#138: Ready for Your Love

[lordchen]

Prompt: #138
Title: Ready for Your Love
Pairing: Suho x Chen x Tao, side! Sehun x Kyungsoo
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: abo au, omega shaming, asshole jaehwan, jealousy, heat sex, self-lubrication, rimming, knotting, marking, spitroasting
Word count: 16, 900
Summary: He wants to declare it to the world, that Jongdae really is as greedy, reckless as his parents have accused, gorging himself on the gorgeous decadence of this arrangement.


Author's note: thank you a, for believing me and k, helping see this through



In the mess hall, even through the thick waft of differing scents—spaghetti, pizza, grilled cheese, fried chicken, tacos, Chinese food—Jongdae can make it out. His senses aren't as attuned as others, but he can still smell it, the sticky-sweet desperation of it thick on his own tongue, the heady pushback of something woodsy, musky, heavy to drown it out, overwhelm it. Claim it. He wants to claim—him.


Jongdae takes an extra long drag from his straw, the sweetness of chocolate milk drowning some of it out, but his head still feels dizzy with it.


It's harder to keep secrets like this—at least for them. There's a brutal honesty among Alphas, Omegas. They are pathetically open, pathetically responsive and hormonal and easy. They reek of it. Jongdae feels like he's almost intruding, though he's in public, had been invited, has eaten with them on countless occasions. Though he hadn't come here intent upon watching this thing simmer to a boil, with him as their third wheel.



In the flutter of falsely casual college interaction, over desire-laden study dates, through the occasional brush of fingers over meals, they've been teasing at something for a while, flirting—almost flirting—for three weeks at this point. But it's coming to that trimester, and Jongdae peeks up from beneath his bangs to watch as Sehun squirms, flushes, speaks low and coy, that thick sticky-sweet scent leaving him in waves as he looks up from beneath his eyelashes. At Jongdae’s side, in his periphery, Kyungsoo responds in kind, falling more naturally into his role, posturing—like a fucking peacock or some shit—his small chest puffing out with the thick, thick scent of Sehun's obvious approval.

They're in public, talking about a fucking children's film, a paper they're both writing for their introductory English course.

It's obscene.

Jongdae excuses himself to get more fries. Avoiding, he lingers by the buffet table—eyeing the burritos—as Kyungsoo and Sehun continue to tease at this thing. And even now when it's so fucking obvious. The whole cafeteria probably knows.

They're so fucking pathetically open, pathetically responsive and hormonal and easy. They stink of it even from several paces away. And Jongdae reflects, not for the first time, how lucky he is to not be so distressingly helpless like this.



Balancing the dishes precariously on his arms, breathing through his mouth, Jongdae sets down his burrito, fries, refilled glass of chocolate milk.

"It's disgusting how turned on you both smell," he notes, seasoning his fries with Tabasco sauce, relishing briefly, evilly in the way that broad, broad Sehun curls in on himself, the way that steady Kyungsoo squirms. But laughing at their expense makes him inhale sharply, makes him taste it again.

This is what it would taste like to have sex with them, he realizes, fighting back the urge to gag. He clasps their hands in his instead, ignoring his own discomfort for the greater good. "Have sex within the next couple of days to figure out the logistics of it before Sehun—well before Sehun..." Jongdae waves the rest of the sentence away with a deliberately irreverent flick of his wrist. "Work out the kinks. Get to know whether you even want to have sex again before you commit to the real thing."

The awkwardness thankfully dampens the stench, the heady air of arousal, but Jongdae can still feel it—the tension, romantic not just sexual. He can see the concern shading Kyungsoo's face, the silent request in the way he tilts his head and catches Sehun's gaze. He can read the answer in Sehun's parted lips, tongued inner cheek.

And they haven't even eaten. One biological urge overwhelming the other.



Jongdae finishes his meal quickly, excuses himself, heedless of the tense silence.

He leaves them to their lover's discovery, reflecting as he meanders along the concrete path on his way to his boyfriends' off-campus apartment.



He fiddles with his woven bracelet, his phone.







There are classes you're required to take as soon as you hit puberty and can be properly typed into one of three groups. Three weeks long, they're mandatory, parent consent or disapproval duly-noted. And in the first year of high school, in rickety wooden desks, on rickety plastic chairs, youths are taught about the birds and the bees with laminated diagrams of the human reproductive system and grainy films with bad editing and ominous voiceovers. It's general sex education about protection, disease, preventing unwanted pregnancies. Betas, the great majority are allowed to leave after three weeks, given a little certificate signed by their principal, the health facilitator running the class. There had been a pizza party at the roller rink in celebration in Jongdae's school, and Jongdae recalls being fourteen, bending forward to lace up his skates, heavy with the knowledge that he was a man now.



He was given a pamphlet about his changing body. Beta-tailored, because Alphas and Omegas as the minority, they are footnotes.



But Alphas and Omegas are required to stay another week, classes more tailored toward their unique needs, unique physiology. In Jongdae's school, they had gotten an ice cream party, an identifying bracelet at the end.



He's asked them before, his boyfriends—Joonmyun and Tao—in passing, that extra week, their more specific lessons. What really differentiates them, fundamentally and biologically.



Tao's mentioned suppressants, frank discussions about heats, self-lubrication, marking, claiming, consent, business cards tucked into their hands with numbers about reporting any crimes.



Joonmyun, red-faced, has mentioned diagrams of knots, discussions about consent, too, his responsibility as the Alpha should he ever be asked to see somebody through their heat—proper preparation, optimal positions, the importance of good hydration, nutrition, taking care of your partner.



Extra responsibility, extra worry, extra need on either end.



Jongdae is often misread. Too bold and loud and self-assured, but then too small, too whiny, too eager to touch and be touched, too many boxes checked, too many stereotypes to unpack.

And though, Jongdae has in the past, in moments of weakness, of self-consciousness and confusion, though he's almost wished to be firmly on either end spectrum. In control and recognized as such. Or submitting so, so easily, readily making himself smaller and tighter and more pliant. Even then, in spite of those temporary, dark moments of doubt, want, he still loves being a Beta.



Jongdae doesn’t need biological mandates and predispositions, doesn’t need the unfortunate, unavoidable side effects, doesn't need the awful responsibility. He is content as is. He likes the mystery, revels in making people question, squirm, likes being in control—of his reactions, of the way people perceive him—like this.



Because it's pathetic, honestly, this entire ritualized display, this public power play. It's obscene. Jongdae can't imagine having to deal with this firsthand. He's glad it's only ever secondhand, glad that the google calendar alerts on his own phone are for Tao's heats not his own, that he’s not periodically plagued with the overwhelmingly possessive desire to mark, claim, own.



There is a freedom in being a Beta.

Jongdae checks their mailbox—their water and electricity bills—before bounding up the stairs, fishing his keys out of his pocket. His phone beeps. 



From dyo_ks, 6:57 PM

thank you...for that



From jongdarling, 6:58 PM

he seems awfully stiff, but he’s a dancer so i hope he’s bendy enough when it comes to sex ;)



From dyo_ks, 6:58 PM
i take it back





Jongdae cackles.



Tao is home. Joonmyun has tutoring, won't be for another hour at the very least. Longer because he’ll probably be headed to the library to study after.



Perched on their ugly purple beanbag chair, Tao smiles at him in greeting. It's Jongdae's favorite smile, the one that makes his cheeks bunch and eyes crease. Tired, but still genuine. Jongdae kicks off his shoes and slides socked towards their kitchen.

Tao calls out a reedy “I love you” when Jongdae says he’s making dinner. It’s only ramen, Jongdae informs him, sifting through their cabinet for their choices, and Tao repeats his “I love you,” injects the statement with even more affection.







When he'd first met Tao and Joonmyun, it had been a year and three weeks ago at a university mixer for new freshmen in the college of Education.



Drunk on cheap beer and sexual frustration, wanting to make the event truly worth his while, Jongdae had been seeking a pretty Omega to boss around, a prettier Alpha to unnerve, a pretty Beta to keep him guessing. On a mission, Jongdae had been particularly flirty, handsy, bold, flitting between multiple partners, laughing and bright and intently seductive.

And Jongdae, he'd wanted Tao as soon as he'd seen him, as soon as he'd tugged him towards the dance floor, drinking in his dark, predatory eyes, dragging his hands up Tao's long, lithe frame. Tao, like Jongdae, is often misread—too tall, too strong to be an Omega. But oh, Jongdae had known as soon as he'd ground his hips against Tao's, looped his arms around his waist, known as soon as Tao’s lips had parted on a soft gasp, and oh how he'd wanted to make him bend and twist and whimper and beg.



Already lost in the heavy, hot potential of them, dizzy with the potent desire of promising touches and smirks, Jongdae had caught sight of Joonmyun, too. Jongdae had wanted him, too, wanted them both. But Joonmyun, distressingly distracting with his pink lips and hard eyes and dark hair, he'd wanted Tao, had coaxed him right out of Jongdae's hold. An Alpha, at the biological advantage, and a reminder that Beta marks and intrigue, they don't really count.



Jongdae ruffled and entirely put out had found a pretty Beta, a safer bet. A dimpled, soft-eyed boy, but that had fallen through, too.



And as he lain across a vinyl booth, resting his head on Yixing's limp side, feeling his chest’s every intoxication-heavy rise and fall, Jongdae had watched Joonmyun close the deal with a deep kiss, hands fisted in Tao's blond hair to control the angle. Jealousy had curled hot and potent in Jongdae's gut, sharp through the pleasant haze of inebriation.



Jongdae had stumbled home angrily, still drunk, still sexually frustrated. He had nursed his bruised ego with some self pity, then some porn, angry masturbation. Alpha on Omega, salt on the wound or a strange sort of self flagellation and reminder.



Tao had later told him that they hadn't had sex that night. That after some very enthusiastic making out, Joonmyun had fallen asleep in Tao's bed. Hungover, flushed and fumbling around one another in the early light, they had gone to get pancakes together the next morning.

That almost made it worse, maybe. The two of them liking each other enough to meet up again for one, two, three dates before all three had met again. In the library this time. Jongdae more sober, but no less sexually frustrated, especially not when he'd caught a whiff of them, stained of each other, longing for each other, so thick in the air that Jongdae could taste it. Obscene, pathetic, but Jongdae still somehow wanted a piece, inhaling discretely as he highlighted his course readings, tried not tremble in his seat.



Joonmyun, so disconcertingly quiet for an Alpha, he'd approached him first, fingers laced through Tao's.

Tao's heat was coming up, and Joonmyun had already agreed to— they were gonna for the first time tonight but maybe well Tao and Joonmyun they hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him and would be okay if they—



More than okay.



And the sex was—is—fantastic. Hot and filthy and overwhelming. The before, figuring out, exploring new skin, twice over, hearing new moans, tasting new mouths, touching and being touched in turn. And the heat sex too—fuck the heat sex—moving with a marked desperation, too, feeding off of Tao's energy, responding to his breathy demands, working in concert with Joonmyun to have Tao gasping and whining and coming apart so beautifully.



That in and of itself, it isn't particularly rare or unheard of, giving in to Omega whims, during heat sex, trying out something forbidden and hot. But making it last, making it serious, dragging it out into an actual relationship, intruding on something natural, complicating something that is perfect all on it's own, that is.



It's the best part, though. Being together, living, loving, stumbling at times, struggling, it’s the best fucking part, societal mores be damned. And Jongdae, on his particularly irreverent and political days, almost relishes in that fact. He likes to think that he’s making some sort of statement every time he fucks them. He wants to declare it to the world, that Jongdae really is as greedy, reckless as his parents have accused, gorging himself on the gorgeous decadence of this arrangement.

 Indulging in this, an easy exploration of both extremes, twice the people to fuck, twice the people to love.



Well, only half now, he realizes with a frown, grabbing two bowls, two sets of chopsticks. He sets the pot to a low simmer, wanders back into the living room.



Tao, his little honey beach, he bites on the end of his highlighter, his lean body twisted and bent over their coffee table now to take notes, annotate important parts. There’s an adorable crease between his eyebrows, a pout on his lips.



Jongdae, curls a hand around his neck, urges him straighter, before sitting in his lap. He presses his face to Tao’s broad, broad chest. 

As a Beta, he can’t emit, can’t show Tao with scent, with pheromones alone that he wants him. So he has to shift on Tao’s lap, fist his hand in his hair, say Tao’s name in a deliberately deep whisper before kissing him hard, deep. Hot from the start, intent, he rocks down until Tao drops his highlighter, his arms looping around Jongdae’s waist, his lips parting readily, moans spilling forth so perfectly, so quickly. Jongdae, possessive and irreverent non-Alpha that he is, pulls away after a long beat of indulgence to pant into the column of Tao’s throat, dragging his lips over the pucker of Joonmyun’s mark, provoking a helpless shudder, the heady scent of Tao’s arousal. He scrapes his teeth in warning before biting down, grinding down all the while. Tao’s moans turn heavier, and Jongdae almost loses himself in it, increasingly dizzy with every breathless whimper, every insistent buck of Tao’s hips against his. So, so pretty and so, so hot and just so so eager to please, so ready to follow through on Jongdae’s wants.



And it take the fun out of it sometimes, he thinks—used to think—knowing right away, what someone will be like naked, what they crave. But together, all of them together, it’s explosive, Joonmyun’s heady guidance, Tao’s dizzying submission, Jongdae sandwiched somewhere in between. And there’s just something so deliciously hot about the way that Tao gasps into his mouth right now, something grounding and excruciatingly validating in the way he arches into his touch.



Tao smells like, feels like, tastes like something particularly decadent, glazed sugar melting on his fingers and his tongue as he takes and takes and takes until he’s had his fill. He never, ever, ever seems to have enough. He always, always wants more.



But but but—



“The ramen,” Jongdae notes, panting, burying his face into Tao’s chest, feeling the thrum of Tao’s thundering pulse against his own flushed cheek, tasting the desperate sticky sweet burnt sugar haze of Tao’s thick, heavy want. “Dinner.”



Tao groans, protest blowing hot over the crown of Jongdae’s head. Jongdae shudders helplessly, relishing in the pleasant tingle that runs from his scalp all the way down to his toes.



Tao offers a whine when Jongdae laughs, drops one last succulent kiss over Joonmyun's mark. Joonmyun had claimed Tao the first time they'd had sex, just the two of them, instinct overriding their own precarious balance. Possession in its most carnal form, drunk on pheromones, guided by nature, by biological mandates. But he hadn't meant it, really, nor had Tao.



And there’s a thrill in it, now, though Tao is equally, enthusiastically his. Tao is officially marked, claimed, forbidden fruit, but eager for him nonetheless. And Tao's breath always hitches, fingers always tighten, body always shivers every time Jongdae teases at the bitten scar.



Still seated on his lap, Jongdae leans back just the slightest to assess the damage. Tao with swollen lips and mussed up hair and dark eyes and rumpled clothing. The stirrings of his arousal are visible from this position, and Jongdae, just to be mean, lets his eyes linger there, licks his bottom slowly, before letting it catch on his teeth.



There’s another sudden heavy rush of Tao’s arousal, an uncontrollable, dizzying olfactory response. And it takes quite a lot of self control for Jongdae to rise from his very comfortable perch there between Tao’s solid, trembling thighs, disengaging very very reluctantly with a soft “Dinner, Taozi.”







Joonmyun comes home to Tao still studying, Jongdae’s body pillowed against his side. In between glances at his own textbook, Jongdae drops the occasional kiss to Tao’s shoulder, drags the occasional errant strand of hair back into place.



It’s 10PM, and his smile is wide, genuine but worn around the edges.



Jongdae reaches out limp but no less imploring, and Joonmyun readily drops his backpack, kicks off his shoes, stumbles on top of them.



Joonmyun is often read wrong, too. Mild-mannered, soft-eyed, and soft-voiced, purposefully unassuming, small, too. Not quite fit to be an Alpha. But Jongdae had known that first night, too. And there’s something decidedly telling about the relaxed breadth of his shoulders, the crackle of authority just beneath the surface, the muted, understated command in the set of his jaw, heat of his eyes. There’s something telling also in the affectionate indulgence, quiet care behind his every touch.



Groaning softly in relief, Joonmyun snuggles into Jongdae's side, wraps a flailing arm around Tao's waist. Jongdae is sandwiched between them both like this, comfortable despite the tight, hot fit, and yes this is definitely the best part. The three of them working, learning, loving, though they’re not supposed, too. Yes, the three of them squeezing into the bathroom and taking turns showering together, brushing their teeth together, stripping into fresh boxers and ratty shirts and curling into their king-sized bed—together. They’ve carved for themselves a perfectly imperfect niche, Jongdae melting into the mattress, not in the middle this time, but on the left, his leg around Joonmyun’s waist as they shift to something more comfortable.



Alpha’s noses are keener, and Tao wears Jongdae’s earlier touches and kisses like a faint, faint cologne, even after his shower, his warm skin suffused with his actions. Joonmyun lets out a soft groan as he presses his nose to the nape of Tao’s neck, inhaling deep, almost luxuriating in it. At his side, Jongdae watches, swallowing hard. Tao, shuddering hard, lips parting easily, is similarly affected. It’s a ritual, almost, dragging them forward to claim them in this soft way. Joonmyun licks languidly over his mark, exquisitely slow.



Then it’s Jongdae’s turn to be touched, Tao’s turn to watch.



Joonmyun’s fingers twist into his hair, nose dragging over his throat. And it’s grossly possessive, but also hot, the way that Joonmyun’s fingers tighten just briefly, fingers biting into Jongdae’s jawline. It’s grossly possessive, but also hot, the low, low growl that Joonmyun emits, involuntary, instinctive. “You smell like Kyungsoo,” Joonmyun notes.



And there’s something deliciously dominant and assertive about the way his hand closes just briefly along the column of Jongdae’s throat, fingers wrapping around and then loosening as he urges him closer. Close like this, Joonmyun overwhelms Jongdae’s senses. His scent is thicker, skin hotter, and in the street light's haunting glow, Jongdae can see the way his pupils have dilated, nostrils have flared at the inadvertent challenge in Kyungsoo’s scent. Along his neck, drowned out in degrees by Joonmyun’s lazy, lazy kiss, slow, slow lick. 

“Yeah, Sehun, too,” Jongdae laughs, light, just slightly labored. “They’re gonna fuck before Sehun’s next heat.”



And Joonmyun’s voice is tighter, lower than usual. A nip, just the slightest sting—Jongdae doesn’t need claiming. Moreover, doesn’t want it. “You’re mine.”



Shuddering violently, Jongdae has to coax him away with a firm, firm hand. He has class early in the morning. "I know," he confesses, and Tao's fingers—silent, clumsy, but no less insistent, drag over Jongdae's thigh, unspoken possession, too. He's Tao's, too.







A glance at his phone calendar the next day, over black coffee, informs him that Tao’s heat is coming soon. In 8 days, Thursday. Tao always gets his heats at sundown.



Tao, he's described it as his skin screaming, his entire being thrumming and aching and clambering for something more, his body too small, his mind white noise. The primal urge to fuck, to come, to claw, to claim, it breaks through to drown out everything else. His darkest desires claw their way to the surface, untethered, unlocked then. His shame and propriety are smothered out until there is only heat and want and need. Words and body and skin and bones all vibrating with it. And Tao in heat is so very vocal and demanding—even more vocal, even more demanding—in his wishes and wants, begging Joonmyun to hold him tighter, bite him harder, fuck him faster, pull his hair, but also tell him he's good—he's so fucking good, right, fucking beautiful, right?



Jongdae swallows hard at the recollection of just 2 months ago, the way that Tao had shuddered in his lap, teeth scraping at Jongdae's throat, moans echoing in his ears, his body so hot against him, so hot and slick and tight around him. And Jongdae remembers also the burn of Joonmyun's gaze on him, the whispered words of encouragement, endearment before Tao had gotten restless, needed further distraction, demanded that Joonmyun touch him, too. Kneel over the bed to fuck him, too.



Gripping his mug tight, leaning his head briefly against his refrigerator's cool metal, Jongdae wills himself more awake, less turned on. Sighing, Jongdae inputs a new reminder on his phone. He'll have to talk his professors, pick up excuse forms at the Campus Health.



As he's sliding his phone back into his pocket, Tao slides behind him, loops his arms around his waist and rests his chin on Jongdae's shoulder, melting into him with a small, sleepy sound. Jongdae tilts his head back, bares his throat, and Tao's mouth shifts to latch there, lazy and light, soft lips, no teeth or tongue, just the featherlight brush of plush warmth.



And Tao—Omega that he is—can communicate his desire with scent alone. But he elects to speak even louder with his actions, humming languidly into Jongdae's skin, dragging his fingers along the pressed cotton of Jongdae's shirt. Jongdae's muscles loosen with a certain heavy, lazy want, and Tao curls into him so, so easily, breathes his name. And it's early enough, Jongdae tired enough for him to indulge, turning his head at an awkward, slightly uncomfortable angle to kiss him slow and wet and thorough. Tao's fingers skim up up up to cup Jongdae's jaw, pressure insistent as he moans into Jongdae's pliant mouth.



It's Tao that breaks the kiss this time with a soft pop, a low chuckle, mirth shining in his dark, hooded eyes.



"Class, Jongdae," he chides, dragging his thumb against the seam of Jongdae's mouth.

And Jongdae laughs, drags his own thumb down Tao's throat, just to watch the skin jump, get the upper hand as he agrees with a pitchy hum. He's too affected, too breathless for there to be much heat in the dismissal.



"Yes, you're right. Class, Taozi."







Even with the brief, brief distraction of Tao’s mouth, the slightly less brief distraction at the campus coffee shop to pick up a donut, Jongdae is, as per usual, 10 minutes early to Italian. He has a chance to lay out his highlighters, sift through his flashcards, mouth the foreign words quietly to himself, before others begin to filter into the room.



Kyungsoo and Sehun, stained of each other, pressed much too close, they forgo their usual table beside Jongdae, opt instead to sit further back. Curled tight and possessive.



Jongdae smiles into his book, resists the urge to send a winking smiley face to Kyungsoo’s phone.



And honestly it’s a little hard to focus when he’s so vindicated, so smug.



They have a speaking quiz in two weeks, but Signora Forte, unlike Signo Arminio, she doesn’t want them recording into dusty tape players and dropping them off at her office. No, she wants them to pair up and write dynamic dialog, to perform it for her, invent characters, explore a relationship, tell a joke, have a real conversation. More than anything, she really wants them to understand the words, make the vocabulary relevant to their lives. She’ll give extra points for making her laugh.



Jongdae’s pen presses hard into his notebook, practically tearing the page as he swallows back a sigh.



There’s the scrape of a chair, somebody falling beside him.



Jongdae, puffing his cheeks with a sigh, turns to his immediate right.



Jaehwan, he's in the Vocal program, too. A part of his Choral Ensemble, too. He's probably taking this class to improve his pronunciation and understanding and appreciation for this language, too. And seated beside him, he offers a lazy smile.

And the easy confidence in his posture, the aura of self-assurance in the tilt of his sharp cheekbones, the purse of his plush lips, equal parts challenge and invitation, it gives him away. Yes, he's definitely an Alpha.



"Partner?" he proposes with a sly grin, an outstretched palm.



He's playing—trying to play—Jongdae at his game, Jongdae realizes with an arched brow. He'll definitely lose.







Jongdae has a 20 minute break between classes, and he runs to the Campus Medical Center, grabs a handful of goldenrod forms—for Joonmyun, for Tao, for himself. Hunching over the scarred, chipped plastic table, using the chained pen, he only gets two filled out before he’s glancing at his watch, racing across campus to the Liberal Arts building, plopping down panting and sweaty on his seat. History of Renaissance Europe, and Jongdae barely has a chance to open his notebook of the right tab before the professor is starting.



A 40 minutes class, the lecture today is short, 4 slides, 2 pages worth of spiral college-rule notes. The last 10 minutes of class are dedicated to passing out their prompt, explaining their upcoming response paper—5 pages, Time New Roman, 12 pt font, double-spaced. They are to relate a contemporary media portrayal of Renaissance Europe—film, television, novel, play, music—to what they have learned thus far.







Jongdae has a late lunch with Joonmyun at the mess hall afterwards. Personal pizzas, a shared order of hot wings, two Pepsi fountain cups between them.

Joonmyun—Education and English double major—just finished his last lecture of the day, but he has volunteer hours to put forward for the Teaching club on campus, tutoring again afterwards. Ever busy, his Alpha, ever overwhelmed with responsibility.



Jongdae, feeling suddenly very sentimental, reaches out to touch his cheek, thumbing at the buffalo sauce on his bottom lip.



Joonmyun's eyelashes flutter, nostrils flare.



“You smell like—" Joonmyun starts, speaking against his skin, and Jongdae presses his thumb harder to silence him. Joonmyun’s mouth parts, soft and warm and wet.



Another inhale, even less subtle, and Joonmyun's pupils bloom. His fingers reach out to hold Jongdae's wrist there.



And then Joonmyun, though it’s completely unnecessary, though they are in public, makes a big, big show of dragging a flustered Jongdae into his lap, nuzzling into him, dragging him into the heavy, heavy scent of his possession.



And if Jongdae is selfish for this, Joonmyun is even more so, wanting to claim him like this, wanting people to know that Jongdae is claimed—like this.



Jongdae collapses against him with an undignified squawk, a swallowed moan.



And it’s grossly possessive, but kinda hot, maybe. How his mild-mannered, soft-voiced, soft-eyed Joonmyun, not prone to this Alpha level peacocking, how he’s the one marking him, claiming him, for all the world to see. 



"You didn't have to," Jongdae starts, swallowing, cradled in the deep, sandalwood musk of Joonmyun's pathetically open, pathetically responsive and hormonal and easy desire.



"No," Joonmyun counters, nuzzling into him, dragging his lips, then his tongue, finally his teeth in blatant ownership. "I definitely, definitely had to."



Jongdae quells a shameful shudder, will his racing heart calm.



Fridays are for major-heavy music blocks.

Studio instruction 2.5 hours, Music Theory 2.5 hours, Choral Ensemble the last.



Occupied and pressed for time, Jongdae curls up in the lobby and eats his prepacked tuna sandwich and sips from his apple juice box in between page turns of his textbook. Simple predicate, At the Beach vocabulary.



The last class of the day has Jongdae meeting Jaehwan anew, resenting and trying to beat Jaehwan—anew. He periodically intercepts his teasing smirk of a gaze, feels the burn of it on his neck when he doesn't.

But overall rehearsal goes without hitch, and the other singers in his group—Kyungsoo, Taekwoon, Jaehwan, Jonghyun, Jinki, Lu Han, Baekhyun—linger in the lobby, drape themselves over the green sofas and wooden chairs, chat.

Jongdae doesn't really have much time, but he still grabs a grape soda from the vending machine, listens to the lilting drawl of Baekhyun's latest story, his latest conquest, his narration a sort of whining white noise. The lazy drone of activity, at the end of the week, it always soothes him.



Dancers, performance artists filter out of the doors some twenty minutes later, too.

Jongdae turns in his seat, watches Kyungsoo watch Sehun, watches Jonghyun watch Taemin, watches Lu Han watch Minseok. And the air is suddenly oppressive with the scent of their want.



Jongdae presses his nose into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, drowning it out with the familiarity of Spring Bloom, and Jaehwan approaches him as he burrows further into himself, canvassed shoes tapping against the end table. Jongdae sits up, sure to tilt his eyebrows in vague disregard. Jaehwan just grins, greets him with a lazy “Partner.”

Grimacing at the unwelcome reminder, Jongdae asks for Jaehwan’s number. He can find it via their department directory, but he feels better asking upfront, being given permission.

Jaehwan, though, seems to take this as some sort of weakness or else some sort of concession, his smile widening.



Jongdae wonders, unkindly, whether everyone is easy for Jaehwan, or whether his is a falsely-inflated ego.



Jaehwan insists on inputting his phone number himself. Jaehwan ;).



They should get together later, get started.







Jongdae meets Tao at a frozen yogurt place an hour later. A date, a weekly indulge, Jongdae leans forward to playfully swipe a spoonful of vanilla onto Tao's nose, cackling when Tao whines. He does it again, smearing it across his cheeks and then leaning forward to kiss it off, lips dragging, fingers soothing as he laughs into Tao’s warm, warm skin.

The week, it’s finally over.

Tao, he's his good thing, his reward.

“Let's fuck,” Tao proposes, after they’ve walked home, settled onto the couch with popcorn, a DVD. No preamble, no shame, warm, broad fingers sliding up Jongdae's bare arm, lips pressing there immediately after. “Been a while. Take the edge off, Jongdae," Tao jokes, eyes glittering up at him in the fading afternoon light. He pulls back, then bites his lower lip, flutters his eyelashes, tilts his head in heady, heady imploring pliance like he knows Jongdae likes. Like he knows Jongdae can never quite resist.

A pretty Omega to boss around, Jongdae had wanted when he'd first seen him. A pretty Omega to utterly ruin, a pretty Omega to keep.



And Tao is truly the most beautiful Omega he could ever ever ever hope to want.



And Tao, he bosses around and ruins and keeps in his own way, too.



"Don't want to wait for Joonmyun, too?" Jongdae asks, and Tao shakes his head conspiratorially, dragging his mouth up to kiss Jongdae's shoulder now, voice pitching low and deep with mischief.



"Maybe he can join us later. Halfway through the fun. Play catchup with his cock."



And yes, Joonmyun in a rush, scrambling to match their pace, a little rough and demanding with it sometimes, grip tighter, fingers harder, kisses more demanding, cock—cock, fucking pulsing, pressing persistent and just just so.



Pulling away to meet Jongdae’s eyes at the proposal, Tao licks his lips, slow and succulent, tongue lingering, eyebrows tilting. His fingers dance up Jongdae's throat, eyes hot and heavy on Jongdae’s mouth, scent hot and heavy on Jongdae’s tongue. Jongdae is helpless to the allure of his heavy-lidded eyes, parted lips, the heated promise of his warm body.



They don't make it to the bedroom, collapsing in a writhing, heated, moaning heap right on the carpeted floor.



And it has been a while. A good two weeks (blowjobs and handjobs over breakfast don't count, Tao has grumbled). And even then, that had been in the shower, rushed as per usual because class, Taozi.



Hungry for it, taken as he is with the firmness of Tao’s gorgeous body, the warm perfection of his hot mouth, Jongdae tries to appreciate, relearn Tao’s gorgeous topography with his fingers, his lips, his tongue, in that order. Grazing and then mouthing at Tao’s nipples, scraping down his navel before dropping succulent, shiver-inducing kisses, fingering Tao open and then gliding down to taste him, too. Jongdae spreads Tao’s trembling thighs as far as he can. He presses his tongue deeper and harder and more quickly inside, licking past the lube, the faint traces of Tao’s own slickness—just barely discernable, he’s so close to being in heat.

And Tao responds in the most decadent, most utterly beautiful way. He trembles and gasps and grasps desperately at Jongdae’s locks, begs for Jongdae to fuck him already.

 Get to the part that Tao most wants, the part Jongdae most wants, too.

And urging Tao’s legs around his waist, hands around his shoulders, Jongdae is taking the edge off, fucking into him with a practiced ease, breathless want. Tao’s scent floods his senses, overwhelms his mind, as his warm, wet, wonderful body squeezes tight, welcomes him so perfectly inside.



Fucking Tao, it's awfully like coming home.



Jongdae is balls deep, five thrusts in by the time that Joonmyun steps through the threshold, drops his backpack with a groan.



Not bothering to be quiet, or to hide his desire, Tao pants for him, too. The veins in his neck tense as he collapses back, whimpers that he wants his Alpha, too. Fuck, please, fuck.



Joonmyun is helpless to resist, too so quick to comply.



Fucking into Tao even faster, shuddering at the helpless way Tao tightens and grips him, so hot and wet, Jongdae can still hear Joonmyun undress then groan once more for the show they're putting on.



He drops his clothes on the floor with a heavy thud, fabric rustling, belt buckle clinking, buttons snapping, as he falls behind Jongdae. His warm fingers graze the taut tension of Jongdae’s thighs.



"Catch up," Jongdae goads, turning just briefly to regard him, biting his lip as Tao's body clenches so, so tight. Jongdae's turns immediately after, lips seeking out Tao’s nipple. He bites, and Tao sobs, scratches down his spine.



And drunk as he is on the thick, thick taste of Tao’s arousal, he can smell Joonmyun emitting, too. Darker, deeper, richer, a fresh heavy waft of thick, thick arousal, staining the room, blending. Savory and sweet. And it's dual, sensual assault that has his mouth watering, his body heating, clambering for more, the potent chemical cocktail of love and lust. It makes his want even sharper, even more gnawing. It leaves him lightheaded with pure desire.

 Potent. Perfect.

“Come on,” Jongdae rasps out.



Hard, pulsing, Joonmyun skims the back of Jongdae's thighs, cock catching there as he circles his hips, drags against Jongdae's sac. Jongdae's pace falters, body trembling. Tao’s fingers at his spine, dragging red and hot and stinging, they help ground him. He pushes in even faster, shifting just to have Tao whimpering even louder.



Joonmyun shifts, too. Blanketing Jongdae in warmth, in dizzying musk, he bites down on Jongdae's shoulder. 

Jongdae arches his spine just to tease, hint at something he won’t offer. Not right now. (It’s only a once-in-a-while sort of thing. Sex between Jongdae and Joonmyun is often Jongdae blowing him, alternately riding him hard and fast, stuttering moans against Joonmyun’s warm, fragrant throat. But only until the swelling, until the knotting, Jongdae begging Joonmyun to come across his stomach, his thighs, his face).



As if sensing Jongdae's thoughts, Joonmyun groans into his skin, fingers tightening around his waist. Disconcertingly strong like this, he guides Jongdae’s next four thrusts. Fast, hard, hard, hard, practically pounding into him. Tao’s eyes clench shut with pure, pure pleasure, head crashing back against the carpet with a hiccuping sob. Jongdae lets out a shuddery moan.



“Mouth,” Tao implores, shaky and so so strained. "Come up to my mouth."

And as Joonmyun scoots up, drags the head of his cock to teasingly paint Tao’s open mouth with the slickness of his precome, Jongdae can see that Joonmyun's squeezing hard at the base of his erection. He's already starting to swell. Jongdae and Tao together, Joonmyun has confessed, it always turns him on too fast.



Tao makes a small impatient sound as he suckles Joonmyun into his mouth, and Jongdae tightens his hands around Tao's hips in response, dragging his attention back. He tilts him upwards, closer and more open, grinding hard on every push and retreat. Tao pops off with a gasp, a whimper of Jongdae's name. Joonmyun gasps, too, squeezing even harder on his cock, and soon, soon he'll be unable to—



"Trade places with me," Jongdae urges. "It's your turn."



And Tao agrees with a helplessly needy Yes, please, spine arching in a delicate, beautiful bow, hand groping out for Joonmyun. "Want it," he gasps. 



Jongdae tears off his condom, and Joonmyun slides his on.



Kneeling by Tao's head, Jongdae doesn't tease himself or Tao, sliding in with one smooth thrust, moaning loudly at the wet, wonderful warmth. Tao moans around him, too, as Joonmyun thrusts into him, too.

Joonmyun skips teasing, too, fucking Tao deep and hot and thorough, and Tao's hands scramble up Jongdae's thighs, scraping to ground himself, hold himself up.



Tangled together like that, they work towards a common goal, and the air thick with their moans, the slick sounds of sex, the scent of it, too, the thick pulses of Joonmyun's and Tao's arousal.

It's a dizzying, beautiful mess.

They are imperfectly perfect like this.



Jongdae doesn't think he'll last, but he doesn't really care to drag this out, not when the pleasure is rolling through his veins, not when Tao is asking him to fuck his mouth in between hiccuping moans. Not when the pleasure is mounting, mounting, mounting, promising gorgeous completion.



"Come on me," Tao urges in between relentless sucks, succulent licks. "Come on, please."



And really, who is Jongdae to deny him?



Jongdae groans as he paints Tao's chest in little flecks of white. Joonmyun and Tao groan, too, and Jongdae curls forward weakly to kiss him hungrily, licking past the bitter tang of his own come to the sweet ruin of Tao's desperation.



Jongdae drags teasing fingers down Tao’s body, smirking at the way he trembles and whines. No longer distracted with fucking into Tao's mouth, Jongdae focuses his attention on stroking him off, touching in time with Joonmyun's punishing thrusts, scraping his teeth over the heaving column of his throat, biting at his mark.



And Tao comes not soon after, gasping loudly, splattering across his own chest, as he writhes, whimpers.



Joonmyun comes last, groaning as he sits up, drags the much larger Tao forward, coaxing him closer, dropping whisper-soft kisses and praises along the column of his sweaty throat.

Jongdae, sated and languid as he is, drained with orgasm, he drags soothing kisses, soothing touches up Tao's trembling spine.



The knot is responsive. It's at its widest, hardest, lasts its longest when reacting to Tao's heat. But even now, Jongdae knows it's impressive, an aching fullness, a dull, dull stretch, almost too much.



It's the best part, Tao has said, the helpless intimacy of it. Rendered practically immobile, dizzy and weak with want, filled practically to the brim, Tao sobs as he grinds in jerky movements of his hips, rocking down to draw it out. It has Joonmyun panting, moaning, his voice husky with pleasure, with need.



It takes a good twenty minutes for the swelling to go down, Tao circling his hips all the while, letting out the occasional, breathy moan as it shrinks inside of him.

Joonmyun collapses back when it does, sliding out with a slick pop, disposing off the condom with a fumbling tie, an artless toss, and Tao collapses, too, beside him.

Jongdae rolls over, leans on one elbow to smile at them.



Flushed and disheveled, Joonmyun squints up at him. One eye closes more than the other, and there’s a bead of sweat sliding lazily down his temple, disappearing to his gasping throat. The column of his neck is littered with bites, Tao's ephemeral attempts at marks. Tao, nuzzling against Joonmyun's throat, seems content to suck even more marks, dragging languidly with lingering movements of his lips, tongue, teeth.



Jongdae rolls even closer, until he's laying over them both. Heedless of the sticky mess of sweat, lube, come, he spreads his limbs like a starfish, head lolling back into the valley between Joonmyun's and Tao's shoulders. 



Joonmyun laughs, swats at his ass. Tao wraps a loose arm around Jongdae's waist, sucks a mark on his throat, too.



And there’s something comforting about the steady thrum of their pulses against his skin, something warm and validating in the way their combined scents dissipate through the air.







They have a bathtub, a decent-sized bathroom, but it's still too tight a fit for all three. Jongdae, lounging on the towel that Joonmyun had set out for them, lets them go first.

Through the door, he can hear the muffled sounds of their laughter, their voices, the dulled thud of knocked over bottles of shampoo, body wash. More laughter. Then silence, like maybe they're kissing, maybe even touching. Joonmyun always gets so handsy in the shower.



They emerge twenty minutes later in matching terrycloth robes, skin flushed with warmth, bare feet padding loudly against the wood floor leading to their bedroom.



Tao, intent that Jongdae not feel neglected, insists on sitting on the toilet while Jongdae showers alone.

Tao talks about his particularly obnoxious classes this semester: Statistics, Bio, his very long, very boring Exercise Science Lab.



"Join me in Music Performance," Jongdae offers, squinting at Tao's hazy silhouette through the green blue vinyl of their world map shower curtain.



"Kyungsoo is there. It's already too much smelling him on your clothes."

 And Jongdae can't see him, but he can hear the vague disdain in his voice, vividly imagine the crinkle in Tao's nose.

Stepping under the stream of water to rinse his hair, Jongdae cackles.



Tao laughs, too.







Jongdae settles into their couch to do his course readings afterwards, freshly showered but still dizzy on the scent, still buzzing with the afterglow. He finds himself humming as Joonmyun plops by his side, his own textbooks in tow.



There's a languid sort of looseness in Joonmyun's limbs, a lazy smile on his face. Orgasm, Joonmyun has often preached, it really is the best medicine. But even sated, relieved, there's still the faintest hint of dark bruises beneath his eyes, the heft of the three books that Joonmyun drops onto their coffee table.



He's dressed in his sleepy Sunday lounge clothes, though it's only Friday 8 PM, and Jongdae scoots to make room for him, swats at his thighs briefly with a binder ring of flashcards.

Joonmyun laughs.



Tao, balancing his own books, drops them unceremoniously on the table, knees folded to his chest as he gets to work, too.



There's relative silence, only the occasional hum, the crinkle of turning pages.







Joonmyun, in the name of caring for them as their Alpha, tries to make dinner some time later. Burns the chicken and really fails to make dinner—some time later, and Jongdae has to take over, ushering him out of the kitchen with a chiding remark about how really, if this is the measure of an Alpha’s prowess and Joonmyun is failing so badly, then maybe Jongdae and Tao should run away together. Find another Alpha or better yet just forsake an Alpha altogether. They're good enough as is, and if Tao truly truly misses his knot, truly, truly does, there are sex toys, simulators, prostitutes if it comes to that. And yes, they can definitely make due, Tao agrees.



From his Jongdae-imposed isolation on the kitchen table, Joonmyun protests loudly, insists that he can chop vegetables. He can make instant food. He can order takeout, if need be. He’s so good at taking care of them.

 He really is.

Jongdae stops sautéing the onions only long enough to kiss him, chaste but hard, fingers curling at the hair in the nape of his neck. He caresses there, up towards Joonmyun's sensitive scalp, in that way that always makes Joonmyun's eyelashes flutter, as he pulls away. A quiet reassurance.

Tao follows suit, amps it up. He climbs into his lap, his kisses wetter, hotter, longer, as Jongdae hums from the kitchen about how they're gonna have to stop shoving their tongues down each other’s throats if they want to eat.

They agree that they do, but only after another full minute of it, enough time for Jongdae to set the table.








Saturday, Joonmyun makes another attempt at providing, but he's more successful this time. And Jongdae falls to his knees for a teasing, giggling, minty-fresh thank you, kissing along the rumpled mess of Joonmyun’s sleep shirt as his hand takes over, skating quickly over the pulsing, swelling flesh, urging Joonmyun in between succulent kisses to come already, mark Jongdae like the Alpha he is, the Alpha Jongdae wants so, so badly.



Joonmyun responds with a low groan, a helpless burst of fragrant arousal, and he’s coming hard, heavy, across Jongdae’s cheekbones, collarbone, his throat, streaking warm and wet.

Jongdae makes a big, big show of licking his lips, blinking up at him through heavy eyelashes as Joonmyun’s body shudders and pulses.



Joonmyun’s hands loosen from their tight, tight grip into something soothing, soft, grateful, as he coaxes Jongdae upward, drops kisses and caresses over his still-smeared face. Hard still and oversized, he drags against Jongdae’s waist with a cut off gasp. The knot has shrunk enough for Joonmyun to tug his pants and boxers back on, but Jongdae likes the firm pressure, likes the tremble of Joonmyun’s flesh against his as he drags Joonmyun into a kiss, drops his own pants and boxers to grind against him needily, whimpering into Joonmyun’s mouth as the instinct to submit, flares hot and potent in his veins.



Sensing, though Jongdae doesn’t emit, can’t quite communicate vocally as affected as he, Joonmyun drags his fingers through Joonmyun’s hair to tug hard. He bares his throat, bites down in a searing, hot, pleasure-pain mark of possession, temporary, but so hard, and orgasm overwhelms Jongdae.



The pancakes are cold, the maple syrup tacky, by the time that they change, the time that Tao saunters out of their room.



They set the table, squeeze onto their kitchenette.



Decidedly fond and playful, Jongdae presses his cold toes into Tao’s shin, grinning around his fork as the other shrieks.







Sunday, they decide to get brunch at a local diner. A date, an indulgence, a more g-rated attempt at stress relief.



Tao orders a six-egg omelet, shovels his hash browns onto Jongdae’s plate. Jongdae has waffles. Joonmyun, French toast.



Stuffed, languid, they eat popsicles in the park afterwards, wander home.

Jongdae wrangles them onto the floor with him, legs tangled with Tao’s, head pillowed on Joonmyun’s. They watch a house flipping reality-show marathon until dusk is licking over the horizon.



Compelled into reluctant action, hesitant productivity, Jongdae extricates himself from his very, very comfortable position to starts his History readings.

Joonmyun shuts off the TV, and the silence is filled with the steady clicking of his typing fingers over his laptops keys, the scrape of Tao's pen to paper, the rustle of Joonmyun’s turning pages.

Joonmyun falls forward at one point, cheek crashing against the chipped wood. He groans in exasperation, and Jongdae climbs behind him, knees bracketing Joonmyun’s narrow waist, chin pressing to the nape of Joonmyun’s neck, as his thumbs work at the knots in Joonmyun’s shoulders. Joonmyun melts into with a muted moan, limbs going lax, eyelashes fluttering at every press.



Joonmyun urges Jongdae to stop after a while. Slightly clumsy, but no less persistent, he insists on caring for Jongdae, too, rearranging them so it’s his mouth tickling along the back of Jongdae’s head, his fingers kneading into Jongdae’s skin.

Jongdae shudders heavily, groaning deeply, arching into it. He pats his lap for Tao to join them, be taken care of, too.





And the hours pass much too quickly like that.







Jongdae’s phone blinks with a notification the next morning as he grimaces past a mouthful of bitter black coffee.



From dyo_ks, 8:59 AM
can you give us a copy of all of your notes for the next couple of days



And oh, it has begun.



Jongdae reassures him that he can, asks him to text if they need anything. Hesitates then sends a you’ll be good for him, don’t worry.



The message is read, but there is no response.







Signora Forte reminds them about their upcoming speaking chest, how they all should have already started. And as Jongdae texts Sehun and Kyungsoo a reminder, Jaehwan, seated beside him, nudges Jongdae’s signs, asks when they’ll be able to meet. Distracted, mid-reply, Jongdae agrees to meet at a pizza parlor after class Wednesday.







Though unbidden, Jongdae stops at a drug store on the way home and picks up a heat care package, then stops by a fast food restaurant to order a dozen spicy chicken sandwiches.



Kyungsoo and Sehun are staying at Sehun’s dorm, he knows, and he drops off the supplies after three curt knocks to Sehun’s door, a text message.



He drops off another order of food Tuesday morning: bagels, muffins, bottled water, and sports drinks. He asks Joonmyun to send something during lunch, Tao to drop off another meal for dinner.



And though there are a series of smiley face texts on his phone, though he knows Kyungsoo’s helped break heats before, though he knows they have campus resources to fall back on if something goes amiss, though it’s completely natural and hardwired into their subpar DNA, Jongdae still worries, still thrums with nervous energy. Too distracted and more than vaguely distressed, it takes Tao’s hands at his hips, Tao’s lips around his cock, Tao’s breathy, breathy demands for Jongdae to pay attention to him, want him—for Jongdae to finally, finally relax.



A brief, beautiful reprieve.







Jaehwan elbows him in reminder during class on Wednesday, later texts him the address and a meeting time.



It’s a family-owned restaurant, Italian-style, and Jaehwan—the Alpha—treats. He makes a big show of it, too. Pulling out his wallet, grinning widely as he fans the green bills. And really, honestly, it almost makes sense when everybody praises him most like this, when everyone wants and expects this of him. A true Alpha, sweeping and slightly overbearing but charming, in control. But even taking that into account, trying to be kind and understanding, Jongdae is still left uncomfortable, the bitter tang of disdain on his tongue. It has him cutting small talk short to pull his heavy textbook out of his messenger bag.



They agree to meet again on Thursday.



In their school library’s rented study room, over pita chips and string cheese, they draft their first dialog. Jongdae is at the beach with his best friend Jaehwan, ready to see the beautiful ladies. He’s carrying his very stylish beach bag, laden with all the essentials: his sunglasses, some energy bars, a handful of glamor shots for charming the ladies, but no, not the suntan lotion, not their towels, not their change of shoes, and oh he's messed up hasn't he?



They decide to run through the dialog a few times, but Jongdae keeps fucking up the first person, simple past tense conjugation of “to pack,” increasingly frustrated with himself, with Jaehwan for not missing a single beat.



The practice drags on for 2 hours too long.



There's a blinking blue alert on his phone midway through, and Jongdae spares a glance, frowning before turning back to Jaehwan, to the obnoxious task at hand.



It’s a glance at the clock—8PM—a pair of grumbling stomachs that has them leaving for the night. And it’s only as Jongdae’s stuffing his book, his notebook, his pencils in his bag that he checks.



Tao.



And oh, oh fuck.



For the first time since they started this entire thing together, Jongdae is fucking late to Tao's heat.





Backpack slung over his shoulders, he sprints home, willing Joonmyun there, willing Tao tended to.






He stumbles through the door.

And this time, for the very first time, it's Jongdae scrambling to catch up, tearing off his clothes.



The scent alone nearly overwhelms him. The sound nearly has him coming on the spot.



And the fucking sight. 



Tao is already naked, panting, dark-eyed, slack-jawed, loud, loud, loud with his heated need. Knotted and writhing, consumed, he's still fucking begging for Jongdae, begging for more. Body trembling, eyes dark and imploring, fingers eager and earnest, he seeks him out, drags him forward, his mouth wet and wanting. He's fucking himself down on Joonmyun’s cock, stuttered and jerky, already knotted, but still demanding more. In between hiccuping moans, he urges Jongdae to crouch down by the edge of the bed and just fucking fuck his mouth. Please, he needs Tao to fuck him, too. And there's the briefest flare of jealousy almost, maybe more appropriately something like disregard or self-doubt, but Tao's warm, wet, wonderful, wonderful mouth, it's hardly a consolation prize. Hardly something to begrudge. And it’s so, so demanding, so eager. Perfect, perfect, perfect.



But no, not what beautiful Tao—his beautiful, beautiful Tao—is begging of him, blinking at him through heavy lashes, through swollen, slick, slick lips. Jongdae cups his cheekbone. Hot, hotter to the touch.



Complying readily, Jongdae falls over Tao's writhing body. Joonmyun shifts, swiveling inside of him, and Tao moans so, so loudly as he urges Jongdae closer. He wants him, too. Please. He needs him, too.



And perched on Tao’s stomach, Jongdae eases himself open, more for show than efficiency, dragging out every slick press of his fingers, spreading for Tao—fucked out and dazed as he is—to appreciate the visual.

Tao, even in heat, he stays astoundingly still, watching him so so so closely, eyes glazed and so dark, as Joonmyun urges Jongdae to keep going, dropping reverent kisses to Jongdae’s taut shoulders.

Jongdae, he looks so good like this. Good for them both like this.

And Tao agrees with a wrecked whimper, eyes glazed and heavy with pure, hot, hot want.



And if Jongdae is selfish for wanting both, Joonmyun selfish for claiming both, then Tao—Tao spread out open and eager like this on the mattress—hungry for dual touch, dual stimulation, dual love, dual words, dual praise, dual pleasure then he's the most selfish of all.

His deepest desire, his hottest wish, realized fully like this.



Balancing himself on Tao’s tense shoulders, Jongdae sits down fully on his cock with a drawn out moan. And as he finds a smooth, sinuous rhythm, Tao’s head lolls back, jaw slackening, eyes squeezing shut, a mess already of whimper and whines. He goads Jongdae faster, whispers that he needs it please please please.



And of course, yes, yes, yes.



Beneath him, Tao trembles suddenly, sharply, almost violently, his entire face scrunching with pleasure. Joonmyun's own voice comes out in a low, low groan. And Joonmyun's knotting fully, Jongdae knows.



Jongdae has taken it before, remembers the overwhelming heft and pressure and heat and stretch of it. How consciousness had petered down to only Joonmyun inside of him, solid and hot and pulsing, just shy of too much, too hot, too big, fuck Joonmyun fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—



He's even bigger now, even hotter, will swell for even longer.

And Tao is fucking begging for it.

Eyes clenched shut in pleasure, eyebrows pinched, and hands restless and demanding around Jongdae’s shoulders, Tao whimpers for him to keep going.



Jongdae has no intention of stopping any time soon, fingernails digging into the strained firmness of Tao’s biceps as he fucks himself down hot, fast, rewarded in time with the utter stretch of Tao's cock inside of him.

Jongdae’s fingernails drag up towards the column of Tao’s sweaty throat, scraping, an imitation of a bite. And Tao’s pace becomes even more erratic, a series of stutterfucks, his own nails scrambling up Jongdae’s back as he arches sharply.

He comes with a long, needy whine.



Joonmyun groans behind him—So tight, so tight, so tight—biting down on Jongdae’s shoulder with a rumbled fuck, and Jongdae’s utterly gone, heat and pleasure crescendoing higher, higher, higher until everything shatters.

He collapses onto Tao, cheek crashing against Tao’s thundering pulse, tasting the desperation and utter heat of his want with every labored breath. Sticky-sweet. 



Joonmyun is still fucking into Tao, Jongdae's body trembling with every punishing press as Joonmyun swivels his hip to press his knot even tighter. He's already come, but Tao is still hard. And Joonmyun's body responds so, so quickly. 



Jongdae rolls over and off to watch, stroking himself lazily. Not hard yet, not quite so soon.



And as Jongdae recuperates, they continue, hot, desperate.



It’s faster this time, more efficient, more visibly a means towards an end.



It’s the hormones, the pheromones, something elementally compatible between them. They are matching pieces, a set. Joonmyun’s body responds to Tao’s need always, sates his need always. And they look good together, writhing, needing like this. They were meant to be together like this. But they choose him, want him, love and need him.



And there are speculations on the natural order of things, podcasts and lectures and news articles and blogs and sociological papers and religious texts, too, people ever trying to make sense of what this all means, make sense of what’s best. But there is meaning in this, Jongdae reflects, not for the first time. There is purpose and worth in this. In being a part of this.



They shift, Tao spreading his knees, biting into his own forearm as he quakes with every relentless push. Closer and closer and closer, less grace, a more erratic rhythm, more broken moans.

Joonmyun snarls as he comes again, biting on the nape of Tao’s neck, his mark. His.

Tao climax follows soon after, heavy, utterly explosive. He sags forward completely, a veritable mess, swollen lips dragging along the edges of the rumpled comforter as he gasps and whimpers and trembles with the force of it.



That night, as the first night of his heat, they stop just briefly enough to replenish their strength, order food, Joonmyun lazily tugging Tao's cock for another quick, quick orgasm as Jongdae wipes discreetly at his skin with wet wipes, tugs on a pair of pajama pants, answers the door. The poor delivery boy's eyes widen at the thick, thick scent of it, pupils dilating, lip parting as Jongdae signs the receipt.

Tao's already gotten off by the time that Jongdae sets the heavy styrofoam containers down.

They eat in bed in relative silence, and Jongdae can't be bothered to clean up properly, moving enough only to shove the greasy containers on the kitchen table before stumbling back into the bedroom, into bed. 

Tao, skin cooler to the touch, eyelashes heavy with exhaustion, fingers imploring for the comfort of naked skin to skin, chaste and warm and familiar. He falls asleep first, sandwiched between Jongdae and Joonmyun.

Joonmyun scoots up the bed to press his forehead to Jongdae’s.

Stained of Tao, so wonderfully disheveled, puffy lipped and lovemarked, he’s smiling fondly, lazily, dragging him forward lazily, kissing him lazily. Chaste, but wet. 

And there’s something special in that, too. The secret, private way that Joonmyun touches him, body already so familiar, so so perfect. His fingers whisper up towards Jongdae’s jawline, cradling. His eyes are crinkling in the corners as he pulls away with a soft pop.

“Come here,” he whispers conspiratorially, motioning for Jongdae to squeeze between him and Tao. “Let me kiss you properly.”

Jongdae makes a token protest before letting himself be guided, held, careful not to jostle Tao. And Joonmyun does kiss him properly, tilting his chin just so, tongue and lips moving in tandem, to something slow, thorough, lingering, toe-curlingingly satisfying.

“You need to relax,” he chides, pulling away. He wraps an arm around his middle, pressing his face into Jongdae’s throat, inhaling deeply with a reverent groan. “You’ve been so busy, you were late.” His fingernails whisper of the pucker of Jongdae’s nipples, teasing, persuasive. “Relax. You need to take this for what this is,” he urges. “A sexual vacation. We missed you.”

“Honestly, do you even need me?” Jongdae jokes, airy, irreverent, eyes crinkling in anticipation of Joonmyun’s flustered reaction, but Joonmyun doesn’t laugh, doesn’t fumble out an explanation. 



He just swallows slowly and nods his head. Solemn. Serious. His eyes are unnervingly soft. “Yes.”



Jongdae is entirely put out by the response. He presses their foreheads together again, tastes Joonmyun’s breath, his love, the residual perfume of his desire. Joonmyun kisses him again, a simple press, whisper-soft, innocent, comforting, closed mouth to closed mouth.

Jongdae sighs into it, as Joonmyun’s hands glide down his scalp, his spine, then inward, to rub teasing circles on his hipbone. Placating.

And Jongdae’s coaxed into moving again, his back to Joonmyun’s front, Joonmyun's lips latching onto his shoulder, his arm wrapping loose but heavy on Jongdae's side, fingers teasing over the fine hair at his navel. Lazy, purposeless.

“Want to big spoon, Alpha?” Jongdae laughs, teasing, unkind, and Joonmyun only hums in agreement, hair tickling along Jongdae’s shoulder blades. "Want to take control?"

“Yes, you can hold Tao.”

In spite of his chiding protest, Jongdae melts into Joonmyun's embrace, Tao's warmth at his front. Like this, between them, it feels like home.





It’s better—easier—the second day, in terms of physical exertion, demand. But there’s still that burning undercurrent of need.

And before he’s even had a chance to brush his teeth, fully blink the sleep off of his eyelashes, Jongdae's witness to a sleepy, soft, soft encounter, deep kisses, wandering fingers, breathless gasps for more, a wave of arousal, like a shot of caffeine.

Jongdae swats at Joonmyun's ass to get his attention, offer an alternative. A shower, breakfast, something more responsible, less sloppy and eager.

Cheeks pillow-creased, lips slick, hair disheveled, heated, responding, emitting, Joonmyun is just slightly reluctant to agree.

As Joonmyun attempts breakfast, Jongdae peels off Tao's clothes, tugs him beneath the cool spray of water. Falling readily to his knees, Jongdae sucks him off in between scrubs of a shower pouf against Tao's trembling thighs.

Jongdae makes Tao wash his own hair, rinse off his conditioner, as he comes down Jongdae’s throat. He presses breathless, laughing kisses to Tao’s trembling thighs as Tao quivers in the afterglow, fingers tight, almost painful in Jongdae’s hair. As Tao rests loose-limbed, sated against the white tile, breathing heavy in the afterglow, Jongdae combs sudsy fingers through his hair, scrubs the sticky remain of come and sweat off of his skin.

They both brush their teeth.

And Tao is still half-hard, still wanting, but the first orgasm takes some of the edge off. It quells some of the urgency, the desperation, enough for them to freshen up, get dressed, eat eggs, toast, drink orange juice, change their sheets, before Tao is heating again, needing again.

And it's Jongdae's turn this time. Joonmyun, ever-reluctant to leave, is sent to shower as Jongdae falls over Tao's warm, eager body.

Tao's fingers twist needily into Jongdae's hair, tugging, imploring, and Jongdae decides against dragging this out, though he wants to, wants to make Tao squirm and beg and whine, wants to take him apart piece by piece.

They don't have that luxury.

Jongdae doesn't want to be cruel.

So he crawls down Tao's body instead, fingers kneading into his firm, supple thighs, spreading them, as he eases him open with his fingers, his tongue.

Tao's sugary-sweet desire, it's thickest here, warm and wet and welcoming. Jongdae groans heavily, in appreciation as he circles his tongue to collect the moisture slowly, slowly, slowly before before licking his way inside.

Tao's body clenches desperately around his tongue, slickness rushing into Jongdae's mouth. Falling apart so beautifully, so, so quickly, Tao's all helpless flutters, broken moans, trembling limbs, all hot, slick, sticky-sweet want, and Jongdae wants to spend forever there, face buried between Tao's gorgeous thighs, tongue encased in incredible warmth, utterly drowning in Tao's sweat, helpless response, so dizzyingly in control. Tao's fingers become almost painful in Jongdae's hair, tugging at fistfuls as he begs for more.

Jongdae is quick to deliver. Aware of the audience, both in front of and behind him, he wipes slowly at his mouth, licking his lips luxuriously, savoring, as he arches his spine, crawls up tense Tao's body.

Arms bracketing Tao's side, he slides into without further preamble, a dirty praise falling from his mouth. Tao is so much warmer like this, tighter, all the more eager and responsive, his eyebrows pinching, his lips parting, his hips pressing back for more, crashing headfirst into him again.

And fucking Tao while Joonmyun watches, it also feels like home.

Jongdae allows himself a brief, brief moment of luxuriating in the exquisite warmth, tightness of Tao's body, before pulling back, thrusting in, going fast, hard, like Tao likes, like Joonmyun likes, too.

Wrapping Tao's legs around his waist, looming heavily over his writhing, whimpering body, Jongdae pounds into him over and over and over again. Deep, his thrusts dragging, intent on reducing Tao to broken whimpers and pure sensation.

Tao's fingers squeak as they scramble over the headboard, trying to get a good grip, ground himself as Jongdae pushes him further back with the force of every punishing thrust

.

At Jongdae's side, in his periphery, Joonmyun is freshly showered but already drenched with arousal, squeezing hard at the base of his swollen cock



, already too hard, too big to join in.

Jongdae shudders with a sudden heavy pulse of electric desire, focuses that added heat into his next three, four thrusts. Tao sobs, hands falling to Jongdae's shoulders, urging him even closer. His approval rumbles hot and wet against Jongdae's nipples, burns hot and stinging up Jongdae’s flexing back.

"Take it," Jongdae coaxes, breathless, raspy. "Fucking take it all

."

Tao whimpers that he is. He can, and he is. And it’s so fucking good

.

His next moans, gasps are muffled by Joonmyun's lips, a heavy, sloppy kiss, Tao's fingers scrambling to stroke Joonmyun, too. Clumsy, skittering, beautifully eager.

Jongdae shifts his position, kneeling between Tao's spread legs, a more optimum angle. He slides a finger in besides his cock, groaning at the friction, the way that Tao's body trembles at the touch. He stretches him further, voice and eyes and thrusts still hard like he knows Tao likes, Tao needs. A second, a third, an imitation of knot, as he continues to fuck into him, urging him to take it, to take it like Jongdae knows he can. He's so, so beautiful when he does.

Tao's head lolls back, breaking the kiss, falling completely pliant, consumed, so heartbreakingly gorgeous like that.

And he takes it over and over and over again, beautifully, eagerly, all hitching moans and breathless pleas and trembling limbs.



And though he's heard it said that a Beta could never hope to fuck an Omega quite as good, as thorough as an Alpha, though he knows it to be true in a way, Jongdae also knows that he alone is more than enough to ruin Tao. He is witness to it in the next three thrusts, Tao's body tensing and releasing in the most beautiful devastation, a long, long whine, an impossible tightness, a quaking vision of elegant disarray.

Sliding out with a slick, slick pop, Jongdae snaps off his condom, squeezes hard on the base of his own cock to keep from coming.

The second orgasm has Tao going completely soft. And of course, of course, he still wants, exhausted and overheated as he is. Just to watch now, ready himself for another round.

Propping himself on a mess of pillows, Tao urges them into action, wiping hastily with wet wipes that he tosses the general direction of the 



trashcan.

Tao likes watching them, he's sad. Likes how small they are, how different they are, how Jongdae is always pushing at Joonmyun's limits, how Joonmyun is always pressing, 

how it’s not an easy surrender, how it's never a boring fuck.

It will be different today, though, a rare occurrence.

"Your turn to be fucked, Alpha," Jongdae trills, and Joonmyun laughs, agrees with an easy nod, falling into bed beside Tao.

It's been a while, this a rare indulgence, and Jongdae takes his time with him, is afforded the luxury. Joonmyun's skin so soft, so supple to the touch, and Jongdae kisses down his throat, across his chest, as he warms the lubes between his fingers, eases his way inside, drowning all the while in the Joonmyun's warm familiar fragrance, desire, laced with the faint traces of their vanilla body wash, their minty dandruff shampoo and conditioner.

Joonmyun stiffens slightly before relaxing into his touches, finger by finger, curl by curl. 

Joonmyun’s eyelashes kiss against Jongdae's throat as he’s worked open, breath puffing out with small gasps. He's so beautiful that Jongdae has to tell him, has to kiss him, has to ease in a third finger, his touches pointed, precise.

Joonmyun huffs out a weak, reedy laugh.

Tao, resting on one elbow, lazily strokes Joonmyun’s cock in the mean time, the barest participation as Joonmyun’s face pinches with pleasure. He uses two hands, closing tight, pulsing, just like fucking his knot into somebody, just like being milked dry.

Joonmyun twists at a particularly delicious touch, his own fingers digging into Jongdae's biceps as he urges Jongdae closer, harder. And he'd ready, more than ready, fuck Jongdae just like that—

Joonmyun shifts their positions, climbing readily into Jongdae's lap, sliding a condom on before sitting on Jongdae's cock with one smooth drop.

They moan in unison, Joonmyun shuddering monumentally above him, lips falling open in a pant.

He holds Jongdae down, fingers hard, grounding on Jongdae's hips as he swivels his own experimentally, sets the pace. Rolling rocks, up and down, the smooth muscles in his stomach bunching and relaxing with every grind.

So tight, so hot, dragging.

And Jongdae decides to play nice for the time being, flooded with pleasure as he is.

Joonmyun's eyes are so dark and hot on his, willing Jongdae still, pinning him in place with every rise and descent.

Groaning heavily, Jongdae's hands fall to Joonmyun's waist, squeezing hard, trying to guide, just just just to get a rise, and Joonmyun puffs out a weak, weak chuckle, clenching deliberately to make Jongdae tremble, whine.

Not to be outdone, not to be made easy, pliant, Jongdae sits up, jostling Joonmyun, guiding him, wrapping his legs around Jongdae's waist, dragging him up so they're pressed eye to eye, forehead to forehead. Intimate, hot, so much skin on skin, and Joonmyun's heavy arousal invades his senses, clouds his mind.

Jongdae's hands tremble around Joonmyun's waist in his desperate bid for more control.

And with Jongdae, Joonmyun, when it's not for show, when it's just the two of them, there's a sort of subtle unnerving, subtle unraveling. Jongdae choosing to let go, choosing to let oft-dormant, muted desires take hold. But when Tao is witness, there’s something of shame maybe, something of performance, also, chipping away at Joonmyun's composure, unnerving him, tearing at what he can.

This, tugging at Joonmyun's hair, moaning loudly, goading him into taking Jongdae faster, harder, deeper.

An Alpha should be able to take it. An Alpha should take even more.

"That's for me to decide," Joonmyun manages, ragged. "Beta."

Still rocking down onto him, Joonmyun tips his head forward to mouth at Jongdae's neck, pants blooming hot and wet along his throat, teeth scraping just so when Jongdae tips his hips up to fuck just right.

Joonmyun's knot is so, so large, and it drags heavy and insistent against Jongdae's flexing stomach with every smooth, delicious drop.

Hot, so hot, Jongdae wills him to come already, with every heated graze against his skin, every beautiful reminder that Joonmyun—biologically speaking—was never made to take this, is choosing to take this anyway.

"Joonmyun," Jongdae manages, so broken, so strained.

Joonmyun rasps out another laugh, goes that much harder, faster, pressing into him fully, as if sensing just how close Jongdae is to falling apart.

Moving again, Joonmyun leans back, a better angle, balanced on Jongdae's thighs, face scrunching with pure pleasure, and his cock bobs angry and red and demanding, so swollen that Tao's hand can't quite get all the way around.

Balanced on the very precipice of pure, pure pleasure, Jongdae is so, so desperate to come, but even more desperate to win.

He drags Tao forward by the hair, directing him down mouth-first onto Joonmyun's cock, guiding his movements for one, two, three slick, fast, messy, messy bobs. Tao swallowing only as far as he can, deliberately loud, moaning.

And that's all it really takes for Joonmyun to come. That's really all it takes for Jongdae to come, too, gasping as he falls back against the rumpled sheets of the mattress with a long, long moan.



Their actions have done a good job of heating Tao anew, and they have another go, all about Tao once more, Joonmyun's tongue in Tao's ass, Jongdae's lips sealed around his shaft.

Tao, writhing and desperate beneath them, hands clawing at twin sets of black hair, all sweet, sweet need, flushed, overheated skin, gorgeously-sated desire.

This third orgasm, it has Tao falling asleep to recover his strength.



Jongdae and Joonmyun order three meals from a local Korean restaurant, eat their shares together on the couch over a psychic reality TV show. They shove Tao's in the fridge.

Jongdae washes dishes, attempts to clean their house. Joonmyun takes out the trash.

Jongdae falls onto their couch with a low, luxurious groan, body draped over the surface. Joonmyun climbs over him, handsome and soft-eyed, a lopsided grin on his face, and Jongdae's heart swells with affection. He kisses Joonmyun's eyelashes, his nose, the side of his mouth, maneuvers both of their bodies so that they're side by side, pressed impossibly tight on their small, ugly floral print couch.



Early as it is, fatigue is already straining Jongdae’s muscles, draining his limbs, but he lets himself be pulled into Joonmyun’s intent kisses, lets himself enjoy this.

They both need this.



And it’s slower now. Joonmyun wrapping his arms around Jongdae’s waist to kiss him steady and deep, dragging his fingernails down Jongdae’s trembling body.



There's a type of comfort in this, a type of reminder.

Connected at the mouth, at the hip, they roll onto the ground, falling gracelessly with a loud thud. They both laugh then both moan, touches insistent, wanting.

Joonmyun holds Jongdae's head steady as he fucks his mouth, fingers equal parts soothing and punishing, dragging deliciously down his scalp when Jongdae moans, tightening into painful fists when he bobs faster. His thigh tremble against Jongdae's palms. So easy, so easy.



Groaning loudly, it’s Joonmyun that pushes him back. He’ll knot soon like this, and he's too tired for that right now. He falls to his knees instead, presses Jongdae back against the carpet with a long, lingering kiss, blanketing him in the warm, thick fog of his affection and want.

Joonmyun teases at Jongdae's neck, ownership, a thwarted attempt, worrying the skin between his teeth as he peels of Jongdae's loose pajama bottoms to grasp him. He cups, cradles, before shifting to press against him, too, the pulsing heft of his swelling knot dragging deliciously against Jongdae's heavy erection. Their movements insistent, staggering, needy, it doesn't take them long to come. Jongdae biting it out against the sharp definition of Joonmyun's sternum, Joonmyun gasping it out in a wet rush against Jongdae's heaving throat.

They've made a further mess of their rumpled shirts, and they toss them in the laundry basket after another laugh, a lingering kiss.



With their goldenrod forms submitted to the proper channels, stamped with the Registrar's and Campus Health Officer's seal of approval, they're allowed to indulge in this fully.. Armed with bottles of water and sports drinks to replenish fluids, crackers to stave the occasional bout of nausea, energy bars for when it's too much for them to cook, wet wipes and entire sleeves of condoms.

And the subsequent days fade in haze of needy moans, heavy kisses, heavier touches, shuddering orgasms.

Jongdae takes a break on Monday to email his professors before being dragged back into the bedroom by Joonmyun, back into the beautiful comfort, beautiful disarray, beautiful irreverence of their love.


Jongdae feels closest to them like this, feels the best with the lingering scents of them on his skin. He owns, is owned, loves, is loved. Belongs.



It's Tuesday before it's completely receded, Tao greeting the day with a relieved sigh, a tired smile.

They stop at a grocery store to commemorate the occasion, picking a garish pink sheet cake—To Our Love—and an order of deli chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni cheese. They eat it straight from the box, bag, with plastic forks and spoons, the TV serving as white noise as they squeeze onto the couch.



Jongdae, Joonmyun, Tao allows themselves to address their neglected mountain of fast food containers, homework, responsibilities. Gathering the mess in large trash bags, stacking theirs books on their coffee table, pulling out their laptops to email professors, club presidents, teaching assistants.

Resting heavily on Tao's side, Jongdae, reluctantly, readies himself for the rest of the week.



Jongdae's cranky the next morning, resenting, as he swallows long drags of the bitter black coffee from his heavy thermos. He demands Tao kiss him before he leave, kiss him like he means it, relishing in the minty warmth of Tao's perfect mouth.

It's not quite enough.

It never really is. The comedown is always too jarring.

Jongdae plasters on his widest, fakest smile, arranging his notecards, his highlighters, mouthing the words, catching up, paying back in kind for last week's sexual vacation.



Offering a curt apology for his absent, elbowing him to get his attention after class, Jongdae agrees to meets Jaehwan at lunch to run through the dialog.



He races across campus for History, groaning when he realizes his paper is due soon. He scribbles a reminder in the margins of his page, pen squeezed tight between his fingers.


He meets Jaehwan at Quiznos, a toasted Turkey Bacon Guacamole and Lemonade to Jaehwan's Chipotle Steak & Cheddar and Pepsi. Smoothing the crinkles in their notes with napkin-covered fingers, speaking in between bites, sips, they go through their lines.

It's smoother now, easy. A B+ guaranteed.

Mood less sour, Jongdae only glares the slightest when Jaehwan reaches forward to wipe at a smear of guacamole at the corner of Jongdae's mouth, cooing in something like patronizing almost derision.

They promise to practice at home, too.

Jaehwan's smile, his touch, his gaze is lingering, and Jongdae does nothing to mask his disdain.

Alphas.



Jongdae doesn’t have much interest in third-wheeling, much interest in leaving the warm coccoon of Tao's arms, but he agrees readily enough when Kyungsoo invites him via text to get dinner. He extricates himself from Tao’s warm embrace to respond to the message, smiling when Tao grumbles, wraps a persistent arm around his waist to drag him back. He deserves this.

Jongdae laughs a protest, and Tao changes his argument.

Kyungsoo smells bad, and Tao isn’t gonna want to hold him after. He presses a pout to Jongdae's shoulder blades. Is it really worth it? When Tao and Jongdae can heat some frozen burritos and watch TV and make out? Is it, honestly?

Sparing one last, lingering kiss, Jongdae promises to bring back a doggie bag.



They meet at a diner. Sehun's and Kyungsoo's treat.

They smile at him from across the table, holding hands beneath it. And maybe, maybe they were hoping this would be like before—the countless times they've met before, but it's so vastly different.

Jongdae orders a burger and fries, sips from his Iced Tea, as he regards them in the low ambient light.

Sehun's cheeks are flushed just the slightest, and his tongue is pressing into his cheek in something like shyness. But his eyes are very, very fond, and his lips curl into a soft, hesitant smile. And they're trying to keep it more subtle now, the vast, vast affection, more actively aware of it. As Sehun shifts, Jongdae can see the faint scar, peeking out beneath the collar of his polo shirt.

They're soft together, good together, smiling. Less tense now that they've put a name and label and claim of ownership to this.

And it's only with the most muted disdain that Jongdae watches them. Pathetic still, yes, but also endearing, vaguely adorable.

Between bites of food, they make small talk about their upcoming speaking tests, the weather, the new pop song that Kyungsoo knows objectively sucks but is so fun to sing.

A lull in the conversation has Sehun stirring contemplatively at own drink, eyelashes fluttering heavy as he hesitates around the words.

"I really wanted to thank you," he says, eyebrows pinching. "I—I know you think this stuff is stupid, but you still...tried to take care of me. You made it easier for Kyungsoo to take care of me, too."

Something heavy lodges itself in Jongdae's throat, and he swallow thickly past it, blinking rapidly.

Kyungsoo nods at his side.

"You're welcome," Jongdae manages, voice strained, tight.



Tao holds true to his apparently not-so-idle threat, refusing to hug Jongdae until he's showered, been drenched in Joonmyun's scent.



Thursday, lingering outside the Studio after class, Jongdae folds his knees to his chest, practices his dialog. He has his speaking test in Signora's office at 4:45PM.

He spares a glance as students filter in and out of the lobby.

The air, as usual, is thick with the pheromones, contrasting and complementing scents diffusing through the air.

Jongdae's head already feels slightly dizzy, and irritation is already starting to flare under his skin.

Taekwoon, Baekhyun, Lu Han, Jaehwan, Jonghyun, drapes themselves across the chairs, making idle small talk.

Jongdae drops his cards in his lap to motion Jaehwan over, watch.

Jaehwan plops down next to him with a quick greeting, instantly understanding the game, watching, too.

Taekwoon makes a stilted remark, a hesitant compliment about Baekhyun’s breath control, and Baekhyun—as always—manages to take it too, too far. Lounging against the love seat, he is practically fucking preening, legs splayed open, throat bared, his eyes glittering as he jokes about how it comes to great, great use. It makes him the kind of boy you can’t just let go.

It's for play, for show. Baekhyun relishes in the attention, lives to make people squirm. He's falsely casual, maybe even outright irreverent, about all things sexual, abides by a philosophy of say it first so they can't hurt you, say it first so you're the one in control. An Omega, a preemptive sort of self-deprecation.

And when Taekwoon, flushing, swats at Baekhyun's ass in retaliation, willing him quiet, Baekhyun responds with a low moan, a surprising flare of fragrance. It's a helpless response, a real response.

Baekhyun curls in on himself, making a suddenly small sound of protest.

Taekwoon, presumably not reciprocating, balks and squirms and laughs awkwardly. Running his fingers through his hair, he makes some passing remark about how nice the room's newest paint job is, and Baekhyun is fucking mortified, flushed bright, bright red, fingers clenching and unclenching in his sweater. He rises with some sudden pitchy ramble about needing to go home to rest his voice and start his English paper. He has so much work to do. He’ll see them later.



And Jongdae think it's almost cruel sometimes, too. The utter visibility of attraction. It's not pathetic, it's cruel. Jongdae is blessed, almost.







At his side, Jaehwan laughs.



Their presentation, though performed in a slight daze of vague discomfort, earns them an A+.

Veritably cause for celebration, and Jaehwan invites him to dinner in celebration. That same Italian place, Jaehwan's treat once more.

They get pepperoni, eat in relative silence, Jaehwan engaging him in light conversation about class, his favorite music, TV shows, films.

Flirting, playful, so utterly persistent in spite of Jongdae's curt responses, his eyes are dark, a forbidden, teasing luster. An Alpha, entitled, still trying to win him over, still trying to woo.

Jongdae swallows thickly, entirely put out. He thanks him for the meal, for being his partner.



In the interest of politeness walks, he Jaehwan to the busstop.

There's a group of teenage boys—tall, gangly, overloud Alphas in basketball uniforms, shoes—joking among themselves.

They whistle low when they catch sight of Jongdae, the tallest boy, the leader, squaring his shoulders, trying to catch Jongdae's gaze. He tilts his head back, licks his lips in slow, slow appreciation.

And Jongdae, he's being read wrong. He looks extra small in this sweater, extra vulnerable standing next to Jaehwan.

Squaring his own shoulders, Jongdae raises his chin in challenge. A jolt of adrenaline shoots through his veins.

Jaehwan's arm snakes suddenly around his waist, tight, a warning.

Jongdae slides free. Jongdae's not his to protect.

The boy, he's being goaded into action, low whispers, encouraging shoves.

"Say it," Jongdae taunts back. "Say how you're gonna fuck me so good. Say how I'm the kind of Omega you wish you could try on for size."

The boy's eyebrows pinch, face twisting into a sneer.

And there is a deprecating mark about his smart mouth, pretty, how it should be put to better use, how he should learn his place and apologize for ever implying that he could—

Jongdae lunges—fruitlessly—Jaehwan intervening at the last second, and there's a braying laugh, more taunts, Jaehwan's hand wrapped tight around his waist.

Jongdae goes lax in his hold, jostled, blinking rapidly to clear his mind of the haze, tugging himself free. He's shaking just slightly, unnerved and upset, and Jaehwan is still there, rubbing his palms up and down Jongdae's arms, soothing.

Jongdae, he'd been misread, and he'd suffered the consequences. Nausea twists in his gut.

He bites his lower lip hard, shuddering, inhaling slowly to calm down, force the unpleasant feelings away.

And that's when he notes it, the stench of something foreign, something wrong on his body. 

He stiffens, and Jaehwan's hand fall limp at his sides.

"He was trying to—" Jaehwan starts to explain, and Jongdae bristles, squirming away.



"Claim me. Disrespect me. Trying to do what you just did



."

And fuck, it's so thick and oppressive now, when it's not accidental, when it's actively unwelcome. When it’s a blatant attempt at claiming.


 It's bitter, harsh and sharp, and he openly gags, sliding to put even more distance between Jaehwan and himself












"I’m claimed," he tells him, voice smaller, more vulnerable. "I have an Alpha. I'm marked. I'm not yours—I'm not free to claim."

And Jaehwan’s laugh is short, unkind. “No, you’re not. Not really.”




It counts. It counts.

Jongdae swallows hard, sets his jaw. "And yet, I still don't want you."



He takes the long way home, wills himself calmer, hopes that most of Jaehwan's unwanted want will have worn off by then.

It's late, the streetlights painting the concrete in eery pockets of gold.



Joonmyun's already home. Tao, too. Jongdae braces himself for it as he fumbles the lock open.

Seated at their coffee table, Joonmyun squints up a him, smiles boyish, wide.

Jongdae stumbles out of his shoes, steps more fully into the room. Joonmyun's nostrils flare. He closes the distance between them alarmingly, disconcertingly fast.

Jongdae is pinned to the wall with a small squeak.

Another inhale, deep, purposeful.

Joonmyun's pupils bloom with possession, alternately arousal. His dark, dark eyebrows tilt with a sort of devastating hardness, liquid eyes glittering. And no, it’s both. Possession and arousal.



Another.

His eyes are so, so dark, hard, his head tilted downwards in something distressingly, aggressively dominant. A painfully potent aura of authority.


An Alpha, truly, truly.

Jongdae is still vaguely shaken, more than vaguely indignant, still reeking with Jaehwan's unwanted want.



And oh yes, of course, in this awful, primitive display of ownership, Jongdae thinks, with a potent flare of irritation. Yes, Jaehwan has dared to wound Joonmyun's ego, hurt his pride.



“Nice and strong,” Jongdae breathes, letting out a low groan of frustration as Joonmyun presses even tighter, crowding into him. So, so close that Jongdae’s eyes cross. “Alpha as fuck, keeping your Beta and Omega in line, right?”



Joonmyun just hums, lips brushing his throat, teasing. A mark that Jongdae refuses to have, a shiver that Jongdae refuses to show. 



Joonmyun peels off Jongdae's shirt, and Jongdae chokes on several deprecating remarks before settling on "My alpha wants me soft and pliant, right?"



Joonmyun doesn't deign him with a response, humming against him again, but lower, wetter. His tongue teases over the jut of Jongdae’s sternum, as his hand skims Jongdae’s chest, grazing his nipples, catching on the hair at his navel. Teasing there.



Jongdae quells a sudden tremble, bites back a low, low whine. Joonmyun's fingers tiptoe along the edge of his waistband, blunt fingernails scraping in a lazy promise.



"My beta wants me hard and demanding?" he breathes back. "Right? Wants me jealous and possessive?"



And it's a game for some, Jongdae knows, a negotiated type of play. In the hopes of provoking some delicious flare of possessive jealousy, resulting in harder thrusts, tighter fingers, hotter kisses, filthier words

, aggressive and punishing possession.

But that’s never been Jongdae’s game
, never been his attention.

And even now, he cant help but laugh—strained, tight—at the way that Joonmyun nuzzles into him, chin stubble grazing his pulse point. Turned on as he is, he orients himself around his amusement, Joonmyun's ridiculous possession.

Joonmyun's breath blows hot and moist against his skin, his lips tickling Jongdae's throat.



There’s a heavy pulse of Joonmyun’s arousal, his possession, mouth-wateringly potent.
Jongdae’s eyelashes flutter heavily, body heating at the dark, delicious promise, even as he quells outward

 response, any outward approval. This is grossly possessive, unnecessary, not hot, not in the slightest. Not comforting, not in the slightest.

Jongdae can hide it, his faint, faint arousal, and he’s choosing to.



"Good and claimed?" he asks, voice dripping with disdain. "Good and reassured?"

And Joonmyun hums in response, fingers skating lower, testing. Jongdae arches helplessly towards the teasing, feather light pressure, and Joonmyun, answering his silent, shameful request, grasps the outline of his cock
. The heel of his palm dragging.

"No, not quite yet
."

And this is perfectly pathetic, Joonmyun this open, this responsive, this hormonal, this easy, Jongdae thinks, arching into the caress, shuddering helplessly at the scrape of teeth against his throat.

"I wasn't—He just—" Jongdae starts, and Joonmyun bites down fully, deliciously, disengaging with a succulent kiss. His pace, at Jongdae's front, quickens, grip tightening exquisitely.

"I know." Another kiss. Wetter, hotter, along his shoulder, towards his collarbone. A long, long suck. Jongdae's eyes fall shut. He presses against him briefly, dragging the heft of his erection against Jongdae's bare side, punctuating the next words with a slow, slow grind. "But you're still mine."

The rustle of movement, longer fingers now, cooler, drawing up his tense stomach, grazing his nipple. Jongdae, eyes still clenched shut, whimpers, writhes. Hazy already, affected, blanket in their unique blend of savory, sweet.

"Ours."

Tao's touches are searing, too, an Omega's possession, too.

Jongdae is lifted suddenly, legs wrapping automatically around Tao's waist. He blinks his eyes open to catch Tao's dark eyes, glazed already, burning. Jongdae tangles his fingers in Tao's hair, tugging to tilt his head back, sharp, vulnerable as Jongdae's carried to the bed, laid down.

Jongdae doesn't loosen his grip, forcing Tao down with him as Joonmyun slides beside him.

"You too?" he manages, chiding judgement beneath the surface of heavy want.

Tao kisses him by way of response, fervent, heated, deep, his fingers roaming all the while, down his shoulders, over his navel, his denim-covered cock. Jongdae's skin prickles everywhere Tao touches, teases, tests.

And Tao is a looming weight, a demanding weight, warm and fragrant and eager, plumbing his mouth with a marked intensity that has Jongdae moaning, trembling, losing himself.

Jongdae's fingernails bite into Tao's shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him down into a dirty grind.

Jongdae jerks at the wet warmth of another mouth. More punishing, even more demanding, meandering along Jongdae's skin with a stinging intent, sucking marks along his neck, his chest, his stomach.

Tao cups the nape of Jongdae's neck, guiding the angle, twisting him bodily as he shifts to the side to give Joonmyun more room to work, more skin to explore.

Resting between Jongdae's splayed legs, mouthing along his hipbones, Joonmyun tugs off his jeans, his boxers.

And they're moving again, Jongdae pressed back against the headboard, told to watch, told to stay still, reminded he's theirs.

Joonmyun rests his cheek against Jongdae's inner thigh, soft kisses, gentle nips, as Tao slickens his fingers, works Jongdae open.

And Tao, Tao, who so often takes, he does this best. He knows how hard to press, when to curl, when to pres forward, when to retreat, how to spread his fingers, graze that perfect spot so that electricity is jolting up Jongdae's spine.

All too soon, Jongdae is trembling, gasping, twisting desperately to grasp at skin, at hair, at warmth, at some matter of anchor.

Scentless, he has to vocalize everything with Joonmyun and Tao, or else communicate with body language, and usually he's more than okay with this. But in instances like these, he wishes Joonmyun and Tao would just know, wishes he could impress upon them just by scent, by pheromones alone

But lacking that, he drags his hands down Joonmyun's biceps, moans at him to continue even when his mind is so too hazy, the words too heavy on his tongue.

Claim me. He said it didn't count, but claim me.

Wrapping Jongdae's legs around his waist, squeezing tight at Jongdae's hips to lift them, have him completely suspended, Joonmyun presses forward with a heartstuttering push, as husky Mine.

Jongdae moans, hands scrambling to fist in the sheets, twisting there as his body gives way to the perfect, perfect heat.

Joonmyun retreats, drives forward again.

Slow, damningly.

And Joonmyun is trying to prove a point maybe, thrusting shallowly, so that Jongdae is arching back in frustration, wanting it, desperately trying to work for it, parting his lips and lolling his head back to start to beg for it—

But Jongdae only gets as far as whimpering his name before Joonmyun is relenting, giving it to him hard, fast, deep, thorough, plundering, the way that Jongdae likes it best.

Jongdae lets his mouth fall open, heedless of the wanton and needy sounds tumbling forth at every deliberate thrust.

So good, Joonmyun deserves to know how good.

Tao crawls up Jongdae's body, touching Jongdae, alternately touching himself, telling him how good it looks, how good it sounds, how good it smells, and fuck how hot is.

Moaning heavily, Joonmyun rasps his name in warning, and Jongdae shudders at the push, the drag, the increasing pressure.

And Tao is dropping kisses along Jongdae's cheeks, cradling his face all the while, urging him to take it, take it all, he’s theirs after all

. He can. He can. He can.

Joonmyun is swelling, swelling, swelling, a delicious fullness that has Jongdae's trembling. Jongdae, pinned there, moans helplessly at the intoxicating fog of their arousal, the heat of Joonmyun's labored breathing against his chest, Tao's against his neck.

"So big, so much," Jongdae gasps, jaw slackening, neck lolling back. "So—so—"

Tao crawls onto his lap, kissing him in distraction as it continues to grow and grow and grow, dull fullness become hyperpronounced.

"Fuck."

And Tao picks that moment to fall on him, sliding back to sit on his cock with a needy whine, taking him to the hilt. Taut muscles, trembling limbs, sinuous rise and falls.

And there is so, so much.

Jongdae's eyes clench shut, and there are constellations bursting beneath his eyelids
with every pointed press right right there. Joonmyun is safe, secure, steady, soothing, even as he stretches and stretches and stretches, fills him nearly to the bursting.

And Tao is an anchor, Tao is a solid comfort, taking him over and over again, panting into his skin.

Joonmyun is calling him beautiful. Calling him his. Tao is, too, dropping the words like a mantra with every hitching rise and descent.

Mine mine mine.

Yes yes yes.

Pleasure saturates every pore, crashing, crushing, clawing, consuming.



Consciousness peters out.



Jongdae recovers to warm swipes of wipes against his navel, around his thighs. Come, sweat.

A heavy chest, thundering pulse.

Sore limbs, aching muscles.

Soft, warm kisses, softer, warmer touches.









A breathless, panting, Joonmyun saturating him in his mark, in between husky rasps of mine, at his left.

An equally breathless, panting Tao is marking him, too, subtler but no less possessive, at his right.

And Jongdae, a mess of differing, complementary claims, his heady dizzy, body spent, skin sweaty and flushed, like this, between them, is home.

---

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