Chapter Text
Shotaro feels so cold.
He’s been outside for longer than he should have- just a quick water break during practice- but he likes this little balcony in an otherwise forgotten wing of the company building during the winter months. Everybody else prefers to stay indoors. He lights a second cigarette and studies the dark grey clouds through the heavy rain. Nimbostratus: continuous rain, but no lightning and thunder. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, and Shotaro feels it keenly.
The screech of steel scrapes Shotaro’s eardrums over the downpour, and he turns to find Wonbin hovering in the stairwell doorway.
“You’ve been out here a while.”
Shotaro shrugs. Normally he’s the one chasing the other members up, hassling everyone into repetitive practice until he’s somewhat satisfied enough to send them all home to collapse into bed. And yet, he’s all out of sorts, and it’s his own fault entirely.
“Hurry up or I’ll tell Sohee you started smoking again. You know he hates that shit.”
Shotaro drops the cigarette to his feet, crushing it with his heel as he smirks over his shoulder. “Narc.”
Wonbin rolls his eyes, still looking somewhere to Shotaro’s left, refusing to make eye contact.
He’s perfected this: talking to Shotaro without really talking to him, looking at him but not really. Shotaro can handle this. It’s taken months of practice, but every second Wonbin isn’t looking at Shotaro is a fraction of time Shotaro can spend committing him to memory.
If Shotaro allows himself to think about it for too long, the distance between them claws at his throat, squeezing the lump there, threatening to bring him to tears.
He’s reminded of the day he ended things. Wonbin cried; no- bawled, hands pawing at Shotaro’s chest, shoulders, arms, eventually down to his legs, hugging them tight while on his knees, pleading with Shotaro to stay, talk, figure things out.
Shotaro didn’t shed a tear during the ordeal, nor did he stay. He’d called Sohee earlier, knowing how everything would go down, and even if Wonbin has forgiven him, Sohee’s never spoken to Shotaro in the same adoring way he used to.
Wonbin’s eyes glisten in the sliver of cold sunlight as they finally meet Shotaro’s. His hair is long- so much longer than it was when he’d settle in Shotaro’s hold, when Shotaro would run his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep- and it wips around in the icy wind.
The tips of Wonbin’s ears and his nose are a soft pink. Shotaro resists the urge to scold him for coming outside without a beanie.
“Sungchan’s asking for you.”
Shotaro wishes he’d cried for Wonbin earlier. He wishes he never held Wonbin; he wishes he never let him go.
“I’ll be right in.”
✮
The sofa is uncharacteristically comfortable beneath Shotaro, a sign that he’s unquestionably tipsy, because ordinarily the only way he’ll sit on it is when he’s sprawled out over someone else during their movie nights. Anton rolls onto Shotaro’s lap, properly drunk with cherry red cheeks and pouty lips. He’s got a stupid smile on his face. Sungchan’s watching him from across the room, with an equally stupid smile of his own.
The coffee table is littered with half-drunk soju bottles and cans of beer. It was supposed to be just a couple of drinks with dinner, but it’s a rainy night with nothing else to do and Seunghan and Sungchan are incapable of stopping once they get going.
Seunghan looks up from his place on the floor, where he’s playing with Wonbin’s hair- half up in a ponytail, with two flower clips pinned in lopsidedly. Seunghan’s eyes sparkle as they always do when he’s trying to flirt or rile someone up- his omega charm, he calls it. “Doesn’t hyung’s hair look pretty?”
Wonbin ceases his chattering. He fixes his huge eyes on Shotaro expectantly, drunk enough not to worry about looking at him directly.
Shotaro blames the alcohol on his next words.
“Very pretty.”
There’s a special kind of cruelty in the satisfaction Shotaro feels at Wonbin’s blush, already flushed skin deepening from two simple words. Something dark churns in Shotaro’s stomach, the twisted desire for Wonbin to want him- need him- no matter how much time passes by. Try as Wonbin might, all of his efforts to detach from Shotaro are undone by a mere 360ml of lychee soju.
Seunghan pours out another two shots.
Shotaro is selfish, selfish, selfish.
He swipes a shot glass from Eunseok‘s hands before Anton can take it and spill it all over himself, passing it over to Sohee instead, who has been watching Shotaro’s exchange with Wonbin silently. Unhappily. The beta’s naturally faint scent- clean laundry and apples- tinges the air with a sourness Sohee seems to reserve especially for when Shotaro isn’t being completely cautious around Wonbin.
Eunseok’s eyes dart between the two, remaining unruffled with a small smile creeping onto his face as Sohee begrudgingly takes the shot himself. Most of the time, Eunseok is happy to stay out of pack struggles and hole up alone in his room gaming. A beta through and through, his scent is even fainter than Sohee’s, almost undetectable. (Eunseok smells like ginger and lemongrass tea. Shotaro only knows this because during his first rut after ending things with Wonbin before debut, Eunseok came to him and offered to help him out.)
Shotaro leans backward to stare up at the ceiling. To avoid Sohee’s judgment, ignore Anton’s whining for another shot. But mostly to evade Wonbin’s unbreaking stare burning in his peripheral.
Shotaro wonders how different things would be now if everything had gone the way he once expected. When he first arrived in Korea, Shotaro hadn’t shown any signs of presenting yet. He was thin and quiet and not yet at full height, and he heard whispered bets among SM staff that he would surely present as an omega within the year, or perhaps a beta.
And then came Wonbin: his first friend in Korea, also unpresented. Wonbin loved to talk about anything and everything, always waiting for Shotaro to process his words and explain anything he hadn’t learnt just yet. The staff thought Wonbin could be an alpha, Wonbin told Shotaro in thrilled confidence. He’d protect Shotaro from crazy fans and mean managers. They were going to debut together anyway, so who better for the job?
Within a week of their first time meeting, Wonbin stumbled into Shotaro’s room on his day off with a hardcore fever, shivering and sweating worse than anything Shotaro had ever seen, curling up in Shotaro’s arms while whining for Shotaro to feed him the berries they’d bought earlier that afternoon. (Shotaro craved red berries from home, and Wonbin took him to an out of the way street market to buy a punnet that tasted just the same as the ones back in his hometown in Japan.)
If Shotaro had done things differently that day, maybe he wouldn’t be on the brink of a migraine from Sohee’s sour apple scent right now. This tension wouldn’t exist. The pack wouldn’t be constantly stepping on eggshells every time somebody went into heat or a rut.
Maybe, just maybe, if Shotaro hadn’t held Wonbin close until he began to sweat himself, until the sudden appearance of sweetened almond milk and tonka bean filled his fogging senses and all he could hear was hyung, hyung… you smell like rain… alpha…
Maybe if he’d left Wonbin in the care of somebody else, everything would be okay.
The initial shock of the two triggering each others’ presentations rocked through the trainees and staff, though everyone in the vicinity was on strict orders to keep everything under wraps. Despite being a newly presented, unmated pair, Shotaro and Wonbin were unexpectedly allowed to stay together in the cycle rooms after a doctor argued that it could be traumatic to separate them under such unique circumstances.
Each other’s firsts. Each other’s everything.
In hindsight, Shotaro often wonders whether staying together had the exact opposite effect intended- that if they’d had to work through their presentations alone, they wouldn’t be drawn to each other like this, forever stuck in each other’s orbit even without a mating bite to seal their strange bond. (Sungchan always says that things would be this way no matter what, because he’s a true romantic who believes in soul mates. A mating bite means something to Sungchan. Deep down, Shotaro wants it to mean something to him, too.)
Shortly after their presentations, Shotaro broke things off with Wonbin when he debuted in NCT. New dorms, different schedules… who was Shotaro to put someone he loved through that? Wonbin was beautiful. People would be lining up to take care of him. It was the right decision for both of them, Shotaro was sure.
Sure, until SM turned everything on its head after nearly three years of being borderline inactive without a unit, and suddenly Shotaro found himself training once more with Wonbin. And then fucking Wonbin. Having a relationship with Wonbin, all the way up until they could call themselves Riize, not just members of a group but part of a pack.
Four months post debut, Shotaro called it off again.
He agonised over the decision, as he does every day now, only to come to the same conclusion he did then: that breaking up now and being successful in the long run was better than any later fallout that might ruin Riize. Shotaro’s worked too hard to give it all up. They all have.
So. Eunseok says Shotaro broke Wonbin’s heart twice. And Shotaro, well… his thumps away listlessly, sunken in his chest and out of reach.
“Hyung.”
An elbow digs into Shotaro’s ribs. It’s Sohee, glowering, although for once Shotaro is quite certain he hasn’t done anything to trigger him. Shotaro smiles. Sohee’s so cute, even when he’s annoyed.
“Hyung, are you listening to me?”
His tone is sharp, unlike the sweet scent overpowering the reek of alcohol throughout the room, messing with Shotaro’s ability to focus. Shotaro turns, instinctively seeking the source. It’s sweet, leading him to look at Seunghan, whose cotton candy scent is often strong enough to rival a confectionery, only this is too milky…
Above Anton’s giggling, he hears Eunseok hiss.
“Wonbin, quit it.”
Ah, of course.
The classic signs of Wonbin’s pre-heat: becoming clingier than usual, and acting out like he is right now, shamelessly releasing pheromones, his pink cheeks giving him a deceptively cherubic appearance at odds with the sly quirk of his pretty mouth. His drunken state is making him more careless than usual. Shotaro used to find it amusing, cute even.
It’s far from funny right now, Shotaro realises, because he hasn’t switched out his scent blockers since lunch before their afternoon practice, and with his senses dulled from alcohol his brain is quickly clouding over with the urge to take Wonbin right there and-
No!
Shotaro digs his nails into his thighs, stiffening with the effort to look away from Wonbin. He feels Sohee press into his side and leans in close, trying to focus on ripe apples, grateful for Sohee’s distraction even if he knows it’s all for Wonbin’s sake. If Shotaro hadn’t been so desperate to steer clear of Wonbin’s room he would’ve already noticed the heat symptoms, the tell-tale nesting signs- particularly, a gigantic pile of the pack’s clothing and bedding snatched over the past few days.
The members try to keep things hush, but Shotaro knows that it was Sungchan who helped out with Wonbin’s last heat, and Eunseok before that, and then there was that time it hit when everyone was out except Anton, who panicked and called Shotaro, and Wonbin crying his name through the phone speaker threatened so strongly to break Shotaro’s resolve that he hung up without a word.
But everyone’s here this time. They’re a pack for a reason.
Shotaro can feel Eunseok’s round eyes roving over him thoughtfully and tries not to let his hackles rise while being read for filth. He flexes his hands one more time, then nudges Anton gently.
“I’m going to take a shower, aegi. Sit up for me?”
Anton pouts, already pushing himself up onto his elbows. Shotaro has barely moved before Anton reaches out and tugs Sohee over to be his new cuddle toy.
Shotaro steadies himself and walks away from a chorus of goodnight hyung and Wonbin’s gaze burning into his back.
✮
Shotaro stands still under the shower head, skin raised with goosebumps as the water begins to run lukewarm. He’s been here too long, overthinking himself into a stupor. Perhaps he should get out. Seunghan would have come knocking to complain by now if he wasn’t drunk.
On the other hand, the water is growing colder by the minute. Self-inflicted penance has become somewhat routine for Shotaro in recent times.
He’s been delaying his ruts recently, abusing his medication with the excuse of needing to focus with such a packed schedule. It’s worked for the most part, with company higher-ups typically encouraging this with rookies, too money-hungry to let nature get in the way of their plans, but Riize’s own manager has made a few minor threats to start properly monitoring Shotaro’s usage if he doesn’t reel it in.
And he wants to. Sungchan brought it up first: Shotaro’s behaviour, the elephant in the room, Sungchan called it. The mood swings. The constant tension. Going from positive, happy hyung- Riize’s reliable pseudo-leader, really- to having a bit of an attitude was starting to take a toll on them all, and Shotaro was embarrassed enough that everything he thought he had under control was clearly known to the entire pack, affecting them as well as himself, even if he kept his issues hidden from fans. His doctor had given him the okay to delay his cycle for close to two months- all idols do it, at minimum to ensure nothing crazy happens during comebacks- but Shotaro hasn’t let himself feel so much as a slight fever before tossing back pills, and now he’s five months past his natural cycle and all the more irritable for it.
Scent blockers and rut suppressants had become Shotaro’s whole world and it had taken his best friend calling him out to acknowledge it. He wonders how Wonbin has managed to stay sane this entire time, even during their one-on-one choreography sessions that Shotaro can’t always wriggle his way out of. Shotaro’s always been congratulated on his professionalism and work ethic, although he can’t help but wonder if Wonbin would be on the receiving end of such praise, were he not an omega, destined to be overlooked in matters of self-control.
Ice-cold water down his spine jolts Shotaro out of his thoughts, and he wrenches the tap off quickly, simultaneously kicking open the shower door to reach for his fresh towel. He flicks the fan switch off and is met with silence. The others must be quietly scrolling on their phones in the lounge room or have already stumbled into their bedrooms to wait for him to finish up.
He finishes up with his nightly routine and wraps his towel around his waist to head off to his room. Faint murmuring reverberates behind Anton and Sohee’s door, then a crashing noise followed by a groan as Shotaro passes Eunseok’s room. Shotaro grins. Eunseok should know by now not to bother gaming while tipsy; his annoyance at losing after a sloppy play always ends up with his controller tossed away.
Shotaro decides to scroll mindlessly on tiktok for a bit to wind down. There’s a few sent from Anton, which never make sense to anyone but Anton. He reacts with a heart emoji to all of them anyway. Sohee’s also sent a baby hippo compilation to… about fifteen people along with Shotaro, seeming to have accidentally created a new group chat in his desire to share the adventures of his favourite animals.
He’s considering getting ready for bed when the door flies open then shut in a matter of seconds, a whirlwind of black hair and huge eyes suddenly coming to a standstill after taking in Shotaro’s towel-clad body.
“Don’t.”
Shotaro sits up straight, turning off his phone. His hand goes to his waist, securing the towel from falling any further.
“Don’t what?”
Wonbin stares back at him, a panicked air about him. His chest is rising and falling quickly, and his round eyes have a glassy sheen to them, obsidian. He clears his throat, remaining laser focused on Shotaro.
“Don’t make me go,” Wonbin rasps, as if forcing the words from his throat. His hands, noticeably shaking, dig into the pockets of Sungchan’s old hoodie. Oak and orange blossom hovers faintly in the air.
Shotaro wrinkles his nose, concentrating on ignoring the smell. It shouldn’t bother him. It doesn’t bother him. He loves Sungchan with every fibre of his being. And yet…
“If it’s for your nest, you can take my-”
“It’s not. I don’t need anything- no, I do. I do. And I know you don’t want to hear this but I’m going to-”
“Don’t do this.”
“ Don’t shut me out, please !” Wonbin drags a hand through his hair, down the side of his face. It’s sticky, Shotaro realises with a terrifying jolt, there’s enough sweat that it almost looks as though Wonbin has simply finished his skin care for the night with a thick serum, and he’s visibly straining with the effort to remain in control of himself. “I’ve been waiting for you to get out of the shower. I need you. It’s raining now and I want you, alpha .”
Alpha. I need you, I want you. Alpha.
The words send Shotaro into a tailspin; it’s everything he wants to hear and everything he can’t . They haven’t slept together in a year, and now Wonbin’s standing right in front of him, leaking slick and pheromones like he’ll die if Shotaro doesn’t touch him in the next ten seconds.
They watch each other, not a sound in the room save Wonbin’s sharp breaths and the susurration of heavy rain against the window pane. Shotaro’s petrichor, and then whiskey, vanilla. Hyung, you smell like rain , Wonbin whispered all that time ago. And every time it rained Wonbin wanted him more and more.
Shotaro reaches for his phone.
“I’m texting the group chat for someone to come and get you. Sungchan should’ve been watching you.”
“Sungchan?” Wonbin’s mouth twists, albeit without malice. Amusement, moreso. “He’s too busy with Anton. Don’t you notice anything anymore?”
Shotaro dodges this. He doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that he had wondered about the two of them for a while before drifting back to his regular spiralling, so selfishly stuck in his own head.
“Then you’ve got two betas more than ready to help. Or… maybe just Sohee. Eunseok’s…”
“He’s yelling at a screen right now.” Wonbin’s smile is sweet, shaky. It strikes Shotaro that the omega’s scent is so much more potent than usual, an undercurrent of bitter bean and sour milk stinging Shotaro’s nose, pheromones acidic with the fear of a possible rejection. He’s not using his pheromones to draw Shotaro in when he easily could be, when most omegas would, choosing to talk even though it’s harder for both of them.
Wonbin’s always had heats that lasted three-four days, short but painful, intense enough that their doctor had him on a strict regimen of heat suppressants just to make it all bearable. He shouldn’t be sweating this much, not on medication. Or maybe it’s Shotaro’s fault for forgetting to take his rut suppressants after the ones he took before practice wore off. He didn’t replace his scent blockers either. Fuck.
“Your suppressants. When did you last take them?”
“I didn’t.”
Shotaro feels his stomach swoop. “You… what?”
“I didn’t take them today. Or yesterday.”
“Wonbin.” Shotaro closes his eyes, panic flooding through him. “What are you doing? Why would you-”
“I just want to feel it,” Wonbin’s reply is hushed, a mere whisper Shotaro wouldn’t catch if he wasn’t hyper-focused on Wonbin.
“Feel it?!”
Wonbin finally moves from the door to drop to his knees before Shotaro, taking Shotaro’s hands in his own.
“Yes, feel it! The cramps, the heartbreak, the want , all of it- I’m sick of cutting a part of myself off just to-”
“That’s reckless,” Shotaro interjects, panic clawing roughly at his throat. His voice comes out strangled enough to let on that he’s rattled, and the minor loss of control sets him further on edge. “We have a schedule, Park Wonbin. You’re being selfish.”
“You’re being selfish! You did this to me!” Wonbin’s eyes flash, red-rimmed and anxious; his speech is thick satoori, stumbling over his words, and Shotaro’s heart squeezes in his chest as he’s reminded of the young boy he fell in love with, new to Seoul and Shotaro and desperate to be loved by both.
I just want what’s best for you.
“I want to spend it with you. Don’t make me beg.”
Haven’t you already?
Shotaro’s head spins. Wonbin’s scent hangs in the air, bitterness gone. He tilts his head up to Shotaro’s, and Shotaro feels his carefully constructed walls crumbling around him.
“I told Sungchan I was coming to you. He said I can go to them if…”
If you reject me, the unspoken words burn. Shotaro wishes his heart would remain sunken and out of reach, safe from Wonbin’s imploring gaze.
Too late for that.
“Do you understand what you’re asking?”
The last of Wonbin’s composure crumples. “Yes, yes , don’t you get it? I’m in pain with or without you, away from you, I- I want to feel good, I want to feel you , and I know you want that, too. Hyung… nobody gets me like you.”
Shotaro is brave in the face of all things- all things, except Park Wonbin. He reaches for Wonbin’s forearms, pulling the omega’s light body up with ease to fall flush against him. His hands are trembling when he brings them to Wonbin’s nape, bringing their faces close, the air tense with a cloud of ripe pheromones and their scents inextricably braiding together. Shotaro’s eyes drop to Wonbin’s mouth- lips already red and puffy from the threat of tears- and he finds himself frozen.
A year has passed without Shotaro’s lips on Wonbin’s. All it takes is a second to undo everything he’s repressed deep down every day of every month, a miserable cycle through all four seasons, only to be right back here with Wonbin in his arms.
He presses his lips to Wonbin’s without another thought.
Plush pillow-softness greets him in return, though Wonbin pulls away in surprise after a moment’s touch, pupils dilating when Shotaro chases after his lips instinctively.
“Do you…”
“I’ve had my shots, hyung.” Wonbin is lucid enough to roll his eyes in mild annoyance, even though he knows Shotaro is only asking about protection as a courtesy. He runs his nails down Shotaro’s temples and behind his ears, gentle scratches leaving Shotaro with no choice but to close his eyes and listen. “I appreciate this sudden concern-”
Shotaro winces.
“But I’d prefer you to set aside your chivalry and fuck me stupid,” Wonbin murmurs, catching Shotaro’s ear lobe in between his teeth.
Shotaro can feel the omega’s grin, just as he shivers as Wonbin’s scent finally becomes something syrupy and saccharine, enveloping Shotaro’s senses completely. “Can you do that for me… alpha ?”
Shotaro can only offer a dumb nod before Wonbin tackles him flat on the mattress, tongue and teeth clashing together without the finesse they used to have. The omega doesn’t seem bothered by it, nor patient enough to work for a rhythm, licking and biting under the assumption Shotaro will catch up once he’s fully relaxed. Wonbin parts his lips when Shotaro licks at them, his quiet whine muffled when Shotaro sucks on his tongue, and the taste of ripe berries and peach soju mingles with the cloying pheromones overwhelmingly.
“You smell so good,” Wonbin mumbles against Shotaro’s mouth, “I figured you didn’t put on a new patch after practice. Was sitting there wondering how just half a bottle of soju had me so weak to your scent. But it was your fault.”
“My fault,” Shotaro agrees, his alpha instantly appeased by Wonbin’s happy giggle in response to the admission. He knows Wonbin loves the notes beyond his petrichor, the sharpness of the whiskey mellowed by comforting vanilla, but startles anyway when the omega dips down to run his tongue along Shotaro’s scent gland. Shotaro tastes sweet almond milk and tonka bean with every kiss against feverish skin but cannot wholly enjoy it yet, not with oak and orange blossom pervading the air-
“Get this thing off,” Shotaro hisses, intuiting the source of his frustrations: his omega (no- not his) wearing the clothing of another alpha. Shotaro forces a growl down, feeling silly when Wonbin smiles wide and gummy at him and stretches out his arms for the alpha to help him.
Offending hoodie aside, Shotaro takes in flushed skin and uncontrollable shivering. Wonbin just looks up at him helplessly before throwing himself backwards and kicking in Shotaro’s direction.
“Off, off, off, it’s too hot!”
He wrestles with his jeans uselessly, accepting Shotaro knocking his hands away to strip him instead. He’s quickly losing himself to his omega- Shotaro can see it in his glazed eyes, can feel it each time his hands brush over Wonbin’s burning skin- but he’s held out for so long it’s admirable. He isn’t satisfied until Shotaro lets his towel drop, taking everything in until Shotaro feels self conscious in a way that’s always been foreign to him.
It’s different this time, yet painfully familiar.
It’s maddening, looking down to find Wonbin gazing back through lustful, hooded eyes, abs flexing as he balances his elbows on the mattress, spreading his legs for his alpha (no- not his), lewd and shameless and shaking with want. His golden skin shines with sweat under the light of Shotaro’s small desk lamp, and lower still, his inner thighs glisten with slick that’s beginning to leak onto the freshly cleaned sheets.
“Need you,” Wonbin whispers. “Need you, alpha.”
A switch flips in the primal part of Shotaro’s brain and he crashes down to meet Wonbin’s lips again, messily clashing tongue and teeth. Wonbin is as noisy as he was when he was Shotaro’s, and Shotaro swallows up every noise greedily. He doesn’t want the others to hear; these noises are for him alone.
But he needs them to hear, needs everyone to know Wonbin is his, now, always, even when he isn’t, so he circles two fingers around Wonbin’s fluttering rim and slick and plunges them inside.
Wonbin gasps, relief etched into his pretty features as his chest rises and falls while Shotaro pumps his fingers relentlessly in and out. He latches onto Shotaro’s shoulders to bury his face into the alpha’s neck.
“Smell so good,” Wonbin mutters, “you always smell so good.”
Wonbin nuzzles in close, teeth grazing dangerously over Shotaro’s scent gland. Lightning quick, Shotaro’s hand darts out to stop him, yanking the omega back by his hair.
Wonbin moans. “Do it again. C’mon-”
“Shut up,” Shotaro hisses. His fingers twist in Wonbin’s hair to bring their faces close. “You’re being reckless -”
“Already said that, alpha.” A smirk stretches across the omega’s face and he tosses his head back, neck bared enticingly for his alpha, lips stretched wide over his teeth as he watches Shotaro’s eyes flicker with want.
And maybe they’ve already gone too far but Shotaro’s never gone that far, never let his teeth sink in deep enough to imprint fully on Wonbin, no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how desperately he wanted Wonbin to claim him right back.
Wonbin’s succumbing further to his omega with every passing second, all rationality slipping away as he does. Shotaro will just have to keep him too full and knot-dumb to bring it up again.
“Fuck me how I like it, alpha.”
Wonbin makes it so easy sometimes.
Whatever nonsense he’s about to say next turns into a startled squeal as Shotaro flips him onto his belly and slides straight in, wet, tight heat almost rendering him stupid. A punched-out whimper escapes the omega as he melts into the mattress almost immediately, and Shotaro hopes- selfishly as ever- that everyone else can hear.
He misses looking at Wonbin’s pretty face already, but consoles himself with the chance to reacquaint himself with the omega’s body. He settles his hands on the curve of Wonbin’s hips and grips them hard, thumbs digging into the dimples in his lower back as he sets a pace, each thrust drawing out another whimper, then rests his head against the nape of Wonbin’s neck, inhaling sweet almond milk and tonka bean, and beyond the sweat and slick just pure, unadulterated Park Wonbin .
Outside of his heat, Wonbin used to fuck himself back on Shotaro’s cock, giving just as good as he got. They moved in perfect time- the dancer in them, Wonbin pointed out cheekily: Shotaro’s hips snapping with purpose, Wonbin grinding right back. During his heat was different; Wonbin fell apart quickly, reacting to every sensation and every movement, every sound unregulated, brain foggy and lost in pleasure.
It’s the same now, Shotaro notes, trying to quell the satisfaction flooding through him. From Wonbin’s first heat until now, the omega is putty in his hands, and it’s dangerous knowledge for his alpha’s ego. He pulls out to wrestle Wonbin onto his back again, unable to go a moment longer without seeing his face.
“Sungchan can’t fuck you like this, huh, baby?”
He can’t help himself, not when Wonbin‘s breath hitches at the mention of the other alpha, as if the words pain him. He’s reminded of Sungchan’s hoodie lying just metres away on the carpet and wishes he’d tossed it out of the room.
“It’s not… not the same,” Wonbin pants out, “I need you, hyung- ah, alpha , please, please-”
Shotaro moves roughly, grabbing the backs of Wonbin’s thighs to pull him close. They’re slippery with slick and his nails dig in to gain purchase, harshly enough that a sob catches in Wonbin’s throat.
“I love it when you beg for me, Bini,” Shotaro whispers, relishing the way Wonbin’s eyes go round- secrets nobody can hear but them, a nickname Shotaro hasn’t privately called him in a year. “No one else can fuck you like this, baby, tell me again.”
Only I can make you feel this way, Park Wonbin. No one else can fuck you like this, no one else can ever satisfy you the way I do. Even after all this time, it’s you and me.
Wonbin mewls , gazing up at Shotaro with tear-blurred eyes and swollen lips, lucid enough to understand the cruelty of Shotaro’s command.
“So empty right now,” the omega whines, bucking his hips forward so Shotaro will take him once more. His lower lip trembles in a pout. “N-need you, alpha, need your cock in me-”
Don’t call me alpha , Shotaro should say- should never have had to say, should never have let Wonbin stay in his room like this. It’s a declaration of possession every time the word falls from Wonbin’s mouth, one Shotaro knows better than to encourage.
His taps his cock against Wonbin’s rim, one hand on the omega’s hips to keep him from shifting enough to take him in yet. “Tell me.”
“Nobody can fuck me like you, nobody ,” Wonbin cries, bringing his hands to Shotaro’s face. Shotaro’s eyes rove over tear-streaked cheeks and damp hair sticking to his forehead and lets Wonbin draw him into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth clashing amidst the omega’s desperate noises. “Please, please, my Shotaro, please .”
Shotaro gasps. The uncomfortable sensation of tears pricking in his eyes creeps up on him, and he thrusts back in, burying his face into the crook of Wonbin’s neck when they threaten to fall.
Don’t call me by my name, Shotaro wants to say, because it’s too personal, too familiar, too much like a declaration of love.
Shotaro tells himself he doesn’t know what he wants.
More than anything, he knows he wants Park Wonbin to be his.
The room is loud with the wet slap of his hips against Wonbin’s ass, so much slick dripping down between them that the sheets are completely drenched. Shotaro brushes the strands of hair off Wonbin’s face, nuzzling in to press gentle kisses into the omega’s feverish skin and whisper hushed praises by his ear. Wonbin preens, arching his back high off the mattress, and Shotaro traces his fingers along the curve of his spine as he continues the relentless pressure on Wonbin’s prostate.
“Knot me, alpha,” Wonbin rasps, clenching around Shotaro’s cock, “give me your knot, please, I need it so bad.” He’s starry-eyed, incoherent. “I love you, Osaki Shotaro, I-”
And Shotaro can’t pull out now, with the omega’s legs wrapped around him tight, their bodies flush and sweaty and heaving, milky sweet scent permeating the air and dousing Shotaro with pheromones as they pant into each others’ mouths. Shotaro’s knot swells fast, and he feels light-headed himself as he looks down on Wonbin twitching below him, lashes fluttering over the tops of his cheekbones as the omega starts to spasm in the tell-tale way that signals he’s about to climax.
“Come for me, Bin-ah,” Shotaro encourages, mouthing hotly along Wonbin’s neck, “so beautiful, baby, you think you can come for me?”
Wonbin nods helplessly, a babble of nonsense turning to sobs as his entire body tenses up, coming with a cry in Shotaro’s arms, and then Shotaro’s following seconds later, head nestled against the omega’s sternum as waves of pleasure roll over him.
He lets Wonbin nudge him onto his side to ride out the time until the knot deflates. Wonbin’s sated- for now, anyway- pupils not so dilated, a healthy flush on his cheeks. They lie there quietly, Wonbin’s head on Shotaro’s bicep, domestic.
Shotaro keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, sensing that the omega has questions he can’t answer. Being stuck inside Wonbin while having a guilt crisis about Wonbin is topping the list of Really Bad Choices Shotaro’s made this year. Wonbin’s breaths slow with the passing minutes, trembling limbs jellylike as he curls into the alpha’s side.
Gentle fingers dance over Shotaro’s chest before flattening over his heart.
“Thank you,” Wonbin murmurs, “I needed to know you still cared.”
His palm feels like a burn on Shotaro’s skin now as he holds it there, leaving Shotaro to realise too little too late that he was feeling for a heartbeat, and Shotaro can’t move, heart pounding incessantly as it always does in Wonbin’s presence.
Wonbin draws his hand away, satisfied.
“I’m going to sleep.”
✮
The creak of his mattress rouses Shotaro from sleep, and with nap-blurred vision he feels more than sees Wonbin slide off his cock, the both of them groaning from over-sensitivity.
“Bin-ah. Wait.”
Wonbin nearly tips off the bed, quickly righting himself to stand on wobbly legs. He grabs Shotaro’s towel off the floor and wraps it round himself.
“I need to shower.”
Shotaro watches the omega before him, seeming almost frail despite his muscular frame. Perhaps it’s just the crease of his brows over large wet eyes getting to him, but Shotaro can’t bear to let him go alone.
He climbs off the bed and walks to the door to pick up Sungchan’s hoodie, the other alpha’s scent getting to him again. He returns to Wonbin and tugs his towel from Wonbin’s waist to sling it around his own hips before scooping the omega up and heading for the bathroom.
It isn’t long before he has Wonbin up against the shower glass, bent forward with Shotaro wrapped over his back to piston his fingers against the omega’s prostate until he comes a second time, then a third. The water bill might be through the roof but Shotaro can’t bring himself to care, not when he has an omega in heat that he’s done wrong by in so many other ways. He can give him this, if nothing else.
Wonbin slumps over afterward, held up only by Shotaro’s arm around his waist, letting the alpha soap him up. Shotaro scratches the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling softly at the smattering of freckles hidden beneath.
He exits the shower and lays his towel on the bench, lifting Wonbin up to sit still so he can dry him off. Wonbin goes easily, head against the mirror with a mostly content expression as he watches Shotaro work. His heat isn’t over- won’t be, for at least another couple days- but Shotaro…
Shotaro can’t help him anymore.
He grabs Sungchan’s hoodie and takes a spare towel from the sink cabinet to wrap snugly around Wonbin, picking him up again to carry him back out into the hall. Wonbin isn’t tired enough not to notice the left turn and cries out in protest, scent souring immediately.
“I want to stay with you, hyung, please! Just one night, it’s already late-”
The door to Sungchan’s room opens. It’s likely close to three a.m. now, though Sungchan looks fairly awake. Shotaro wrinkles his nose. There’s oak and orange blossom, and beyond that…
Anton steps up behind him, salty ocean air and coconut and honeysuckle mingling strongly with Sungchan’s scent. Shotaro notes their mussed hair and swollen lips and sighs.
Anton reaches for Wonbin. “Come here, hyung.”
Wordlessly, Wonbin slips from Shotaro’s arms and into Anton’s, letting the younger omega scent him for comfort. Sungchan gestures for Anton to take Wonbin inside and the omega does so, closing the door behind him.
“Hyung. Why are you doing this?”
Sungchan’s in nothing but plaid pyjama pants, hair sticking up in a million different directions. He doesn’t even look particularly disappointed anymore, just sad.
Somehow that makes Shotaro feel worse.
“I’m sorry, Sungchan-ah. Really.” The apology is flat, worn out. Shotaro can’t count how many times he’s put the group through this shit now. “I feel… I shouldn’t- fuck. It’s just- his heats are so painful and it was the first day and I couldn’t- I am sorry, Sungchan, I mean it. He’ll be okay with you guys.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“What?”
Sungchan’s shoulders slump. “You were so happy with him. You are happy with him. And I get that you thought it was the right thing at the time but I’m pretty sure you know by now-”
“No.”
“It was all for nothing, hyung. Nothing!”
Shotaro’s teeth grind together painfully. “It wasn’t.”
“Stop punishing yourself. Stop feeling guilty. He’d take you back in a heartbeat if you just get over yourself.”
But it can’t all be for nothing, it just can’t. All Shotaro can do is dig his heels in and double down on his own misery.
”I’m not gonna spend the rest of Wonbin’s heat with him. Please take care of him.”
Sungchan’s face falls. “Taro-hyung, don’t do this. Please.”
“Give him this.”
Sungchan takes his own hoodie back, brown eyes damp and sorrowful as he churns the material around in his hands.
“Goodnight, Bambi.”
Shotaro turns back down the hall to his bedroom, determined to be back in his bed, alone, finally granting himself permission to cry over every mistake he’s ever made in relation to Park Wonbin.