Archive of Our Own

It all started with a theft.

…in a way.

You see, Gun doesn't believe himself to be a clean freak by any means. Sure, he knows how to keep his side of the room mostly neat and dust free — all thanks to his mother's very assertive teachings as he grew up —, but Gun is much more practical than he is meticulous when it comes to organizing his living space. If he can easily find his belongings over his desk and all dirty clothes are being placed in the hamper, he sees no reason to make a fuss over misplaced shoes or whatever other triviality he'd hear Franc and Book complain about to each other day in, day out.

But it’s not like any of that had ever surged as a problem between him and Yotha, for that matter, as Yotha was just as careful as him with his own side of the room, one of the very few characteristics they seem to share commonly. In the beginning, whether Yotha had been doing it out of etiquette or simply to deprive Gun of any chances to peek through his stuff — as if he was that nosy! —, Gun isn’t quite sure. But even after the lines between what side of the room belonged to whom started to turn blurry with each night Yotha spent in Gun’s bed rather than his own, and the fragile labels of their relationship blended into an indistinguishable mess of friends and whatever-it-is-that-they-are-now, Gun never had any issue with getting their things mixed up.

Or at least he didn’t, until Gun’s clothes mysteriously started to go missing.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen them?”

Yotha glances over his shoulder from where he’s getting some homework done on his desk, an unsuspecting expression decorating his eyes. He raises an eyebrow at Gun’s hunched form as his roommate shuffles through one of his drawers in search for his beloved pair of sleep shorts. An old, ratty thing with an elastic band that’s been stretched enough to fit two Gun’s inside of it. Gun’s favorite, just the right amount of comfort for a peaceful night of sleep.

“Not since we took everything to the laundromat earlier this week,” Yotha replies impassively, tilting his head at Gun. “Have you asked them if they got it yet?”

Gun scratches his head, pursing his lips in thought. “Not yet. But it’s weird, I kind of don't remember seeing them in the hamper that day, either.” He turns back to Yotha, googly puppy eyes sparkling up to his roommate in their full glory. “Do you think they might’ve gotten lost between your clothes?”

A barely noticeable twitch graces Yotha’s lips, so subtle anyone else would’ve missed the fond smirk forming on his face if not for the softness that oozed from Yotha’s gaze along with it. He stands from his desk to stop beside Gun, slowly lowering his body to crouch at his level. When he brings his face closer, Gun can breathe in the smell of his shampoo from his still damp hair — something like bamboo and some citrusy fruit Gun couldn’t name. Then, if he pays an ounce more of attention, he can feel it, beneath the shampoo and lotion. Something else, slightly woody, but sweet. And so unfairly enticing. Yotha’s scent. 

“I would know if they were, beagle. It’s impossible to mistake your scent.” As redness dusts over Gun’s cheeks, he places a gentle finger under Gun’s chin, in such a way Gun can’t figure if it’s meant to comfort him or tease him. “Wear something else today and I’ll check with the laundromat lady if they found anything tomorrow, okay?”

With a mind of their own, Gun's eyes travel to his roommate's lips, pinkish and a little chapped, the taste of them he'd been rather deprived of as of late returning swiftly to his tongue. Gun gulps, quick to raise his attention back to Yotha's eyes.

Half-lidded, framed by short but thick eyelashes, laced with an ever-present hint of amusement at Gun’s reactions to his proximity. Not a much safer option for his sanity.

Perhaps clouded by the all-encompassing feeling of Yotha’s scent filling his senses, one Gun still hadn’t become desensitized to the novelty of experiencing, Gun didn’t spare any real thought to the situation. He’d find his sleep shorts some other day. Now what he needed was to discreetly remove himself from this position as soon as possible to avoid the embarrassment of having Yotha notice the pathetic evidence of affection forming inside his jeans, or even worse, smell it on him.

All Yotha’s fault for smelling remarkably sweeter than usual today.

“Alright. Thanks anyway, I’ll go get changed,” he sputters with a smile before heading straight to the bathroom, stopping midtrack when he realizes he didn’t bring any of his sleepwear.

Gun turns on his heels, sporting a pleading smile. “Yotha…?”

One of his oversized shirts lands on his hands along with loose sweatpants. His second favorite piece.

“Thanks!”

When he tries to steal one last glance at his roommate, it’s to find Yotha carefully placing Gun’s clothes back inside the drawer before closing the wardrobe, shaking his head in equal parts entertainment and resignation. Gun can’t help but smile at the sight as he clicks the bathroom door shut.

Just as he’d thought, nothing out of the ordinary.

***

“Yeah, mom, it’s all settled for next week, classes will be cancelled on wednesday so I will be heading there in the morning! No, no, Yotha said he’d rather stay here to get some schoolwork done… yeah, it’s really a shame. But I promise to bring him next time! Okaaay, I’ll make sure to stay warm. Love you too!”

Pressing the end call button, a quick wave of surprise takes over Gun as he realizes Yotha has been quietly watching him from his own bed, a vacant expression on his face. Gun had already asked him the previous night and again in the morning before leaving for class if Yotha had been feeling unwell, but stubborn as he was, his roommate murmured something about being tired and nothing more. 

As if that would ever be enough to get Gun to stop worrying about him.

“She must be excited to see you,” Yotha points out. His voice is low and soft, a mellow rumbling inside their silent room, like the crashing of the sea against the shore.

The corners of Gun's lips lift up, though a sense of concern keeps pinpricking the insides of his chest. “She is. But she keeps on checking if I'm not bringing my roommate to meet her as I said I would. I think she would've been even more excited if you were coming along.” Gun clicks his tongue, mumbling to himself. “As if her dearest son wasn’t enough!”

Yotha smirks at him with droopy eyes, slumping further into his pillow. “Is it her or you who would’ve been excited?”

Any other time, Gun would've scoffed in the face of his conceited attitude. But today, when Yotha is looking so oddly vulnerable underneath his covers, tone earnest and harmless, Gun doesn't have the heart to deny it.

“Both. It would’ve been fun to have you come with me.”

It earns Gun a pleased hum in response.

Letting out a weak sigh, Gun leaves his own bed to sit by Yotha’s, the older boy’s eyes following his movements languidly. When he touches Yotha’s forehead with the back of his hand, he concludes it feels a little warmer than usual, but not enough so for him to believe he’s running a fever. Gun purses his lips. This would be a lot easier if Yotha could be so kind as to communicate with him what’s wrong instead of leaving him guessing.

It was a prospect he’d been excited about once he first moved into Yotha’s room — the idea of sharing a space with an omega like himself, someone who’d understand him. Sure, it’s not like a person’s subgender matters that much in the big scheme of whether you’ll get along or not. Growing up in a household that deemed subgender stereotypes as old-fashioned and irrelevant, presenting as an omega had meant nothing more than another thing in common to strengthen his bond with his zealous mother, and a very handy excuse to use in his advantage whenever his older sister tried to dodge his hugs. He’d muster up all of his willpower not to burst into laughter whenever she lectured him that he couldn’t use the omega card as a pass to be clingy, but he’d use it anyway, and so she gave in every single time.

But unfortunately his family’s views don’t exactly reflect those of the rest of the world. And in a world where being an omega still means being somewhat lesser, weaker, there’s a certain sense of comfort in meeting people to share that experience with him.

How disappointed Gun had been once he realized Yotha’s openness to talk about that part of his identity was just as strict as his openness to expose any other aspect of his personal life.

Then again, Gun supposes being raised in a family consisting of an alpha father and two equally alpha brothers might not have been necessarily the most reassuring environment for an omega to grow up in.

Gazing into Yotha’s half-lidded eyes, Gun asks out loud, “Fai said he’ll spend the break with your dad at home. You won’t join him?”

Yotha seems to think about it for a second. “No.”

“Any reason in particular? You could do your assignments at home.” Gun prodds, testing the limits.

Yotha snorts, blinking heavily. “Sometimes you’re still too nosy, beagle.”

The words carry no hint of harshness with them, only endearment. And perhaps there's some truth to them — even after learning how Yotha’s personality operates, Gun is still too nosy over things that don’t concern him as someone who’s nothing more than Yotha’s friend. Gun wonders if Yotha would trust him enough to be open with him if they were something else.

But Gun had known he would have to respect Yotha's pace when he agreed to this arrangement. And so he has to work with the weapons he's got.

“What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” He pushes his fingers through Yotha's hair, even if the smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Yotha reaches for Gun’s wrist, circling it with warm fingers to keep him in place even though Gun hadn’t made any motion to stand. Clingy. “Right now you could lie down with me.”

Well, when Yotha requests it so sincerely, Gun doesn’t see why not.

“Okay.” He smiles sweetly. “Just let me get changed first.”

It is once he’s rummaging through his closet for the sweatpants he wore only two nights before that Gun realizes they are nowhere to be found, and neither had he discovered the whereabouts of his sleep shorts. Upon further digging around his shirts, he realizes his oversized shirt has disappeared as well. He furrows his eyebrows in suspicion. He hasn’t gone to the laundromat yet, and he could clearly recall having folded them neatly to be placed back inside his wardrobe the other day. How could they have gone missing as well?

“Yotha…?”

He receives a hum in acknowledgement, though he can tell Yotha is almost falling asleep.

“Have you seen my sweatpants?”

A beat goes by, two, before Yotha replies. “I haven't. You can take one of my pajamas in the meantime, we’ll find them later.”

Gun’s eyes dart between the wardrobe and Yotha’s half-asleep figure, far from convinced. But while a sick Yotha is waiting to cuddle him at the bed, he figures there’s no point in pressing him about missing clothes at this very moment. Gun then turns to Yotha’s side of the closet and takes one of his horrendous bright yellow pajamas, rubbing his thumb against the fabric fondly. Bringing it hesitantly to his nose, his heartbeat picks up speed. Of course it smells like Yotha as well.

After getting changed in the bathroom and tucking himself carefully against Yotha’s side not to wake him up, Gun notices the difference in Yotha’s scent compared to the usual fragrance he would find in his belongings. From this proximity, Yotha’s skin feels even more saccharine and smoky, and he has a feeling that if he stuck his tongue out to lick it, the taste would be delightfully tangy on his palate. That idle feeling travels like a shiver under Gun’s skin, leaving his mouth a little dry as his mind is flooded with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts for their current predicament, and he screws his eyes shut instinctively to force himself to sleep.

Whatever it is that’s going on with Yotha seems to be affecting him as well, and Gun doesn’t know what to do about it without accidentally causing Yotha to push him away again.

***

It’s only three days later, on a typical tuesday morning, that Gun decides he’s gonna need a second perspective on the whole investigation.

“Your clothes have been going missing for a week now?” Book asks, a little mystified, hands splayed on the wooden surface of the university's outdoor table their friends are gathered in.

“Yeah. At first it was just my pajamas, but today while I was getting ready I tried to find the faculty’s jacket and realized it had disappeared as well. I was lucky P’Arm had a backup and brought it over for me. I should really buy one of those soon, who would’ve thought…” Gun says, trailing off with his hands clasped on his lap.

“But you really have no idea of where they’ve gone?” Kong chimes in. “Have you checked with the laundromat lady?”

Gun can’t help but sigh. It was as if poor Mrs Pang would have all of the secrets of the universe stored inside her washing machines. “Yes, but she says she hasn’t found anything. And I don’t really think that would be the case, either.”

“So what’s the alternative, there’s an ancient dark entity roaming around campus to renew their wardrobe? Maybe a pervert sneaking into rooms and stealing clothes in our dorm?” Stopping to actually ponder over the latter, Kong's frown immediately morphs into horror, and the boy jumps on his seat. “Holy shit, Gun, this is super serious! Should we alert security?”

Gun opens his mouth, searching for a proper way to explain that there was most likely no pervert involved in this story and only a secretive roommate hiding his clothes for no obvious reason when a backpack is suddenly plopped on the seat by his side.

“There's a pervert where doing what?” Faifa exclaims at Gun with eyes wide as platters. There we go again. “Does Yotha know about this?”

Probably more than all of them combined, Gun thinks.

Gun shakes his hand desperately in denial, brushing off that absurd theory before they all slip into generalized chaos. “No, he doesn't— I mean, there's no pervert, Kong.” A huge interrogation sign forms above Kong's head, but Gun doesn't know how he could clarify this without voicing out conclusions he isn't sure of. He opts to turn his attention to Faifa instead to jot down any other hypothesis about perverts and what-not. “Look, Fai, I was just telling them that some of my clothes disappeared this week.” He twiddles his thumbs, pressing his lips together. “... and I kind of think they are being borrowed. By someone.”

Faifa blinks at him a couple of times, the engines in his mind turning behind his eyes. Gun witnesses the exact moment something clicks when Faifa's whole posture changes, eyebrows twisting cartoonishly to match the devilish smile stretching across his lips.

Perhaps Gun should just learn how to keep his mouth shut from now on.

But Faifa pays no mind to the fear writing itself across Gun's features, eyeing their friends suggestively while placing one calculated hand on each of Gun's shoulders. “Gentlemen, allow me to borrow our friend here for a second.” Faifa urges Gun to stand up, steering him away from the table and towards a less crowded area of the campus garden with resolute steps.

“What about our bags—”

“No one will steal 100 baht and a chemistry book,” Faifa interrupts him swiftly, his tone placating and amused. “Now you're going to explain this story to me. In detail.”

Gun bites the inside of his cheek, contemplating whether to tell Faifa or not — as if he has any choice now that Faifa is staring at him intently waiting for some explanations. Well, as much as he doesn’t want to put Yotha in a weird position in case his deduction is wrong, if there’s anyone Gun should trust to understand Yotha’s behavior it would be Yotha’s closest brother, right?

And so he starts talking.

He narrates how some of his clothes have started going missing just as Yotha began to behave slightly off for the past week, as if he was falling sick. Gun punctuates how he thinks the only possible scenario here — unless Kong had some creepy moment of clarity when he came up with his pervert theory — is that Yotha has been the one hiding them from him, though he can’t fathom why he would do it behind his back instead of just asking for them.

“It’s not like I would say no. But we don’t even wear the same size, anyway.” Gun places his hands on his hips, frowning at the sky as if it would give him answers. All it does is hurt his eyes. “Do you think this is some kind of prank?”

But once he looks back at Faifa, what he finds is a grin of absolute entertainment, his eyes glinting like he’s using every ounce of his energy not to burst into laughter.

“What I think is that you’re way too naive, Puppy.” Holding Gun’s face between his hands, Faifa shakes his head in compassion as he clicks his tongue. “Naive and oblivious.”

“Huh?”

Faifa takes in a deep breath as he lets go of Gun’s face. “Look, Gun, maybe it’s not my place to talk about this, but think about it — why would an omega steal clothes from someone they’re close with when they’re feeling unwell?”

“...because they find their scent comforting. So if you need to be apart from that person, it’s soothing to be surrounded with belongings that carry their scent,” Gun murmurs, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. It’s impossible to mistake your scent. “But omegas usually seek their alpha partner’s scent. And I’m not—” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders when he can’t choose with which alternative to complete the sentence. After all, he’s neither an alpha or Yotha’s mate. The weight of that notion sends an uncomfortable twinge of dismay down his stomach.

Noticing the sincerity of his discontentment, the amusement in Faifa’s demeanor melts into friendly reassurance, the alpha giving Gun’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “C’mon, Puppy. If that was a problem for Yotha, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

It pulls a shy smile out of Gun as his worry deflates. Only slightly. The questions floating around his head, on the other hand, keep multiplying by the minute. 

“What I don’t understand is, why couldn’t he be honest with me?”

“I guess you’re gonna have to ask him yourself, Gun. Talk to him later today, will you?” Faifa says, waiting for Gun to nod in agreement before adding, “Great, but please make sure to spare me of the details of whatever you guys end up doing afterwards.”

For the rest of the day, whenever anyone asks why Gun’s cheeks are glowing red as ripe strawberries, he simply says it's Yotha's fault — that he’s now running a fever from catching the sickness his roommate was sporting a few days earlier. The first part isn’t necessarily a lie.

***

“You’re awfully quiet today, beagle.”

Gun raises his head from his phone in slow motion, the game he’s been playing still flashing bright colors on his screen when he musters the courage to meet Yotha’s eye.

Gun had tried to be sensible when coming up with what to say before Yotha arrived. He’d paced back and forth around their beds, trying to phrase his questions in the kindest way possible not to make him uncomfortable. But this simple task proved to be above his self-assured level of eloquence when If you want to scent me, you know you could ask me instead of hiding my clothes, right? sounded too straight forward, and somehow it also didn’t feel appropriate to kick it off with So, are you the one who’s been secretly borrowing my clothes? It’s okay if you are, I’m not mad, I just wanna make sure it’s not a dark entity or a creep that’s been sneaking into our room, that’s all—

He’d been ready to accept defeat and call Faifa to plead for extra guidance when Yotha got home, his presence sending all of Gun’s effort to elaborate a single coherent sentence down a landslide.

His last strategy had been to become still as a houseplant for the next hour as Yotha went though his night routine up until his roommate laid on his bed to scroll through his own phone, hoping to blend into the furniture for long enough while he mustered up the courage to say what’s on his mind. It felt like enjoying a final taste of their current relationship as it was, because Gun knew for sure that addressing the elephant in the room would intrinsically mean shaking the delicate foundation of their current status. One built on a game of not naming their feelings or setting their expectations too high, that Gun had obviously lost from the very beginning.

But now Yotha’s eyes are fixated intently on him, both gentle and assertive, their weight impossible to ignore.

“Is something wrong?” Yotha asks without ado, but his tone is smooth and careful. His skin looks a little reddish around his nose and ears, this persistent sickness he’d sworn to be nothing seemingly refusing to be healed with the work of time and patience alone, and still Yotha is bold enough to question if there’s something wrong with Gun.

Pressing his lips together, Gun locks his phone, sitting up cross-legged on his bed. He tests the words sitting on the tip of his tongue, paying attention to Yotha’s expressions as he speaks. “I think I should be the one to ask… Yotha, is everything okay?”

The previous serenity in Yotha’s gaze shifts minutely, the set of his mouth tensing up almost inconspicuously in tandem. Yotha takes in breath as he pushes himself to sit on the bed as well, propping his hands on his knees while looking at Gun. Instead of the answer he’s looking for, Yotha returns him a different question. “What is this about, beagle?”

Gun grows a little restless under Yotha’s steady attention, but at this point, the best he can do is rip off the bandaid to get over with the discomfort looming above his shoulders. “It’s just that… you’ve been acting a little off, recently.”

Yotha arches an eyebrow at him, leaning his body forward. “Off?”

“You’ve been looking unwell for the past few days, right as my clothes have started to disappear. So unless someone’s been breaking into our room or we’re being haunted, I figured you might be the one taking them,” Gun says softly, letting out a humourless chuckle. Then, he adds, hoping his earnestness can shine through his nerves. “And it’s okay, really, I’m not upset. I just… wanted to know why.”

The seconds keep ticking as Yotha registers the words, his eyes looking clearer than before, as if the mist that had been veiling them has lifted. Without a word, he rises to his feet to settle by Gun’s side on his roommate’s bed, being mindful to leave some distance between them, like he isn’t sure if he is allowed to touch him.

“Why do you think I’d do it?”

Gun looks down at his lap to avoid Yotha’s beautiful eyes, worrying he’ll sound presumptuous as he voices it out. “Well, when we’re sick, sometimes we search for comfort in slightly unusual ways… since you’re not seeing anyone right now I thought, maybe, you settled for borrowing my things to feel someone else’s scent. Because you’re already used to it, as we’re… friends.” 

As he finishes, he gathers the courage to turn to Yotha, whose features have all but melted into a small smile that is equal parts fondness and amusement. Gun has half a mind to be offended that Yotha finds this funny when he’s spent so much time and energy overthinking the whole ordeal, but any signs of anger inside of his chest are small and insignificant compared to his relief that Yotha isn’t icing him out.

Scooting a little closer, Yotha takes a hand to Gun’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with the tender manner one would reserve for treating a child or a kitty. “You’re adorable, beagle. But you got things a little mixed up — I didn’t settle for your scent. I wanted it. Not anyone else’s.” He waits, giving Gun a chance to push him away. When the younger doesn’t, he leans more, studying Gun’s face with hazy eyes as his hand slips down to Gun’s neck, goosebumps washing all over his body when Yotha rests his fingers on Gun’s scent gland. “I don’t think you know how good you smell. It’s addictive. I wish I could have it all of the time, all over our room, in every single one of my clothes.”

Gun’s breath hitches at the layer of desperation in Yotha’s tone, his scent growing thick and pungent in the air between them, and that’s when the final piece comes into place, making the puzzle picture visible and obvious in Gun’s mind.

Yotha is in pre-heat. Probably has been for the entirety of the past week — probably is already slipping into heat as they speak.

Of course, how could he not have realized it before?

In his own defense, an omega’s sense of smell isn’t as attuned to another omega’s pheromones as it is to an alpha’s. Sure, they could scent each other, and sense signs of distress and arousal and every other major hormonal fluctuation. But not as strongly as an alpha would be able to detect it, and not unless you’re in very close proximity to the other person’s scent glands — meaning you need their trust and consent to be able to feel it, to be granted the privilege of relishing in their scent.

Gun has had his time to come to terms with it since realizing his preference for other omegas in late middle school. The differences and limitations a relationship of his would face in comparison to his alpha and omega friends who would flaunt their partners of the opposite subgender in the hallways of their school. But it is now, when he realizes Yotha has been needing him and not telling him a word about it, that Gun fully regrets how limited his ability to perceive Yotha’s demands is.

Was Yotha planning to wait for him to leave for his parents’ house to spend his heat all by himself?

“Yotha…” Gun murmurs seriously, pushing past the desire starting to run beneath his skin and clouding his better judgement, “you’re in heat?”

“Not yet. Or at least I wasn’t supposed to be until tomorrow,” Yotha clarifies, but his mind looks barely there. “I didn’t want to bother you with it, I would clean the whole room before you came back on sunday, I just— needed to stay somewhere where I would feel closer to you. Surrounded by your things, your scent,”  Yotha’s eyes fall to Gun lips, before meeting Gun’s irises again. “But freshly laundered clothes don’t smell the same, they’re not nearly as sweet-scented as you are. I needed the used ones.”

Gun is rendered speechless, either because of the blunt confession or the delicious weight of Yotha’s fingers above his scent gland, unmoving. He opens his mouth to interject but Yotha’s mind seems to be racing at 180kmh with no filter.

“I wasn’t gonna use them for nesting or anything like that, I promise. Just wanted to leave them close to me, to feel like you were with me.”

While, rationally, Gun appreciates the sentiment and Yotha’s worry about his comfort, something inside of his chest starts to simmer at the knowledge that Yotha doesn’t expect him to spend his heat with him, that he thinks Gun of all people wouldn't want him to build a nest with his clothes. An unreasonable urge to object him makes Gun curl his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms — could this be the effect of Yotha’s pheromones flowing through his system? 

All he knows is that Yotha is so close, but not nearly close enough, his scent and pleading eyes and the heat irradiating from his skin rendering him a little delirious. And so, after so many weeks of doubting and wishing and policing himself, Gun does what he hopes can convey his intentions, his willingness to be of assistance.

Gun places a hand on Yotha’s shoulder, pulling his body towards Gun’s to close the gap between their lips.

The sensation is just as electrifying as their first, their second, or any of the kisses Gun has been granted since sealing their deal to confront their respective fears together. And yet nothing could’ve prepared him for the thrill of having Yotha’s warm lips open up so pliantly against his own, eagerness turning his movements uncoordinated for the sake of just wanting Gun’s mouth closer and wetter and more more more as he sucks on Gun’s tongue. It tastes heavenly, the desire seeping through Yotha’s kiss, his fingers gripping on Gun's neck while his other hand falls to Gun's back, like he's trying to keep him steady and ground himself all at once.

Gun’s head is still spinning as his heart threatens to escape the confines of his chest when Yotha lets go of his lips to nose at his cheek, trailing a path to the curve of his neck.

“You could’ve asked me,” Gun whispers between sharp breaths, reaching down to hold Yotha’s waist while the older boy nuzzles against his sensitive scent gland. So little stimulation and his knees are already trembling from the pleasure of it, the tent forming inside his pants becoming harder to ignore as he attempts to sound somewhat coherent. “You could’ve asked me to spend your heat with you. I can take care of you.”

“I didn’t want to put that burden on you.” Comes Yotha’s reply muffled by Gun’s skin, the vibrations emitted by his voice pulling a weak whine out of Gun. “I know you’ve never had sex before.” 

Yes, Gun is acutely aware of his lack of experience.

Normally, the reminder would paint his cheeks crimson from embarrassment and anxiety alike, the possibility of having sex with Yotha fueling all kinds of insecurities — if he’d be good enough, if Yotha would like his body enough, if it would hurt in any way. But then Yotha is moving to straddle his hips, sitting his full weight over Gun’s clothed cock and Gun concludes some risks are worth taking in the name of experiencing something new with someone he loves. Someone who’s finally accepting his love so unabashedly.

“But I want to. I can learn how to do it,” Gun says resolutely, pushing past the disarray of novel feelings cursing through his veins not to moan mid-sentence when Yotha licks over his scent gland in response. He may not see his face, but he can feel the faint tremor that washes over Yotha at the prospect, his hips twitching in a way that pushes his erection snuggly to fit the curve of Yotha’s ass. “Can you do that for me? Teach me how to take care of you, how to make you feel good?” He pushes reluctantly against Yotha’s chest to be able to see his eyes, his blown out pupils seeking for Gun as if he hangs the stars and moon in his gaze. “Please?”

Yotha stills for a moment, the haziness of his heat appearing to subside momentarily while he examines Gun’s features for any sign of uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

Gun nods immediately, smiling in reassurance.“Yeah.”

“Right now?”

A frown of confusion tempers Gun’s smile. Considering their current position, unless he wants to take yet another cold shower to get rid of the mess Yotha is causing in his pants, right now would be more than ideal. But Yotha’s caution sets his chest aflame with a different kind of warmth, one that makes him feel guarded and safe. He giggles fondly at Yotha’s worry. “Yeah, right now would be great.” 

It’s the cue Yotha was waiting for to let go of his already fragile self-restraint. A pleased, dopey smirk curls at his lips then, before he slowly approaches Gun’s face to capture his mouth in another kiss. The touch is more leisurely than the previous one, but just as intense, the ebb and flow of their lips falling into sync like they’re both trying to savor as much of each other as physically possible — and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

When Yotha moves one of the hands that had been holding onto Gun to start undoing the buttons of his yellow pajamas, Gun swiftly takes over the action, begrudgingly realizing that working his way through buttons while kissing is a much more difficult task than he’d given it credit to be. Their hands get in the way of each other in a clumsy manner, and Yotha chuckles against his lips in endearment, settling for pulling the shirt off from above his head with the last few buttons still untouched.

Gun can’t help but be mesmerized with the sight of Yotha’s skin, how beautifully his complexion glows under their room’s dim lighting. Of course he’s seen his naked torso before, from his broad shoulders to his surprisingly lean waist. It was impossible not to when you’re sleeping under the same roof. But he’s never had access to it this closely, and never under the assumption that he’s allowed to map all of the extension of it with his fingers if he wishes to. 

He places his palms flat out against Yotha’s waist, the contact scorching under his fingertips, rubbing them along his sides tentatively. Yotha releases a shuddery breath when Gun leans in to nose back at the crook of his neck, eyes shutting closed when he inhales Yotha’s scent straight from the source, absolutely intoxicating. Instinctively, Gun pulls Yotha closer to wrap his arms around him, breathing saccharine brewed coffee and cinnamon that seems to overwhelm the endorphin receptors in his brain into numbness.

Beneath the scent induced haze fogging his mind, he wonders minutely if Yotha had been wearing any kind of masking deodorant throughout the day, because there was no way all the alphas in campus wouldn't have been driven mad if they got even the slightest whiff of him.

A displeased whine gets stuck in the back of his throat. He hopes no one else got to smell Yotha's scent like this, that no one else ever does again.

Driven by a possessiveness he never thought to have, Gun sticks out his tongue to lap at Yotha’s scent gland. The moan that follows could be either Yotha’s or his own, the bigger body breaking into shivers on his lap while Gun tightens his hold around him, the taste of Yotha’s desire doing nothing to sate Gun’s craving for closeness — it only made him want more of it. Yotha treads his fingers through Gun’s hair to hold his head in place as licking turns into sucking, his saliva soon coating that entire patch of skin as a warning to anyone who ever considers approaching Yotha again.

A light tug to his hair snaps him out of his trance. Yotha’s smirk could be deemed condescending if his eyes weren’t just as inebriated as Gun’s. “Easy, beagle. I’m not going anywhere.” He runs his hands along Gun’s back, pulling at the stretchy fabric of his shirt. “Let’s get you off of this first, hm?”

Gun doesn’t have to be told twice before raising his arms to let Yotha pull his shirt off, suddenly feeling his cheeks heat up from the tenderness with which Yotha handles him, a thumb reaching up to swipe against Gun’s spit-slicken lips while Yotha lets his shirt fall off the edge of the bed. Yotha’s eyes rake down his body slowly, ravenously, and then up again, zeroing on Gun’s lips, and he holds Gun’s face with both his hands before enveloping him in another kiss. 

Gun isn’t quite sure where to go from here, holding Yotha closer to press his naked chest against his own. The mere feeling of his feverishly warm skin flush against his own is already different from anything Gun has ever experienced before, the intimacy of it while Yotha ravishes his mouth enough to have him on the brink of coming inside his pants any moment now. Then, as if he’s been reading his mind, Yotha starts to grind his hips over Gun’s lap, his damp pajama pants rutting messily on Gun’s clothed erection. His nails dig into Yotha’s back in reflex, feeding a pathetic whine into Yotha’s hungry mouth.

“Yotha—” Gun sputters between kisses, feeling wetness pooling inside his shorts at the wave of pleasure building in his lower abdomen, his body trembling as it becomes more difficult to hold himself in a sitting position. “Yotha, if you keep this up I’m going to come.”

Observant as ever, Yotha quickly notices his faltering strength, interrupting his grinding to push gently at Gun’s body to lie down. He helps Gun adjust so he can rest his head on the pillow, his gaze carrying a level of devotion that is easily more overwhelming than the pressure of his hips settling over his dick again. He props himself with a forearm beside Gun’s head while his other hand explores Gun’s body with the reverence of a priest before God himself, pressing kisses up his chest and over his scent gland before licking at it again, sucking lightly over it to suppress a groan — the hint of agitation on it not going unnoticed.

“I want you to come, beagle,” he murmurs confidently by his ear before pressing a soothing kiss on his lips as his hips resume their rhythm, though a lot more frantic. Gun instinctively buries his fingers in Yotha’s thighs, wishing there wasn’t so much fabric separating his fingertips from his flesh. “You don’t have to hold back, I want you to come, please.”

“I-I should be the one taking care of you,” Gun manages between laboured breathing, tears beginning to form on the corners of his eyes from the pleasure cursing through his veins, his body short-circuiting under Yotha’s lips and his tongue and his hips moving faster faster faster, please—

“You already are. And you will again later.” Yotha gasps when Gun attempts to thrust his hips upwards, the younger omega keeping a painfully tight grip on his thighs to ground himself. “Gun…” Yotha’s voice falters, his eyebrows twisting beseechingly. “Can you come for me?”

The sound of Gun’s name being uttered with such supplication tips him over the edge, his eyes screwing shut as he comes inside his shorts. A drawn out whine escapes his lips despite his attempt to hold it in, and he feels all of his muscles tense up as his orgasm washes over him, so much more intense than anything he's ever experienced using his own hand. He keeps his eyes shut while the spasms in his legs subside, listening to the hammering of his heartbeat in his eardrums as he puts his hands on Yotha's hips to still them, even though Yotha has already reduced his rutting to a very gentle rocking.

“Wait, sorry, I'm a little sensitive,” he whispers rather weakly, letting his eyes fall open to meet Yotha's hazy gaze.

Yotha instantly stops, smiling down at him. He wipes away at the small tears that had fallen down Gun's temples, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the touch leaving a delightful tingling afterwards. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

Gun nods, giving him the most beaming smile he can muster, hoping it can convey how much he liked it. “Yeah I just— I just need a minute to recover. Did you…?”

“Not yet,” Yotha answers frankly. Before Gun can open his mouth to question him, he presses a peck to Gun's lips. “It's normal, beagle, it takes a little more work to get there because of the heat.” He moves off of Gun's lap, motioning towards Gun’s shorts. “Do you want to take these off as well? It's gonna be uncomfortable once it begins to dry up.”

Gun lifts his hips up for Yotha to help him undress, though more than a little upset that he's not made Yotha come when the whole point of this was to help Yotha with his heat. Stupid oversensitivity had to ruin everything and make him look like a fool. With his mind occupied by the notion that he's failing miserably at his current task, he doesn't have the energy to feel too ashamed when Yotha pulls off his shorts to reveal fresh cum covering his limp dick, as well as a small amount of slick he hadn't realized had been trailing down his ass.

Yotha's eyes dart between Gun's legs and the ruined piece of clothing in his hands, and Gun's private pity party is rudely interrupted when the older omega brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply without diverting his gaze even once.

If Yotha had been meaning to seduce him into hardness again, then it makes sense that the humiliating twitch of Gun's cock makes a smile worthy of the Cheshire cat spread over Yotha's face.

“You don't know how cute you are.” Considering how many times Yotha has made sure to say it, Gun thinks he does, actually. “Give me a second, I'll clean you up.” Yotha stands up, lazily taking his own pants off on his way to the hamper.

A breath gets caught in Gun's throat as he sees the trail of slick glistening on the insides of Yotha's thighs, more of it oozing copiously from his hole with each step. He has no idea how Yotha is managing to hold himself together when he's that aroused, his erection also flushed red and looking painfully taut. Gun hands flex against his stomach, unsure of where to put them as his current position suddenly feels a little too revealing. But ultimately there's nothing he can do to hide the interest stirring his cock back to life as he watches Yotha's thighs move across the room in his search for wet wipes he's surely left around here somewhere.

Once he's finally kneeling back on the bed beside Gun, he allows Yotha to gently clean the drying cum on his dick before holding his wrist to pull him to bed with him, giggling lightly at the puzzled expression on Yotha's face when he ends up letting the used wet wipes fall to the ground for the lack of a bin close enough to Gun's bed.

From this close, the sweat beading at Yotha's forehead and sticking to his hair appears even more obvious, and so does the lust engulfing his scent, betraying Yotha's façade of nonchalance about his own pleasure. Gun wraps his arms around his waist to have him lay down face to face with him, tentatively guiding one of Yotha's legs to be hooked over Gun's hips, the cold slick smeared on the inner side of his thigh making a sharp contrast to the rising temperature of everything else within Gun's touch. The ease with which Yotha concedes him control to handle his body as he wishes at this very moment is nothing short of surprising, and he refuses to let the opportunity slip away.

“Beagle,” Yotha asks amusedly, “what are you doing?”

“How come you're the one in heat and I'm getting all the special treatment?”

Gun's eyes go half lidded when Yotha brings a hand to his nape, scratching with the pads of his fingers at the back of his head. “Because you're special.”

The endearment has the opposite effect of what Yotha likely had intended, putting a frown in Gun's face. “But you're special too.” Gun traces Yotha's ribs with his fingertips, the feather-like touch sending visible goosebumps across his skin. He stops once he reaches the binary code tattoo on his waist, mind wandering towards the older man who carries a similar one on his wrist. Had Yotha ever spent a heat with him? Did he let P'Wa look after him, see him vulnerable and pleading and desperate?

Gun blinks twice to disperse those unwanted thoughts. It shouldn't matter what Yotha has possibly done with P’Warich in the past, as it changes nothing about what Yotha has with Gun now. Especially at this very moment, when Yotha is focusing solely on him, the warmth of his body blazing in every single point of contact and Yotha's raging red erection poking against Gun's abdomen, smearing pre-cum all over it.  

“Tell me, if I were to give you special treatment as well, what would you want me to do?”

The words resonate like a purr in Yotha’s ears, this privileged position of proximity giving Gun a perfect view of the red tint that spreads over them in response. Gun watches Yotha’s irises disappear around his dilated pupils, caressing the thigh resting over his hip in subtle encouragement to urge Yotha into giving him a clear direction of what to do for him. With every unhurried back and forth of his palm, he revels in the texture of the short hairs that dust Yotha’s leg standing up in silent chills, and Gun doesn’t think he could get any luckier than this.

Yotha wets his lips before putting an end to his anticipation. “I would want you to finger me,” he says against Gun’s lips, enjoying the twitch of Gun’s grip at the prospect. He places a hand above Gun’s own, bringing it between their faces so he can kiss Gun’s knuckles. “Your hands are so beautiful, beagle. Such long, strong fingers, and yet still so delicate looking. I wanna know what they’d feel like inside of me.” Probably feeling the expectation spiking in Gun’s scent, Yotha decides to make it even worse by wrapping the tips of his middle and ring finger between his lips to lightly suck on them, proceeding to take the wet digits to rest on the curve of his thigh. “Would you do that for me, beagle?”

Damn it. Yotha is really trying to drive him insane.

“I— Yeah, of course.” Gun is quick to oblige to his request, slipping his hand between Yotha’s legs to circle at the slick ring of muscle, already slightly loose because of the heat alone. “Just one at first?”

“You can start with two. Otherwise I’ll barely feel it.” Yotha smiles to ease his tension, but the strain in his voice gives him away. He’s just as impatient as Gun is.

“Okay.” Gun nods, collecting the wetness that’s been running out of his ass to easily push two fingers inside at once, heartbeat going wild inside of his chest at the sudden clench of Yotha’s walls around him while a low moan escapes Yotha’s lips.

The passage tightens up and relaxes around his digits as Gun waits for it to accommodate him, holding back for a singular nod from Yotha before starting to thrust them slowly, testing the waters of what Yotha likes. He stays vigilant of the knit that deepens between Yotha’s eyebrows, the way his lips part around quiet sounds of pleasure with each drag in and out of his ass, glad to conclude he’s doing something right when his pace starts to pick up speed and Yotha flexes his leg to pull Gun closer to him. 

“Like this?” Gun asks hopefully, not bothering to conceal his eagerness.

“Just a little deeper, a-a little harder— fuck.” Yotha's toes curl inward as Gun's fingers bend slightly inside of him, changing the angle to try to reach his prostrate. If Gun had any experience doing this to anyone other than himself he might've found it a little easier, but he's thankful that Yotha is trusting him to take his guidance, being honest about what works and what doesn't. “Another one, add another one—”

It’s the most beautiful sight, the way Yotha’s melting underneath his ministrations and yet still trying to look at Gun through his eyelashes. Gun wonders if he can recognize the adoration in Gun’s gaze, the longing to give him everything he wants, and if that’s the reason why he pulls Gun in for another kiss, claiming the comfort of his mouth. Maybe he does it to muffle the uncharacteristically needy whimper the younger omega’s fingers elicit out of him once he finally finds the right angle to consistently hit his sweet spot with every new thrust. Luckily for Gun he hears it anyway, the noise travelling straight to his forgotten dick, only to be ignored in favor or keeping his utmost attention in the steady pace of his hand so he can hear it again and again.

But concentration fades into nothingness as the obscene squelching of his fingers gets louder with every new gush of slick from Yotha’s hole, the older’s emotions seemingly stealing away his ability to keep his moans to himself, let alone give a proper kiss. His hips are moving in tandem to Gun’s nearly cramping hand when Yotha suddenly clenches tightly around his digits, a pained moan serving as the only warning for Yotha’s release spilling all over their abdomens.

Yotha is still shaking from the aftershocks of his orgasm when Gun slows his thrusts to a stop, keeping his fingers buried inside while Yotha tries to catch his breath. He does his best to rub Yotha’s back with the arm trapped under his waist, pressing a chaste kiss to Yotha’s forehead like his roommate had done to him before. When Yotha lifts glazed eyes to look at him, Gun follows up with another peck to his cheek, the lazy smile that decorates Yotha’s features mirroring the one on Gun’s.

A brief wince replaces it when Gun pulls out his fingers, letting the slick covered hand roam above Yotha’s hip, unsure of what to do with it. A part of him indulges in the thought of bringing it to his mouth to try its taste, but just the fantasy of it alone was enough to turn him red with embarrassment.

“How are you feeling?” Gun questions softly, surprising himself by how affected his voice sounds. “Was it good?”

But instead of the reassurance he’s searching for, Yotha squints slightly in feigned disbelief. “Are you fishing for compliments, beagle?”

His concern washes away in an instant. “Yotha…” He frowns in warning, landing a playful slap to the curve of Yotha’s hip, slick covered fingers be damned. It earns him a suspiciously breathy hiss. He takes a mental note to address it some other time — it makes him giddy to think there’s still so much about Yotha he has yet to learn.

“You were great, Gun. Perfect.” He presses a kiss to Gun's lips, treading his hand in his hair, and the note of contentment exuding from his scent backs up his words.

Gun likes the way his name sounds in Yotha's hushed, fucked out voice. How tenderly he pronounces it in dissonance to the lust still present in his kiss. Not beagle, Gun.

He's still basking in that particular feeling of euphoria when he has a different realization.

“But, Yotha, you're still hard…” he points out.

It was to be expected. He’d learned about this in his subgender studies class back in high school. Even though an omega's pheromones can offer comfort and help soothe some of the physical pain and most of the emotional strain of another omega’s heat, it didn’t have the same effect as an alpha’s pheromones. Having a partner of any subgender was essential for turning the heat wave more bearable, sure, but only an alpha’s pheromones and knot could provide some sort of instant relief to the symptoms. Without an alpha, the waves lasted longer — demanded more time and patience to subside, even with a mate.

Yotha, however, doesn't look bothered. “Well, so are you,” he says as a matter of fact, eyes gleaming with affection. He runs a thumb over Gun’s cheek, the gesture deliberate and enticing, looking at Gun like he's proposing a challenge. “And what do you wanna do about it?” 

Swallowing dryly to calm his increasing heartbeat, Gun takes a firm hold of Yotha’s leg before pushing him to lie down on his back, hovering above him. The surprise that flashes through Yotha’s eyes is oddly satisfying, just as the solid grip of his hands on Gun’s shoulder at the sudden change of position. Gun kneels between his spread legs, the two of them whimpering in unison when the arrangement pushes their sensitive erections together, before bringing his face to Yotha’s neck to kiss gently over his scent gland.

“I want to make love to you. To feel what it’s like to be inside of you.” He thrusts tentatively to bask on the delicious friction the movement creates, distancing himself just enough to meet Yotha’s eyes. “Do you want me to?”

Yotha gives him the warmest smile, probably entertained by his timid choice of words. But he doesn’t comment on it, simply nodding in reassurance as he seeks this taste of his lips again. “Yeah,” he murmurs in between kisses, “yeah, yeah, make love to me. Do whatever you want with me.”

Yotha curls a leg over Gun’s hips to bring him closer, attempting to get rid of any existing gap between them, and the neediness in his tone only increases Gun’s desperation to be inside of him.

He fits his leaking cock over the wet entrance, holding his breath as he teases at the slick, gaping ring of muscle with his tip. It’s a heavenly sensation, to feel Yotha’s hole clench around the head, before giving way for Gun to push his whole length inside in one smooth motion.

“Fuck—” Yotha moans against his lips, nails digging carefully into his skin as he slips a hand down his back to hold Gun’s waist.

Gun’s whole body quivers at the feeling. The wet, velvety walls contracting hungrily around his cock make it difficult not to come right then and there, and so he screws his eyes shut minutely to even out his breathing. Gun whines when Yotha kisses his cheek, and then the spot beneath his ear, his hips stuttering inside of the older omega when he licks at his scent gland.

“Does it feel good?” Yotha whispers by his ear with a low, sultry tone, caressing his back. “Do you like to be inside of me that much, hm?”

“Yotha…”

“Because this is the best I’ve ever felt,” he continues brazenly, rocking his hips softly in encouragement for Gun to start moving, inhaling Gun’s scent like a drug. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.”

His eyes snap open at the confession. Yotha leaves one last kiss on his neck before looking at him, with a sincerity and openness Gun was used to only witnessing through momentary cracks on the walls Yotha has built around himself.

It must be the heat talking, the craving for intimacy lowering his inhibitions and letting him face the vulnerability of his feelings in a way Yotha won't grant himself the right to do once his cycle is over. But Gun is grateful all the same for getting a chance to hear them out loud like this, to know that Yotha's feelings are genuine. That his own are reciprocated, at least at this moment they're sharing.

Yotha tightens up around him once again and only then does Gun start rolling his hips in time with Yotha's movements, a little awkwardly at first, a testament of his lack of experience.

“Yotha…” he whimpers when Yotha pulls at his waist to press his body even closer, causing Gun to spread his knees a little wider over the bed to reach even deeper inside of Yotha with each new thrust.

Gun can feel slick dripping out of his own hole at the sounds of Yotha’s moans, his deep, yet faltering voice monopolizing every thought inside his head as he watches Gun with utmost adoration. “Y-you’re doing so well for me, taking such good care of me.” The sweet praise motivates him to plunge deeper, faster into the soaked entrance, until a hissed out mewl tells Gun he must have brushed the right spot once more, which he strives to hit again and again. “Fuck, Gun, don’t stop, don’t—”

Blunt nails dig into Gun’s back as Yotha buries his face into the crook of his neck, his tone rising up an octave in a way Gun has never heard before, needy and sweet and desperate in sharp contrast to the commanding nature of his pleas. Gun bites his lips in hopes to keep himself focused when Yotha starts sucking bruises into his neck, the last straw being cut once the older omega’s hand travels even lower to circle a finger around Gun’s dripping hole.

“Yotha,” Gun’s legs quiver, thrusts losing momentum from the sheer pleasure building up within him, eyes tearing up from the squelching sounds, the friction, Yotha’s touch, his scent— “I need to…”

“Inside of me,” Yotha demands.

“What?”

“Come inside of me,” he repeats weakly, “please.”

And Gun doesn’t have any intention of denying him, almost coming on the spot. But he can’t let himself do so before he’s certain Yotha is properly satisfied, so that he can help him stave off this heat wave for at least a few hours. He does his best to maintain the rhythm, toes curling when Yotha clenches unbearably tightly around him to signal he’s close, and Gun simply responds with the first instinct that strikes him — sinking unsharp teeth on Yotha’s neck, right over his scent gland.

The beautiful sound that drips out Yotha’s lips along with his hot release spilling once again in Gun’s chest is all that he needs to let go as well, only taking a few more desperate thrusts to spill inside of Yotha, warm cum and slick trickling steadily onto the bedsheets until his movements slow to a halt. Gun lets his tired body rest over the older omega as Yotha caresses the back of his head, still spasming from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He indulges gladly on the kisses and praises Yotha whispers against his skin as he holds Gun close, feeling his eyes grow heavy while ignoring the oversensitivity increasingly overcoming the pleasure of being inside of Yotha. As the high of his orgasm wears down, Gun becomes acutely aware of the mess they’ve made of his bedsheets, now completely drenched and stained with all kinds of fluids — which meant yet another trip to the laundromat. How fun.

But for now he’s more worried about the one lying beneath him, who’s looking at him with droopy eyes once Gun raises his head to meet his gaze. If his muted scent is any indicator to go by, Gun assumes that the first wave of his heat has mostly subsided.

“Are you okay, beagle?” Yotha is the one to ask softly, brushing the tip of his nose against Gun's. “You look a little out of it.”

Gun can feel a blush spreading across his cheeks, but doesn't shy away. “Just overwhelmed, I guess. But not in a bad way, it's just a lot to take in,” Overwhelmed and curious on what this would make of the two of them now. “How about you? Does it feel any better now?”

Yotha smiles fondly, tracing the red marks he left scattered across Gun's neck, suddenly looking rather apologetic over them. “It’s definitely not as intense as before, it must take a few hours before the next wave hits, but I feel a little sensitive. And sticky.” He rests his head over Gun's pillow, letting his eyes fall shut for a second. “And sleepy.”

Observing Yotha's weak attempt at acting cute, Gun almost has it in him to let him sleep and clean him up with a washcloth. Almost, if only the mere thought of falling asleep in such disgusting sheets didn't make his skin crawl a little on the inside. Perhaps Gun is more of a clean freak than he gives himself credit to be.

He watches Yotha wince as he carefully pulls out, making up for it by leaving chaste kisses over his lips. He lingers above him for a beat, memorizing the blissful expression on Yotha’s face and the rise and fall of his chest before untangling his limbs from Yotha’s hold.

“Nice try,” Gun says as he stands up in wobbly legs, tugging at Yotha's wrist, “but someone has to clean this mess up first and it won't be just me.”

Yotha cracks one eye open and grunts something indistinguishable before reluctantly rising to his feet, letting Gun guide him to the bathroom.

***

It’s way past midnight when they’ve finished tidying up the room. They take longer than usual underneath the shower stream, washing each other’s hair and body with utmost tenderness and caution, in a way that feels more novel to Gun than any of the things they had tried earlier that night. For Gun’s bewilderment, it’s easy to adjust to this new level of intimacy, the two of them falling into synchrony like showering together had always been a part of their routine — which is not an unpleasant prospect in the slightest.

That effortless familiarity persists throughout the tasks of cleaning up the floor and changing Gun’s bedsheets, ending up with the two of them building a provisory nest in Yotha’s bed — but only upon Gun’s insistence that it would help delay the next wave, since apparently Yotha had no intention of building one —, with both Gun’s and Yotha’s clothes. It’s then that Gun finds out his missing clothes had, indeed, been hidden amongst Yotha’s own, under the claim that he expected Gun’s scent to linger in the rest of his belongings that way.

Lying on Yotha’s bed with him in nothing but underwear, with his head tucked in his roommate’s neck as Yotha contently lulls himself to sleep with the smell of Gun’s hair in return, Gun feels completely at peace. It’s a warm, lovely feeling blooming inside his heart, only disturbed by the knowledge that despite craving his scent and cuddling him in bed and saying he’s the best thing in his life, Yotha has never called what he’s feeling as love.

It’s a sour thought to have at such a special moment.

And Yotha must sense the change in Gun’s scent, because just when he believes Yotha has already fallen asleep, his voice reverberates from above him. “You know, beagle, for a moment I thought you were going to mark me.”

Gun’s eyes widen, falling on the faint indentation marks he’s left on Yotha’s neck. He gulps, tightening his hold around Yotha’s body, but not brave enough to seek his gaze. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you before biting you.”

Yotha draws circles with the tip of his fingers along his back, taking a minute before replying fondly. “I think I would’ve let you, though. I would let you mark me.”

Gun pulls away then, unable to hide his shock. Meanwhile, Yotha simply watches him with gleaming eyes, sleepy and satisfied.

“Yotha, you can’t say things like that to someone you’re not truly dating. It isn’t right, not unless you actually mean it,” Gun admonishes with a frown.

A flash of guilt creeps into Yotha’s face, who presses his lips together while brushing Gun’s hair away from his forehead. “I do mean it. And I also meant what I said earlier, beagle. You’re special to me, more than anyone else…” His voice trails off, like the exhaustion of the first heat wave is truly getting to him. “I guess maybe that’s what love is, right? This inability of staying away from you, picturing a future without you.” He draws in a breath, blinking heavily. “If I were to ever have a mate, it could only be you.”

Hope, people say, is a very dangerous thing to have. And yet Gun allows it to spread rapidly inside his chest, like a fire lighting up his body from the inside out. But this isn’t the kind of conversation one should have in the middle of the night, especially during a heat. And so he relaxes within Yotha’s embrace once again, counting the rhythm of his heartbeat inside his mind. “Let’s talk about this again once your heat is over, okay?” he requests softly, pleased with the hum of agreement he receives in response.

It’s hard to sleep though, when you’re so happy you can barely contain your smile.

Oh, but he’d almost forgotten. There was one more thing he’d yet to get an answer for.

“Yotha?”

“Yeah?”

“If you didn’t want me to know you were hiding my clothes, why would you take my university jacket even though I would have to wear it today?”

“I was actually going to skip today’s class and let you take my jacket instead. But once I woke up you were already gone,” Yotha says, and Gun doesn’t try to contain his giggles at the wackiness of his plan. Such a convoluted plan for something he could’ve plainly asked for. Yotha chuckles along with him, before continuing. “Or maybe I did it because deep down I wanted you to confront me all along.” Gun’s lips fall agape, processing the information, just as Yotha settles, “Now go to sleep, beagle. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

He leaves a kiss on top of Gun’s head, and Gun sighs gleefully against his neck. “Okay.”

As his eyes fall shut, Gun chooses to trust the sincerity of Yotha’s words. They will sort things out, and he will help Yotha through the rest of his heat, and if by the time it’s all over Yotha is still sure of his feelings, then he will let himself dream about bite marks and mating. For now, he thinks about how to break it to his mom that he’ll no longer be joining them for the week, as he’ll get caught up caring for a sick friend. He figures he could try to see his family briefly on sunday to make up for it. And this time, with the company of his soon-to-be-boyfriend.

Something tells Gun there’s no way his mom will be too disappointed if only she sees the happiness radiating on his face.