Chapter Text
The streets of Planarcadia are vast and—seemingly—endless. There’s a million things to see on every street corner, and Dan Heng can’t say he even begins to understand any of them.
But they fascinate him.
So, he’s taken to spending his down time wandering the streets of the new, strange planet. Talking walks, just looking at all the things around him.
He’s on one such walk today, in the city center (or what he thinks must be the center). And, strangely, he catches a whiff of something… enticing.
Despite being an alpha, Dan Heng has never been too keen with his sense of smell. He’s not sure why his brain refuses to pick up on the obvious signals around him every day, but others’ scents have always seemed dulled to him.
March’s bright citrus has always been the strongest to him, the omega always bursting with feeling and passion. On the other hand, Caelus’ quiet earthy scent has been the most elusive, which, he figures, matches the beta’s more reserved attitude. And these scents he’s only able to pick up on since he’s around the pair for hours every day. Walking down the street, as he is now, he’s generally not able to pick up on people’s scents, unless they’re experiencing strong emotions or having certain physical reactions.
He’s noticed, since arriving on Planarcadia, more scents in general, though none of them strong. It seems the worshippers of Aha appreciate the mild chaos that comes with bared scents. There’s not a scent blocking patch in sight.
But what Dan Heng is smelling now, lacing through the air from some unknown source, is anything but mild.
It’s rich and full, with layers to it that Dan Heng doesn’t know how to begin to unpack. But the top of it, the clearest, is the distinctly floral haze. Light, a little blurry, like a lily.
Not knowing why, Dan Heng feels his heart start to beat a touch faster, betraying his normally calm demeanor. His instincts are telling him—screaming at him, rather—to follow the scent to its source. To uncover the owner of the beautiful, fascinating scent.
Dan Heng usually doesn’t let his instincts get the better of him, except in cases of survival, but this time, he relents. What’s the harm in following a random scent?
He starts walking again, letting his mind wander, trusting his nose and his feet to carry him down the right path. He takes turn after turn, the scent growing steadily stronger as he moves. Belatedly, he realizes he’s heading back in the direction of the hotel that he and the other trailblazers are staying at.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, however, because at the next corner, he turns, and—
Fuck. Fuck.
Why is he here?
Well, Dan Heng had gotten word that the Stellaron Hunters would be joining them on Planarcadia, but why is he here? Lingering outside the hotel where his family is staying, talking to Kafka?
Intriguing scent forgotten, Dan Heng turns back the direction he came, hiding himself around the corner. He can’t sneak back into the hotel without Blade or Kafka noticing, so he might as well gather intelligence.
Straining his ears, he shifts his focus away from the noise of the city to the quiet conversation down the street.
“—can’t just walk around like this, Bladie,” he hears Kafka say. “It’s stupid.”
Blade merely grunts in reply.
“I’m serious. I know you can’t feel what your body is doing to you, yet, but it’s coming fast.” She sighs. “And you stink. I can smell you through your scent patches. You’re not using old ones, right? I know they’re hard to come by here, but—”
“They are new. They should work.” The man’s voice isn’t rough, but it lacks inflection.
“Well, I’m telling you they don’t.” A pause. “Bladie, I think… I think they’re getting worse. Your heats.”
Blade growls lowly.
“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to help you. Seriously, I’ve never been able to smell you through your scent patches before, and you’ve been getting more and more desperate these past few years.”
Heats? Desperate?
Kafka takes a breath, lets it out in a puff of air. “I think it may have to do with your mara—”
Blade growls again, full and deep and loud. It raises the hairs on the back of Dan Heng’s neck.
Kafka says nothing for a full minute after he’s finished. Dan Heng can only imagine her unamused expression.
“You’re acting like a child,” she finally says with a tsk. “This conversation is over. I’m going back to my room and having a nice glass of whatever they like to serve here. You are going back to your room and resting. Stop walking around while you’re in pre-heat.”
Pre-heat?!
Peeking his head around the corner, Dan Heng watches as Kafka spins on her heel and walks back into the hotel, throwing a final command over her shoulder. “Message me when you’re ready for me.”
Blade, for his part, waits at least twenty seconds after Kafka disappears from sight before himself turning around and walking distinctly away from the hotel. And–fuck—straight towards Dan Heng.
Scrambling, Dan Heng reels back from the corner and vaults himself onto the nearest balcony. Hopefully the owner isn’t home.
It takes all of two seconds once he’s in place for Blade to round the corner where he’d just been standing. Suddenly, the man halts.
Dan Heng holds his breath.
Mouth open ever so slightly, Blade takes a deep inhale. Dan Heng watches from a mere four meters above as the man’s brow furrows.
Curious what the man is smelling, Dan Heng takes the quietest inhale, and, aeons—there it is again. The lily scent. Strong.
Does Blade smell it too?
Dan Heng wants to keep investigating the scent, his nerves are clamoring for him to climb down and sniff it out. But with Blade out in the city, there’s no way he can guarantee he won’t run into him again.
Fuck. Guess his little walks are over.
Blade only lingers a moment longer, breathing deeply but never looking up, before he sets off again at a brisk pace.
Finally letting his breath out, Dan Heng waits a minute before swinging himself back to the ground and taking off toward the hotel.
He gets in the elevator as fast as possible, thankful not to see Kafka or another Stellaron Hunter in the lobby.
As his adrenaline finally settles on the ride up to his floor, Dan Heng’s mind starts to turn.
Blade? In pre-heat? Just walking around?
Dan Heng couldn’t even imagine. When his pre-rut hits, he’s already deliriously in pain. As soon as he catches the faintest hint of his scent blossoming with rut, he locks himself away in his room, curls himself up in bed and turns the lights down low to ride it out. From what March has told him of her pre-heat symptoms, it’s pretty similar.
Walking around in that state? Unthinkable.
How is Blade not responding to the pain? His heat, even the pre-heat, should be tearing him up from the inside out, shredding his organs with its insatiable claws. Every nerve in his body has to be screaming for him to find an alpha and surrender.
Is he really just that used to pain?
Dan Heng’s stomach turns. He recognizes it—somehow—as fear. What is he afraid of?
Does Blade’s incredible tolerance for pain make him stronger, more of a threat? It shouldn’t. Dan Heng has long known the depths of the man’s suffering, at least on the physical front. This newfound knowledge shouldn’t make a difference.
Distantly, very quietly, a part of Dan Heng’s mind suggests that perhaps he is not afraid of Blade and his pain tolerance, but afraid for him. He tries to push the thought down, but finds he cannot.
He finds that, for some infernal reason, he can’t stop worrying about Blade.
Is he in that much pain all the time that the pain of pre-heat doesn’t even register to him? Something Kafka had said… you can’t feel what your body is doing to you...
Shit. Is Blade okay? Will he be okay through his heat? It doesn’t matter how strong your pain tolerance is, no one makes it through a heat or a rut without their body eating itself alive.
Does Blade have anyone to help him during his heat? This one or ones past?
Kafka’s parting words trickle into his mind, sending a cool chill running down his spine.
Message me when you’re ready for me.
Kafka… Does the alpha fuck Blade through his heats? It would make sense, a lot of sense actually, but the thought sends something sharp and ugly threading its way through Dan Heng’s scent, concealed though it is.
Dan Heng only gets pulled from his thoughts when he realizes his feet had dragged him to stand in front of his hotel room door. He doesn’t even remember getting off the elevator.
With a sigh, he scans his room pass and steps insi—
“Dan Heng! You’re back!”
“March?”
Aeons, she scared the shit out of him.
“The one and only! …Um. Kinda.” Her face goes strangely blank, eyes wandering for a moment before she chimes back in as her usual chipper self. “Anyway! It’s pizza night!"
“How did you get in my room? And where’s Caelus?” Dan Heng asks. His gaze shifts around the room, lingering for a moment on the trash can under the small desk, expecting to see a mop of gray hair poke out from somewhere.
“Oh, they said they went out, but they’re gonna join us soon.” March suddenly giggles, leaning in conspiratorily to stage whisper, “I bet they’ll come back smelling like dew and nighttime, don’t’cha think?”
Dan Heng rolls his eyes, but he’s guessing March is probably right. While he’s not too familiar with that particular Stellaron Hunter, he’s heard March talk about the woman’s scent enough to know exactly who she means.
Firefly’s suit keeps her natural scent contained and hidden, but Caelus (as discreet as they think they’re being) let slip something about Silver Wolf developing a scent-projecting holographic display. It was easy enough to guess what—and who—such technology was being used for.
“I’m sure you’re right, March, but let’s try not to embarrass them too much about it, yeah?”
“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun, Dan Heng,” she says, pouting.
“Don’t be like that.”
March lets out an exaggerated cry. “But they’re just so cute! Caelus is so cute and Firefly is so cute and they’re so cute together and I just love love! And if Caelus doesn’t tell me the juicy details soon I’m going to explode. Or kill somebody. Or kill somebody by exploding on them. Haven’t decided yet.”
“Okay. Let me know when you decide so I can stay far away from your killing-slash-explosion.” Dan Heng turns his back to set his spear down, which is a terrible mistake since he’s met with a sharp hit to his shoulderblade.
“Hey! Don’t say that like you wouldn’t be sad if I exploded!”
Dan Heng is met with red, puffed out cheeks and furious eyes when he turns back around, raising his fingers to count off his points; “One, don’t hit me. Two, obviously I would be sad if you exploded. Three, if you do have any imminent plans of exploding, please do so out of my vicinity, thank you very m—”
He’s interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Oh! That must be Caelus!” It’s only when March skips away to answer the door that Dan Heng realizes she never answered his question about how in Akivili’s name she got in his room in the first place. He decides to let it go, for now.
March swings the door open wide, and wow was she correct. Even with Dan Heng’s poor nose, he can smell the scent of dew all over the beta. It mixes with their own earth notes into a lovely petrichor.
“Hi, Caelus!” March sing-songs. “It’s a good thing you’re here, because I was just about to explode Dan Heng!”
Paying no mind to the poor beta’s bewildered expression, March whips her head around and with a smug expression mouths the words, I told you so.
The rest of the evening passes as expected. Bickering, jokes, fights over the remote, only occasional threats of exploding on people. By the time Dan Heng is settled in for the night, fellow trailblazers curled together in a ball on his bed like a couple of cats, he’s almost, almost forgotten about Blade.
He almost manages to forget about that smell, too… the scent of spider lilies and sunshine.
•••••••
The next morning, Dan Heng finds himself walking around the hotel. There’s still a few days before things really pick up in Planarcadia, and he can’t spend every hour of every day cooped up with March and Caelus playing (often destructive) games of Monopoly.
And now, knowing Blade could be out wandering the streets nearby, he’s reduced his walking vicinity to the hallways of the hotel. At least they’re nice hallways. There’s a few potted plants lining the walls that he’s never seen before. Botanical discovery always has merit.
It occurred to him that Blade, too, is living in this hotel. But his chances of running into his shadow in one of the random residential hallways seems unlikely. Most people leave their rooms and go straight to their destination. Lingering around random people’s rooms is… admittedly, weird.
Dan Heng is trying not to think about it.
About how weird he looks, hunched over a potted plant (he’s starting to suspect that they’re fakes) in a random hotel hallway. About the man he’s trying to avoid. About said man’s impending heat, which Dan Heng knows he really has no business dwelling on.
It’s like that, lost in his thoughts and running his fingers along the rough surface of a leaf (definitely fake) that he smells it.
That scent.
Again.
The lilies and vanilla. It’s weak, but Dan Heng thinks he could recognize it anywhere. It’s just so… alluring.
He lifts his head to get a lungful of it, inhaling deeply, which is when he smells the second part.
Pain.
A bitter, acrid tang to the scent. The vanilla is too much, it scorches the back of his throat like the alcoholic burn of pure vanilla extract. He swallows it down, nearly gagging at the strength.
Someone is in serious pain. Agony.
Dan Heng has never smelled such pain before. It’s strong enough that it feels like it’s tearing him up from the inside—he can’t even imagine how the owner of the scent is feeling.
Is someone injured? Being tortured? Are they dying?
The scent is faint, but it burns hot.
Fuck. If someone is hurting like that, Dan Heng has to help. Or try to, at least.
Determined, Dan Heng lifts his nose and lets the vanilla burn permeate his senses. It’s coming from somewhere in the direction he was headed.
He starts to move.
Fast enough that he can settle the urgency clawing through him, but slow enough that he won’t lose the scent or take a wrong turn.
The hotel is big, not just in height but in area. He takes turn after turn, the scent growing stronger with each step.
Dan Heng takes a final turn and is met with a dead-end hallway. A wall with a tastefully bland piece of modern art faces him from a distance of ten or so rooms.
One by one, he sniffs at the air around the doors. It’s not until he reaches the last one on the left that he’s sure.
This is it.
Someone in there is in terrible pain. Excruciating. The scent leaking into the hallway has Dan Heng’s every nerve on edge. His blood craves a fight, to attack, to defend, to claim.
Distantly, he recognizes that such an instinct is unusual for him. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters in the person behind this door, burning.
Dan Heng raises his fist and knocks.
Listens, and hears nothing.
Knocks again, more insistently, and strains his ears.
Quietly, muffled by the door and the carpet and whatever else, he hears someone groan. Followed by an even quieter whimper.
If he thought he was on edge before, Dan Heng sorely misunderstood the depths of his tension. The pained sounds behind the door, now continuing steadily, have his heart screaming out. Every nerve firing to get him to move.
So, deciding that whatever charges they levy for trespassing on this planet don’t stack up against the weight of letting this person go on hurting, Dan Heng raises his voice. “Hello? I’m coming in.”
He tries the door handle, but it’s locked. Obviously.
Then, deciding that the charges for breaking and entering also do not matter in the present circumstances, Dan Heng does the only logical thing and lands a solid kick to the metal door.
One isn’t enough, so he rears back for another, amping up his force and landing the blow right next to the door handle.
That does the trick.
The scent of scorching vanilla and wilted flowers bursts out around him as the door swings in.
He vaguely notes that the lock is definitely broken and there’s a clear imprint of his foot denting the metal, but he’s too busy rushing into the room to care.
Dan Heng steps through the entryway and turns a corner, and—fuck.
Fuck. Blade is there.
The man is collapsed on the hotel bed, groaning and whimpering in pain.
It’s him, Dan Heng realizes. There’s no one else in the room. The fragrant lilies, the warm vanilla now soaked to scalding—it’s all Blade.
Dan Heng feels like his world is tipping on its axis. The stars he’s long traveled are becoming misaligned. His instincts are fighting like never before, telling him to run or to defend himself, but also to launch himself forward to the man. To care and to protect.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there watching, frozen.
Dan Heng isn’t used to feeling unsure of himself. He doesn’t like it.
It’s only when he registers a pair of eyes on him—orange bleeding into red—that he comes back to himself. He meets the man’s eyes, heart clenching at seeing his brow furrowed in pain.
Blade licks his lips, mouth parting only the slightest bit as he lets out a husky, “Alpha…”
And suddenly Dan Heng’s body kicks into gear. He takes a step closer, then another. His blood rushes in his ears.
Before he knows it, he’s at the bedside, gazing down at the man with distress flooding through his system.
It doesn’t matter who it is. Someone is in pain. Pain that Dan Heng is sure he’s never felt before himself. Pain so strong it makes his senseless nose burn and his closed-off heart ache.
It doesn’t matter that it’s Blade. His enemy, his constant shadow in this life and the last. He has to help him.
It also doesn’t hurt that his basest instincts are telling him that he has to stop the omega’s pain. That he was made for this.
He has to make the agony cease.
Blade’s eyes are still watching him when they can, but every few moments they pinch closed along with a pained moan from the man’s throat. Dan Heng hurts watching him, wincing himself, though he’s not quite sure why. He’s seen pain. He’s seen death and destruction and utter ruin, and it’s never affected him like this.
It doesn’t matter right now.
Blade is shaking on the bed in front of him. On a particularly bad spike of agony, he curls in on his side, clutching at his stomach. The sight makes Dan Heng feel faint.
He kneels down and carefully places a hand on Blade’s arm. The crazy bastard is still fully clothed, sweating under his elegant robes.
At the touch, Blade keens, a small whine wrangling its way out of him.
Dan Heng’s hand shakes, briefly, but he doesn’t remove it. “Blade…? Blade, can you hear me?”
No response, just a louder whine when Dan Heng’s grip turns firmer.
Blade, panting, turns his face up to look into his eyes once again. From this close up, the man’s gaze is truly striking.
“Alpha… alpha,” he heaves through raspy breaths. “Want you, need you.” He gasps in pain again. “Dan Feng, need you.”
Dan Heng’s stomach turns. It isn’t something instinctual this time, not a reaction to the other’s pain. It’s a pain all his own.
But he sighs. He can’t really blame the man. Blade seems hardly present at the moment, so it’s no wonder his mind has turned to somewhere else. Someone else.
He doesn’t respond to Blade. He can’t give him what he wants. He can’t. Especially when what he wants is someone that Dan Heng is not. Never was, and never will be.
But he has to help somehow.
Suppressing the tremor in his hands, Dan Heng rises to his feet again. Blade whines at the distance.
Dan Heng is going to help him. Make him more comfortable, make him feel safe. But not here.
Not in the room with the door that doesn’t work (oops). Not where anyone passing by could smell the burning heat of Blade’s pheromones scorching the air, bleeding from the open room. His pain, his pleasure, all of it exposed for the world to see?
Absolutely not. They’re not staying here.
That leaves only one option. Dan Heng has no choice but to bring Blade back to his own room. He doesn’t want to do it, he rarely lets people in his room. Caelus and March are the only ones allowed, and sparingly.
It smells too much like him, like the vidyadhara living under his skin. Ocean and sand, fresh winds.
He covers himself with scent blockers and practically bathes in maple perfume whenever he can. People are convinced it’s his true scent. He’s stoic enough that the lack of nuance, the lack of fluctuation doesn’t register as out of the ordinary to most people.
But his ocean scent? His true scent? It’s powerful and loud, rushing in like the waves and out with the tide. It tells too much. It reveals too much.
Dead scents tell no tales, so he keeps it locked up.
Only when he bathes and sleeps does he take the patches off, wash the perfume from his skin. His bed smells like the sea.
And he has no choice, he has to bring Blade there. Where else can they go? They’re not staying here. Dan Heng has only been at this stupid hotel for a week and he already knows his room stinks of the ocean.
Blade has settled from his whining for alpha into a chorus of soft whimpers and moans, quiet and weary.
With a sigh, Dan Heng bends down to pick the man up. The heat radiating from his body as Dan Heng slides his arms under his back and thighs is almost unbearable. Dan Heng can’t imagine it.
He lifts Blade with ease, but something flickers at the back of his mind. He notices that Blade’s body comes away from the bed… dry? Sweat-soaked to be sure, but there’s no… slick.
That’s not normal, right?
He’s never been with an omega during their heat, but he’s read plenty of medical texts. Along with a couple of… non-medical ones at March’s insistence… And isn’t there supposed to be slick by now?
The medical texts had stated that slick being produced generally marks the end of preheat and the start of the heat proper. And Blade is far gone. His heat has undoubtedly kicked in, but there’s no slick turning the sheets transparent.
Blade is curled into his chest, almost small in his arms.
With a grimace and the knowledge that what he’s about to do is seriously weird, Dan Heng shifts his weight and slides a hand higher up Blade’s legs. For the sake of his medical examination.
And there he finds… nothing, not even a trace of dampness. The action does earn him a needy whine right into his collarbone though.
That’s when Dan Heng realizes that he probably should not be thinking about Blade’s slick, under any circumstances.
But he is worried.
This isn’t normal. Blade’s body has already been through so much, he knows that much at least. Could something have happened to him during the long centuries of his life that stopped his production of slick? Is there a cure? A supplement he can take?
Dan Heng knows that March was dysphoric about not being able to produce slick before she transitioned. Does Blade feel the same?
Fuck, he doesn’t have time to think about this right now.
He has to help the man cradled in his arms, not worry about things he can’t control. He has to get Blade safe and comfortable, as soon as possible.
Without another thought, Dan Heng takes off out the door and down the hall.
His instincts carry him faster than he thought possible with the weight of another man in his arms. The threat of other people seeing that man, smelling him looming dark over his mind.
When they get to his room in a matter of seconds, he shifts and frees a hand to open the door.
Stepping across the threshold, immediately something sweet and syrupy erupts under his nose. Fragrant flowers, laced with a warm vanilla. No longer burning.
Dan Heng doesn’t know what just happened, but—oh, aeons. Oh, fuck, he’s aroused. The scent is utterly dizzying and has sent a spike of arousal to his gut.
Dan Heng rushes to set Blade, moaning, down on his bed, and that’s when he feels it. The warm, thin liquid coating a few of his fingers.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Blade’s not incapable of slicking after all. It seems it just took a certain push. A certain scent.
Briefly, a part of Dan Heng’s mind flutters in annoyance at the knowledge that he’ll have to call for new sheets later, but the rest of him realizes that he really doesn’t actually fucking care. Blade is here, and he’s hurting, and Dan Heng doesn’t know how to make it stop.
The only way he knows is… something he’s not willing to consider. But, frankly, he hadn’t ever been willing to consider inviting Blade into his room in the first place, and yet here they are.
Directing his attention back to the man splayed out on the bed, he sees him squirming in discomfort. Blade is whimpering, begging. Broken sounds of “Alpha—alpha, please—” break past his lips. He seems barely conscious through the pain, but his eyes are wide and pleading and hurt. And Dan Heng wants to make it stop.
He has to make it stop.
He tries everything he can think of. The first thing that comes to him is to try and cool the man down. As it’s a heat he’s suffering from, surely coolness can do nothing but lessen the pain.
Grabbing a soft red string he keeps tucked in his sleeve, he ties Blade’s long hair away from his neck, but the man’s cheeks only flush darker.
Steeling himself, Dan Heng decides to strip him down to his underrobes. Surely the ornate garb the man constantly wears is doing nothing to help his heat. Dan Heng is surprised he hadn’t already stripped it off himself.
Dan Heng works quickly and precisely, careful not to touch the man’s skin. His own hands are sweating and a bit shaky, the added warmth of his touch wouldn’t help his efforts to cool the man off. Still, shedding Blade’s outer robes does nothing to bring his heat down.
Turning to his last idea, Dan Heng hurries off to the adjoining en suite bathroom, ignoring the despairing cry from Blade as he moves away from the bed. Quickly, he grabs a soft towel and runs it under cold water. He barely spares a second to wring it out before he’s lunging back towards the bed, towel in hand.
He needs to be close enough to touch. Leaning over the bed won’t do, he can’t reach the other side of Blade’s face. Reluctantly, he pulls a leg up onto the bed, then the other, swinging himself over the man’s stomach. Straddling him, but careful not to sit down.
Blade makes a strangled, delighted noise at the action.
Gently, Dan Heng runs the cool fabric over Blade’s face—his cheeks, his brow bone, his jaw and his neck. He even squeezes out a bit of the water so that the coolness runs into Blade’s hair, cooling his scalp. He gingerly towels off the small part of Blade’s chest that’s showing between the folds of his underrobe.
He’s trying anything, everything to get his fever to go down, but it’s not working. Nothing is working.
Dan Heng, for all the reading he’s done, has never encountered any way to stop a heat, save for medically inadvisable amounts of heat suppressants or… a knot. And he’s trying not to think about the second one.
Really, really trying.
Because with the heavy scent of lilies and vanilla permeating into his very pores, he’s not holding up well.
Dan Heng is not used to being aroused. Other people rarely ever attract him, let alone the seemingly ordinary things that seem to be turn-ons for many people.
But, aeons, something about this scent. It feels like it’s sticking to the walls of his throat like taffy. It’s choking him, but, he thinks, he’s happy to go out this way.
His arousal is undeniable at this point. Despite his distress at seeing the other in pain, he can’t suppress the very base instincts of his internal alpha that are telling him to fuck—to knot, to bite, to claim the omega beneath him.
Eventually and inevitably, Dan Heng finds himself overheating and decides to strip off his own outer robes.
As he moves to get up and pull everything off, he debates keeping his spear nearby. It’s his best form of defense, though perhaps not in close-quarters combat…
But he can tell from Blade’s scent alone that this isn’t some stupid trick. Not to mention the fact that the fully lucid Blade would never let Dan Heng anywhere near his body unless it were to drive a knife through his heart.
Resigning himself, Dan Heng shifts off the bed and deposits his spear on the table across the room. Blade seems to be in a particularly bad bout of pain, whimpering with his eyes screwed shut and not at all conscious of Dan Heng’s leaving. Dan Heng is grateful for this, as he doesn’t think he could listen to the man whine in agony at his departure again.
Dan Heng strips his outer layers off, folding them carefully and neatly on the table.
More vulnerable than he’s ever been in front of the other, he turns back around and is shocked to be met with wide, piercing eyes. He self-consciously moves his hands to clasp in front of him, covering his obvious erection.
But Blade doesn’t even seem to register that particular problem. Instead, his red eyes bore into Dan Heng’s as he raises his nose to sniff at the air.
Voice raw and scratchy, he says, “Can smell you better now.”
Dan Heng flinches.
If there’s one thing he doesn’t like in all this vast universe—more than the man in front of him—it’s his own scent.
And of course his outer robes bear the brunt of his synthetic treatment. Washed in maple-scented soaps, sprayed down with maple perfumes. Taking them off is as good as being stripped bare.
Stripped down to his original briny musk. People think the ocean smells nice, but they don’t recognize that part of the scent is the decaying seaweed washed ashore. The rotting corpses of fish left in the sand after being plucked at by gulls.
The ocean is full of death, plentiful with rot.
Dan Heng can smell his own scent going grimy at the thought. Blade frowns.
“Alpha, what’s wrong?” Mustering up all the strength in his body, Blade pushes himself up against the headboard, giving Dan Heng a quizzical look. “I’ve missed your scent. Why do you always conceal it? It’s so beautiful.”
Against his will, Dan Heng’s breath catches in his throat.
Beautiful?
No, it’s not. It can’t be.
Making his way tentatively back to the bed, Dan Heng gathers his thoughts.
He goes to sit back atop Blade, but due to the man’s new position reclined against the headboard, he can’t really make his seat over his stomach again.
Well. Fuck it.
Refusing to think too hard about it, Dan Heng swings a leg over the other again and settles himself in his lap. Touching, this time. Blade moans, high and throaty, and immediately clutches at Dan Heng’s shoulders. Dan Heng’s breath catches for a second time.
He freezes. He knows his face is flushed red, his pupils wide. But he has to set the record straight about his scent. Blade needs to understand that it really, really isn’t beautiful.
“I–Blade–”
He’s interrupted before he can get another word out.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Blade? It’s your name.”
He shakes his head, gaze solemn. “It isn’t.” What is he even talking about?
Dan Heng sighs, “Blade–”
“It’s not my name!” he wails. His voice is loud, almost pleading, before it drops down into a soft tone, the shyest Dan Heng has ever heard him. “Not my name. Not for you.”
What?
“Not for you,” he says again.
It takes Dan Heng a minute, maybe a few, to wrap his head around what the man is saying. What he wants from him. When he finally realizes, something, somewhere deep inside him, aches. A twinge in his heart, nestled behind his ribs where it usually stays safe.
Dan Heng meets his eyes. “...Yingxing.”
That’s it.
Yingxing smiles. And something in Dan Heng breaks open, warm. Is he bleeding? It feels like he’s bleeding, but the only thing he feels is the faintest of smiles on his own face.
“Yingxing,” he says again. He likes the way it sounds on his tongue. “You have to understand, my scent isn’t beautiful.”
Yingxing looks almost… mad.
“Yes, it is. I can smell you. I’ve known your scent for centuries, Dan Feng.”
Dan Heng hates it. He hates it.
He sees red. The red tint of midnight hair, red irises.
He sees red and before he knows it he’s growling at Yingxing—Blade—fuck—hands tight around his throat.
But all he’s met with is another thick wave of that scent and a whine from the man under him that sounds anything but pained. Blossoms bloom around him, thick and sweet.
Curious, Dan Heng shifts his weight down and, fuck, notices a very pressing issue.
This is all… new information that he is quickly trying to file away. While he does that, he moves to withdraw his hands but is stopped by a strong, sweaty grip on his wrists.
His hands are forced back to the pale throat below.
He doesn’t press down this time.
Taking a steadying, shaky breath, Dan Heng forces himself to look into the man’s eyes.
“Bl—Yingxing. Do you… like this?” He squeezes, only gently, and the man’s eyes roll back.
Dan Heng loosens his grip and shifts so that his palms are cradling the sides of his jaw instead. “Or is it just the touch? My touch?”
Yingxing nuzzles into his hands as he answers, “Both. Both, I like both. Need both.” He grabs Dan Heng’s hands and again returns them to his own throat. “Pain,” he says, “but just for you.”
Dan Heng is reeling.
First the man calls him by the name of another, then begs for his touch as he arches his erection into Dan Heng’s thigh.
Voice soft, not quite trusting it not to break, he asks, “Does it… help?”
And, truly, he’s not completely sure what he’s asking. Does the choking, the pain play help with his heat? Do Dan Heng’s hands on him help with the pain and fire coursing through him? Does this kind of pain help him let go of the other pains, marked eternally over his body?
Regardless, Yingxing nods feverishly, choking himself on Dan Heng’s hands and gasping lightly with each bob of his head.
Not wanting the man to genuinely damage his throat, Dan Heng reaches a hand up into his hair, pulling his head back against the pillow.
Yingxing lets out another gasp, saliva pooling on his tongue. Eyes hazy.
Oh, Dan Heng thinks. He likes this too.
Dan Heng is… a little in over his head. He’s not completely without sexual experience, and he has read plenty on all manner of kinks and kinds of sex (mostly to understand what the big deal was about them all), but it’s never quite been… like this. With someone so desperate, so aching, and so achingly beautiful.
Fuck. Beautiful?
He’s going to have to deal with that thought later.
Releasing another shaky exhale, Dan Heng steels himself. He can do this. He can help Yingxing through his heat… without fucking him. He just has to touch him some, lay his hands on him, soothe him until it’s done.
He doesn’t have to fuck his enemy, his waking shadow, to stop him from being in pain. He can just touch him.
That proves to be easier said than done.
A hand still tangled in his hair, Yingxing starts moaning. Trapped beneath Dan Heng, he keeps bucking his hips upward, trying desperately to rut against the muscle of the man’s thigh. Dan Heng puts a stop to this quickly, moving up the other’s body until he’s resting his thigh over Yingxing’s stomach rather than his lap.
It proves to be deeply uncomfortable.
Cutting his losses, he shifts again to settle his ass straight over Yingxing’s abdomen.
It makes him feel… something, that’s for sure.
He has no time to think about the growing heat in his face or the fact that his own erection is far from flagging, as Yingxing starts babbling and begging, squirming wildly beneath him.
“Alpha, please, please I’ll be good, I’m always good for you. Please, touch me.”
Dan Heng hurts. The man—Blade, Yingxing, whoever he is—is so out of it he doesn’t even know who the person in front of him is.
“I’m always good for you.”
He thinks I’m someone else.
And that’s nothing new, he knows. Blade has always thought he was someone, something that he’s not. An echo of a shadow of a distant memory, nothing more. Never Dan Heng.
But right now? For some reason, it hurts more than it ever did before.
He sighs. “Listen, Blade, I—”
He’s cut off with a despairing wail from the man below him. “That’s not my name!”
For the second time, Dan Heng lets his anger get the better of him. With a fast hand, he rears back and slaps Yingxing’s face. “And Dan Feng isn’t mine!”
But this time, instead of blushing a shade darker in arousal, he looks hurt. Not physically, Dan Heng knows nothing could truly phase the man, but… hurt nonetheless. His eyes are round and shocked peering into Dan Heng’s, and it almost looks like—oh.
He’s crying.
Yingxing cups his irritated cheek just as the first tear falls, dripping slowly back into his dark hair.
Fuck.
“Fuck. Fuck, shit, I’m—I’m so sorry, Y-Yingxing. I just—you keep calling me… I’m sorry.”
Dan Heng slips the other’s hand away and cradles the abused cheek with his own. He brushes tenderly over the mark, wiping tears away with his thumb.
His heart is breaking, and he’s not sure why.
Yingxing doesn’t make a sound while he cries. Not a whimper, not a sniffle. Silently, he turns into Dan Heng’s touch, eyes closing.
After a minute filled with nothing but silent and soft touches, an even softer voice breaks past Yingxing’s lips.
“I know. It’s hard for me to make sense of it all sometimes, but I know, deep down, that you’re not him. I know he’s… gone.” He takes a shaky breath. More tears slip past his closed lids. “And I miss him.”
There’s a beat of silence. Dan Heng thinks he’s done and is about to open his mouth when Yingxing again speaks up, opening his eyes and meeting the other’s with shiny but unwavering red.
“But I want you. I want you… Dan Heng. Please.”
Fuck.
Dan Heng shudders, the movement running up his phantom tail and out to his fingers still cradling Yingxing’s face. He doesn’t know what to do with this information. Where to store it, how to catalog it so he can recall it later. All he can think of is the man underneath him, who wants, who needs—and the fact that he can be the one to give.
Not a beat later, Yingxing lets out a pained moan, still being torn up from the inside by his heat.
Dan Heng has to take care of this. Of him.
“Shh, shh it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
As quick as he can, Dan Heng shifts off of Yingxing to shed the man’s inner robe, exposing his chest to the warm air. He resumes his place atop the man’s body.
If Yingxing needs Dan Heng’s touch, his touch he will get.
Dan Heng starts at his neck, working his fingers down in soothing circles. He’s no stranger to injury, to scars. While he’s been lucky to mostly avoid his own, he’s seen plenty on the bodies of soldiers, warriors, all manner of fighters he’s seen while with the Astral Express.
But touching them is another matter entirely, as he finds out when his fingers first brush against the skin just above Yingxing’s collarbone.
The skin is rough and discolored, a little tight in places and shiny. As he continues to rub his fingers over the man’s shoulders and down his chest, the constellations of scars inspire something of awe within him. A deep respect, almost fear, but more strangely… a kind of remorse. An ache that he can’t explain budding in his heart, flushing red with each thump of a valve.
Yingxing is beautiful. Dan Heng has no hope of denying it now. The man’s body is made of hard muscle and fierce tissues, and merely running his hands along it has saliva gathering under Dan Heng’s tongue.
Deciding to make use of it, Dan Heng dips his head down and licks a fat stripe over the scent gland at the base of Yingxing’s neck. The latter moans loudly and grasps desperately at Dan Heng’s shoulders.
Dan Heng stays buried there a moment, licking quietly and gently at the gland. He’d chosen the side that was not marked with a gnarled but beautiful mating bite, revealed when he’d stripped the man’s inner robe. Based on what Yingxing had said, he figures there is only one person the bite could have belonged to.
He idly wonders if his own teeth would match the mark before promptly deciding that it would be a stupid theory to test. For a multitude of reasons.
Dan Heng groans. The taste of the man beneath him is right in his mouth, whipping through his system like lightning. His teeth ache with the knowledge that one motion, one swift bite, and the omega would be his.
But that’s stupid. He doesn’t want Yingxing… He shouldn’t want Yingxing.
But he does want to help him. Dan Heng smells that with each of his touches, the alcoholic burn of vanilla fades from the man’s scent, leaving only the intoxicating taste of flowers and warmth dancing on his tongue.
And it makes it harder to stop.
Harder to stop his touching, his licking, and the rush of his blood to his cock.
He thinks, maybe, that even if he shouldn’t want it, he’s never wanted anything more than this.
“Alpha, please!” Yingxing whines. “Need you.”
The fog quickly settling over Dan Heng’s mind clears for a minute, followed by a quick stab of pain.
He holds back a sigh.
“Who do you need?” he asks.
“Alph—”
“No.” His teeth clench and unclench. “Who do you need? Who do you want?”
Yingxing’s eyes go wide, clearing slightly of their glossy haze.
“You. Dan Heng, I want you. Please, please give it to me.”
Dan Heng’s eyes roll back in his head. He heaves a sigh, then a grunt.
“Okay. Okay, Yingxing. If you want me, then you’ll have me.”
This is a bad idea. This is all a really, terribly bad idea.
But as his fingers wander farther, pressing into the flesh and hard muscle around the man’s navel, Dan Heng can’t really find it in himself to care. Yingxing’s breath catches, he whines, and that sound is the only thing that matters.
🪷
Pulling himself at last from the delectable crook of Yingxing’s neck, Dan Heng trails his lips along the feverish skin.
He doesn’t have much experience in this, in giving or receiving pleasure, but his instincts are telling him to worship every inch of the man’s skin. So that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
He lets his tongue trace the tender lines of Yingxing’s neck, appreciating the vibration against his lips as the man moans for him. He pauses to suck at a spot below his jaw. Not hard enough to bruise the man, he doesn’t want to leave even more marks on his fractured body, just enough to feel the give of the flesh between his lips. Hot and pulsing and so very alive.
Yingxing’s whining grows more insistent, so Dan Heng decides to move things along. He trails his mouth farther down, littering the man’s chest with kisses. Some featherlight and soft, others wet and fierce. There’s no rhyme or reason to his ministrations, and he would worry that it was unpleasurable if it weren’t for the gasps and pants shuddering out of the body beneath him.
Eventually, his lips find a nipple, laving his tongue softly over the hard nub. He hears a gurgled moan from Yingxing as he does, and he’s surprised by the sudden presence of a hand flying into his hair, gripping tight. He’s even more surprised by the fact that he likes it there.
Dan Heng hums in approval, lips still lavishing affection on Yingxing’s sensitive nipple, earning him another moan and a slight tug on his scalp.
Dan Heng begins to feel hazy with his own arousal as he switches over to the man’s other pec. He’s never felt like this—intimacy has never felt like this. Never so good, never hungry, never urgent. But now he finds his own well-trained patience slipping.
Propping himself on his elbows, Dan Heng bends farther down, nuzzling his face into the scarred skin of Yingxing’s stomach. He smells good here, too. Smells good everywhere.
Dan Heng looks up at the man above him. Yingxing gazes back, eyes heavy with pleasure and lust.
“Yingxing,” he asks softly, curling his fingers in the waistband of his loose inner pants, “May I remove these?”
Yingxing nods enthusiastically, more of the sweet vanilla scent pouring out of him.
Dan Heng keeps touching, moving his fingers in gentle lines just under the edge of his pants, but he doesn’t go further. “Need words.”
Yingxing is quick to respond, and it seems like the floodgates are open. “Yes, yes, take them off, please, now. I can’t stand it, can’t stand not having you. Touch me, alpha, please—” His voice breaks on the last word, but he doesn’t have to beg any more because Dan Heng easily complies.
He loosens the tie at Yingxing’s waist and slides the soft fabric down his legs, careful not to let it catch on his ankles before dropping the garment to the floor.
Yingxing is beautiful. Bare and spread out, flushed chest rising and falling in fast breaths, Dan Heng thinks he must be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
His scars cut across his skin in intricate patterns, unique only to him. Like the pelt of a tiger, gorgeous and warm to the touch.
His frame is delicious, muscled but trim, with a small waist and broad shoulders emphasizing one another. Dan Heng wants to drown in him, to wear his skin so that he may know every nook and cranny of the body before him. (It registers only distantly that that’s a crazy thought to have.)
And in the middle of it all, not stealing the show but certainly in a starring role, stands Yingxing’s cock. Flushed and hard, already dripping precum.
Dan Heng groans.
He has to take a minute to bury his face in Yingxing’s thigh just to center himself. He only resurfaces when Yingxing lets out a pitiful whine, eyes big and nervous.
“Alpha… Do you not… like it? Like me?”
And this may be the strangest thing of all. Because never in a billion eons would Dan Heng have expected this. Blade, the ever-stalking shadow, always dragging up a past that Dan Heng had no part in… could feel insecure? The man who could kill anything and everything but himself… and he was afraid of what Dan Heng thought of him. Even when he had nothing at all to be insecure over.
“No,” he responds, reigning in a dry chuckle. “If anything, I… I like it too much.”
He doesn’t add the, Like you too much.
Dan Heng’s eyes go wide when he hears it. Yingxing is purring.
The soft rumble curls out from somewhere in the man’s chest, painting the air with bliss. There’s a soft smile on his face, and though Dan Heng can still smell the acrid pain in his scent, it also sweetens, flourishing with warm vanilla.
It drives Dan Heng nearly mad.
He surges back in, tucking himself between Yingxing’s legs and wrapping his arms around his torso, nuzzling into his neck. Soaking up his scent. The motion cuts Yingxing’s purrs off with an insistent whine, and Dan Heng can feel the hard weight of his cock nudging into his own stomach.
He has to be good. He has to make Yingxing feel good.
Groaning and pulling himself up onto an elbow, Dan Heng wastes no time in using his free hand to reach between them for the man’s length.
Watching Yingxing’s face the whole time, Dan Heng smiles at seeing the omega’s face scrunch in long-awaited pleasure. He wraps his hand around him and gives a lazy pull, reveling in the moan that comes from above. It sends a shudder down his spine.
Continuing to stroke lazily, Dan Heng again buries his face in Yingxing’s neck. He can’t help it. The scent pouring from his skin is intoxicating, especially as the omega’s pleasure builds and builds.
A broken, stuttered plea comes next to his ear. “More, alpha. Please, more—ugnh!”
His cry is cut off as Dan Heng tightens the fist around his cock mercilessly. He stretches up to kiss just below Yingxing’s pink ear before whispering, “You asked for more. This is what you wanted, yes?”
Yingxing nods feverishly, lacking any rhythm. Dan Heng notices a tear slip from the corner of his eye, but this time he knows it’s from pleasure.
“Good. If more is what you want, then more is what you’ll get.”
Continuing to fist his cock fiercely, almost meanly, Dan Heng shifts his weight to bring his other hand away from the bed and instead to Yingxing’s chest. He knows the pressure of his weight pressing down through the hand over the man’s sternum must be immense, but it seems to be just what he wants.
An idea flickers through his mind and he goes for it. He drops down to his elbow again, distributing his weight across the length of his forearm. Plastered straight between Yingxing’s pecs, it gives Dan Heng the perfect angle to wrap a hand around his throat.
He watches in awe as Yingxing’s eyes roll back in pleasure at the firm touch.
The glide of Dan Heng’s aggressive grip on his cock is slick and smooth, eased by sweat and precum, and he picks up the pace.
Yingxing is panting, begging incoherently. He must be close. Dan Heng decides to tighten the pressure around his throat, squeezing firmly at the vessels and muscles on the side but careful to avoid the man’s windpipe.
Another firm stroke up and down is all it takes before Yingxing is cumming with a sharp gasp. Spilling into his hand and over his own stomach, wet and warm. The scent of his release does nothing to help the churning arousal still boiling in Dan Heng’s gut.
Dan Heng continues to work him through it, gentling his grip and pace, until Yingxing starts letting out throaty whimpers and mewls.
🪷
He moves to get off the bed then. For as little experience as he’s had, Dan Heng does know a thing or two about aftercare. He wants to clean the omega up, get him wrapped in something fluffy. He wants to help him make a nest of his own clothes so he can have a soft place to sleep.
What he doesn’t know is why Yingxing is quick to wrap a firm hand around his wrist, followed by an even firmer tug. He’s up on his hands and knees, still lingering over the man, when his harsh yank sends him flopping back down.
Dan Heng cringes at the feeling of cooling cum sticking between their stomachs.
“Yingxing, I’m just going to get something to clean you up. I’ll be right b—”
“No.” Yingxing wraps his arms tight over Dan Heng’s torso then. He also swings his legs to wrap around his, trapping him there like a koala, chest-to-chest.
The movement brings Dan Heng’s still-clothed cock in contact with Yingxing’s hard hip and he groans, eyes squeezing shut.
He’s not worried about that right now, though. Far from it. He knows that even if a heat-crazed Blade begs and demands pleasure from him, Dan Heng has no right seeking the same. His only priority now is getting Bl—Yingxing comfortable and safe. He’ll take a cold shower later to kill his erection. It’ll be fine.
“Yingxing, I really need to get—”
“No!” he says again, whinier this time. “Stay with me.” Dan Heng meets his eyes.
That almost sounds like… like he actually—
“Want your knot. Now.”
Oh. That makes more sense.
It also sends Dan Heng’s heart into his throat. Realistically, he should have expected this. In reality? He was hoping just getting the man off a few times would get him through his heat.
Which is still the plan.
“No—”
Yingxing wails. Dan Heng sighs and plants a hand firmly over the man’s mouth and much of his nose. A little breath deprivation couldn’t hurt.
“Yingxing, I’m telling you no. You don’t need my knot, you don’t want my knot, and—”
With a sudden surge of power, Yingxing reaches up and tears Dan Heng’s hand away, yelling, “Don’t tell me what I want!” His eyes look wild, almost crazed. “I want you, alpha. Dan Heng…”
Dan Heng squeezes his eyes shut tight. It’s an immense effort not to let his resolve come unraveled right there.
“No, Yingxing. You don’t want my knot. You don’t want me. Not when you’re in your right mind anyway.”
Yingxing’s eyes assume a small tilt. He looks… terribly sad. When he speaks, he looks away. In the quietest voice, he says, “The last time I was in my right mind was centuries ago.”
And how is Dan Heng supposed to reply to that?
Fuck.
His mind is racing, eyes trying unsuccessfully to meet the red ones mere inches away, when there’s a knock at the door. Dan Heng feels like he nearly jumps out of his skin. Yingxing doesn’t react except to turn his face in the direction of the door.
Ignore it. Dan Heng is going to ignore it. It’s probably someone at the wrong door. Maybe a solicitor or some Aha worshipper playing ding-dong-dash.
Alas, no such luck.
The knock comes again, this time followed by a voice. “Bla~die~! Come on out, I can smell you in there!”
Dan Heng feels a spark of electricity zing through him.
Another alpha, smelling Yingxing? Following his omega’s scent from outside the door? Unacceptable.
He can smell his scent souring, growing thick with brine and salt.
While his own body has gone rigid, the one under him starts to move. To get up.
Absolutely not.
With a shove perhaps a touch harder than necessary, Dan Heng pushes Yingxing back to the mattress. He somehow knows that the man would have no qualms walking up to the door and opening it, stark naked as he is. And that’s not happening on his watch.
Rushing to get up himself, Dan Heng throws the covers over Yingxing’s bare form, hastily tucking it in around the edges.
“Stay there,” he growls, no room for argument in his tone. He just has to hope the omega obeys.
He quickly throws the rest of his robes back on, trusting that his ornate outer layer will sufficiently conceal the erection that still hasn’t gone down. He half-asses the ties and just has to hope that his face and hair look presentable when he answers the door.
He cracks it open just as Kafka calls out in singsong again. Seeing him, a wide smile creeps onto her face.
“Your Stellaron Hunter is not here,” he says curtly.
“Oh, but he is! There’s no use lying to me, little trailblazer.” She chuckles. “And it’s you who our little Bladie has come running to!”
Dan Heng bares his teeth at the word our.
Kafka’s grin doesn’t fade as she says, “I thought it might be, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”
Dan Heng doesn’t know what she means by that, but he’s not going to go looking for clarification he knows he won’t get.
“What do you want?” he asks instead, voice steely.
“Like I said, I’m here to check up on him. I consider myself responsible for his health and safety… among other things.”
Dan Heng bites back the urge to growl at the alpha. He knows it wouldn’t go over well, even with the carefree attitude the Stellaron Hunter is displaying.
“I went to his room to see if he needed my assistance, and imagine my surprise at finding a busted door! I simply followed that lovely scent down a few twists and turns, and here we are.” Raising her voice, Kafka calls out over Dan Heng’s shoulder. “Oh, Bladie! Are you well?”
“Yes, Kafka.”
Dan Heng bristles, baring his fangs. Even if she can’t see him, the thought of another alpha having a conversation with the omega naked in his bed, whose cum is still drying on his hand, has Dan Heng ready to draw blood.
Kafka pays him no mind, calling back, “That’s wonderful. Darling, I’ve brought your favorite toys. You can thank me later!”
As she says it, she swings a bag from over her shoulder and holds it out to Dan Heng, who somehow hadn’t noticed it before. He was a little too preoccupied with the invading scent of rich black tea wafting from the woman.
“This is for you,” she says, cocking her head with a smile. “For now at least.”
Dan Heng takes the bag, dumbfounded as to what the hell is going on right now.
“Well!” Kafka says, clapping her hands once. “I’ll be going. I’d tell you not to lay a scratch on him, but I think he’d much rather you do.”
Without another word, she turns and ambles away.
What the fuck?
Dan Heng closes the door and makes his way back inside. Yingxing is still under the covers, right where he’d left him. Strangely, his eyes seem to brighten when he sees the sack clutched loosely in Dan Heng’s fist.
Yingxing frees his hands from the sheets and makes a grabby motion toward the bag. Dan Heng finds it… regrettably… adorable. But he’s not going to think about that.
Instead, he just hands the bag over, standing idly by the bed while Yingxing hastily undoes the drawstring keeping it closed. His scent flourishes in the air, thick and sweet floral and vanilla notes sinking into Dan Heng’s skin.
He watches as Yingxing starts to remove items. The first is a pair of small clamps—they look like something that might be used for maintenance on the Express. The next thing is a simple leather belt, a heavy silver buckle hanging from the end. Next comes another thick belt, but it looks too short to go around an adult waist. Plus it has a large metal ring sticking out of the middle, and Dan Heng has never seen a belt like th—oh.
Oh.
Fuck. Fuck, that’s—that’s a collar.
Yingxing continues pulling things from the bag, setting them down gently beside him on the bed. Dan Heng now understands what Kafka meant when she referred to his favorite toys. A part of him bristles at the fact that his suspicions were confirmed—Kafka surely helps the man through his heats.
But another part of him, a softer part, is relieved to know that Yingxing hasn’t been suffering through them alone all these years. Dan Heng endures most of his ruts alone, and he wouldn’t wish such a thing on his worst enemy.
A third, more primal part of him, is going wild at the sight before him. Yingxing, already hard again with something almost like a smile on his face, digging through the bag eagerly while surrounded by all manner of toys and gear. Dan Heng sees the clamps, the belt, the collar now accompanied by a short chain leash, a pair of metal handcuffs, ropes, a small riding crop, multiple plugs, and things he can’t even begin to name or guess the purpose of.
But they can’t just do this. Dan Heng doesn’t even know if he can. The choking and the hair-pulling were fine. He knows how those things feel, how to control them so they aren’t too much. But whipping? Really hurting someone like that? He doesn’t know how to do that in a way that’s safe. He’s practically built to fight—to fight and to hurt—with his predecessor’s skill and instinct coursing through his body. And he realizes then, right then, that he doesn’t want to hurt Yingxing. Not really. And just looking at the cuffs has his stomach turning, fighting to push down the bile of his memories. He can’t do that to someone.
“Yingxing,” he says, but his voice comes out weak and choked. He tries again. “Yingxing! S-stop.”
Yingxing looks up at him, wide-eyed and curious. He’d finished unpacking his bag and is now fiddling with the collar in his hands, trying to undo the buckle and presumably put it on.
“Let’s just… just pause for a second, okay?”
Yingxing looks confused, and a little hurt, but places the collar down in his lap regardless.
Dan Heng takes a large breath to steady himself. He decides to shed his hastily thrown-on outer robes again. It’s only fair that he be in his underclothes if Yingxing remains fully bare, save the sheet thrown over his legs. Plus, he’s getting warm again.
He tries to fight the tremble in his hands as he refolds his clothes. Takes another steadying breath.
The concerned furrow in Yingxing’s brow seems to settle a little at seeing Dan Heng start to strip. He’s glad the omega got the message: Dan Heng isn’t leaving him alone now.
He approaches the bed again, the second time he does so in only his underrobes, but this time makes the much more level-headed decision to sit at Yingxing’s feet rather than in the man’s lap. Idly, he lays a hand over a sheet-covered calf.
“Yingxing, I… I want to help you. I want to.” He tries not to meet the man’s eyes as he speaks, but something about the magnetic pull of the heat radiating up his forearm from the contact forces his gaze. “I will help you, if you want me to, but I don’t know if we can… do all this.” He gestures vaguely at the pile of supplies on the bed.
Dan Heng forces himself to watch as Yingxing’s face falls. He seems almost on the brink of tears.
“But… but I want—”
“I didn’t say we couldn’t do any of it. But… there’s a few things here I don’t want to do. And all of them are things we need to talk about.” He cringes at himself. Talking is… not his strong suit. “And I worry… I worry that you’re not in a place to talk about it right now. Not like we need to.”
“Dan Heng.” Yingxing’s tone is serious, firm. It catches him off guard. “Tell me you don’t think I’m lucid right now.”
Dan Heng doesn’t say anything. It’s true that Yingxing has been remarkably present throughout his heat so far. He has begged and cried, but none of it was without at least some presence of mind. Maybe like the preheat pains, the delirium of his heat is something he’s… grown used to? Something he can counteract?
Yingxing continues, a touch softer. “Like I told you, I live my whole fucking life out of my mind. I’m as lucid as I ever will be. We can talk.”
“I… okay.”
Yingxing goes to sit up straighter against the headboard, pulling the sheet modestly over his lap. He looks more composed, but, Dan Heng notes with relief, he doesn’t have the cold look in his eye that’s become so familiar. He still looks… soft. Open.
“What don’t you want to do?” he asks.
Dan Heng bites back a nervous chuckle. Yingxing says that like it’s a simple question. Does Dan Heng even want to do any of it? He doesn’t think that he usually would, but he does know that he wants to help Yingxing. And if this is what will help, then he supposes he doesn’t really mind. Well, mostly.
“No handcuffs,” Dan Heng says, forcing the waver from his voice. “No bindings that you… that you can’t get out of.”
Yingxing waits until he meets his eyes, then nods.
“And I don’t want to hurt you, so—”
“I want you to hurt me,” Yingxing interrupts. “Please.”
What?
“I didn’t mean… I-I can pull your hair. And choke you a little, if you want that, but I don’t want to actually harm you, Yingxing.”
“You won’t. I cannot die.”
Dan Heng goes quiet. He forces his gaze to meet Yingxing’s when he responds, softly. “Death isn’t the only way to hurt someone.”
A flicker of anger passes over Yingxing’s eyes then, and the sweet vanilla of his scent burns. “You think I don’t know that?”
Dan Heng throws his hands up before him in defense. “That’s not what I—”
“I know what hurt is, Dan Heng. I know how to suffer, and I’ve been doing it for a long, long time. Nothing you can do to my body will hurt me more than I want to be hurt.”
Dan Heng drops his hands. Fidgets with them in his lap. It seems like he’d gone too far. But that’s the problem. He doesn’t know how far is too far, how much is too much, or how hurt is too hurt. He doesn’t know anything about Yingxing.
“Can you… explain it to me?”
Yingxing’s fierce gaze softens at his words, so Dan Heng continues. “Why you want it to hurt?”
The man pauses, looking idly around the room for the words he needs. Dan Heng watches his thumb trace slow lines along the edge of the collar still sitting in his lap. His scent slowly returns to normal. Dusky lilies and gentle vanilla, still subtly sweetened by his heat.
After a minute, he speaks.
“It’s hard to explain. I suppose it’s less about suffering and more about… choice. Control.” He takes a breath. “My Mara. It lives inside my body, my blood. It eats and eats, and it would do so until there was nothing left except for the fact that it can’t. Because of the flame of Abundance that sits in my heart, there is always more for it to consume. They are at war within my flesh—life’s end and life’s beginning—and they destroy me and rebirth me anew with every breath. A killing blow hurts, but so does being ripped from the womb. It’s all pain.”
Dan Heng shudders. He reaches a hand out again, steadying it on Yingxing’s leg, urging him to go on.
“But this… this is a new kind of pain. Not death, not life. There’s something simple in it. And it’s something I get to choose for myself. Like breathing air after a millennium spent drowning.”
Yingxing is finished speaking and Dan Heng… doesn’t know what to say. For one thing, this is the most that the man has ever spoken to him, and it feels like his brain is still catching up.
It also just seems so… different to everything Dan Heng knows. About pain, about suffering, about pleasure. Dan Heng himself would never want to hurt like that. He spends a lot of his time trying not to hurt or get hurt.
But what Yingxing said… It makes sense. A lot of sense, from his perspective, at least. Dan Heng may still be trying to wrap his mind around it, but there’s one thing of which he is certain: he believes Yingxing.
He believes what the man says about his pain and his pleasure. And it’s Dan Heng’s job to listen to what he asks for, to what he says will help him. Will pleasure him.
“Okay,” Dan Heng says. He takes a breath. “I understand. Or I’m starting to, anyway.”
Yingxing smiles softly.
“I want to do what you wish of me. I can try, at least. I just… I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, or how to make it good. And I still don’t want to hurt you more than you like.”
Yingxing nods. “Thank you. For trusting me with my own body. You will make it ‘good’ simply by being you. And I will stop you if it hurts too much.”
Dan Heng swallows. He never imagined Yingxing thanking him. It just felt like he was doing what was right. “How? How will you stop me?” he asks.
“I will tell you. Or if I cannot speak, I will tap you, or restrain you. And you will do the same to me, if you desire to stop.”
Dan Heng lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. “I can’t imagine wanting to,” he says softly.
Yingxing chuckles, almost darkly. “Good.”
🪷
Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open again and land on the collar still resting in Yingxing’s hands. The fingers of his left hand are running softly along the leather, stroking it gently. It’s a wide collar, the width of three of his fingers, and the edges of the leather look crisp. Like they would bite into skin. But, Dan Heng has to admit, something about it is… rather beautiful.
He gestures to the piece, asking, “Do you want to wear that?”
Yingxing nods, a gentle curve to his mouth.
“Let me put it on you?”
With another nod, Yingxing extends the collar out for Dan Heng to take. He tries not to let the slight tremble in his hands show as he reaches for it.
It’s heavier than he expected. Thicker, too. He examines the buckle, and is satisfied to learn that it seems like something Yingxing could easily take off if he wanted to.
Yingxing still sits up against the headboard, out of reach, so Dan Heng works up the courage to climb up to him. On top of him. Straddling him yet again. He reaches out and runs a gentle hand along Yingxing’s throat. In all honesty, he’s going to miss seeing it, bare and exposed. He’s happy that the man’s mating bite will still peek from the lower edge of the collar, even though it’s not his own bite. Sort of.
Dan Heng reaches his hand back farther and tugs loose the red string he’d used to tie Yingxing’s long hair up. It falls, soft and quiet, around the man’s face. The man whose eyes are locked onto Dan Heng’s face, his every movement.
Rather than discarding the string, Dan Heng tucks it safely in the top of his underrobe. He has an idea, but for later.
He again takes hold of the collar and raises it to Yingxing’s throat, waiting for the man to give a small, clear nod before slipping the end through the buckle. He tightens it slowly, feeling for each notch as it slides past the buckle behind Yingxing’s neck. Dan Heng reaches one that he thinks is a good tightness, but when he moves to clasp it in place Yingxing gives him an eye roll.
Fucking brat.
If Yingxing is going to play that game, Dan Heng can play it right back.
With sharp, precise movements, he gives the collar a firm tug, closing it tightly but briefly around Yingxing’s throat, choking him.
He gags, gasps, and finally coughs once Dan Heng lightens up. A long, low whine leaves his abused throat, and he slumps forward against Dan Heng’s shoulder. Dan Heng savors the lovely scent of lilies rising from his hair.
“Too much, baby?” Dan Heng asks, inflecting a bit of meanness into his tone.
Don’t ask him where the petname came from. He couldn’t tell you.
Yingxing whines and shakes his head against Dan Heng, mussing his hair. “No. More.”
“Lie down for me then.”
Yingxing is quick to comply, and Dan Heng backs his weight off so he can move. The transition is frantic, urgent, with Yingxing knocking all manner of toys and gear to the floor. Dan Heng thinks he hears a butt plug roll away.
But soon enough, Dan Heng has Yingxing splayed on his back again, modesty sheet thrown aside, and is sitting on his abdomen. He quickly finishes clasping the collar’s buckle in place. Tight.
Yingxing’s gaze never strays from his face.
Dan Heng looks to the pile of items beside them and quickly spots what he’s looking for. He reaches over and only when the sound of chains tinkling meets his ears does Yingxing look over sharply, leather collar creaking under the movement.
Dan Heng brings it up between them, letting the cold metal drag across Yingxing’s bare chest. He shivers.
It’s the leash.
Short, only a few feet of thick, heavy chain, with a leather handle bolted to the end. It matches the collar, of course.
Dan Heng dangles the leash between them, dragging the chain slowly over the scarred flesh, grazing Yingxing’s nipples. “You want this too, baby?”
Yingxing nods, hurried, breath coming just a touch faster.
Dan Heng obliges, clipping the end of the chain in place. He runs his hand down its length only a few inches before giving an experimental pull. Yingxing follows easily.
“Alpha…” he mumbles, words slurred with lust and eyes half-lidded.
“One more thing.” Dan Heng maneuvers himself backwards, which ends up with him sitting squarely on Yingxing’s hard cock. He thinks he can feel the omega’s precum starting to soak through his own pants.
Using the leash, he pulls Yingxing up to meet him. He needs both hands for this, so he drops the chain and orders, “Stay there.”
Yingxing does so by grabbing him around the shoulders, which only sinks his weight further onto the omega and causing him to cry out at the pressure.
“Hush. Can’t have everyone in this hotel hearing you.” Dan Heng says it just to chide the man, but he realizes that he really does mean it. He doesn’t want a single other soul soaking up the sounds of Yingxing’s pleasure. Those are for Dan Heng and Dan Heng alone.
To punctuate his point, Dan Heng reaches into his robes and removes the red ribbon he’d stowed. He holds it in front of Yingxing’s face, letting him see, before issuing his next command. “Open.”
Yingxing’s eyes go wide, and he does so eagerly, letting his tongue hang out of his open mouth, practically drooling.
Dan Heng wastes no time securing the ribbon in place, pushing it between the omega’s lips and fastening it around the back of his head. He watches as the string quickly starts to be saturated with Yingxing’s saliva.
Dan Heng figures that this way, Yingxing can have what he wants. Control surrendered, the slightest bit of pressure and pain at the corners of his mouth. But Dan Heng can also have what he wants: a Yingxing who can still speak, still say no, stop, don’t. A little garbled perhaps, but easy enough to say and to understand. There had been a ball gag among the toys scattered around, but Dan Heng much prefers his inventive alternative.
Inhale. Exhale.
“I’ve done a lot already, hm?” he says, mockingly. “Why don’t you let your alpha take a break? Get on the floor for me.”
And aeons, Dan Heng doesn’t know where this voice of his is coming from. His past few partners had hardly been vocal, and certainly he hadn’t been.
But, somehow, Dan Heng finds that it’s just coming naturally to him now. If Yingxing wants to be controlled, Dan Heng can do the controlling.
And Yingxing does want to be controlled. If Dan Heng had any reservations about that fact, they’re buried after witnessing the manner and haste with which Yingxing scrambles to the floor, kneeling. Looking up at Dan Heng, waiting obediently.
“Good boy. Let’s see you get yourself off, then.”
🪷