Work Text:
The suppressants run out on a Wednesday.
Jisung doesn’t realize it until he’s standing in the bathroom at seven in the morning, the cabinet door hanging open, staring at a blister pack with two pills left in it. There is a low, insistent warmth that’s been sitting at the base of his spine for the past two days ticking upward.
He calls his doctor. Voicemail.
He opens three pharmacy apps in succession. Out of stock. Out of stock. Estimated delivery four to seven business days.
He stands in the bathroom for a long time.
Fine, he thinks. Fine. He has managed his heats alone since he was sixteen years old. He has managed them through university finals and family holidays. He does not need suppressants. He does not need help. He is Han Jisung and he has never needed anything from anyone and he is especially not going to need anything from the man who has never once looked at Jisung without anything but disdain.
Jisung takes his last two pills, drinks half a litre of water, and goes to work.
By noon, he’s warm.
Not feverish, not yet, just warm. It makes his clothes stick to his body like second skin and the air feels slightly thick. He sits at his desk at work and tells himself it’s fine.
By three, he’s cancelled his afternoon calls.
By five, when he gets home, he goes straight to his room and turns the air conditioning down to sixteen degrees and lies on top of his sheets in a t-shirt and boxers. He decides to do some breathing exercises to help with the situation.
The breathing exercises help for approximately forty minutes.
By eight o’clock he has relocated to the couch because his bedroom feels too small and too hot even at sixteen degrees. He has changed into the softest, loosest clothes he owns and he has an ice pack sweating against the back of his neck. And if it weren’t already annoying enough, his body has made the executive decision to start producing slick in a quantity that is frankly embarrassing. Even the cramps have established themselves as a permanent feature of the evening.
He texts Felix, hoping that he might have some suppressants lying around.
Felix replies: I’m in Rome. Should I come back?
No, Jisung types.
Felix: Is Minho home?
Jisung stares at this for a while. No.
Felix: When does he get back?
Jisung: Eleven. Maybe later.
There is a pause in which Jisung can feel Felix choosing his words carefully.
Felix: Jisung. You need an alpha.
Jisung: I need suppressants.
Felix: You have run out of them. Also, you have an alpha right there in your apartment living with you.
Jisung: You already know we don’t..
Felix: I know what you don’t do. I’m telling you to do it anyway. You’ve been white-knuckling your way through this marriage for six months and you’re in heat with no suppressants. Text him.
Jisung puts his phone face down on the coffee table, hoping that the earth could swallow him up.
He watches the ceiling for a while. The cramp at the base of his spine rolls through, crests, ebbs. His scent is everywhere now — he can smell himself, which is deeply undignified, the thick honey warmth of it soaked into the couch cushions, hanging in the air. If he were an alpha walking into this apartment right now…
He doesn’t finish that thought.
He picks up his phone. He puts it back down. He picks it up again.
He is not going to text Lee Minho. He is not going to be the person who texts their estranged husband of six months to say hey, so I’m in heat and I was wondering if you wanted to fuck me senseless.. absolutely not. He would rather suffer. He is very good at suffering quietly, he has years of practice.
At 10:47 PM, the front door opens.
Jisung hears it from the couch where he’s been slowly dissolving into a puddle of his own body heat. He should move. He should get up and go to his room and lock the door and pretend he’s asleep.
He doesn’t move.
Footsteps in the entryway. The sound of keys being dropped into the bowl on the table. Dress shoes being removed.
And then silence.
Jisung knows the exact moment Minho scents him. He can hear it in the way the footsteps stop abruptly, in the sharp intake of breath that follows.
“Jisung?” Minho’s voice carries from the entryway, carefully controlled.
Jisung wants to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly both.
“Living room,” he manages, and his voice comes out lower than he intended.
More footsteps. Closer now.
And then Minho is standing in the doorway to the living room, still in his work clothes—charcoal suit, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“You’re in heat,” Minho says. It’s not a question.
“Observant,” Jisung says. He means for it to come out sharp, bratty, the way he always talks to Minho. Instead it comes out breathy and he hates himself for it.
Minho’s jaw tightens. “When did it start?”
“This morning. Ran out of suppressants.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Why would I?” Jisung sits up, which is a mistake , because the movement sends a wave of heat through him and he has to bite back a sound. “It’s not like you care.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Minho’s voice is sharp now, losing some of that professional polish. “You’re in heat in our apartment with no suppressants. Of course I care. Have you called your doctor?”
“Voicemail.”
“Pharmacy?”
“Out of stock everywhere. Four to seven business days.”
Minho is quiet for a moment. Jisung can see him thinking, calculating, the way he always does. Minho approaches everything like a business problem to be solved, including, apparently, his omega husband going into heat.
“You should have texted me,” Minho says finally.
“And said what?” Jisung laughs, and it sounds slightly unhinged even to his own ears. “Hey, I know we haven’t touched each other in six months and you can barely stand to be in the same room as me, but I’m in heat so do you want to..”
“Stop.” Minho’s voice cuts across him. “Just stop talking for a second.”
Jisung stops, but only because another cramp rolls through him.
Minho runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would be endearing if Jisung had any capacity left for finding things endearing. “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer honestly.”
“Fine.”
“How bad is it?”
“I’m fine,” he says, lifting his chin defiantly even as another wave of heat makes his thighs press together.
Minho’s eyes narrow. “You’re not fine. You’re shaking.”
“So what if I am?” Jisung’s voice has an edge to it now. “It’s not your problem.”
“You’re my husband.”
“In name only.” Jisung cuts him off. “We both know this marriage is just a contract. So don’t pretend you suddenly give a shit about me now.”
Minho’s hands clench at his sides. “I’m calling someone. A service. There are agencies that provide professional aid.”
“Already did,” Jisung lies smoothly. “They’re sending someone over in an hour.”
Minho goes very still. “What?”
“You heard me. I called a service. A professional alpha will be here soon to help me through my heat.” Jisung watches Minho’s expression darken. “So you can go back to your office or wherever you usually hide from me.”
“You’re not letting a stranger fuck you,” Minho says, and his voice has dropped lower.
“Watch me.” Jisung tilts his head back against the couch, deliberately baring his throat in a way that’s more challenge than submission. “Not like you were offering.”
Minho takes a step closer. “You can’t just..”
“Can’t what? Make my own decisions about my own body?” Jisung’s laugh is sharp. “You don’t get a say in this, Minho. You gave that up when you decided to treat me like a roommate instead of a husband.”
“I was trying to be respectful.”
“Respectful,” Jisung repeats, and he sounds almost hysterical now. “You were being respectful by ignoring me for six months? By leaving the room every time I walk in? By acting like touching me would be some kind of chore?”
Minho’s voice is tight. “I never said it would be a chore.”
“You didn’t have to say it. I got the message loud and clear.” Another cramp makes Jisung curl forward slightly, but he fights through it, meets Minho’s eyes with defiance. “So yeah, I’d rather let a stranger touch me than beg you to do something you clearly don’t want to do.”
“You think I don’t want to?”
“I know you don’t. You’ve made that pretty obvious.”
“You don’t know anything.” Minho takes another step closer, and Jisung can see the way his control is fraying at the edges. “You think I don’t want to touch you? You think I’ve been avoiding you because I don’t want..” He stops, jaw clenching. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me.” Jisung spreads his arms wide, another challenge. “Tell me exactly why you’ve been treating me like I have the plague for six months. I’d love to hear it.”
“Because..” Minho stops to take a breath. “Because you made it very clear on our wedding night that you didn’t want this marriage. That you were being forced into it. And I wasn’t going to..I wasn’t going to make it worse by forcing myself on you.”
Jisung stares at him. “So instead you decided to just… ignore me completely?”
“I was trying to give you space.”
“I don’t want space!” The words burst out before Jisung can stop them. “I’ve had six months of space and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of living with someone who acts like I don’t exist! I’m sick of—” Another cramp cuts him off and this time he can’t hide the small sound that escapes.
“Cancel the service,” Minho says.
“No.”
“Jisung.”
“I said no.” Jisung’s eyes flash. “I’d rather have a stranger’s hands on me than yours. At least they’ll actually want to touch me.”
Something in Minho’s expression cracks. “You think I don’t want to touch you?”
“I know you don’t.”
“I think about touching you every single day.” Minho’s voice is rough now, losing all that careful control. “I think about it when I wake up and you’re in the kitchen making coffee. I think about it when you walk past me in the hallway. I think about it every goddamn night when I know you’re just two doors away and I can smell you through the walls.”
Jisung’s breath catches.
“So don’t..” Minho takes another step closer. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t want to touch you. Don’t tell me you’d rather have a stranger when you have no idea how hard I’ve been trying not to..” He stops. “Cancel. The. Service.”
“Make me,” Jisung says, and he knows he’s being a brat, knows he’s pushing, but he can’t seem to stop himself.
Minho’s eyes flash. “Is that what you want? You want me to make you?”
“I want you to do something,” Jisung says.
“Anything other than standing there looking at me like I’m some kind of problem you need to solve.”
“You are a problem,” Minho says, but he’s moving now, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been a problem since the day I met you.”
“Then let someone else deal with me.”
“No.” Minho is right in front of him now, one hand braced on the back of the couch, caging Jisung in. “There is no service, is there?”
Jisung’s silence is answer enough.
“You were lying,” Minho says, and there’s something almost like satisfaction in his voice. “You were trying to make me jealous.”
“I was trying to get a reaction,” Jisung corrects, tilting his chin up defiantly even though Minho is so close now he can feel the heat radiating off him.
“You want a reaction?” Minho’s voice is low. “I’ll give you a reaction.”
His hand comes up to grip Jisung’s jaw, firm but not painful, forcing Jisung to maintain eye contact.
Jisung’s breath hitches despite himself.
“Here’s your reaction,” Minho says, his thumb pressing against Jisung’s lower lip. “I’m going to help you through your heat. Not because you asked nicely, because you didn’t. Not because you need me, even though you do. But because the thought of anyone else touching you makes me want to break things.”
“Possessive,” Jisung manages, trying to sound mocking even though his voice comes out breathy. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me.” Minho’s grip tightens slightly. “But you’re going to learn.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. But first, you’re going to do something for me.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re going to tell me what you need.” Minho’s voice drops lower.“Right now. No games. No attitude. Tell me what you need.”
Jisung wants to fight it. He wants to snap back with something bratty and defiant. But another cramp rolls through him and the words come out before he can stop them: “I need… need it to stop hurting.”
“What else?”
“I need..” Jisung’s hands fist in his own shirt. “I need to be touched. I need..fuck..I need..”
“Say it.”
“I need an alpha,” Jisung finally admits, and he hates how small his voice sounds. “I need you.”
“Good boy,” Minho says, and the praise does something to Jisung that he absolutely will not examine right now. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to let me. No fighting. No attitude. You’re going to be good for me.”
“I’m not good at being good,” Jisung says, some of his defiance returning.
“I know.” Minho’s smile is sharp. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
He releases Jisung’s jaw, straightening up.
“Bedroom. Now.”
“What if I don’t want to..”
“Then I’ll carry you.” Minho’s tone makes it clear this isn’t an idle threat. “Your choice. You can walk there on your own, or I can put you over my shoulder. Either way, you’re going.”
Jisung glares at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re a brat.” Minho holds out his hand. “Bedroom. Last chance to walk there yourself.”
Jisung considers refusing just to be difficult. But another wave of heat makes the decision for him. He takes Minho’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.
His legs are shakier than he expected. He stumbles slightly and Minho’s arm immediately comes around his waist, steadying him.
“I can walk,” Jisung protests.
“Clearly.” But Minho doesn’t let go.
They make it to Minho’s bedroom—Jisung’s is on the other side of the apartment, as far from Minho’s as physically possible in their penthouse, which says everything about the last six months.
Minho guides him to the bed, and Jisung expects him to just start. To get this over with. But instead, Minho steps back.
“Stay there,” he says, and then he’s gone.
Jisung sits on the edge of the bed, confused and getting more frustrated by the second. He can hear Minho moving around the apartment—the kitchen, the bathroom—and what the fuck is he doing?
When Minho returns, he’s carrying a tray with water bottles, protein bars, and what looks like leftover pasta.
“You need to hydrate,” Minho says, setting the tray on the nightstand. “And eat something. When’s the last time you ate?”
“I don’t need all this.”
“When’s the last time you ate?” Minho repeats, his voice firmer.
“Breakfast,” Jisung admits reluctantly.
Minho opens a water bottle, holds it out. “Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“I don’t care.You’re going to drink at least half of this before we do anything else.”
“You can’t just order me around.”
“I can and I am.” Minho sits down next to him on the bed. “You asked me to help you. This is me helping. Now drink.”
Jisung glares at him but takes the water bottle anyway. He lifts it to his lips and takes a small sip, like he’s doing it purely to rile him up.
“Half the bottle,” Minho says. “I’m not joking.”
“You’re really annoying, you know that?”
“And you’re really stubborn. Drink.”
Jisung drinks, more to spite him than anything else, but he has to admit, albeit grudgingly, that the water does help. The cool liquid soothes his throat, settling something in his stomach.
When he’s finished half the bottle, Minho takes it from him and hands him a protein bar.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be.” Minho’s tone leaves no room for argument. “Heats are exhausting. You need fuel. Eat.”
“I’ve been through heats before.”
“Not with me, you haven’t.” Minho’s voice is firm. “And if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. Which means you eat. You drink. You tell me if something hurts or if you need to stop. Understand?”
Jisung wants to argue. Wants to tell Minho he’s being overbearing and controlling. But another cramp rolls through him and he just nods.
“Good.” Minho stands up. “Finish eating. I’m going to get some things.”
“What things?”
But Minho is already gone again.
Jisung eats the protein bar, his body caught between the heat burning through him and his genuine confusion about what’s happening. This isn’t..this isn’t how he expected this to go. He expected Minho to just… fuck him and get it over with. Quick, efficient, impersonal.
He didn’t expect water and protein bars and Minho looking at him like he actually gives a shit.
When Minho returns, he’s changed out of his suit and into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s carrying towels, more water, and..
“Are those nest materials?” Jisung asks, staring at the soft blankets in Minho’s arms.
“You don’t have a proper nest.” Minho sets everything down on the bed. “Omegas in heat need—”
“I know what omegas in heat need,” Jisung interrupts. “I just didn’t think you’d..”
“Didn’t think I’d care?” Minho asks quietly.
Jisung doesn’t answer.
“We can talk about this later.Do you want help building a nest or do you want to do it yourself?”
Jisung stares at him. In six months of marriage, Minho has never asked him what he wants. Has never offered to help with anything omega-related. Has treated the whole designation thing like it doesn’t exist.
And now he’s standing here with nest materials, asking permission.
“I..” Jisung’s voice comes out smaller than he intends. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.” Minho’s voice is gentle now. “How about I help you, and if you don’t like how I’m doing it, you can tell me to stop?”
Jisung nods.
Minho moves around the bed, and Jisung watches as he starts arranging the blankets and pillows with a care that seems at odds with everything Jisung thought he knew about him. He creates a nest that’s soft and secure, with high sides and a deep center, exactly the kind of nest Jisung’s omega instincts are crying out for.
“Is this okay?” Minho asks, stepping back.
Jisung looks at the nest. It’s..it’s perfect. It’s better than any nest he’s made himself in years.
“It’s fine,” he says, because he’s not about to admit how much he loves it.
“Get in.”
Jisung climbs into the nest, and the second he’s surrounded by the soft materials, something in him settles slightly. Not completely—he’s still burning up, still aching—but enough that he can breathe a little easier.
Minho stands at the edge of the bed, watching him.
“What?” Jisung asks, defensive.
“You look good in a nest,” Minho says quietly.
“Shut up.”
“I mean it.” Minho’s eyes are dark again. “You look..” He stops. “Can I come in?”
The question surprises Jisung. “It’s your bed.”
“It’s your nest,” Minho corrects. “I’m not coming in unless you invite me.”
Jisung stares at him. This alpha—this alpha who has barely looked at him for six months—is asking permission to enter his nest.
“Yes,” Jisung says quietly. “You can come in.”
Minho climbs into the nest, moving carefully, like he’s trying not to disturb anything. He settles next to Jisung, close but not touching.
“Tell me what you need,” Minho says.
And Jisung, who has spent six months being stubborn and refusing to admit he needs anything from anyone, finally breaks.
“Touch me,” he says. “Please just touch me.”
Minho doesn’t hesitate. His hand comes up, fingers threading through Jisung’s hair, and Jisung lets out a moan, the sound ripping out of him involuntarily. The touch burns through him like fire, like he’s been dying of thirst and Minho is water.
“Fuck,” Jisung gasps, and he’s shaking, trembling so hard his teeth chatter. Six months of denying this, of pushing it down, and now it’s exploding through him all at once.
Minho’s other hand grabs his hip, pulling him closer, and Jisung whimpers. The heat is consuming him from the inside out, turning his blood molten. He can feel sweat beading on his skin, his body temperature spiking.
“Please,” he chokes out, not even sure what he’s begging for. “Please, I can’t.”
“I know,” Minho says, and his voice is rougher now. He pulls Jisung against him fully, and the full-body contact makes Jisung cry out. It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
Jisung’s hands scrabble at Minho’s shirt, desperate, clumsy. He needs skin, needs more, needs everything. The heat is clawing through him, demanding, relentless.
“You should have told me it was this bad,” Minho says, and there’s something sharp in his voice now, almost angry.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung gasps, but he’s not, he can’t think, can’t focus on anything except the way Minho’s hands feel on him, the way his scent is flooding Jisung’s senses. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please..”
Minho kisses him, hard and claiming, and Jisung breaks.
The kiss tears through Jisung like lightning. He opens his mouth with a desperate sound, clutching at Minho like he’ll die if he lets go. Maybe he will. He feels like he’s been dying for six months and only now remembers how to breathe.
Minho kisses like he’s trying to devour him, one hand fisted in Jisung’s hair, the other dragging down his spine. Jisung arches into it, his whole body burning. The heat is a living thing inside him, demanding more, more, more.
“Minho,” he gasps against his mouth, “I need..”
“I know what you need.”
He pulls back just enough to yank Jisung’s shirt over his head, and the brief loss of contact makes Jisung whine, high and broken.
Then Minho’s hands are on his bare skin and Jisung sobs. The sensation is overwhelming, too much and not nearly enough. His skin feels hypersensitive, every nerve ending on fire.
“Look at you,” Minho mutters, almost to himself. “You’re burning up.”
Jisung is. He can feel the heat radiating off himself in waves, feel the slick already starting between his thighs, his body preparing itself whether he wants it to or not. Shame tries to surface but it’s immediately swallowed by need.
“Don’t stop touching me,” Jisung begs, his voice wrecked. “Please, don’t—I can’t—”
Minho pushes him down into the nest, following him, covering him. The weight of him is perfect, grounding, exactly what Jisung’s instincts are screaming for. Jisung wraps his legs around Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, trying to get more.
Minho’s hand slides between them, palming at Jisung through his pants, and Jisung nearly comes apart right there. “Just let me take care of you.”
Jisung can’t answer, can only arch up desperately into Minho’s hand, a broken sound tearing from his throat.
“Please,” he gasps, “please, please..”
Minho makes a rough sound and strips Jisung’s pants off in one swift motion. The air hits his fevered skin and Jisung whimpers, exposed and aching. He can feel how wet he is, slick coating his thighs, his body showing exactly how desperate he is.
“Fuck, Jisung.” Minho’s voice is wrecked. His hands grip Jisung’s thighs, spreading them wider, and Jisung burns with it, with being seen like this. “You’re..”
“Don’t,” Jisung chokes out, trying to close his legs, but Minho holds them open.
“Don’t what? Don’t look at you?” Minho leans down, mouth hot against Jisung’s neck. “You asked me to touch you. You begged me.”
He did. God, he did, and he’s still begging, his hips rolling up shamelessly, seeking friction, seeking anything. The heat is a wildfire inside him, consuming rational thought, leaving only pure need.
Minho’s fingers trail up his inner thigh and Jisung whines, high and desperate. When they finally, finally press inside, Jisung’s back bows off the nest.
“There,” Minho murmurs against his throat.
“That’s what you needed, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jisung sobs, “yes, fuck, yes..”
But it’s not enough. His body is demanding more, the heat clawing at his insides. Minho’s fingers work him open with devastating efficiency, finding that spot inside that makes Jisung see stars, but it’s still not enough.
“More,” Jisung gasps, nails digging into Minho’s shoulders. “Minho, I need..I need you, please..”
“You’ll take what I give you,” Minho says, adding another finger. Jisung cries out, trembling.
“I can’t..” Jisung is shaking apart, tears streaming down his face. “It hurts, I need..”
“I know.” Minho’s voice softens slightly, his free hand coming up to cup Jisung’s face. “I know it hurts. But I’m going to make it better. I promise.”
Minho’s thumb brushes away Jisung’s tears even as his fingers continue their relentless pace, stretching him open. Jisung is incoherent with it, reduced to gasps and broken sounds he’s never made before.
“That’s it,” Minho murmurs. “Let me hear you.”
When Minho finally pulls his fingers out, Jisung actually sobs at the loss, grabbing at him frantically.
“No, don’t..”
“Shh.” Minho kisses him again, swallowing his protests. “I’ve got you.”
The sound of Minho’s belt, his zipper, sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through Jisung. He’s shaking so hard he can barely breathe, his body screaming for this, needing this with an intensity that terrifies him.
When Minho finally pushes inside, the stretch and fullness of it punches the air from Jisung’s lungs. He claws at Minho’s back, gasping.
“Fuck,” Minho grits out, and he sounds as wrecked as Jisung feels. “You feel..”
He doesn’t finish. Just bottoms out and holds there, letting Jisung adjust, and Jisung wants to scream because he doesn’t want to adjust, he needs Minho to move, needs him to fuck the heat out of his system, needs..
“Move,” he begs. “Minho, please, please..”
Minho pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, and Jisung’s vision whites out.
The pace Minho sets is brutal, exactly what Jisung’s body is demanding. Hard and fast, like Minho is trying to fuck six months of denial out of both of them. Jisung can only hold on, nails breaking skin, sounds he can’t control pouring out of him.
“This is what you needed?” Minho whispers against his ear. “This is what you were too stubborn to ask for?”
“Yes,” Jisung sobs, “Yes, fuck, yes..”
The heat is cresting, consuming him from the inside. Every thrust hits that spot inside him that makes stars explode behind his eyelids. He’s babbling now, incoherent, begging for he doesn’t even know what.
“Gonna..” he gasps, “I’m gonna..”
“Not yet.” Minho’s hand wraps around him, squeezing just shy of painful. “You don’t come until I say.”
Jisung makes a sound of pure anguish.
“I can’t,” Jisung sobs, trembling violently. “I can’t, please, I need..”
“You can.” Minho’s voice is iron. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
He shifts the angle and Jisung screams, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain. His body is wound so tight he feels like he’ll shatter, the heat still roaring through him even as Minho fucks into him relentlessly.
“Please,” Jisung begs, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Minho, I need to come, please..”
Minho’s rhythm starts to falter, his breathing harsh. Jisung can feel it when the knot starts to swell, catching on his rim with every thrust, and a fresh wave of desperate need crashes through him.
“Oh god,” he gasps, “oh god, please..”
“You want it?” Minho asks. “Want me to knot you?”
“Yes,” Jisung sobs. His body is screaming for it, every instinct demanding it. “Please, please, I need it, need you to..”
The next thrust, the knot catches and locks, stretching Jisung impossibly wide. The sensation of being completely filled and owned sends him over the edge without permission.
He comes with a broken cry, his whole body convulsing. Dimly he feels Minho follow, the knot swelling even larger as he spills inside, and it triggers another wave of pleasure that leaves Jisung sobbing.
“I’ve got you,” Minho murmurs, carefully maneuvering them onto their sides, still locked together. His hand strokes through Jisung’s hair as Jisung shakes apart. “I’ve got you.”
The heat hasn’t broken—Jisung can already feel it building again, relentless—but the sharp edge of desperation has dulled. He clings to Minho, gasping.
“How long?” Minho asks quietly.
Jisung knows what he’s asking. How long will the heat last.
“Three days,” he whispers. “Maybe four.”
Minho’s arms tighten around him. “Then I’m not leaving this nest for as long as it takes.”
Jisung shudders, a fresh wave of slick coating Minho’s knot at the words. His body responds eagerly even though he just came, the heat already stirring again in his belly.
“You can’t,” he whispers, but there’s no conviction in it. “You have schedules, responsibilities..”
“Fuck the schedules.” Minho’s voice is fierce. He tilts Jisung’s face up, forcing eye contact. “You think I’m leaving you like this? After you nearly destroyed yourself trying to handle it alone?”
The knot is still locked inside him, a constant pressure that keeps Jisung tethered. He can feel Minho’s release, hot and wet inside him, and his body wants it, craves it with an intensity that makes him shake.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Jisung admits, voice small.
“Like what?Actually asking for what you want?” Minho’s hand slides down to splay across Jisung’s lower abdomen, pressing slightly. Jisung gasps at the pressure on the knot. “Everyone has needs, Jisung. Even you.”
The knot pulses inside him and Jisung whimpers, his hips twitching involuntarily. Already his body is responding again, heating up, demanding more.
“It’s going to get worse,” he warns. “Before it gets better. The first wave is never..it won’t be enough.”
“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then.” Minho kisses his temple.
Jisung flushes. “When the knot goes down, I’ll..I’ll need you again.”
“How many times?” Minho’s hand is still pressed against his stomach. “During a heat. How many times?”
Jisung wants to hide his face but Minho won’t let him look away. “I don’t know. Eight? Ten? It depends..”
“Per day?”
The shame is suffocating. Jisung nods mutely.
Minho doesn’t look horrified. Doesn’t look disgusted. He just nods, like Jisung has told him something practical and manageable.“Okay. When the knot goes down, I’m getting supplies. You stay in the nest.”
“You can’t leave..” Panic claws at Jisung’s throat.
“Five minutes,” Minho soothes. “I’ll be gone for five minutes, maximum. Can you handle that?”
Jisung doesn’t want to. The thought of Minho leaving makes his chest tight. But he nods.
They lie there, locked together, Minho’s hands gentle on Jisung’s overheated skin. The knot keeps them joined, intimate and inescapable. Jisung can feel every small shift, every breath Minho takes.
“Why didn’t you tell me before it started?” Minho asks quietly. Jisung’s face burns with humiliation.
“Why do you even care?” Jisung snaps. “It’s not like we’re..we don’t even talk, Minho. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re stubborn as hell,” Minho shoots back. “I know you’d rather die than ask for help.”
“I don’t need help. I need..” Jisung cuts himself off, biting his lip hard.
“What? You need what?” Minho’s voice is sharp, challenging. “Say it.”
“Fuck you,” Jisung mutters.
“You already are.” Minho shifts deliberately and Jisung chokes on a gasp. “But you still haven’t answered the question. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Get someone to help you through this?”
“Oh, sure, let me just announce to everyone that I’m going into heat. That’ll go great.” Jisung’s laugh is bitter. “Who exactly was I supposed to ask? We’re not friends, Minho. We’re barely even civil to each other.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Yeah, because you poked your nose into my business!” Jisung tries to elbow him but the angle is wrong. “I didn’t ask you to do shit.”
“You begged me to touch you.”
The reminder makes Jisung’s face flame. “That was..I wasn’t thinking straight. The heat..”
“The heat made you honest,” Minho corrects. “Finally.”
“God, you’re insufferable,” Jisung grits out, but another wave of need is building and his body betrays him, pressing back against Minho despite his words.
“Stop being difficult.”
“I’m not being..” Jisung cuts off with a whimper as the heat pulses through him again. His body is already responding, slick and needy despite having just been satisfied.
“There it is,” Minho murmurs. “Can’t even go twenty seconds before you need it again.”
“Shut up,” Jisung gasps, but he’s already grinding back against the knot, seeking friction.
“Make me.”
“I would if I could move,” Jisung snarls, yanking at Minho’s arm around his waist. The knot shifts inside him and he has to bite back a moan.
“Whose fault is that?” Minho’s breath is hot against his neck. “You’re the one who begged for it.”
“I hate you,” Jisung gasps, but his body is burning up again, the heat clawing its way back to the surface. It’s humiliating how fast it builds, how desperately he needs more already.
“Sure you do.” Minho’s hand slides down between Jisung’s legs and Jisung jerks, oversensitive. “That’s why you’re already soaking again.”
“Don’t..” Jisung tries to squirm away but there’s nowhere to go, trapped on Minho’s knot. “Stop talking.”
“Why? You don’t like hearing what a mess you are?” Minho’s fingers trace where they’re joined and Jisung makes a broken sound. “How wet and desperate?”
“Fuck you,” Jisung chokes out.
“Again? Already?” Minho sounds amused and it makes Jisung want to hit him. “The knot hasn’t even gone down yet.”
“I didn’t ask for your commentary,” Jisung snaps, even as his hips rock back involuntarily.
“No, you just asked me to touch you. To fuck you. What was it you said? Please, I need you?”
Jisung’s face burns. “That’s not..I wasn’t..”
“Wasn’t what? Begging?” Minho’s teeth graze his shoulder. “Because I remember it pretty clearly. You were very articulate about what you needed.”
“The heat..” Jisung tries.
“The heat made you honest,” Minho repeats. “You can blame it all you want, but you still chose me.”
“I didn’t choose you. You were just here.”
“Bullshit.” Minho’s grip tightens. “You could’ve sent me away. But you let me in.”
Jisung doesn’t have an answer for that. Can’t explain why, when Minho showed up, something in him just broke. Why it had to be Minho and not anyone else.
The knot finally starts to soften and Jisung whimpers at the loss as Minho slowly pulls out. The emptiness is immediately unbearable.
“I’m getting supplies,” Minho says, sitting up. “Stay in the nest.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Jisung mutters, but he’s already curling into the blankets, shaking.
“Right.” Minho pulls his pants on. “Five minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
Minho gives him a look. “Like trying to handle the next wave alone out of sheer stubbornness.”
“I’ve been handling it alone for hours,” Jisung shoots back.
“And you were doing a shit job of it.” Minho heads for the door. “I’ll be back.”
The second he’s gone, Jisung regrets every sharp word. The emptiness is crushing, the heat already building again. He burrows deeper into the nest, surrounded by Minho’s scent now, and hates how much it helps.
Hates how much he wants him to come back.
Four minutes pass like hours. Jisung counts each one, curled on his side, trying not to fall apart. His skin is too hot, too tight. Everything aches. The slick between his thighs is already building again and he squeezes his eyes shut against the humiliation of it.
He could touch himself. Should, maybe. Take the edge off before Minho gets back so he doesn’t seem so desperate, so needy.
But his hands shake when he tries, and nothing he does feels like enough. It just makes it worse, makes him more aware of how empty he is.
The door opens and Jisung’s head snaps up.
Minho’s back, arms full of water bottles and what looks like protein bars and fruit.
“Told you five minutes,” Minho says, dumping everything at the edge of the nest.
“Congratulations, you can tell time,” Jisung mutters, but his voice comes out shaky.
Minho’s eyes rake over him and Jisung knows what he sees—Jisung trembling, flushed, clearly struggling. It makes him want to bare his teeth.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Minho shrugs off his shirt.
“Like you..” Jisung’s breath catches as Minho moves closer. “Like you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you.” Minho kneels at the edge of the nest. “I think you’re an idiot but I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“Great. Fantastic.” Jisung tries to sound angry but it comes out breathless. The heat is roaring back, demanding.
“Drink first.” Minho holds out a water bottle.
“Stop telling me what to do,” Jisung snaps, but he takes the bottle. His hands are shaking so badly he almost drops it.
Minho watches him drink silently. When Jisung finishes half the bottle, Minho takes it back and sets it aside.
“Better?”
“No,” Jisung admits, because he can’t help it. The water didn’t touch the heat burning through him. “I need…”
He cuts himself off, biting his lip. He already begged once. He’s not doing it again.
“What do you need?”
“You know what I need,” Jisung grits out.
“Say it anyway.”
“Why?” Jisung glares at him. “So you can hold it over me later? So you can remind me how pathetic I was?”
“So I know you actually want this.” Minho’s eyes are intense. “Not just the heat. You.”
Jisung’s breath stutters. “I…”
“Because we can do this clinically,” Minho continues. “I can knot you every few hours, keep you alive through it, and not say a word. Is that what you want?”
No. God, no. The thought of Minho touching him like it’s an obligation, like he’s just another thing Minho has to deal with..
“I want..” Jisung’s voice cracks. “I want you to stop making me say it.”
“Not good enough.” Minho doesn’t move. “Tell me what you need or I walk out that door.”
“I want you…I want you to take care of me..”
Hearing that immediately makes Minho’s face break into an almost-smile. He strips efficiently, and the sight of him makes Jisung’s mouth go dry. He reaches up, trying to pull Minho down to him, but Minho catches his wrists.
“No,” Minho says firmly. “You don’t get to rush this.”
“I’m literally in heat,” Jisung gasps. “What part of that don’t you get?”
“The part where you think you’re in control.” Minho pins Jisung’s wrists above his head with one hand. “You asked me for help. That means you follow my lead.”
Jisung writhes underneath him, desperate for friction. “That’s not what I agreed to.”
“Then I guess we have a problem.” But Minho’s free hand trails down Jisung’s chest, over his stomach, and Jisung arches into the touch with a whimper.
“Please,” he grits out. “Minho, I can’t..”
“You can.” Minho’s hand skirts around where Jisung needs him most, maddeningly close. “You’re going to.”
Jisung makes a sound of pure frustration. “I take it back. I don’t trust you. You’re sadistic.”
“Probably.” Minho’s teeth graze his collarbone and Jisung jerks. “But you still need me.”
His hand finally, finally wraps around Jisung and the touch is electric. Jisung bucks up into it, shameless, chasing the sensation.
“Look at you,” Minho murmurs. “So desperate. Were you like this the whole time? Locked in here, trying to handle it alone?”
“Shut up,” Jisung gasps, but he can’t stop moving, can’t stop seeking more.
“Did you touch yourself? Try to make it better?” Minho’s grip tightens just slightly. “Or were you too stubborn even for that?”
Jisung doesn’t answer, just turns his face away. The truth is he’d tried, early on, but his own touch had felt wrong, empty. Nothing like this.
“Thought so.” Minho releases him and Jisung makes a sound of protest. “On your stomach.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Minho’s voice brooks no argument. “On your stomach, now.”
Jisung wants to refuse on principle, but his body is already moving, rolling over and presenting without conscious thought. The humiliation of it burns through him but so does the need.
Minho’s hands grip his hips, pulling them up.
“Good,” he says, and the praise shouldn’t affect Jisung like it does.
“Don’t..” Jisung starts, but then Minho’s pressing inside and all thoughts scatter.
The angle is different like this, deeper, and Jisung fists his hands in the blankets as Minho bottoms out. He’s still sensitive from before, oversensitive, and it’s almost too much.
“Too much?” Minho asks, like he can read Jisung’s mind.
“No,” Jisung grits out. “Move. God, just move.”
Minho does, and this time there’s no gentleness to it at all.
The pace is brutal from the start. Minho’s fingers dig into Jisung’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place as he drives into him over and over. Jisung can’t do anything but take it, face pressed into the blankets, sobbing with each thrust.
“This is what you needed?” Minho’s voice is rough, breathless. “Why didn’t you just say so six hours ago? Could’ve saved yourself all that suffering.”
“Fuck—you—” Jisung gasps out between thrusts.
“You are.” Minho leans over him, covering his back. “Could’ve had this hours ago but you had to be stubborn about it.”
Jisung wants to argue but he can’t form words anymore, just broken sounds as Minho hits that spot inside him with devastating precision. The heat is consuming him again, building and building until he feels like he’ll burst.
“Touch yourself,” Minho orders.
“Can’t..” Jisung’s arms are shaking, barely holding him up.
“Do it anyway.” One of Minho’s hands leaves his hip to grab Jisung’s wrist, dragging his hand down between his legs. “Come on. Show me how desperate you are.”
The humiliation of it should bother him but it doesn’t, can’t, not when he’s this far gone. Jisung wraps his hand around himself and nearly sobs at the additional stimulation.
“That’s it,” Minho breathes against the back of his neck. “God, you’re so..you feel so..”
His rhythm starts to falter and Jisung feels the knot beginning to swell. His body clenches around it instinctively, trying to pull it deeper.
“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please, need it, need you to..”
“Greedy,” Minho grits out, but he adjusts his angle and drives in harder. The knot catches on Jisung’s rim, not quite able to push inside yet, and the stretch is maddening. “You want it? Beg for it properly.”
“I hate you,” Jisung sobs, but his hand is working himself faster, his body pushing back to meet each thrust. “I hate you, I hate you.”
“Liar.” Minho’s teeth sink into his shoulder and Jisung wails. “Beg.”
“Please,” Jisung breaks. “Please knot me, I need it, need to be full, please Minho please..”
Minho slams in one more time and the knot pushes past the resistance, locking them together. The sensation triggers Jisung’s orgasm immediately, his whole body seizing up as he comes hard, spilling over his own hand.
Minho follows with a guttural sound, the knot swelling even larger as he fills Jisung again. The stretch is almost unbearable, perfect, exactly what Jisung’s body has been screaming for.
They collapse together onto the nest, Jisung’s arms finally giving out. He’s gasping, shaking, completely wrecked.
“I really do hate you,” he mumbles into the blankets.
Minho’s laugh is breathless. “Sure you do.” His arm wraps around Jisung’s waist, holding him close despite the awkward angle. “That’s why you came so hard you nearly blacked out.”
“Shut up,” Jisung says, but there’s no heat in it. He’s too boneless, too satisfied for the moment to work up real anger.
His body is already cooling down, the sharp edge of the heat fading into something manageable. It’ll come back—in an hour, maybe less—but for now he can almost think clearly.
Which means he’s aware of exactly what he just did. What he just said.
The first day blurs together in a haze of heat and desperation. Jisung loses count of how many times Minho knots him, how many times he comes apart sobbing and pleading. They don’t talk much—Jisung because he can’t string words together, Minho because he seems to understand that talking will just make Jisung defensive.
Between waves, Minho forces water and food into him. Jisung complains every time, snapping that he’s not a child, but he drinks and eats anyway because the alternative is Minho withholding what he needs until he does. It’s infuriating. It works.
The second day is worse.
Jisung doesn’t have words anymore, can barely string thoughts together between waves. There’s only a clawing desperation that makes him want to scream.
“Please,” he sobs, face-down in the nest, hips raised in shameless presentation. Slick is running down his thighs, his body preparing itself, begging for it. “Please, Minho, I can’t..”
“Can’t what?” Minho’s hands grip his ass, spreading him open, and Jisung moans. “Can’t wait? Can’t think? Can’t do anything but present for me like a good little omega?”
“Yes,” Jisung gasps. The praise mixed with degradation makes his cock leak against the blankets. “Please, need you inside, need..”
“Need my knot?” Minho’s thumb presses against his hole and Jisung nearly sobs with how empty he feels. “Need me to fill this desperate little hole?”
“Need more than that,” Jisung whimpers, and even through the haze he can feel his face burning. “Need you to..to breed me, please, I need it so bad..”
“Fuck. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” Jisung sobs, his brain is too far gone. “Want it, want you to fill me up, want..want your baby, please Minho, please..”
Minho’s control shatters.
The pace becomes brutal, desperate. “You want that?” he whispers against Jisung’s neck. “Want me to breed you? Get you pregnant?”
“Yes..”
“Want everyone to see you round with my child? Want them to know you’re mine?”
Jisung can only sob and nod and take it, his body burning with how right this feels, how perfect. The heat is consuming him and all he can think about is being full, being claimed, being bred.
When Minho’s knot locks inside him this time, when he feels the hot rush of release, Jisung comes so hard he nearly blacks out.
“That’s it,” Minho murmurs against his ear, still grinding in small movements even locked together. “Gonna keep you here. Gonna make sure you’re filled to the brim.”
Jisung whimpers, oversensitive but still wanting, still needing. “Please…”
“Shh. I’ve got you.” Minho’s hand splays over Jisung’s lower abdomen. “Gonna take such good care of you. Gonna give you everything you need.”
And Jisung, lost in heat and want and something deeper he can’t name, believes him.
On the third day, Minho finally insists on making them actual food.
“You need more than protein bars,” he says, carefully extracting himself from the nest. The knot went down ten minutes ago and Jisung is in that brief window of clarity before the next wave hits. “I’ll be quick. Twenty minutes.”
“Fine,” Jisung mumbles, watching Minho pull on sweatpants.
“Stay in the nest,” Minho adds, like he knows Jisung. “Rest.”
Jisung waits approximately five minutes before the heat starts building again. The brief clarity is already fading, replaced by that familiar warmth spreading through his core. He can hear Minho in the kitchen—cabinets opening, water running, the sizzle of something hitting a pan.
He should stay in the nest like Minho said. He should rest.
Instead, he gets up on shaky legs and pads toward the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of Minho’s t-shirts that barely covers his ass.
Minho has his back to him, stirring something on the stove. His shoulders are tense with concentration, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
Jisung leans against the doorframe, just watching for a moment. Then the heat pulses through him and he can’t wait anymore.
“Minho,” he says, voice already going breathy.
Minho glances over his shoulder. “Jisung,I told you to stay in your nest.”
“Mm?” Jisung pushes off the doorframe and walks closer, letting the shirt ride up with each step. He can feel slick starting to slide down his thighs. “I got lonely.”
“I’ve been gone for ten minutes.” But Minho’s eyes are tracking his movement, darkening as Jisung approaches.
“That’s a long time.” Jisung stops right behind him, close enough that Minho can probably feel the heat radiating off his body. “When you could be touching me instead.”
“I’m making you food.”
“I’m not hungry for food.” Jisung presses against Minho’s back, letting him feel how hard his nipples are through the thin shirt, how he’s already trembling. “I’m hungry for you.”
Minho’s hand tightens on the spatula. “Jisung. Go back to the nest.”
“Make me,” Jisung breathes against his shoulder blade. His hand slides around Minho’s waist, drifting lower. “Or are you going to let your omega starve?”
“You’re not starving..” Minho’s breath hitches as Jisung’s hand finds the waistband of his sweatpants. “You just had me.”
“It’s been way too long.” Jisung’s fingers slip beneath the fabric. “Need you again. Need you to fill me up.”
“Jisungie..” Minho turns off the stove with a sharp movement. “You can’t just..”
“Can’t what?” Jisung pulls back slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can’t tell my alpha what I need?” He tugs at the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it up slowly. “Can’t show him how wet I am for him?”
The shirt rides up, exposing how slick is indeed dripping down his thighs, how his cock is already hard and leaking.
Minho’s control visibly fractures. “Fuck.”
“Please,” Jisung whispers, and he drops to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. His hands slide up Minho’s thighs. “Please, I need it. Need your knot. Need you to breed me again.”
“Get up.”
Jisung mouths at the front of Minho’s sweatpants, feeling him already getting hard. “Let me make you feel good first. Want to taste you, want my mouth full.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Minho groans, but his hand comes down to fist in Jisung’s hair.
“What a way to go,” Jisung says, and pulls down the sweatpants.
Minho’s cock springs free and Jisung doesn’t hesitate, taking him into his mouth with an obscene moan. He’s not good at this—doesn’t have the practice, can barely take half of him—but the heat makes him way too eager.
“Fuck, Jisung..” Minho’s grip tightens in his hair. “You don’t have to..”
Jisung pulls off long enough to gasp, “Want to. Want you in every hole. Want to be full of you everywhere.”
He takes Minho back in his mouth and the hand in his hair stops being gentle. Minho starts moving his hips, fucking into Jisung’s willing mouth, and Jisung moans around him.
“Such a good omega,” Minho grits out. “So desperate for it you couldn’t even wait for me to finish cooking. Had to come out here and seduce me.”
Jisung whimpers in agreement, one hand dropping between his own legs.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Minho orders, and Jisung’s hand immediately stops. “That’s my job.”
He pulls Jisung off his cock and hauls him to his feet, then lifts him onto the kitchen counter in one smooth motion. Jisung gasps, legs automatically spreading.
“This what you wanted?” Minho steps between his thighs, cock pressing against Jisung’s entrance. “Couldn’t wait twenty minutes so now you’re getting fucked on the kitchen counter?”
“Yes,” Jisung moans. “Yes, please, need it..”
Minho slams inside and Jisung’s head falls back, hitting the cabinet behind him. The angle is sharper and he can feel every inch.
“Greedy little thing,” Minho growls, setting a brutal pace immediately. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Make me take it,” Jisung sobs. “All of it, please, need you so deep..”
“You need my knot?” Minho’s hand wraps around Jisung’s throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Need me to fill this desperate hole again?”
“Yes.”
“How many times is this today? Four? Five?” Minho’s rhythm is relentless. “And you still want more. Still need me to pump you full of my seed.”
“Want to be pregnant,” Jisung admits, too far gone to be embarrassed. “Want everyone to see what you did to me. Want them to know you bred me like the needy omega I am.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure.” The knot is starting to swell now. “Gonna keep you on my knot until you can’t hold anymore. Gonna breed you so thoroughly there’s no question.”
The knot catches and locks and Jisung comes with a wail, clenching down hard. Minho follows immediately, filling him once again.
“So much,” Jisung whimpers, feeling the hot rush inside him. “So full..”
“That’s right.” Minho’s hand slides to Jisung’s stomach, pressing. “Full of my cum. Gonna give you my baby. Gonna make you mine in every way.”
They’re stuck like this, Jisung on the counter, Minho between his legs, locked together in the kitchen. It’s obscene. It’s perfect.
“The food is going to get cold,” Jisung mumbles eventually.
Minho laughs, breathless. “You’re the one who came out here and seduced me.”
“You didn’t have to give in.”
“Like I could resist you,” Minho mutters, teeth grazing his shoulder. “Coming out here in my shirt with my cum dripping down your thighs, looking at me like you’re starving for my cock. You knew exactly what you were doing.”
Jisung smiles, satisfied. “Maybe.”
“Brat,” Minho says fondly, but his hand is gentle as it strokes over Jisung’s belly. “We’re eating after this. You need your strength.”
“For what?”
“For the next round,” Minho says simply. “Because I’m nowhere near done breeding you yet.”
Jisung shivers, the heat already building again despite being knotted and full. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
The heat breaks completely on the fourth morning. Jisung wakes up clearheaded for the first time in days, his body temperature normal, the constant ache finally gone.
Minho is still asleep beside him, one arm thrown over Jisung’s waist. He looks exhausted with shadows under his eyes.
Jisung should move. Should extract himself from this nest, from Minho’s hold, before this gets even more complicated.
Instead, he stays exactly where he is and waits for Minho to wake up.
Minho’s eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they land on Jisung’s face. They stare at each other for a long moment.
“It’s over,” Jisung says quietly.
“Yeah.” Minho’s voice is rough from over exertion. “I can tell.”
His hand is still on Jisung’s waist. He doesn’t move it, but he doesn’t pull Jisung closer either. The careful distance feels deliberate.
The silence stretches. Jisung is acutely aware of every point where their bodies touch, of the fact that they’re both still naked, of the absolute disaster the nest has become around them. Of everything that happened over the past three days.
“So,” Jisung says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “That happened.”
Minho’s mouth twitches slightly. “That happened.”
“We don’t have to..” Jisung starts, then stops. “I mean, it was just heat. Biology. We don’t have to make it weird.”
“Sure,” Minho repeats flatly.
“You know what I mean.” Jisung looks away, fixing his gaze on the wall. “We can just… go back to how things were.”
Minho’s voice has gone carefully neutral. “You mean ignoring each other?”
“It worked fine for six months.”
“Did it?”
Jisung’s jaw tightens. “What do you want me to say, Minho?”
“I want you to say what you actually think instead of whatever defense mechanism this is.”
“I’m not..” Jisung cuts himself off, frustrated. “Fine. What do you want?”
“I already told you.” Minho’s hand finally moves, sliding away from Jisung’s waist. The loss of contact feels pointed. “I told you a lot of things over the past three days.”
Jisung’s face heats. He did. Things like you’re mine and no one else gets to touch you and I’m not letting you go. But that was..
“That was the heat talking,” Jisung says.
“Was it?”
“Wasn’t it?” Jisung finally looks back at him. “We barely know each other.”
“I know you well enough to know you’re deflecting right now.”
Jisung snaps, some of his usual bite returning. “What, you think three days of heat induced sex means we’re suddenly going to have a functional marriage?”
“I think,” Minho says carefully, “that we could try.”
“Try what? Being civil to each other? We already tried that. It lasted about two weeks before you started avoiding me.”
“I wasn’t avoiding..” Minho stops, jaw clenching. “Fine. I was avoiding you. Because every time I was in the same room as you I wanted to..” He cuts himself off.
“Wanted to what?” Jisung pushes, because apparently he can’t help himself.
“Wanted to do exactly what I’ve been doing for the past three days,” Minho says bluntly. “And I knew you didn’t want that. You made it very clear on our wedding night that this marriage was just a contract to you.”
“Because it is just a contract,” Jisung says, but his voice wavers slightly. “Our families arranged this. Neither of us had a choice.”
“No, we didn’t.” Minho sits up, and Jisung immediately feels the loss of his warmth. “But we have a choice now.”
“What choice?”
“Whether we keep living like roommates who can’t stand each other, or whether we actually try to make this work.” Minho runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying we have to suddenly be in love. I’m saying we could try getting to know each other. Actually talking. Not just..” he gestures at the nest, “..this.”
“Even though ‘this’ is apparently all you think about,” Jisung says in a mocking tone.
“I think about other things too,” Minho says. “Like the way you talk to yourself when you think no one’s listening. How you always rearrange the throw pillows exactly three times before you’re satisfied. That little sound you make when you stretch in the morning.”
Jisung stares at him. “You..you notice that?”
“I notice a lot of things about you.” Minho’s expression is unreadable. “I’ve had six months of noticing things and not being able to do anything about it.”
“You could have,” Jisung says quietly. “Done something about it.”
“Could I? You look at me like you’re waiting for me to do something wrong so you can prove I’m exactly as bad as you expected.”
The accuracy of that stings. “That’s not..”
“Isn’t it?” Minho’s voice is gentle now, which somehow makes it worse. “You’ve been looking for reasons to keep me at arm’s length since day one.”
“Because I don’t know you!” Jisung’s voice cracks slightly. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me and we’re supposed to just..what? Play house? Pretend this is normal?”
“I’m not asking you to pretend anything.” Minho shifts closer again, like Jisung might bolt. “I’m asking if you want to try making this real.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” Jisung admits, and it comes out smaller than he intended.
“Neither do I,” Minho says. “But I want to try. If you do.”
Jisung is quiet for a long moment, turning this over in his head. Three days ago he would have said no immediately. Would have retreated behind his sharp words and his conviction that Lee Minho was just another person trying to control his life.
But three days ago he didn’t know what Minho looked like when he was gentle. Didn’t know how he’d force water and food between waves of heat like Jisung’s wellbeing actually mattered to him.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jisung says finally. “The whole… marriage thing. I don’t know if I’m built for it.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” Minho says. “We can start small. Have dinner together. Actually talk instead of avoiding each other. See where it goes.”
“And if it doesn’t go anywhere?”
“Then at least we tried.” Minho’s hand finds Jisung’s again tentatively. “But I think it might.”
Jisung looks down at their joined hands. His heart is beating too fast and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or hope or something in between.
“Okay,” he says finally, so quietly he’s not sure Minho hears him.
“Okay?”
“Okay, we can try.” Jisung meets Minho’s eyes, trying to look braver than he feels. “But I’m not making any promises. And if you go back to avoiding me after this..”
“I won’t,” Minho says firmly. “I’m done avoiding you.”
“Good.” Jisung pauses. “I’m done avoiding you too. Probably.”
Minho’s mouth quirks into something that’s almost a smile. “Probably?”
“I’m taking this one day at a time,” Jisung says. “Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Minho tugs him closer, and this time Jisung lets himself be pulled into Minho’s chest. “We should probably shower. And change these sheets. And air out the apartment.”
“Romantic,” Jisung mutters against his shoulder.
“I’ll make you coffee after,” Minho offers. “Two cups.”
And despite everything, despite the uncertainty and the fact that he still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, Jisung smiles.
“Deal.”