minho, "just don't want to give it my all."

Still wants to… fight?

"Your scent." Minho twirls his fingers as if he could capture the ocean breeze between them. "Changbin's barely registers, but yours…" Minho pauses, breathing through his nose. The salt prickles his throat, making him have to cough twice to clear it. "Why do I smell you so strongly, guard?"

This he definitely shouldn't ask.

Jisung's eyebrows lift. "Sir?"

Changbin scratches the back of his neck. "We don't… take suppressants, sir."

Oh?

"Either of you?"

Jisung's mouth stays parted, but he doesn't speak. Changbin shakes his head, eyeing the uneven stone floor underfoot.

"Oh." Minho doesn't either, but it's much more obvious when an omega doesn't take them. "Since when?"

"Guards rarely do, sir," Changbin says. "We're sharper without them… not really alpha without our instincts."

They're alpha with or without suppressants, but who is Minho, really, to have any say in it when all his life he's so vehemently refused to be suppressed.

His brain struggles to catch up. "So that's why—" Minho looks between them. A switch flips. Jisung's flushed chest, the horse reins looped around his wrist. All that fidgeting in the carriage and the way Jisung recoiled from touch in public... "Oh," he repeats. The only remotely possible explanation is, "you're in rut."

Genius.

Jisung chuckles, his long hair unruly, making him look wilder than normal.

Changbin nods once, just a sharp jerk of his chin, and Minho takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with Jisung's driftwood scent.

He's never seen a rut.

His tutors described it clinically, mentioning lowered inhibition, some aggression, an overwhelming need to mate. No further comments, zero examples. They claimed Minho wouldn't need to know more since he… won't reproduce.

Palace alphas such as his father take suppressants, and the few who don't, disappear whenever their cycles hit, locking themselves into their quarters for a couple of days.

Which is what Jisung's doing here, Minho reckons, tied to pallets in a storage room, sweating through his skin while Changbin plays nursemaid.

While Changbin plays omega.

"During my sister's wedding," he says dumbly. "Wow."

"Terrible timing, sir," Changbin agrees, dropping his chin to his chest. "We couldn't…there's no way to stop it once it—"

"I tried." Jisung strains his wrist against the restraint, testing its give, but making no real attempt to escape. "Didn't work."

"We didn't want to request for late replacement the night before such a long trip, sir, thought we could… handle it, I thought it would be less dangerous for you, sir, if—"

"How long does it last?"

"About three days?" Changbin's arms hang at his sides. "Started this morning, early morning. Maybe last night, we're not sure."

And how manageable will a rut be in a foreign palace?

"You should've told someone," Minho says, then realises how absurd that sounds. Tell who, the wedding coordinator? Excuse me, one of the prince's guards is in a rut.

His mother would be livid they hadn't requested replacement early, might demote them to village guards on the spot.

Minho can't let that happen.

"Does it hurt?" Is what he asks, instead of arguably more pressing questions such as what are we going to do or how are we going to hide this.

Jisung laughs. His scent intensifies when he does. "Yes, sir."

"Where does it hurt, guard?"

How can Minho help?

Jisung's black eyes find his. "I'll show you, sir."

Changbin visibly tenses. "We were… managing it—trying to. Right before you arrived, sir. I'm… helping him deal."

Minho's cock twitches against his inner robes. He shifts on the floor, crossing his legs to hide any questionable bulging.

So an hour ago, maybe less, Changbin's fucked Jisung right there where he's lying.

Minho's face heats. He turns to the food to hide the flush.

Not really Minho-like to be blushing.

"I do feel calmer, yeah. Usually I'd be—" Jisung parts his legs, dropping his head to the wall with a boyish smile. "Doing worse."

Changbin refills the horn and drinks water himself this time, staring at a particularly mishapen candied ginger.

Minho grabs it and offers it to him, but Changbin shakes his head before changing his mind and accepting it.

"Maybe it's you, sir," Jisung suggests with an innocent voice, tongue playfully peeking between his teeth.

"Me?"

Jisung thrusts out his chest. "You scent, sir. It's soothing. It's… really sweet."

Except Jisung doesn't look soothed, he looks hungry. It's a quick shift in energy, so fast it's uncanny. His boyish smile turns predatory, round eyes narrowing to feline slits.

Too much salt in the air, Minho's not used to this. His heart threatens to jump to his throat.

He's so thirsty. How is Jisung not?

Minho deflects. "If you call my scent fruity, I'll demote you both to village guards."

He picks another piece of candied ginger from under the rice cakes and pops it into his mouth.

"Really?" Jisung asks genuinely.

Minho licks sugar granules from his lower lip. "No," he grumbles. "What do I smell like to you, guard? I've always been curious."

The sugar melts on his tongue.

Hyunjin says Minho smells of apricots, but he wonders if alphas think of his scent as more ripe or more green.

Hyunjin says it has a green bite to it.

Changbin coughs. Subtle redirect. "We appreciate you bringing us food, Your Highness. Truly."

Your Highness? "Oh?" Minho blinks slowly at him. "Thought we were closer than that."

"We are, sir." Changbin's hands almost curl into fists, but then straighten. "We… are, um… close, yes."

How close, though? Minho wishes he could find that out. See himself the way they see him, calibrate what he means to them.

It's so warm in here, he's starting to overheat.

Minho pulls a handkerchief from one of his inner pockets. It's pale blue, embroidered with tiny cranes in silver thread.

His sister gave it to him years ago, and Minho has carried it since.

He pulls it to wipe his own sweat, but there's a layer of it glistening in Jisung's forehead, so Minho can't help but want to—

He holds the handkerchief out to Changbin. "For his face."

Changbin stares at it as if Minho's offering him a live snake. "Sir, we already have a—" He points at the washcloth in one of the water-filled clay vessels. "We couldn't possibly accept—"

"He's dripping in sweat, though." Minho gestures at Jisung's forehead, his neck, his chest. "And you're doing nothing about it, thought you were taking care of him...?"

"But that's palace silk, sir."

Antihumectant properties, yeah. Rare material. His sister has good taste.

"And you're palace guards." Minho forces the handkerchief onto Changbin's palm, forcefully closing his fingers around it. "Would you rather I dry his sweat myself?"

Jisung's chuckle sounds evil. "Hyung, I wouldn't mind if our prince—"

"Shut up." Changbin jerks his head and stares at Jisung like he's sprouted a second head. "Keep him out of it."

This is taking too long; maybe it's better if Minho cares for Jisung himself. "I can—"

"No, sir." Changbin scrambles to wring the wet washcloth out of the clay vessel in less than a second. Water droplets dot the floor. "Give me a moment."

He brushes it across Jisung's forehead, then wipes down his sternum, the dip between his collarbones, the slopes of his shoulders.

When he unfolds Minho's handkerchief to absorb all moisture, Jisung's eyes snap open.

"Not there, are you crazy?" His free hand shoots out, snatching the handkerchief from a dumbfounded Changbin. "It's for my face."

Jisung drags the silk across his cheek, subtly burrowing his nose in it. Minho's scent must be all over that, trapped deep into the fibres.

"I was getting to—"

"My face, hyung." Jisung's nostrils flare. "That's what he said, my face."

He clutches the handkerchief to the bridge of his nose.

How did that escalate so quickly?

Minho rubs his sweaty palms against his robes, feeling like the intruder he truly is.

Sweat drips between his shoulder blades, glueing his loose inner robes to his skin.

Jisung's rut must be peaking again.

"Han Jisung." Alpha voice. "Give it back."

Minho's head blanks at the command, and he's not even called Han Jisung.

He has nothing to give back.

"No." Jisung's skin flushes darker, the shape of his cock imposingly large under the banner. "The prince gave it to me."

"You're getting triggered," Changbin says, crunching down to get eye level with Jisung, fixing the banner across his lap to hide his bulge from Minho, his palm brushing briefly against it. "It's gonna peak harder if you don't give me that back."

"Can't." Jisung whines, hips canting up. "Too good, hyung, I—do that again…"

"I will if you let go of—"

"No!" Jisung whines like a spoiled pup. "He gave it to me, it's mine."

The wood cracks as he yanks his wrist against the reins, threatening to break it, the skin of his wrist chafing angry red.

"Take these off." Jisung's teeth snap together. "Let me up."

Changbin holds him down gently. "Stay still, you're gonna—"

"Get off." Jisung jerks sideways, thrashing away. His bound wrist twists against the restraint as he throws his weight around, shoulder slamming into the stone wall with a painful thud.

Minho's handkerchief doesn't slip from his grip, though.

Priorities.

"Fuck." Jisung winces, rolling his shoulder back into place.

"This is exactly why—"

"Don't care." Jisung clutches the handkerchief against his face again. "Worth it."

Blood rises to the surface of Jisung's scraped shoulder, forming tiny crimson pinpricks.

Should Minho offer him bandages?

Changbin turns to him. "Sir, perhaps it's best if you—"

"Is there more water?" Minho interrupts him. "He'll dehydrate, he's sweating so much."

"Your Hig—my prince." Changbin's voice hardens. "It's dangerous for you to be here."

Minho refills the carved horn, ignoring him solely. The dangling light makes the water shimmer gold.

"Sir—"

"Can't leave you both stuck in here without supplies. I could get him more bandages and… food? More food?" It's all he has to offer. Minho clutches the chipped horn as hard as Jisung clutches his handkerchief. "What if his rut gets worse?"

He wants to be useful.

Changbin's shoulders rise. "It will get worse."

Jisung whimpers, rolling his hips forward involuntarily to seek friction where there's none.

"Sir, please…" Changbin tries one last time. How persistent. "You shouldn't be here for this."

Minho drinks the water. Puts the horn down with a thud. Doesn't answer—zero acknowledgement.

He stays exactly where he is.

Silence.

Then, Changbin snatches a lacquered wooden banner pole that's propped against the shelves and tosses it to Minho, the wood clattering as it rolls over the stained flagstone floor.

"What—" Minho stares at the banner pole. "What am I supposed to—"

"Just in case."

Minho's body feels liquid, the air viscous.

There's heat between his legs. Slick, sweat. His cock feels hot and heavy, straining. Blood rushes straight into it.

"Pathetic." Jisung yanks against the strap again, making the pallet splinter this time, his free hand trying, and failing, to undo the knots. "You'd make him defend himself?"

"Against you."

"You're such a little bitch, hyung." Jisung's laughter turns into coughing. When he catches his breath, he looks up through his lashes at Minho, saying, "come here, my prince."

The command hits Minho's hindbrain. His cock jerks. Alpha voice, he's never heard Jisung speak to anyone in—

His muscles twitch and he—

"Don't, sir." Changbin's voice cuts through the haze, prevailing over Jisung's for the sole virtue of being the last one to speak. "Don't come here."

Minho halts.

"He wants to, though." Jisung's nostrils flare, scenting the air. "Can't you smell it on him, hyung, is your nose as useless as your knot?"

Rather than responding, Changbin shoves Jisung down hard. "Don't disrespect our prince like that."

But disrespecting Changbin is fine?

What kind of alpha is he?

Jisung's skull thuds against the wall, but he bounces back as if not registering the pain. "Is it my fault he's wet for us?" He snarls. "Hyung, I can taste it in the—"

Changbin's palm cracks across Jisung's face. It's loud. Minho flinches as Jisung's head whips to the side.

For three heartbeats, no one moves.

Then Jisung laughs. "Mmm." Wild. Blood wells at the corner of his mouth. "Nice."

He licks it.

"Sir." Changbin's eyes don't stray from Jisung's, assessing danger. "Leave, please."

Jisung spits onto the stone. "He doesn't want to leave." It's bright red. "Do you, sir?"

"Han—"

"Ask him," Jisung speaks slowly to emphasise his words. "Rather than speaking for him, ask our prince if he wants to go finger himself in his chambers or stay here and watch me spread you open on my knot."

Minho rakes in a gasp.

Changbin growls, a hand wrapping around Jisung's throat, the other going for his mouth. "Jisung," he hisses, not squeezing his neck but, uh. Warningly holding. "You're gonna get us dishonourably discharged."

Jisung bats away the hand on his mouth. "Scared, hyung?" He chuckles. "That he'll see what you're really like?"

Changbin's jaw clenches so hard, Minho swears he hears the grind of his molars.

"We thought—" Unsurprisingly, Jisung's voice comes out strangled. "We thought you only fancied omegas, sir—the one area our prince won't let his instincts guide him."

Minho's breath only hitches because Jisung's right.

He's never trusted alphas enough for any kind of sex, really. And for little else.

Minho's first time happened when a visiting noble's son with freckles and blonde hair stumbled into him in the garden maze during a feast, the two of them fleeing from noise.

They talked all night, and the omega ended up kissing him first, pressing Minho into the hedgerow before asking, "can I?"

Minho nodded. Things escalated.

Since then, he's only been into omegas.

Or, apparently not.

Jisung strains against the reins, his wrist startling pink from the friction. "What changed your mind, sir? Was it me?"

Minho picks up the lacquered banner pole like a hunting spear, his thighs crossing together to stem the slick that threatens to gush out from him.

"Or has it not changed?" Jisung smiles weakly. “A shame, really."

Changbin shushes him with a look.

Minho's mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

They couldn't possibly know…?

"I'll shut you up," Changbin says calmly, "if you won't stop."

"You're all bark."

And Jisung's all bite.

Unexpectedly, he wrenches sideways, his free hand grabbing Changbin's wrist while his legs swing up, and the reins snap with a ricocheting crack.

Wood splinters scatter across the floor, the banner tangling around Jisung's waist as he pivots and breaks free.

Changbin lunges, but by then Jisung's already moving. His legs scissor around Changbin's neck, thighs locking him in a chokehold. A triangle choke. His eyes widen, hands clawing at Jisung's thighs to try prying them apart.

"Surprise, I grapple." Jisung's body curls inward, one arm hooking behind Changbin's head to tighten the hold. His bicep flexes. "Hyung, what do you say? What will you call me?"

Changbin's face drains white, then floods red. His mouth opens, gasping, but no air comes.

Minho scrambles backwards on his palms, taking the banner pole with him, his ass sliding across the cold stone. "Guard—"

Jisung squeezes harder. Tendons stand out in his neck, sweat dripping from his hairline onto Changbin's face. "Say it, hyung, come on…"

"Guard," Minho's voice cracks. "Stop it!"

Changbin's struggles weaken. His fingers slip from Jisung's thigh.

"He's too proud to tap out in front of you, not my fucking fault."

Changbin goes limp.

Jisung releases him immediately, shoving his unconscious body aside. Changbin hits the floor.

The energy shifts. Minho feels like prey. He's a hunter, he's not used to it.

Jisung turns slowly his way.

"Oh, fuck—" Minho tries to stand, but his knees won't cooperate, slick making his inner robes cling to his skin. His knees tremble.

He can't run.

Gets only one foot under himself before Jisung's pouncing.

The alpha drops to his knees, slamming Minho down to the floor.

Must've hurt. He doesn't feel it.

Adrenaline.

Air punches from his lungs, the wooden rod dropping and rolling towards the wall. Jisung's weight and scent pins him down completely, one hand caging the back of Minho's skull, maybe for comfort, the other shoving through his long robes until skin appears.

"Smells so fucking—" Jisung buries his face in Minho's neck, inhaling so hard his ribcage expands. "—sweet, you're so—my prince, I need to—"

Teeth scrape Minho's scent gland.

Is he going to bite him?

Minho has no way to defend himself if Jisung decides to, but it's not like he would mind it either. It's kind of hot. He pushes against Jisung's bare chest just for the show of it, for the theatrics, testing his strength against an alpha, but it's like shoving a stone wall.

"Guard, are you going to…" Fuck him? Bite him? The words dissolve into a gasp as Jisung's tongue drags over the same spot his teeth just teased, surprisingly careful about it. It feels so good, so good, Minho bares his neck completely. "Ah, Jisung—"

"Say that again." Jisung's hips grind down, his breath warm against Minho's neck, his hard cock pressing against Minho's thigh through too many layers of silk. "My name, sir, say it, ask me to—whatever you want, sir, I'll give it to you…"

He rakes his canines over Minho's lip, licking up behind his front teeth, forcing Minho's tongue out of position with his own. He growls menacingly when Minho fights him on that, demanding, and Minho keeps resisting just to make Jisung try harder.

Changbin crashes into them.

The impact sends all three of them sliding across the floor, Minho trapped beneath Jisung's weight, scratching his back on the ridged stone.

And Changbin lands on top of them both. "Off him," he snarls, one arm wrapping around Jisung's neck from behind. A classic chokehold this time, proper, textbook perfect. "Han, I swear—"

Jisung thrashes like a caught animal, bucking violently, trying to break free. His teeth snap together centimetres from Minho's throat.

Minho's paralysed.

He neither fights nor flees; he freezes, brain whitening out. Changbin's biceps bulge as he hauls Jisung back by the arm around his neck.

Not far back enough.

Jisung's still on top of Minho, still pinning him down. Still so close, Minho feels each of his heaving breaths against his collarbone, and it keeps giving him goosebumps.

"Open up." Changbin's other hand appears in Minho's peripheral vision, four knuckles bunched together. "Jisung, open your mouth."

Jisung's lips clench tighter, a growl vibrating through his chest.

Changbin sighs before forcing his thumb between Jisung's lips and prying his jaw apart. The moment there's space there, he nearly shoves his entire fist inside, fitting as much as possible past Jisung's teeth, filling his whole mouth.

Jisung gags once, his eyes watering, but Changbin's fist stays lodged in place, and the wild sounds cut off, muffled. His other arm tightens around Jisung's throat, bicep pressing against his windpipe just enough to make breathing difficult.

"You bite me," Changbin hisses directly into Jisung's ear, "I unhige your fucking jaw."

Jisung tries to shake his head, his body writhing on top of Minho, dragging his impressively hard cock against him. Minho's hands are still braced on Jisung's chest, so he squeezes the muscle, copping a feel.

"Can't talk now, can you?" Changbin's arm flexes, further restricting Jisung's airflow. "Can't bite our prince with my fingers down your throat."

A whimper escapes around Changbin's knuckles, pitiful and desperate. Jisung's hips cant down, his cock so hard Minho wants to push it inside himself just to know what the stretch would feel like. He can feel the base swelling, wow, can actually feel Jisung's knot starting to inflate against his hip.

His cock throbs in response as Jisung's brush hard just below his tip.

Slick pools beneath Minho, embarrassingly soaking the stone floor.

"Sir." Changbin sounds surprisingly steady, given he's currently restraining a rutting alpha who's giving his all to break free. "Can you move?"

Minho shakes his head. He's still in shock, paralysed, even his vocal cords refuse to cooperate.

Spit runs down Jisung's chin, a string of it dripping onto Minho's neck.

"Prince Minho." Changbin pulls Jisung backwards to give Minho a breather without removing his fist and without breaking the chokehold. "I need you to—fuck, Han, stop biting—I need you to slide out from under him."

Minho's legs won't cooperate.

"Sir, please," Changbin tries. "You need to get out, I can't—he's too strong during rut, I won't be able to—"

Jisung's hand slides down from Changbin's forearm, where he kept trying to dislodge the chokehold, to Minho's ribs, grabbing at the robes bunched around his waist.

Minho's entire body jolts. That touch breaks through the paralysis.

He sucks in air, his first real deep inhale since Jisung's pinned him down. "I can't—m-my legs won't—"

"Unlock your ankles, sir." Changbin grunts as Jisung bucks again, fucking his hard cock against Minho's stomach. "Stop squeezing your thighs around him and—Han—stop fucking biting—"

What about that unhinging Jisung's jaw if he bit him? Ha.

Jisung keeps grinding down, single-mindedly seeking friction. His hand slides lower, fingers hooking into the fabric of Minho's innermost robe.

Cool air hits Minho's overheated skin, and he gasps as his cock springs free, hard and leaking against his belly. Jisung's palm closes around it, and a jolt of energy runs through Minho.

"No." Changbin yanks his fist from Jisung's mouth with a wet sound, then wrenches Jisung's hand from Minho. "Don't you dare—"

Jisung's teeth are free, now.

Teeth sink into flesh.

Changbin roars, his entire body jerking as Jisung's jaw clamps down on the meaty part of his other hand.

"You fucking—" Changbin grabs the back of Jisung's neck, throwing him down.

He scruffs him, and Jisung's body goes rigid. The bite releases. His jaw goes slack, mouth falling open, eyes rolling back until only whites show. A high whine escapes his throat.

"Ouch, baby, that hurt." Changbin's voice drops, softening. Minho didn't expect the shift. "I don't mind the other stuff, Hannie, you know I don't, but don't bite me, and don't hurt our prince..."

Jisung's cock jerks against Minho's hip.

Changbin's still gripping the back of Jisung's neck, and he's melting under it. His weight crushes Minho as each of his muscle goes loose except for his iron-hard cock.

"You just wanna knot, yeah?" Changbin keeps his grip firm while his other hand caresses gently down Jisung's spine. "Want it so bad you can't think?"

"Mm." Jisung's voice cracks like he's in a haze. "Mmhm…"

"I know, I know." Changbin's hand keeps travelling lower, over the curve of Jisung's ass, then between his cheeks.

His fingers dip into the disgusting puddle of slick beneath Minho's body.

Changbin doesn't touch Minho, wouldn't dare to, but he's definitely gathering some of the clear fluid that's been leaking from him since he first started inhaling Jisung's rut-tinged beachy scent.

"This what you want, hmm?" Changbin brings his slick-covered fingers up to Jisung's face, showing him how well the clear fluid stings and stretches, playfully slapping it to his face with a squelching sound. "Want a taste?"

Jisung whimpers, tongue darting out.

But Changbin yanks his hand away. "You don't get to."

He releases Jisung's neck just long enough to pull him into his knees and elbows, creating space between him and Minho.

Changbin won't meet Minho's eyes, pink dotting his cheeks.

The absence of weight lets Minho breathe normally again. His chest heaves, pulling in salty, heavy scent that clouds his mind, squeezing around his brain like pillows until it's all he can think of.

Changbin's fingers disappear between Jisung's legs.

"Oh…" Jisung's back arches, his elbows scrabbling for balance. Changbin scruffs him again, pinning Jisung's face to Minho's chest.

"Such a good alpha when you're chill." Changbin's voice stays eerily calm. He still won't glances at Minho, looking anywhere else. "He wants to be chill, sir, I swear, he just can't help the rut."

"Yeah—" Jisung sobs against Minho's chest, and Minho feels an urge to help him through.

Jisung sounds so vulnerable, his eyes wet, unfocused.

And Minho gets it, kind of. The need. Doesn't know what would be of him without other omega's help during heats.

Jisung's cock dangles untouched, straining hard, the tip brushing against Minho's belly. Each time it does, Jisung shivers.

Minho wraps a hand around it. It feels as solid as it looks, thin skin sliding against stiff muscle as Minho starts touching him slowly.

Jisung whines high in his throat. He's so hard it must hurt, the head of his cock flushed dark red. Minho spreads a bead of pre-come across the slit, making it glisten.

Changbin's eyes snap to him, finally. "Sir." He's dead serious. "You need to leave. I'm not joking."

Minho's hand doesn't stop moving. If anything, he picks up his pace. "Mm..." His body wouldn't cooperate even if he did want to leave. Which he doesn't. "Jisung doesn't want me to."

Jisung hisses when Minho says his name.

"Out." Changbin says in alpha voice. Then, it fizzles out. "Go, sir, please, it's not safe here."

The command bypasses all conscious thought, though, his brain repeating go go go go, and Jisung looks too out of it to disagree, to order Minho to stay.

So his body does what it has to, legs unlocking and his hand releasing Jisung's thick, hard cock. Minho frowns, rolling sideways, then scrambling to his feet.

Hi knees buckle. Changbin offers him a hand, which he doesn't take.

Minho stumbles the three steps it takes to the wall, then grabs the lacquered rod from where it has rolled to use as a crutch. His slippers have scattered somewhere on the room, but won't look for them.

All Changbin's fault for making him leave like this.

Slick runs down his thighs, trailing all the way to the skin behind his knee.

"Out..." Changbin says again, softer, as if he's not being quite able to trigger or reach his own alpha voice. "Now, my prince."

Minho stumbles angrily towards the door.

His hand closes around the handle, twisting it open. Cool air from the corridor hits his skin, making him gasp.

Behind him, he hears Jisung moan. "Don't go, sir, please, your scent—"

But it's whiny and it's as good as nothing to stop Changbin's command.

Do they think Minho has a choice in obeying alpha voices like they both seem to have?

"Shut up." Changbin works his fingers deeper, fucking them into Jisung, and Jisung's words dissolve into incoherency.

Minho should flee to his chambers, lock the door and pretend this never happened. Probably throw himself into the frozen lake for good measure.

But he makes it two steps into the corridor before his body refuses to proceed.

Changbin didn't say anything about Minho going back to his chambers.

He said out. Anything else is only implied.

Minho's cock throbs. The stone wall cools his scraped shoulder as he leans against it.

He'll catch his breath, then he'll leave, he swears.

Trust him.

He hears Changbin grunt inside the storage room. Yay, moral dilemma. Minho's free hand slides down his stomach.

Wrong, yeah.

But how wrong would this be, really?

Is Minho like those alpha creeps who used to question him and Hyunjin about who's the omega between you two?

"There." Jisung whines. Big news, he's whining. "Don't—fuck, don't fucking stop, hyung…"

Minho's hand wraps around himself fully, stroking to the rhythm of Jisung's stuttered breaths. The wooden pole digs into his other palm.

He's only being kept up by the wall and this crutch.

Through the door, he hears a body hit the stone.

Aren't they done fighting?

"My turn." Jisung's growl carries clearly through the door.

A meaty thud—someone hitting the floor again.

"Think you're gonna top after all this shit you've put us through right now," Changbin sounds breathless. "You think I'm gonna let you?"

"Know I am."

More grappling. Minho tracks it by sound, touching himself. A grunt of pain, then Jisung laughs.

Did he win?

"Ha." Wet sounds. Jisung's fingers inside Changbin, maybe, working him open with what's left of Minho's slick? "I'll fuck you so good, hyung, I'll bitch you into an omega."

"Try it," Changbin says, sounding out of it. "See what happens to you."

Minho slumps a bit lower against the wall, his legs spreading wider apart. His robes are twisted, torn at the edges, leaving him nearly naked in a palace corridor.

Anyone could walk by and see him like this, like an animal.

He doesn't think he could get any harder.

His strokes speed up. Skin slapping. Someone cries out. Changbin's voice drops into that primal register again.

Minho's free hand trembles around the wooden banner pole. It's so smooth, wouldn't this feel good inside of—

He brings it between his legs.

The rounded tip indents his entrance, already sloppy with slick. Minho bites his lip.

His guards can't know he's still outside.

But it's easy, too easy for his body to open up like it's been waiting for something, anything, his inner walls clenching around the intrusion. It's not large enough, though, not warm like Hyunjin's cock or thick like how he imagines Changbin's might be, but it's—

"Fuck—" Jisung's voice goes lower. "Hyung, I'm—I can't hold—"

"Wait, wait." Changbin grunts. "I'm close too."

Minho rides harder, feeling the pole hit so deep inside that he gets lost in the drag, pleasure coiling tight in his belly, and making him slouch over. Fuck, fuck, he shouldn't be stooping so low, fucking himself with a—

The thought edges him closer to the brink.

Through the door, one of his guards whimpers. Guess who? It's Jisung.

But Changbin's the one who ends up saying, "knot me, fuck—"

"Say it, say it."

"Alpha."

Minho twists the rod, angling it to better graze that spot inside that whitens his vision.

His cock pulses into his tight fist, and he's so close, right there—

"I can smell him, hyung, am I crazy?" Jisung's words slur together. "He's—fuck—he's listening, fuck, hyung, he's getting off on—"

Changbin hisses a murderous, "open your mouth."

There's a muffled protest, then nothing but desperate, choked-off noise.

The handkerchief?

Changbin must be gagging him with it, forcing Jisung to breathe nothing but omega while he—

Minho comes.

The orgasm hits him silently, his free hand slamming over his mouth to muffle himself. Come streaks across the floor and all over his stomach, the rod lodged inside him pressing against his walls as they spasm, drawing out the orgasm until it borders on painful.

Through the door, he hears Changbin curse, but Jisung must still be gagged.

Minho slumps against the wall, legs shaking. The rod slips free from him, but Minho grabs it before it can clatter to the floor.

His cock gives one last weak pulse, oversensitive.

Inside the storage room, Changbin says, surprisingly gentle, "easy, I've got you."

Jisung's response is muffled—still gagged. There's a chocked sound, then Jisung gasps for air.

"You alright?" Changbin asks.

"Fuck you."

"Already did."

"Yeah." Jisung laughs. "Stay here with me, hyung...?"

Minho's never heard an alpha do the omega inflection thing.

But he needs to get going before they open the door.

The lakeside pavilion looks ethereal.

Minho stands among the royal family, third row from the altar, watching his sister kneel before the Gangwon-do prince. He can't see much from this far, but they've talked early morning and she had already been dressed in lilac and gold, her updoed hair threaded with golden pins.

Drums pulse through the courtyard. Not good for Minho's headache.

He hasn't slept.

Whenever he closed his eyes, he heard Jisung beg again, feeling phantom wood, scenting imaginary driftwood.

The officiant raises his hands, beginning the first blessing, and all guests bow, so Minho bows too, his new silk robes, hastily procured this morning, protecting him from a particularly cold gush of northeastern wind.

Nobody questioned his outfit change.

He's glad to not be that important.

His mother glances his way when she notices it, her eyebrows lifting. Omega to omega, she knows something happened. Not what, exactly, but enough to worry.

Minho focuses on the ceremony. Tries to.

The prince takes his sister's hand, reciting vows.

Minho's cock twitches every time he remembers being pinned to the cold stone, helpless beneath an alpha. Jisung.

The drums crescendo.

His sister and her new husband turn to face the crowd, and everyone bows again. Minho's knees protest when he does, but he does it, wanting no diplomatic incidents.

Where's Jisung, though, how is he?

Eventually, Minho accepts a cup of wine from an old omega lady who's circulating through the crowd carrying a golden tray. He drains it before the blessing finishes, trying to hear Changbin and Jisung, with no luck.

His mother shoots him a look.

No diplomatic incidents.

As Lily walks down the aisle, hand linked with her new husband's, Minho wants to run away.

He watches a beta servant refill two wine pitchers, then another servant carry a steaming dish from the outdoor kitchen tent.

Food.

Minho can have food sent to his chambers.

Nobody would question it, princes are expected to be particular about meals.

And he could convince his guards to relocate to his chambers.

A proper bed, water that doesn't taste metallic. Privacy, lots of it.

Who is it to know that servants won't barge into that storage room?

No one would barge into a prince's chambers.

His mother touches his elbow, standing out here because not even the mothers of omega brides are allowed near the altar. No member of their old family. "Are you well?"

"Headache," Minho half-lies. He does have a headache, that's just not what's been troubling him. "Too much wine."

She studies him with those sharp eyes. "Perhaps you should retire…? The afternoon ceremonies won't require your presence, my son, you could leave after the last gift exchange."

His nose picks up some iron scent cutting through the crowd just as his mother speaks.

Minho's head whips towards it.

At the outer colonnade, standing rigid in formation with the other guards, is Seo Changbin.

What in hell is he doing here?

Minho wants to jab a finger at his face. Why is he not with Jisung?

Changbin's in full ceremonial armour, Minho's family crest embossed on his chest plate, his sword belted at his hip. Must have taken him a while to dress up.

His long hair is neatly tied back, respectul face composed and professional even as he catches Minho's gaze and winks.

Haven't Minho known any better, he'd think Changbin's spent last night sleeping peacefully in the guards' barracks.

But there are marks. Subtle ones.

A bruise shadows his jaw, not nearly hidden by his collar. There are scratches on one side of his face, and his right hand, the one Jisung bit, is wrapped in clean bandages.

Training accident, anyone would assume.

Palace guards spar constantly, injuries are routine.

As the ceremony transitions to gift presentations, foreign dignitaries start approaching the altar one by one but Minho barely sees any of it, losing count of them by the tenth.

If Changbin is here, who's watching over Jisung? Who's to say he won't escape, and what if he's hungry or cold or—

The wine emboldens him.

Minho tells his mother, "I need air."

She frowns. "But the gift ceremony—"

"I'll return shortly." He doesn't wait for permission, stepping backwards out of formation.

Aunt Choi glances his way, but most other relatives stay focused on the altar where a Western ambassador presents them with an ornate rococo cuckoo clock.

Minho circles the crowd's perimeter, aiming for the guards colonnade. His path looks casual, like he's just stretching his legs, admiring the architecture, omega-ing his way through.

Changbin's eyes track him—Minho feels it. The weight of his stare.

He pauses beside white lilies.

"Guard," Minho murmurs, hoping his guard will hear it and all others won't understand a thing. "You're needed at my chambers."

Changbin stands motionless a mere metre away, in perfect posture, perfect positioning. "Sir, my duty station today is—"

"I'm aware." Minho plucks a petal. "I'm reassigning you immediately."

"With all due respect, sir, the captain would need to approve any—"

"Then get his approval." Minho crushes the petal, then drops it to the bamboo slats that line the lakeside pavilion's floor. "You have fifteen minutes."

Rumour has it that no alpha guards but for Jisung and Changbin are ever willing to work for Minho.

He suddenly gets why.

Alphas don't fuck with getting ordered around.

"Sir." Changbin's voice stays level, but Minho senses tension underneath. "It would raise questions to abandon my assigned post."

"Then raise them." Minho sneaks closer. "I'm unwell, guard, can't be left on my own."

"Your chambers are being safely guarded by two—"

"Not right now, all guards are here." Minho meets Changbin's eyes directly. It's bold, probably inappropriate to, but he needs Changbin to understand his urgency. "Plus, I have security concerns given recent events. I want no beta around."

Changbin's nostrils flare. Then, he frowns. "Recent events, sir?"

"The threat against my well-being," Minho improvises. "At the east wing. You know."

"I'm not sure what you—"

"You do know, guard," Minho cuts him off, "It's a quite dangerous threat."

A pause.

Ceremonial music covers their exchange. Drums, then a flute.

Changbin's hand flexes around his sword hilt. "Our threath is secure," he finally says in the lowest of voices.

"Is he alone?"

"It's manageable."

"For how long?" Minho's nails dig into his own palms. "What if someone barges in?"

Changbin swallows. "Sir, this isn't appropriate to discuss in—"

"Was what happened appropriate?"

"Sir." Changbin's alpha voice bleeds through, quiet but serious. Two nearby guards glance their way.

Minho straightens, forcing his shoulders back. "Both of you will guard my chambers while I rest."

Changbin stares at him.

"Please." The word tastes foreign in Minho's tongue. Princes don't beg. Maybe they do, but Minho doesn't. "A proper bed, privacy. Resources."

"Why, though?" Suspicion sharpens Changbin's features. "Sir, why would you—"

"Because I—" Minho stops. Why is he doing this? Guilt? Lust? Some weird ass omega instinct to provide comfort? "Because it's practical," he finishes. "And because I'm ordering you to."

The gift ceremony concludes, and applause ripples. Servants begin circulating with lunch courses, which are delicate and decorative finger foods. Pretty rather than filling, like most things.

Changbin's eyes track a tray of shrimp canapés, then return to Minho. He leaves his position, nodding at the prince to follow behind. "If I agree—if—there would be conditions, sir."

"Name them."

"You won't touch him even if he orders you to, can you promise that?" Changbin's voice is so low even Minho has trouble hearing it. That says a lot.

He won't promise that. "I wasn't planning on—"

Changbin's stare could cut glass. "And you stay on the other side of the room, sir, or I won't let you watch. It's what you want, right? To watch?"

That and other things. But he'd already be ecstatic to be watching. "Yeah." Heat floods Minho's face. Does Changbin judge him a freak? "Understood."

He's never seemed particularly judgy of anything, it's not in his personality.

"And you won't tell anyone? If the captain finds out we're—"

"I know how discretion works, guard."

Changbin nods. "Give me thirty minutes, I won't draw any attention. I'll bring him over to your chambers, sir, meet me there."

"And I'll bring food," Minho offers. He can't show up empty-handed. "I'll have the kitchens send portions there, I'll tell them I'm indisposed and eating privately."

"That's kind of you, sir."

Minho glances at Changbin's bandaged hand. "And I'll ask for medical supplies as well."

"I could handle that, I can ask for them in your name, sir."

"Right." Minho steps back, putting an appropriate distance between them. "Thirty minutes."

Changbin bows a full ninety degrees. "Your Highness."

Minho hates being called that, so he doesn't bow back. Likes being their prince.

Just as they are his guards.

"Better?" His mother asks when Minho returns to the ceremony, slipping quietly back into formation.

"Much." The lie comes easily. Is it even a lie? "Got plenty of air."

On the altar, his sister accepts a ceremonial sash from her new mother.

Minho's planning his exit.

His chambers smell of iron and driftwood when he slips inside, locking the heavy door behind him. When he left this morning, it smelled of beeswax candles.

Minho hates candles.

His heartbeat hammers, anticipating.

Changbin stands by the window, still in ceremonial armour, but he's removed the chest plate, which now rests against the hand-painted colonial sofa set.

And Jisung—

He's sprawled across Minho's borrowed bed like he owns it, wrists bound together in front of his body with those same horse reins. Not secured to anything, just... contained. His undershirt hangs open, exposing the ridges of his stomach and three large bruises that shadow his ribs.

The afternoon sunlight paints the victorian furniture golden. It also shines on Changbin.

"Sir." He bows stiffly. "As requested."

Minho's cock stirs, chubbing up against the new robes.

As a distraction, he crosses to the side table where servants have left two covered dishes. Steam rises as he lifts both lids. There's braised duck and rice porridge. And a small bottle of wine.

Not a great variety, but Minho did tell them he felt sick.

"I don't fancy porridge," Minho says, "you two better eat."

"I love it." Jisung's mouth curves into a smile. "But I'm not hungry, sir. Zero appetite for… food."

This again.

Great.

"Wasn't asking." Minho fills a bowl with warm porridge, then carries it to the bed. The mattress dips when he sits. "When have you last eaten?"

Jisung's eyes drop to Minho's throat. "Are you gonna make me?"

"No."

Changbin crosses the room in three strides. "Han."

"What?" Jisung's grin sharpens. "He shouldn't tell me what to do if he can't enforce it."

Changbin slaps him lightly on the face.

Light enough not to snap Jisung's head back, but hard enough to echo. A pink mark blooms instantly on Jisung's cheek.

His bound hands rise to touch the mark.

"Our prince brought you food," Changbin says, "are you not gonna eat what he so kind offers?"

Jisung's tongue darts across his lower lip. "Hit me harder, I might consider it."

Another slap, still light. Performative. "Cute, hyung." Jisung's hair falls across his eyes. "Bet my prince hits harder than that."

Minho blinks. "I've never—"

"You should." Jisung tilts his head to the side. "Bet you'd look good doing it, sir. You're so pretty."

Minho's cheeks burn.

He shoves the porridge bowl at Changbin. "You're better at this."

Two compliments and Minho already accepts defeat.

Changbin takes the bowl, standing by the bed. It's large enough for all three of them.

Would be large enough for five.

"Open up." Changbin brings a spoonful of porridge to Jisung's mouth.

But Jisung's lips stay sealed.

"Han." Alpha voice. "You haven't eaten since last night."

Jisung's knee jerks up, fast. "So?" It catches Changbin in the ribs, making him stumble back. "You'll bitch slap me some more just because of that?"

Changbin catches Jisung's ankle before he can strike again. "You asked for it, come on. Want me to stop?"

"Yeah, well." Jisung tries to yank free, but fails. "Changed my mind."

"Okay."

"No… fight back, hyung—what do you mean okay?" Jisung surges up, using his bound hands like a club. They catch Changbin's shoulder, knocking the porridge bowl sideways.

The hot liquid splashes across the silk sheets, and all across Minho's new robes.

Minho yelps, scrambling backwards. "My bed—"

"Sorry, sir. My apologies." Jisung mocks. He sounds giddy, his chest heaving, a grin splitting his face. "Accident."

Well, at least that's a reason for Minho to strip.

He unties his outer robes, letting them fall to the floor.

His inner ones are nothing scandalous. Ivory fabric loosely tied at the waist, cotton sash instead of brocade.

Yet Jisung stares like Minho's scandalously bare.

Changbin faces the window, his shoulders high and rigid.

"Guard?" Minho lets the sash drop to the floor. "You alright?"

"Yes, sir." Changbin glances at him sidelong, then averts his eyes again. Awkward. "Giving you privacy."

"I'm not naked."

"Might as well be," Jisung mutters, "—the way you move, sir."

Changbin's hand shoots out and closes around the base of Jisung's neck, keeping him pinned in place.

Minho picks up the overturned porridge bowl from where it's staining his silk sheets, fighting back a smile.

"Fine, whatever." He sets the bowl aside. "Fight hungry, then collapse. Smart idea."

Jisung's eyes flutter half-closed, Changbin massaging the pressure point in his neck.

"You're so chill when you behave," Changbin murmurs.

"Fuck off." Jisung's bound hands shoot up again, grabbing Changbin's wrist and pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. "Why are you not fighting back?"

He isn't? Looks like he is. Minho asks, "why does he—"

"It's just the rut." Changbin's grip loosens again marginally. He glances at Minho, then back to Jisung. "We get aggressive towards alphas," Changbin explains. "Dominance and shit, but I do love him, you know."

It's weird to hear that spoken out loud, so freely.

Jisung bares his teeth. "Of course I'm aggressive, you're being a bitch."

"Yeah." Changbin's thumb presses harder against the curve of Jisung's shoulder. "He just needs to establish who's stronger."

"And who is?"

"Me," Jisung snarls. "Been knotting him these past two days straight."

"Neither of us, honestly, I'm bulkier, my fist hurts more, but he's way faster, and he's a better grappler. Don't think I could be with an alpha stronger or weaker than me, really. I'd hate the imbalance."

"So you just... let him take it out on you?" Minho gestures at the bruises on Changbin's jaw.

"Heals fast, whatever, we're alphas." Changbin shrugs. "These'll fade by tomorrow."

"Hyung won't break, sir, I swear." Jisung laughs. "Been trying to break him but look at how great he still looks."

Jisung eyes him up and down, smiling, tongue poking between his teeth.

Changbin's free hand cups his nape, scruffing him lightly. Not hard enough to trigger submission, but Jisung shrugs his hand away regardless. "If you won't eat, I'll have to try that, too."

Minho sees tension build in his shoulders, Jisung's scent getting a challenging edge to it. "Try me."

They're going to fight.

Minho fills a glass of wine and sits on the corner of the bed from where the view is best, one leg folded under himself.

He watches Changbin's hand slide from the back of Jisung's neck to his throat. Jisung's thighs part.

But then he moves.

Jisung's fast, indeed, so quick he must be showing off, bound hands swinging up out of nowhere and catching Changbin under the chin.

The impact jerks his head back.

Before Changbin recovers, Jisung uses the momentum to flip their positions, amd Changbin gets slammed onto the mattress.

"Got you." Jisung climbs on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, bound wrists pressing down on his ribs. "I'm clearly the best."

Changbin bucks his hips up, trying to dislodge him. "Sure, baby."

They grapple across Minho's bed, the soiled sheets tangling around them, the carved headboard thudding against the wall.

Everyone's at the wedding, Minho gives no fucks about making noise.

He sips on his wine. Watching feels good.

Jisung fights dirty, using his teeth, knees, using his bound hands as a weapon. But he's tied up, he's supposed to fight dirty.

Minho always roots for the underdogs.

Changbin keeps going for submission holds, pressure points, anything to immobilise.

They're pretty matched, he's right.

Jisung's undershirt tears first, hanging off his shoulders in strips before he shrugs it off entirely and tosses it aside, not even needing to remove his wrist bindings to do so.

Minho fights the urge to steal those and keep it. Loves how they must smell of him.

"Cheating," Jisung gasps, hooking his bound hands under Changbin's waistband and sliding it down.

In no time, they're both bare except for the leather reins binding Jisung's wrists.

From then on, Minho barely touches his wine.

Jisung pins Changbin's hands above his head. "What do you say, hyung?"

But Changbin flips them. It doesn't look easy. He's panting, his chest heaving, strands of sweaty hair framing his face from where his ponytail has loosened.

"Yield, baby," Changbin grunts, arm locking around Jisung's neck, going for a chokehold.

Jisung drives his elbow backwards into his ribs. "Don't call me that."

The hold breaks.

Jisung scrambles away. Sweat darkens his hair. His bound wrists come up to rub his eyes in a devastatingly cute way, not at all fitting the atmosphere.

Then Jisung's nostrils flare. He halts to a stop. Everything stops for a second, too.

"What?" Changbin pushes himself upright.

But Jisung's gaze is fixed on Minho, dark, narrowed eyes tracking from face to throat to the wine cup in his hands like he's just realised the prince is a metre away from his grasp.

His nostrils keep flaring, his chest expanding.

"Sir," Jisung's voice drops an octave. "Wow, you… smell so—"

"Don't." Changbin positions himself between them. "Don't even try, Han, our prince is here to watch."

Too late.

Jisung surges forward, shouldering past Changbin, bound hands grabbing Minho's waist and shoving him onto the mattress.

Wine splashes everywhere from the bed to the floor, splotching Minho's ivory inner robes red.

"Fuck." Jisung's nose dig into Minho's neck, inhaling longinly deep. "Sweet, you're so—mm, hyung, he's so—"

Minho shudders from head to toe.

"Stop it." Changbin hauls Jisung back by his shoulders, arm locking around him. "Don't touch him, Han. The rules."

Jisung struggles against his hold. "Need to—just let me—"

And Minho's terribly curious. "Let him, guard."

"Stupid rules." Jisung snarls. "Fuck off, he wants it too, I'm gonna—"

Minho sticks a hand between his guards, tangling his fingers in Jisung's hair and yanking hard, asking, "you want me?"

Jisung's head drops back, adam's apple poking from the long line of his throat. He whines.

"Sir, I said—" Changbin's protest dies when Minho's other hand pushes him back.

"I want him too."

"That's not—we agreed you wouldn't—"

"But I'm curious." Minho's fantasies seem to be getting the best of him. "Just for a minute… I know you won't let it become dangerous."

"Too high of a risk, sir…" But Changbin steps back, crossing his arms and standing above them with furrowed brows, his eyes narrowed to slits. "One minute."

Jisung surges up to capture Minho's mouth in a kiss that's more teeth than lips, his bound hands framing Minho's face, softly craddling his chin.

Minho pulls back to say, "see?"

Changbin ignores him, stiff and impassive. Minho had expected at least a roll of eyes.

What he didn't expect was to enjoy the taste of salt half as much as he's enjoying Jisung's lips.

His cock hardens, slick starting to dampen the insides of his thighs.

Jisung groans into his mouth, hips grinding down at the scent of omega slick.

"Fuck, you must be… so wet, sir." Jisung's bound hands tear at the front of Minho's inner robes, yanking the fabric aside, undoing the knots. "So wet for me, my prince—tell me it's for me…"

Changbin grabs a fistful of Jisung's hair, yanking him back just the way Minho had before. "That's enough."

"No." Jisung thrashes, trying to break free. "Mine, he's—let me—"

"You don't get to claim him."

"Watch me."

Then they're fighting again, grappling over Minho's body. He feels objectified, but it's hot.

Alphas fighting over him, as if he's the prize.

Jisung breaks free, bound hands closing around Minho's hips and flipping him hard onto his stomach.

"Finally, fuck..." Jisung's weight settles over Minho, pinning him down. "Gonna fuck you so good, sir, are you gonna let me…?"

Minho's robes get bunched up around his waist, exposing him from the waist down, cool air hitting his damp skin and making him shiver.

"Yeah…"

Jisung's cock pokes his entrance with no warning, the head of his cock slightly digging in. No prep needed.

He's so wet.

Minho grunts, tilting his hips to offer Jisung more room, slick coating his big alpha cock.

Jisung rubs his tip around the rim a little longer, relishing in how slippery and soft Minho must feel for him, before finally pushing in.

And Minho cries out. It's too much, too suddenly.

Jisung's cock stretches him wider than any omega has ever. "Oh, fuck."

"Tight…" Jisung's bound hands grip one side of Minho's hips hard enough to bruise, spreading his cheek to the side to watch his cock bully its way into him. "Fuck, hyung, how is he this—"

Jisung sets a rhythm. Not a slow one, but it's not too fast, either, nothing Minho can't handle.

Until Changbin's hand closes around Jisung's throat from behind. "Now that's enough."

He hauls Jisung backwards again, dislodging him out of Minho's body.

The emptiness makes Minho whimper, fuck, no, no, don't stop—

He needs more. He wants to cry.

Nobody can know he's crying.

"No—no—" Jisung tries his best to free himself from Changbin, who throws him down further away from Minho. "I was inside him, you can't—"

"Watch me." Changbin mocks, going for the strap that binds Jisung's wrists.

For a moment, Minho thinks Changbin's going to untie him. Instead, he forces Jisung's arms above his head, face-down into the mattress.

Then, his hand cracks loudly across Jisung's asscheek.

Minho's cock jerks, untouched. He's still on his stomach as well, robes bunched around his waist, slick dripping down his thighs like a slut, like a commoner, head awkwarly bent sideways so he can watch them.

His hole clenches around nothing.

He turns around.

Jisung whines. "No—hyung—fuck—"

Another strike. "Are you gonna keep going after the prince?"

"Yes."

"Wrong answer." Changbin's free hand slides between Jisung's legs. "Try again."

Minho can't see what he's doing, but he sees when Jisung's entire body goes rigid.

"I'll—shit, right there—yeah, yes—"

Changbin's voice softens. "It's for your own good." His hand keeps working Jisung open with what must be—

Slick. Minho's slick coats everything, still dripping from Jisung's cock, staining the already ruined sheets.

Changbin's using it to finger Jisung open.

That image sears itself into Minho's brain. He's never going to forget it. Will cherish it to his grave, think of it every time he jerks himself off.

He wraps a hand around his cock. One stroke, and he's already close.

There's no way to hide it.

"Sir." Changbin's eyes find his. "You need… help?"

It's the first time Changbin suggests anything like this. How affected must he be?

Minho strokes himself slower, trying to last longer. "Just… keep going."

Changbin nods once, a flush high in his cheeks, the bridge of his nose marbled pretty pink. "How many fingers?"

"Fuck you—ah—however many you—I can take more than you can."

So competitive, it's endearing. Minho chuckles, heart beating erratically against his ribcage.

"All of them, then." Changbin works four of his fingers knuckle-deep. "Gonna stretch you so wide you won't ever wanna top again."

Jisung sobs into the sheets.

He could break his wrists free if he really tried. Could snap the strap, then overpower Changbin through sheer desperation.

But he doesn't.

"Please," Jisung whispers. "Hyung, come on, you're teasing—"

"Yeah?" Changbin's fingers withdraw. "What do you need?"

"What do you think I—"

"Cock?"

"Hole." He's so fucking shameless. Why won't Changbin let him fuck Minho? They both want it so bad. "Hyung, please, my knot…"

"You tried to fuck our prince without permission."

"I managed to."

"Barely," Minho hisses, irrationally angry at that. "Come here and fuck me again."

Changbin glances at Minho, a question in his eyes. His gaze drops to his glistening cock, then to his bare, glistening thighs.

Minho gets it before Changbin even has to ask. "Want more slick?" He kneels closer to them. "You want my slick?"

Jisung groans, the sound muffled. His bound wrists strain, shoulders trembling.

Minho's hard cock bobs against his stomach as he slides across the mattress, then hops over Jisung's waist, knees bracketing his hips.

The weight presses Jisung deeper into the bed. "Mhm…"

"Stay." Minho's stomach flutters, his body trembling all over, but his voice firm. "He's gonna fuck my slick into you."

Jisung goes perfectly still.

Minho's fingers close around the reins on Jisung's wrists. The leather's still warm from Changbin's palm, tacky with both of their sweat.

Changbin hesistate between Minho's legs, tentatively brushing his entrance before pulling back as if ot burned.

"Oh, do it already." Minho rocks back into the touch. "I'm asking you to."

The first finger brushes inside, so careful Minho barely feels it, gathering slick on his palm more than truly fingering him.

Changbin groans when Minho's hole flexes around him. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out.

Minho whimpers like a whore, forcing the sound bit higher in pitch than needed to just to amplify its effect.

Changbin's bandaged hand flexes before disappearing between Jisung's legs, and the younger guard gasps, hips jerking back so hard it almost dislodges Minho.

"Fuck—yeah, hyung—more—"

Changbin scissors his fingers.

"Do either of you get wet?" Minho asks, mouth working faster than his brain.

He keeps wondering about it.

Changbin's mouth opens and closes before he finally settles on saying, "not really, no, we buy slick sometimes, but it's not the same. Other times, it's just… you know. Spit."

Changbin exemplifies it by spitting on Jisung's hole then spreding saliva around the pucked entrance, and it all looks so practiced Minho believes him.

His cock stirs. He tightens his grip on Jisung's bound wrists, fucking his cock into the small of Jisung's back.

Changbin pulls out again, fingers going back to breaching Minho. Two of them this time, spreading him wider, dragging out more slick from his body.

It drips onto Jisung's skin. He jerks like it's lava.

"So much, it won't stop flowing, sir," Changbin breathes through his teeth. "Fuck, he's right, you get so wet..."

"Use it, use me." Minho grinds down again, blanking in and out at the softness of Jisung's skin against his sensitive cock. "All of it, take it, take it."

Changbin's fingers plunge back into Jisung, faster now, four fingers going in until the knuckles, and his knuckles straining to also slide in.

"That's it, Jisungie." Minho leans forward, lips brushing Jisung's ear. "You're taking it so well."

Jisung visibly shudders, torso lifting from the bed with the force of it. "Sir—please, I—are you gonna fuck me?"

Minho's cock throbs so violently he almost doubles over, blood rushing off his brain.

Did he hear that correctly?

"You want me to…?" Minho's free hand slides down Jisung's spine. "Oh, fuck—you… like it?"

Minho doesn't wait another second, sliding down Jisung's back until his cock lines up with his entrance. He runs his hands up the backs of Jisung’s thighs.

Changbin pulls all his fingers off.

Jisung's hole clenches prettily around nothing, gaping open for a second before puckering closed again.

"Can I, really—" Minho presses the bloated tip of his cock against it, fully transfixed. "The way you look, oh my—"

"Do it." Jisung's voice cracks. He arches his back for Minho. "Do it, do it…"

And he's so pretty like this, his hole trying to suck Minho's cock in.

Jisung whimpers as the tip pushes past the first ring, and his exhale turns into a long-winded moan when Minho’s cock slides in further as if Jisung were made for this, as if Minho was the alpha instead.

The slide is easy, so easy, really, that Changbin crams two fingers alongside Minho's cock, testing the give.

Jisung clenches, and Minho moans, thumbs purposefully digging into his lower back dimples as he bottoms out, forcing him down.

"Oh, wow, that's—" Jisung's goes pliant, forehead dropping against the mattress, his muscles relaxing one by one. "Wow… fuck, you're big, sir, I thought you—mhm."

No fighting.

No thrashing nor struggling or flipping positions. Jisung just takes it, and Minho's never felt as powerful. He gets why they like it. The fighting.

He's never liked anything more.

Minho pulls back almost all the way out before sliding back in.

"Fuck," Jisung whimpers. "So good, sir… you're so good for me, ah."

Changbin's cock brushes against the soft part of Minho's ass from behind, and Minho jolts forward, burying himself deeper.

"Sorry, I—" Changbin shifts away as soon as it happens, stepping back. "Didn't mean to—"

"It's okay." Minho glances over his shoulder. Changbin's hard, leaking against his own stomach, but keeping a careful distance. "Untie his hands for me, would you?"

"I can't, sir."

"For me," Minho repeats. "Want him to spread himself open for my cock."

Changbin rakes a breath through his teeth as he skillfully undoes the knot, leaving only red indents on Jisung's wrists, no further protests.

And Minho doesn't have to ask—Jisung's hands immediately fly backwards as if it's his duty to spread his asscheeks open for Minho, the pink rim of his entrance stretched tight around omega cock.

That doesn't last much, though.

Soon, Jisung's grabbing the back of Minho's thighs, his nails digging in possessively, trying to control the pace.

"Harder." Jisung growls. "If you're gonna do it, sir, you better—"

Minho fucks him deeper, rolling his hips to get his whole cock in, chasing the heat that builds in his spine.

Changbin's cock brushes his ass again, and this time it stays there for a heartbeat before shifting away.

"You can—" Minho gasps. "If you want—"

"No." Changbin's voice stays steady despite how hard his cock has felt just now. Minho's hole clenches, devastatingly empty. "I couldn't possibly—"

The heat of his cock burns like an imprint, though, the blunt head catching on Minho's rim for the briefest of seconds.

"You can, though—" Minho's rhythm falters. "Fuck, just slide in a bit… I just wanna—feel it."

Minho's hips stutter in their rhythm, Jisung whimpering beneath him at the change. "Just to get your dick wet, just—ah, then you can fuck Jisung with me."

He feels the way Changbin's body goes rigid.

"You're a pussy, h-hyung." Jisung's fingers dig harder into Minho's thighs, as if he doesn't realise he's doing it. "Our prince is asking you to—"

"Won't that hurt?" Changbin's bandaged hand ghosts over Minho's hip. "I might not be able to st—"

"Stretch me, yeah, fuck." Minho's voice drops, commanding, still omega but not at all submissive. "On your big alpha c—"

It triggers something in Changbin.

"Okay, okay, just enough to—" Changbin swallows audibly. "I won't knot you, though, sir."

"He never does, never lets his guard d-down enough for it," Jisung stutters, voice muffled. "Hyung's knot is useless—"

"I—never wanna hurt you." Changbin groans.

"Don't care if you do." Minho grinds forward into Jisung, then back toward Changbin's hard-on. "Just get your cock wet for him, use my slick."

Two fingers breaches Minho at once, and the stretch burns so perfectly it makes him moan high on his throat.

Jisung laughs beneath him. "Our prince wants cock, hyung, indulge him."

"Mmhm." Minho keeps rocking back, taking more and more of Changbin's fingers. He wants him to stretch him as hard as he did Jisung, up to four knuckles. "I don't recall asking for fingers, guard, I asked for your—"

Before Minho can finish his sentence, the blunt head of Changbin's cock replaces them, starting to breach into him.

Minho slides his knees farther apart to lower his hips, giving Changbin the leverage to rub his tip down towards his belly with each thrust, hitting his prostate dead-on, and making his vision go blank.

"Sir, are you—"

Minho's shaking all over.

"Harder, Changbin, I'm not gonna break."

Except he might.

Changbin's hips slam forward, driving faster and deeper, and maybe Minho won't be able to take it. He throws his head back, the headboard slamming into the wall with each thrust.

Minho's back bends, his mouth opening on a silent scream, but Changbin won't stop, he doesn't pause, keeps fucking Minho like he can't get enough.

"Breathe, breathe." Changbin murmurs, taking his cock out all at once for a second when Minho feels particularly weak, body losing all strength and threatening to drop forward onto Jisung. "Should I—"

Minho's lashes are so wet they glue his eyes shut. "Don't, don't, please, don't stop…"

He's not fucking Jisung but his cock is still inside of him, cockwarmed and squeezed tightly, only moving as a consequence of Changbin's thrusts.

Fuck, Minho's so empty now, and he needs cock so much, he'd do anything for it.

"Wait, sir—" Changbin reaches out as Minho starts crawling away. "I'll do it again, let me just—"

Minho growls at him.

He never growls, it's not in him to.

It's the emptiness that makes him do it, makes him got a bit crazy. Minho can't stop the snarling, as if there's an itch in his throat. "Don't make me wait."

Minho slides to the other side of the bed, slick dripping down his trembling thighs.

"Sir, I only meant—"

Minho's chest heaves. His cock throbs, untouched and aching.

His anger surprises even himself.

"Guard." Minho calls out to Jisung, who's still prone on the bed. "You wanted to fuck me?"

Jisung's head snaps to him, eyes wide.

"Do it." Minho waits for Jisung to turn onto his back, then climbs over his lap. "I'm gonna ride you."

"I think—" Changbin reaches out.

Minho bats his hand away. "Didn't ask for your thoughts."

Changbin moans, his breath hitting the back of Minho's neck.

That's… unexpected.

Minho's heart jumps to his throat. They're so hot.

He wraps his fingers around Jisung's cock. It pulses in his grip, solid and thick and exactly what he needs. "Sir." Rough, desperate. "Tell hyung I can—"

"Can what?"

"Touch you, I don't know, ask him if I can—"

"You don't need his permission."

Changbin moans a little again, barely audible, mouthing at the juncture of Minho's neck from behind, ripped biceps flexing as he wraps his arms around his waist.

Is Changbin into being talked down to, is it this a loss of authority thing?

"Are you gonna make me wait, Jisungie?" Minho sinks down onto his cock, the stretch burning deliciously again, filling him up.

Minho's head falls back to rest on Changbin's shoulder.

"Never, sir." Jisung anchors himself on Minho's waist to fuck up into him. "I'd never—make you w-wait..."

Minho grinds down hard, his cock bobbing heavily as he starts riding Jisung. "Touch me, then."

Jisung doesn't need to be told twice. Both of his hands close around Minho's cock, clumsy and too tight but right now it's perfect.

"Fuck—" Jisung's hips buck deeper, thighs shaking every time he bottoms out.

Minho braces his hands on Jisung's chest, feeling the alpha's heart beat wildly. "That's it..."

"Hyung—sir, fuck." Jisung's thumb sweeps over Minho's slit, smearing pre-come all over the tip. "Wanna make you come on my cock… while hyung fucks me open."

Changbin asks, "me?"

"Your cock's still wet, hyung, just do it…" Jisung's gaze slides past Minho to where Changbin stands frozen behind him, the tip of his nose centimetres away from Minho's scent gland. "Dripping all over me, fuck, w-what a waste not to use it…"

Minho keeps grinding down, chasing the heat that builds low in his belly.

Slick pools where their bodies meet.

"Yeah," Minho eggs them on. His thighs burn, but he can't stop now, not they're about to— "Fuck him while I'm—"

The mattress dips as Changbin lifts one knee up onto the bed, spreading Jisung's thighs wider, positioning himself between them.

"Fuck, yeah." Jisung arches his back. "Thought you'd just… watch, hyung—I want you so bad..."

Changbin's moan vibrates through all three of them as he lines himself up. The first push makes Jisung's cock jerk inside Minho.

"Yeah." Jisung rolls his hips. "Like that, hyung, fuck me…"

Then he starts moving.

Changbin's rhythm doesn't falter. Minho wishes he himself could be like that, dependable, steady. Is he? A little?

Jisung twists his wrists, changing the angle of Minho's ass as he pleases, using him like a toy.

Minho's thighs shake, slick running freely. He's suddenly so close, so close—

"Holy shit, hyung, he's—"

"I know." Changbin sounds pained. "He smells so good…"

He's fucking Jisung but his arms are clasped around Minho with such power—

Minho just knows he couldn't run away if he tried.

"So wet for us…" Jisung's breath catches. "Bet you could just slide your cock right alongside mine, hyung, you wouldn't need to—"

"Do it." Minho rocks back onto Jisung, Changbin controlling his rhythm. "Fuck me, both of—"

Is that even—can they—

"No way." Changbin says. "I'll leave if you try to convince me."

Is he scared he'll give in?

"Okay." Minho doesn't want him to leave, so he calms the fuck down. "Just like this, yeah, it's good, so good, you're fucking me so deep, alpha…"

It's so easy to Changbin into it again.

He establishes such a nice rhythm. Each thrust into Jisung pushes him deeper into Minho, creating a feedback loop.

Minho tries to move with them, tries to help, but his body won't cooperate. Instead, he just takes it, each brutal thrust, desperate little sounds falling from his mouth.

"Touch yourself," Jisung orders in alpha voice. Minho's blood rushes south, alongside his hand. "Wanna see you fall apart on my cock… sir."

Minho's hand closes around himself shakily, his whole face and chest burning red.

One stroke, and he's already balancing on the edge. He clenches around Jisung.

"Fuck," Jisung's rhythm falters. "Hyung, I'm—I can't hold—"

"Not yet." Changbin's hand slides around to grip the base of Jisung's cock from outside of Minho's body. "Wait for him."

Minho feels Changbin's knuckles poke through his stretched walls, feels them press against his rim as Jisung fills him with cock, and he wants be so full he burts.

The added pressure makes Minho sob.

Is this what a knot would feel like, this overwhelming pressure, this ache?

He wants it bad, his chest tightens like he'll die if he won't have it.

"Please—" Minho doesn't know who he's begging. Both of them, maybe. "I need—"

"What?" Jisung's voice cracks. "Tell us, sir, what do you need?"

The word escapes Minho's mouth. "Knot."

"Sir…," Changbin groans. The air around them seems to go still. "You've never—that's not something you can just—"

"But I want it," Minho insists. Do they not get it? Jisung's cock pulses inside his body. "Fuck, want to feel it, I've never—just wanna—"

Jisung's control is the first to shatter.

"Hyung—hyung—" He pistons his cock as far as it will go, needing to breed, claim, fill. "Help me, I'm—"

Changbin's hand stays pressed against where they're joined, feeling everything, massaging his growing knot as it he could force it down.

Does he not think it will fit?

Something stirs inside Minho, a need to prove himself worthy.

The knot keeps swelling, but it's so hard to slip it inside. Minho's too tight, pushing it out every time Jisung tries to squeeze it in past Changbin's fingers.

He whimpers, the stretch bordering on painful.

Jisung's hand finds Minho's cock again, stroking in time with Changbin's thrusts. "Let it happen…"

But Minho can't.

Changbin drops his forehead to the slope of Minho's shoulder, his nose so close to his gland.

Minho grabs the back of Changbin's neck and slams his face onto his scent gland.

Changbin chokes on his next inhale, his thrusts erratic, tongue darting out to lick Minho's sweat, taste his scent, breathe him in.

Minho wants to test something.

He's so close, right there, he just needs—

"Sir—please—" Jisung can barely speak. "I can't—you're squeezing too tight, my knot—it hurts—"

"Want you to come." Minho willingly drops his voice into that omega register he hates. Hates it on himself, is what he means. Pleading, sweet, designed to trigger alpha instincts. He loves in other omegas. "Please, please, alpha, need to feel you deep—"

Changbin lets go of Jisung's knot, glueing himself to Minho's back, breathing in lungfuls of his scent "Mm—" He sounds scent-drunk. "Mmhm…"

"Hyung, hyung, he's so tight around my—"

Jisung's cock jerks violently inside of Minho, working over the same spot again and again.

Changbin's arms squeeze around Minho as if he's fucking him himself, his teeth grazing Minho's neck, tongue licking stupidly at his scent gland like he can't get enough.

"Alpha—," Minho pleads in his barely ever used, rough-around-the-edges, omega voice. "Knot me."

Jisung screams.

The base of his cock keeps swelling. Minho feels it catch on his rim with each thrust until it pushes past the first ring, locking inside, and tearing a similar scream from Minho.

He comes untouched, just from being bred and claimed and knotted for the first time. Come streaks across his and Jisung's body, his entrance clenching and unclenching around Jisung's large, unwielding knot.

But Jisung's still whimpering, his scream fading into a stream of loud ah-ah-ah's. And then Minho realises.

Changbin is—

"Hyuuuung—" Jisung's voice pitches high. "Pull out, f-fuck, pull out, you—I'm n-not ready for—"

Too late.

Changbin slams deep one final time, and Minho feels through Jisung the exact moment Changbin's knot locks inside him.

Jisung's whole torso goes rigid, back arching off the bed. His cock pulses inside Minho, knot swelling impossibly larger, locking them even tighter together. It's crazy that he's also being split open around Changbin's knot, who must be pumping more and more come into his already-full body. He must feels it in his stomach.

Jisung's knot throbs one final time, locked so deep, Minho thinks it won't ever deflate.

"Fuck fuck fuck—" Jisung sobs. "Hurts, it—hyung, your knot's too big, I can't—"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm—" Changbin sounds shattered, his voice rough. "You can take it, babe, you always—"

"You barely ever knot!" Jisung's hands claw at the sheets. "And I'm already—oh god—"

His cock pulses again, weaker this time. Minho clenches sympathetically around him.

Which, in turn, makes Jisung clench around Changbin, who curses, his hips jerking forward, face burying deeper into Minho's neck.

"Too much, take it out—" Jisung's crying now, actual tears streaking down his face. "Hyung, it's—I can't take—"

But his cock is still pulsing. He's still coming, knot still swelling inside Minho like there's no end to it.

They're locked together, all three of them. Minho stretched around Jisung's knot, and Jisung struggling with Changbin's.

Changbin has gone from thrusting to curling tightly around Minho, basking in the closeness while Jisung's hole is warm and wet around his cock.

Minho eventually collapses onto Jisung's chest, boneless and shaking, shifting the angle of both knots, drawing whimpers from all three of them.

Changbin, in turn, drapes himself over Minho's back, careful not to crush him. His hand finds Minho's hair and strokes it with light fingers. "You alright, sir?"

Minho can't form words. He nods, his forehead rubbing against Jisung's sweaty chest.

"Hannie?" Changbin's other hand strokes down Jisung's side. "Talk to me."

"Hate you." Jisung's voice cracks. "So much, hyung, I—fuck—"

"I know."

"Not ready, told you I wasn't ready to—"

"I know." Changbin presses a kiss to Jisung's shoulder. "I'm sorry..."

That seems to change the dynamics. Jisung blinks up at him.

"Don't be, though." Jisung laughs wetly. Minho lifts his head enough to see his face. "Feels good, kind of, holy shit, I just didn't—"

"You're beautiful," Minho says without thinking.

Tear-tracks stain Jisung's cheeks, but he's smiling, blissed out, endorphins flooding his system.

Jisung's eyes focus on him. "Sir?"

"Both of you are." Minho reaches back awkwardly in search of Changbin's hand. "Prettiest alphas out there."

Other alphas would punch him for this.

His guards only chuckle.

They stay like that until the knots start to deflate. Which means forever. Every shift draws gasps, every small movement sparking aftershocks on all three of them.

When Changbin's knot softens enough to slip free first, Jisung sobs in relief. "Finally—oh fuck—"

He says that like he won't start begging for a knot the moment he gets horny again.

The emptiness lasts only seconds before Changbin's come starts leaking out and running down Jisung's thighs, soaking into the ruined, bunched up sheets.

Jisung tries to shift, but his own knot is still locked inside Minho. "Sorry, I just… need a couple more minutes to—"

"Take your time." Minho yaws. "I'm not going anywhere."

Literally.

Changbin climbs off the bed. Minho watches him cross to the washbasin, returning with a wet cloth.

He cleans them up carefully, soaking all the come that's still leaking. "You did so well, though, took everything I gave you."

Minho's cock gives a pitiful last spurt. "Fuck…"

Jisung's knot finally softens enough to slip free. Minho gasps at the emptiness when it does, grimacing at the flood of sperm that follows.

"Sir." Jisung stares at his own mess. "Oh, I—that's a lot of—"

"Don't apologise." Minho rolls onto his back, his legs falling open shamelessly. Let them see what they did to him. Would they lick him clean if he asks them to? "I liked it… would do it again. Would you?"

They both nod, then lie there in silence, listening to each other breathe.

Music drifts through the window, drums and ceremonial bells.

The wedding celebration continues.

Minho's sister must be fully married by now. Going to her new household, ready to start her new life. And Minho—

"How long until the rut breaks?" he asks.

"Another day, maybe. Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether hyung keeps accidentally knotting me." Jisung's laugh sounds punchy, exhausted, but it has no bite to it. "That was knot supposed to happen."

"You loved it, though." Changbin chuckles. "Been begging me knot you ever since my last rut."

"Hated it." But Jisung is smiling. "Gonna feel that for a week."

Minho traces patterns on Jisung's chest, thinking about Changbin in rut. Would he lose all control? "Stay here, both of you. Until it's done."

"Sir, what if—"

Minho cuts off Changbin's protest. "You're my guards, your duty is protecting me. I'm feeling very unsafe about you two being away."

Changbin's mouth quirks. "Is that so?"

"Extremely unsafe." Minho keeps his face serious. "Who knows what trouble you'll get into without supervision?"

Jisung snorts. "We're the ones who are supposed to supervise you, my prince."

"Then do." Minho pulls them both closer. "Or I'm wreaking havoc again."

Changbin's laughter rumbles through his chest. He brushes Minho's sweaty hair away from his face. "So bratty, my prince."

Minho turns his face into Changbin's palm, breathing in his rusted iron scent. "I'm allowed to be."

"I'm letting him be." Jisung's hand slides across Minho's stomach. "I'm good at diplomacy."

"Really?" Changbin's other hand finds the small of Jisung's back, kneading at the tension there. "You think we should indulge our prince?"

Jisung presses a kiss to Minho's shoulder. "Of course."

"Why?" Minho's eyes flutter shut.

"Because you're ours now."

"Yeah… our prince takes good care of us," Changbin murmurs against his temple. "We'll take good care of him."