Work Text:
“Hyung?”
Minho looks up from his phone. It’s past noon, but Jisung shuffles out of his bedroom, rumpled, clearly just waking up.
His hair is sticking up funny in the back, and when he rubs at his half-closed eyes, Minho sees the indents his sheets left on his forearms.
“‘re here?” Jisung mumbles, beelining for Minho’s spot on the couch.
Minho parts his legs, drops his phone so he can open his arms for Jisung’s collapse into him. The puppy smell is stronger like this, when Jisung’s still sleepy. Jisung finds his spot, tucked into Minho’s chest, fingers grabbing onto the front of his shirt.
Minho leans into his scent, brushing his nose against a sleep-pink cheek. Jisung hums.
“Mhm,” he answers belatedly. “Bin’s supposed to meet me.”
Jisung huffs in response, breath tickling Minho’s collarbone. Minho lets his hand creep under where Jisung’s shirt has ridden up, feel along the knobs of his spine.
“You stayed too late at the studio,” Minho says. Not a question. Jisung almost always stays too late at the studio—moving in with Chan and Changbin after the recent dorm split has done nothing but exacerbate his tendency to overwork himself.
“Didn’t,” Jisung whines. The sound, as usual, makes Minho’s fingers twitch, his scent swell. His omega perking up, itching to soothe. Seungmin would pick up on it, if he was here, because he’s evil. Would send him that terrible look, the one that usually ends with Minho pulling him into a headlock.
“Stop thinking,” Jisung whines again. “Hold me.”
Minho’s insides ache for something, but he holds his omega back by the scruff, forces his hand to continue petting Jisung’s back. “I am, jagi,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”
Jisung obeys, easily, and Minho counts his breaths for several long seconds before picking his phone back up.
When Changbin gets home, he furrows his brows at Minho and Jisung. His jaw ticks. Minho knows his scent nearly as well as his own—he’s worried. Confused.
It can’t be by Minho and Jisung cuddling—he’s seen enough of that for it to basically go unnoticed at this point.
“Bin?” Minho asks, keeping his voice low.
Changbin blinks, still looking at Jisung, before shaking his head.
“Nothing, nothing.” He steps behind the couch, brushing the hair from Jisung’s forehead. Puts the back of his fingers against the skin. “He’s been sleeping a lot, this week.”
Minho frowns, and Changbin answers the silent question. “He didn’t come to the studio last night, or the one before. Slept through dinner yesterday, too.”
Minho’s frown gets deeper. Goes through his interactions with Jisung in the past week—his dark circles had been prominent, sure, but that was normal, especially as close to comeback as they were. Did Minho really not notice Jisung not feeling well? Did he miss any other symptoms?
Changbin shrugs, already walking back to his room, presumably to get changed for the gym.
Once he’s out of sight, Minho presses his own hand against Jisung’s forehead. He can’t tell if it’s warmer than usual. Reluctantly, slowly, he edges Jisung off his body so he can get up. He’s moving in slow motion, painfully gentle, but Jisung still whimpers.
“Nn,” Jisung’s eyes blink open, fuzzy. His hand, in contrast, shoots out quick, gripping Minho’s wrist tight. He pouts at Minho from where he’s been tipped into the cushions. Minho’s eyes zero in on his fat bottom lip and his chest pangs.
“Hyung’s sorry,” Minho answers the unspoken plea.
“Nooooo,” the next whine is half-muffled into the couch as Jisung twists, a half-conscious tantrum.
“Want me to bring by dinner later?” Minho asks, but Jisung just grumbles. He keeps his nose pressed into the spot Minho was sitting, and his eyes are already blinking shut again.
A breath puffs out of Minho’s nose, short. He teethes at the inside of his cheek, and after a moment of hesitation, he strips his sweatshirt, draping it over Jisung’s back. His tank top will be fine for the gym.
He’s shoving his shoes on when Changbin re-emerges. His eyes take in Minho’s outfit change and flick over to Jisung on the couch. He doesn’t say anything, luckily, just wordlessly holds the door open for Minho to leave first. Minho lets himself look at the slow rise and fall of Jisung’s back one more time before walking away, mind and body off kilter.
———
Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, Minho’s sure of it. Seungmin and Yongbok barely fight him on eating dinner as a family; they let him retreat into his room after dance practice far too easily. When he wakes up Jeongin for vocal practice, as he always does, Jeongin springs from the mattress with little to no whinging. And Minho’s positive Chan didn’t make eye contact with him once all day.
Jisung’s sick, is what he’s been told. No one’s allowed in the other dorm, he’s been told, to limit exposure within the group. Jisung’s too out of it to answer his texts, Hyunjin says, eyes flicking back and forth, that nervous twitch in his shoulders.
It’s clear that Minho has been left out of something, left behind. Like everyone else has moved onto a different chapter, while Minho is stuck rereading the same page. It’s a familiar feeling, for him, but not usually because of his members—his pack.
Minho gives them another day to fess up—it’s the longest day of his life, probably, fruitlessly opening and shutting his text thread with Jisung. His omega sits like a knot, high in his throat, twisting and clamping his vocal cords. His tone cuts shorter, his scent sharper, and it only drives his dongsaengs further into their nerves.
Yongbok breaks first, expectedly, over-large soft heart panging in his small bird chest.
Minho is, nonsensically, organizing their hall closet. Coats in one pile, spare towels in another, shoes and hangers and cleaning supplies littered in a halfmoon around him.
“Minho-hyung?” Yongbok’s voice is soft, careful. He’s hovering over Minho’s shoulder, tips of two fingers daring to brush the hem of his shirt before retreating. “Hyung?”
“Yes, Yongbok,” he says patiently. Kindly. It comes out strained.
“Hyung, do you want to,” Yongbok pauses, rephrases, “will you nest with me, please?”
Minho stops his sigh before it starts, holds his eyes closed for a moment. There’s a stirring in him to tend to his omegas, of course, to hold Yongbok and Seungmin fast by their scruffs, shroud them in blankets until they’re trapped, permanently safe. But the Jisung of it all still pulls at his instincts—setting his teeth on edge, heat in his belly.
Still. “Of course, Yongbok,” he says, getting to his feet with a groan. “Come to hyung's room.”
But walking past Yongbok has his nose twitching, picking up a new smell.
A new smell, but one that zings through him. He’s never smelled it before, but he knows it, knows it enough that the familiarity pools under his tongue, thick and rich.
His hand clamps down on Yongbok’s shoulder, and when he turns to face him Yongbok’s eyes are wide and guilty.
“Yongbok,” he chides softly. “Why do you smell like an alpha?”
An alpha feels wrong to say, bone-deep wrong, but he doesn’t know how else to phrase it.
“Um, hyung,” Yongbok starts, voice pitched higher than usual with nerves.
Minho cuts him off with another question. “Why were you over at the other dorm, Bok-ah?”
He can almost see the break split down Yongbok’s face, his expression cracking open.
“Hyung, I’m sorry!” He wails, pushing into Minho’s arms, bird chest fluttering against his own as hands scrabble to grab at the back of his shirt. “Channie-hyung—Channie said—”
“Ah, shhh,” Minho coos, the kindness in his words genuine now. “Hyung’s not upset with you, Bok-ah, you’re okay.”
Yongbok sniffles into his neck before Minho tugs him back, coaxing him to make eye contact. He must have that scary cat smile on, because Yongbok tries and fails to hide back against his scent gland.
“Tell hyung where Chan-ah is, hm?”
———
Chan is in the studio with Changbin, but Minho doesn’t actually care where he is. All he needs is for their pack alpha to be out, gone, far away. That he’s taken Changbin with him too is a bonus. Minho’s the pack omega, and a domineering one at that, but the back of his neck still prickles when he thinks about challenging their alphas like this.
Yongbok gets ushered into the Seungmin-Jeongin omega-puppy pile on their couch, and then Minho’s gone. He imagines following that still lingering scent like a red ribbon, imagines following it in the dark, in the wild, needing only the knowledge of what lies at the end to find his way.
The elevator is empty, and Minho stares at his reflection in the mirrored walls. His cheeks are blotchy red, and his lips are puffy as if he’s been crying. His hoodie is laying wrong; the neckline is pulled too far to one side, and he can feel how the arms of his shirt are bunched up under the sleeve. He pulls at it, trying to fix it, and suddenly all his clothes feel wrong: too-big-too-small.
He sticks his hand under his shirt to try and get at his shirtsleeve and then goes to adjust the waistband of his sweats. The movement pulls at his briefs, too, and that’s when he realizes he’s wet. He’s still alone, so he cups his hand over his crotch, heat radiating through the layers of fabric, enough to make his palm feel damp. His hold tightens; he watches himself pant through parted lips. The elevator dings and he adjusts himself again before stepping out.
Music is playing through Hyunjin’s closed door. Minho holds his breath walking past Jisung’s room—he can’t resist straining his ears for sound, but it’s quiet. Hyunjin is hunched over his desk working on a drawing. He’s probably hurting his back, but Minho can’t care about that right now.
He waits, but Hyunjin gives no inclination of hearing or smelling him—beta senses working against him.
“Hyunjin-ah.”
Hyunjin jolts, a flailing move sending multiple pens to the ground and his knee into the underside of the desk. He whimpers, turns with a complaint heavy on his tongue before he sees that it’s Minho.
He goes bolt upright, looking particularly skittish—ferrety, Minho would normally tease.
“Minho-hyung,” he squeaks, before clearing his throat.
Minho takes a step into the room. “What’re you hiding in here for, hm, Hyunjinnie?”
Measured steps bring him closer to the desk where, just barely noticeable, Hyunjin is now quivering.
“Is it not your turn to look after Jisung-ah?” he muses, something dark creeping into his tone despite his attempts to keep it even.
“He doesn’t—he won’t—” Hyunjin falters, making eye contact with Minho’s torso. No, he wouldn’t. Jisung wouldn’t let Hyunjin into his room, wouldn’t let anyone beside Minho. To hear it confirmed is a cool tremor through Minho’s core. He pinches Hyunjin’s chin between two fingers, drawing his gaze upward.
He hums. “Hyung’s here now, Hyunjinnie, don’t worry.”
Hyunjin’s eyebrows pinch together tighter, if that was even possible. “No—but—”
“But what?” Minho asks, voice flat. “You don’t think Jisung wants to see me?”
He knows it’s the opposite when Hyunjin’s cheeks flush darker. Still, he tries one more time. “But hyung, he’s—Jisung’s—he’s in—” Hyunjin swallows, blinking rapidly, “his rut is starting.”
There’s that word. That word that Minho wasn’t letting himself think. It’s like everything was on mute and someone’s suddenly twisted the dial. He can taste that old-new smell in the air—taste Jisung’s pre-rut in the air. It wets his tongue and sets his blood alight.
He can’t look at Hyunjin anymore. He’s already turning back toward the door, a current of ocean waves in his head tuning out anything beyond getting to Jisung. “Go tell Channie-hyung I won’t be at practice tomorrow,” he says absently, waving a hand behind him in Hyunjin’s direction.
———
The room is dark—Jisung likes the curtains drawn when he’s sleeping. Jisung is barely visible on the bed, little lump in the middle of his half-hearted attempt at a nest.
The rut smell is condensed here, the air palpable with it. Minho's cunt is a thrum between his legs. He frees himself of the hoodie—his shirt is damp at the pits and the small of his back but he leaves it, too eager.
Minho crawls onto the bed, crawls until he finds Jisung’s face peeking out of the bedding. Jisung shifts, face turning toward Minho like a flower to light. Like he already knows that Minho is here for him. “Good boy,” Minho breathes.
He pulls the covers back, worms his way in against Jisung’s steaming body. The poor thing feels on fire, his breaths heavy even in sleep. Minho situates them: his thigh between Jisung’s thighs, his nose in Jisung’s throat. Jisung folds into him easy as anything, softening into Minho’s body until they’re one and the same.
“Mmmm,” Jisung’s groan lays heavy in his chest, rumbling against Minho’s own, which responds with an attempt to purr. The purr kickstarts and falters after just a few seconds, but he laps his tongue at Jisung’s scent gland to make up for it.
“Mmm,” Jisung groans again, starting to wiggle. Minho furrows his brow, licks harder at his gland.
A third groan, then Jisung mumbles, “jagi?”
“Hannie,” Minho sighs. The word on the wet skin of Jisung’s neck sends a shiver through his body; Minho can follow it with his own, pressed together as they are.
Jisung breathes in deep with the shiver, and the breath is followed with a gasp, with the tightening of his arms around Minho.
“Jagi—Hyung—”
Minho was hoping he’d sleep a little longer. He grumbles where he’s still pocketed in Jisung’s throat, but then Jisung pulls back, enough that shiny eyes meet his. They’re laying so close together that their bangs kiss and tangle between them.
“Hyung, what’re you doing?” Jisung whispers. Minho almost tells him he shouldn’t bother, that Hyunjin has almost certainly fled the apartment already. Probably to get Chan and Changbin, but Chan will know it’s already too late.
He looks so lovely, a small animal in a cage peering up at Minho. “Ah, so cute,” he can’t help but say, thumbing the soft skin under Jisung’s eye.
Minho rolls his hips, driving his own need into Jisung’s hipbone and his thigh up into Jisung’s cock. Jisung’s cock—it's warm and firm and Minho’s already eager for it, but Jisung is still making things difficult.
“Hyung, you can’t,” he says, even as his hips buck up at the pressure, even as his scent continues to spool into the space between them. “My rut—you shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what, Jisungie?” He wrangles himself up onto an elbow so he’s leaning over Jisung. Jisung’s hair spills onto the pillow beneath him, and his dark, dark eyes are greedy roaming Minho’s face. Minho can see how he’s holding himself back, breathing small and short out of his nose, jaw clenched.
“Why shouldn’t I have you?” Minho asks. “Aren’t you mine?” He searches blindly under the covers until his hand finds the bare skin of Jisung’s waist; he squeezes hard. He lets his head loll to the side and Jisung’s eyes fasten on his neck. “Aren’t I yours?”
Jisung screws his eyes shut and he shudders. This time, his groan shifts closer to a growl, and slick drools into Minho’s briefs. Jisung surprises him by flipping them, getting himself out from under Minho so now he’s pressed back into the pillows instead.
His Hannie looking down at him—rosy cheeks and shining eyes wet at the corners, bitten lips and flexed tendons in his neck. Minho smiles up at him.
“Hyung,” Jisung pleads, closing his eyes again. He should keep looking at him. Minho puts his hands on the side of Jisung’s throat. No pressure, just a light touch, petting with his thumbs.
“Baby, it’s me,” he coaxes. Already Jisung leans into the touch at his pulse point. “Don't you want hyung?”
Jisung makes a final effort, not that Minho lets him get far with it. “But hyung, you—”
He finds Jisung’s free hand, the one not propping him up, and guides it between his legs. Holds Jisung’s fingers against his mound, pushes up into the touch, lets Jisung feel how wet he’s gotten, how he’s bleeding through his sweats. “Hyung wants you,” he says, honesty crackling in his throat.
Jisung’s fingertips are idle against him, but his eyes flash up to Minho’s at the waver in his voice. He catches the vulnerability immediately, of course, his Jisung. And of course, his Jisung, he returns it effortlessly.
“Been needing you, hyung-ah,” he says. His voice has gotten so deep. Minho lets the sound reverberate through his body and he arches up into Jisung’s touch.
“Have me, have me, please,” he begs wetly, and now his hand still at Jisung’s neck is tightening, pulling him down.
Jisung allows it, following the pull, pouty lips sealing over Minho’s scent gland. He licks a stripe up to his jaw, collecting the sweat he didn’t realize had formed. “You’re so whiny, Minho-yah,” Jisung breathes, canine catching on skin for a split second. Minho chokes on his own spit; he can’t find the words to scold Jisung for the insolence.
Jisung gets a hand under his clothes, groping at his cunt. It should be impossible, with how the rut is burning Jisung up, but his fingers are ice cold for the first few seconds, before Minho’s own body heat thaws them. His abs draw up at the chill, his thighs clenching in a vise around Jisung’s wrist. Somehow, Jisung still gets two fingers in him right away, shoving them deep and hooking onto his sweet spot.
“God— fuck— Jisung,” Minho chokes. His voice comes out thin, shy even. He hasn’t been shy around Jisung in years, but he throws an arm over his face, shielding himself.
“No, please,” Jisung says, worming his face against and under Minho’s arm like a big cat, nosing at Minho’s cheek until he relents and moves his arm. Jisung kisses him. It’s messy, soaked, and Minho keeps forgetting to breathe, trading inhale for exhale with Jisung. Jisung smells crazy, the rut pulsing and rabid around them.
Jisung’s fingers are still toying with him, notched in his cunt, but he’s doing little else besides let Minho pulsate around them. “Jisung, I need more,” Minho begs.
Jisung listens, always listens to his hyung, even now, and he scrambles to get Minho naked from the waist down. He stays down between Minho’s spread legs when he’s done, staring wildly at his dripping cunt. Emotions pass on his face, too quick to pick up on, but the weight of his eyes is enough to pin Minho to the bed.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, like he’s not addressing Minho at all. “Fuck, I need to—”
“Anghh!” Minho cries out when Jisung dives for his cunt, mouth open and sloppy over his labia. Jisung whines into his folds, and his hands grip and squeeze at Minho’s inner thighs.
Jisung’s never done this before; Minho is pretty sure. Well, he’s not very sure of anything right now, given that the room is spinning. No matter, if Jisung has done this before Minho is going to kill him, and then himself.
He doesn’t think Jisung has done it before. It’s frenetic and loud—the wet noises are the only sound beyond Minho’s own haggard moans. And Jisung’s quieter, muffled cries, voiced right into Minho’s hole like eating him out is for Jisung more than Minho. He’s tonguing into Minho now, fingers back in Minho’s cunt only to hold it open, to make it easier for his tongue to get inside him.
Minho needs to be fucked. He wants Jisung inside him—can't think of anything else. He doesn’t realize he’s whimpering until Jisung takes his fingers and tongue away. His noises ramp up into a plaintive cry but Jisung kisses him quiet, feeding Minho his own slick as he licks behind his teeth. He doesn’t know how long they kiss. It goes on until Minho is able to open his eyes, until the blood slows from a roar in his head.
Jisung’s expression is unreasonably tender, and that’s somehow so much worse than watching him devour Minho’s pussy. They’re both trembling, Minho notices; their warm bellies flush and somehow still clothed. The expand-contract rhythm of Jisung’s stomach centers him, bringing him back to the present.
“I’ve thought of this,” Jisung says quietly. The lower half of his face is shining with slick and his lips are puffy red. His smell is warm draping over Minho.
“Didn’t know,” Minho says, voice shot. “Would’ve come sooner.”
Jisung’s shaking his head before he’s done talking. “No, hyung-ah.” Hands wind under Minho’s shirt and up his back, nails scratching blunt and soothing on his skin. He leans back down to kiss Minho’s scent gland, and this time it’s chaste, gentle, and Minho aches.
“I’ve thought of this forever,” Jisung confesses into his skin. “I wanted you so bad, my pretty hyung.”
Minho’s a puddle beneath him, legs coming up and around Jisung, drawing him down into the cradle of his hips. Jisung acquiesces, and Minho sighs at the weight. It’s sweet, the pressure, comforting, but Minho needs. Doesn’t know how Jisung is holding back like he is. He pets the back of Jisung’s head, combing through sweaty hair, before screwing his fingers tight, pulling just hard enough that Jisung grunts out an “oof,” sitting up to frown at Minho, petulant.
He can feel the smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. He looks up at Jisung like that and raises his eyebrows slightly. “Told you I’m yours, didn’t I, baby alpha?” He tenses his core tight, for a moment, and his goal is achieved—a new drool of slick leaks from his hole, fresh scent in the air and wet against the thick bulge of Jisung’s untouched cock.
Jisung’s easy—”Nn, hyung,” he moans, rutting down into him like he’ll somehow be able to fuck Minho through his boxers. Minho takes the opportunity to roll them, to rip off the rest of their clothes, fling them somewhere unknown behind him.
Miles and miles of golden skin under him, but Minho can only look at Jisung’s cock. It’s cute and red and leaking in Minho’s hand when he cups the head, palming it. It’s the perfect size, he can tell, and that empty space yawns inside Minho again.
“Please, please, please, please,” Jisung is chanting, but Minho tunes him out. Hyper focused on the tempting cock in his hand, he leans down to kiss it, to suckle the weepy tip into the clutch of his mouth. His hand shifts to cradle his balls instead, kneading the soft shape of them. He’d get lost like this, could do it forever, if Jisung wasn’t writhing around and trying to fuck into his throat. He pinches the skin of Jisung’s hip hard and pulls off with a terrible sound at the back of his throat.
“Mean hyung,” Jisung pouts, eyes teary and red. Minho’s chest roars with the need to take him, take Jisung and keep him forever, locked away from the world. He hums, agreeing, kissing the head of Jisung’s cock one more time. He expects Jisung to thrust into it again, but Jisung hisses, and his hands finally gain purchase in Minho’s hair. He pulls him up rough, uncaring for how Minho nearly faceplants into his chest, for how he squeaks from the pain.
“Hannie—what the fuck—”
But Jisung’s done entertaining him, it seems, new alpha instincts finally rearing their head. His hands move to Minho’s love handles, and he drags him forward. Minho braces himself on Jisung’s chest, scrambling at the firm pecs he’s been dying to touch forever, and then Jisung’s cock is bullying into him.
Time slows—things go quiet, woolen in his ears. Gravity pulls Minho unrelenting onto Jisung’s cock and he was right; it is the perfect size. It nestles into his g-spot on the first thrust and stretches him out until he’s sure his rim is pulled taut, pink-red.
“Ffffu—” he starts, but the second thrust knocks him speechless. He falls into a heap against Jisung’s chest, limp like a kitten and rocking back and forth with each drive of Jisung’s hips.
The tempo’s fast—Jisung panting and groaning into Minho’s ear as he ravishes his cunt, chasing his own knot. But still—
“More, more,” Minho mewls. There’s more for Jisung to give, he’s sure. He hasn’t taken him to the root, not at this angle. “Turn me—fuck, Jisung, lemme turn over.”
Whether Jisung hears him or just feels him tilting, pulling them to the side, he doesn’t know. But Minho’s able to roll, to detach from Jisung’s cock long enough to get himself face down, ass up. He breathes wet into the pillow, alpha scent concentrated in the fabric.
“Oh fuck,” Jisung says, and he thumbs up Minho’s slit, clit to perineum, before slotting his cock back where it belongs. Yep, there’s the whole thing. Minho gasps, cries out with it, body clamping down instinctively, trying to milk the knot from Jisung.
“Fuck hyung, ‘s so good,” Jisung pants. “Knew you’d be this good.” His hands are pulling at Minho’s ass, squeezing the cheeks in to frame his cock and then spreading him wide, letting him see exactly how he’s fucking into Minho’s body. Minho burns at the appraisal. He can feel his asshole winking for attention, and he drives his face further into the bed, eyes welling up hot with embarrassment.
A distinctive sound amongst the slap, slap of Jisung’s hips into ass—Jisung spits on him. It lands cool and wet on his fluttering hole. Minho squeals, tries to somehow draw himself up and away, from both the leering at his hole and the hammering at his cervix. Jisung stops him with a heavy hand between his shoulder blades. “Shhh,” Jisung soothes, and his scent swells, sending Minho further down, farther from his self-consciousness.
“D’you still need more?” Jisung asks, and he flattens his thumb to his hole, keeping the saliva there. He’s out of breath, Minho can tell, but his thumb is steady, the thrust of his hips keeping beat.
Minho moans. His hole shamelessly opens around the tip of Jisung’s thumb, urging it in. It’s so embarrassing, so dirty, and Minho doesn’t fucking care. “Yes, Jisung, alpha, please,” he babbles.
Jisung pulls out. “No!” Minho cries immediately, pushing his hips back.
Jisung laughs at him. “One second,” he says through his laughter, and Minho’s ears are burning, the back of his neck. His gums ache to bite suddenly, to twist back and force his alpha into submission, but then Jisung’s fingers fill him back up.
Fingers are nothing after taking Jisung’s cock—it’s like they’re swimming in the syrupy wet of him. But Jisung hooks them on the withdraw, and they scrape Minho’s walls in that delicious half-pain half-pleasure kind of way, and he relaxes back into the sensation. He thinks Jisung laughs again. Minho only realizes the goal of this when the wet fingers prod at his asshole, cajoling their way into him. There’s two or three, he can’t tell. Minho’s body either gives way easily, or Jisung really forces them in, because they’re at once knuckle deep.
Minho goes lightheaded. There are colors behind his closed eyes. Jisung pushes his cock back into his cunt, and it turns Minho into a vise around his fingers. Jisung hisses, and Minho screams, he thinks, distantly. “Alpha,” he says, frothy spit slurring his speech.
“Oh fuuuck,” Jisung moans. Minho wishes he could see his face. Minho must be tighter like this, or wetter, because Jisung can’t find a rhythm now, slamming into Minho. Minho’s still pleading, maybe, he can’t tell. The only thing is Jisung—Jisung's cock, Jisung’s fingers, Jisung’s scent. Jisung is just using him now, and the thought makes Minho’s brain purr, that primal part of him feeling small, sated.
“Hyung—hyung—” Jisung’s calling to him, but Minho can’t answer until Jisung pinches the back of his neck, scruffing him just hard enough to bring him back down to earth. He’s crying, he realizes, hot rivulets down his cheeks and into the pillow. His arms completely gave out at some point, so his head is turned to the side, and he can just see Jisung out of the corner of his eye.
Jisung keeps his free hand on Minho’s neck, keeping his hold for a few more seconds, giving Minho time to come back.
“Hyung, I need to—” he says, and it sounds urgent, like he’s been trying to tell Minho more than once.
Minho brain latches on, finally. Picks up the sentence. “Knot,” he begs. “Jisungie, knot.”
Jisung makes a relieved sort of sound and pulls his fingers from Minho’s ass. He can’t mourn it for longer than a moment because Jisung folds himself over Minho’s body, fastening his teeth over where he’d been scruffing him. Mounting him, Minho recognizes, and pleasure bleeds bright and red through his body, all down his arms and legs.
Oh—he’s coming, or pissing, hot and wet splashing onto the bed and Jisung’s front. Minho’s eyes screw up, and he jerks under Jisung, and he’s still coming when he collapses flat into his own mess, Jisung still plastered to him.
“Oh my god,” Jisung says, releasing Minho’s neck and leaving what must be a nasty bruise and teeth marks behind. Minho clenches on his cock again at the thought. “Baby, you’re so hot.”
Minho whines, pitiful. Jisung’s hips are stuttering now, clearly reaching his peak, but he still somehow finds the wherewithal to get his hands on Minho’s hips, lift them up enough to get his fingers on Minho’s clit. He pinches it, hard, and lightning laces Minho's spine, a desperate sound pulled from him.
“Gonna knot you, jagi,” Jisung pants. “Gonna fill you up.”
“Mhm,” Minho hums mindlessly, lost to anything that isn’t his clit and his cunt.
“Does it feel good?” Jisung says. How he’s more talkative when he’s about to come, Minho doesn’t know. He feels useless, knocked cockdumb.
Jisung pinches his clit again and Minho jumps. “Feelssso good,” he slurs. “’s good, Jisungie.”
“Good—” Jisung’s properly out of breath now. “omega—”
Minho preens, warmth blooming in his chest, and then Jisung’s knot is ripping into him. It startles another orgasm from him before he’s ready, sharp and painful, and he wails around the thick knot. Jisung’s moaning, long and drawn out in Minho’s ear.
Everything’s gone gooey, foggy, and Minho continues to pulsate around Jisung’s knot, milking every drop from him. Jisung’s panting into the back of Minho’s neck, and his scent gland itches, begging for a bite of its own. He wants Jisung's bite, wants it so bad, but he’s too out of it to ask for it.
They lay like that for he doesn’t know how long, Jisung’s body a weighted blanket over him. It’s not until Jisung carefully rocks them, so they’re spooning side by side instead, that Minho realizes how sweaty and tacky they are. Their bare skin sticks and pulls where it separates, and more of something leaks out of him when Jisung’s half-deflated knot tugs at the rim.
Jisung whimpers at the pull to the base of his cock, and Minho would laugh at him if he had the energy. As it is, he says uselessly, “I think you triggered my heat.”
Jisung snorts. He snuggles into his spot behind Minho, their bodies slotting together easy. They’re used to cuddling like this, but Minho’s not usually the little spoon. It’s nice, Jisung’s breath on his neck, soft tummy pressing into his back.
“Thank you for coming, hyungie,” Jisung murmurs, sounding already half asleep.
Minho reaches back and finds Jisung’s ear between his fingers. He pinches the lobe, “No hiding from hyung ever again, okay?”
Jisung winces, whimper wavering in the back of his throat. His arms squeeze tighter around Minho’s middle. “Wasn’t hiding,” he complains. “Hyungs took my phone, wouldn’t let me call you.”
“Hmph,” Minho says, releasing Jisung’s ear. He holds Jisung’s hand against his stomach instead, lacing their fingers. Imagines for a moment that Jisung’s cum is taking root there, that their hands together are feeling a pup. He pushes that thought way, way down before he does something really stupid like cry. He tests the give of Jisung’s knot and decides it’s gone down enough; he wiggles away, uncaring of Jisung’s protests and the nasty feeling of cum leaking down his thighs.
He turns over, pulling Jisung into his chest where he belongs. Smooths his alpha’s hair and sniffs at the top of his head. No more puppy smell—just alpha goodness warming his bones. Jisung nuzzles between his pecs, and Minho again has a brief fantasy, this time of Jisung nursing from him. His scent kicks sweeter in the air and Jisung makes a curious “mm?” sound.
Minho remembers that their pack was trying to keep Jisung from him—ridiculous, when there’s nowhere either of them would fit better.
“Hyung knows best,” he says belatedly. He strokes his heel up and down the back of Jisung’s calf. “Jisungie doesn’t need to listen to anyone else, right?”
“Right,” Jisung nearly purrs.
“Sleep, bug,” Minho says with a smile, settling in.
———
“What the fuck. Still?”
“Yah! What the fuck!”
Chan and Changbin, stupidly, let themselves into Jisung’s room. Why they would do this, Minho doesn’t know. He looks up from where his head had been hanging down between his arms, braced against the headboard, Jisung comfy between his legs.
“Wha—ah!” Jisung’s tongue wraps around his clit in a particularly nice way, cutting him off.
“Get out,” Jisung muffles against Minho’s cunt, and luckily, it’s loud enough for Chan and Changbin to hear, because Minho quickly loses the ability to speak.
He shakes against the assault of Jisung’s tongue, and the two fingers that join in. One slots easy into his pussy and the other unrelenting into his ass—he's loose enough after the last however many days it’s been.
He comes hard, gushing onto Jisung’s face and falling off him in the process. Jisung giggles, the fucker, crawling after him to squirm into his arms and get his hand back on Minho’s clit, working him through the orgasm.
After he catches his breath, he spanks Jisung hard, three times in the same spot. “Aagfhh!” Jisung cries out, but Minho knows he likes it.
When his vision comes back into focus, he remembers that Chan and Changbin came in, that they saw his alpha, that they’re probably still in the apartment. That familiar possessive anger grows in his chest, and he flips Jisung over, rough.
Ignoring Jisung’s confused squealing, he yanks him up by the hips and gets his mouth on his little hole. He sucks at the tight pucker, hard, and Jisung chokes out, “Oh god.”
“Shush, honey," Minho rasps, “unless you want Bin and Chan-ah to hear.”
Jisung shakes under him at that, a reaction that Minho files away for later. For now, he laves at Jisung’s hole, forcing the point of his tongue inside, swirling it to coax him open. The taste of pure Jisung on his tongue makes Minho drool, and everything gets wet fast, down Jisung’s crack and the seam of his balls, down Minho’s chin. He ducks to draw Jisung’s balls into his mouth, rolling them with his tongue, and rubs two fingers against his hole.
Jisung bucks, sobs, and comes untouched. His hole pulses with it, and Minho massages it kindly, licking gently at his perineum and balls. He lets Jisung’s cum drool out slowly, doesn’t touch his cock. Jisung hiccups, a wet sound that makes Minho’s stomach flip. He’s shaking into a pillow that he’d somehow gotten a hold of, squishing it in his arms for dear life.
Jisung looks at him betrayed, knitted brows, when Minho turns him onto his back. Minho can’t help but giggle, laying down on top of him, feeding Jisung the taste of himself with a filthy kiss.
Jisung’s still not totally soft against him, but he doesn’t seem concerned, returning Minho’s kisses before finally sighing and ducking below Minho’s jaw. He kisses Minho’s scent gland and Minho purrs, full in his chest.
“My alpha,” he sighs, carding through Jisung’s hair. His hips rock down into Jisung’s thigh, not seeking anything beyond some extra pulses of good.
Jisung makes a soft, pleased sound. “’re crazy,” he mumbles into Minho’s gland, kissing it again. Minho’s smell ripens sweetly in the air between them.
After a minute or so, Jisung cranes up to kiss Minho’s upper lip. “Mwah,” he says as he does it, and Minho’s heart squeezes.
“My hyungie,” Jisung says, sounding half-awed as he does.
Minho narrows his eyes. “Your omega,” he corrects, and revels in how Jisung’s pupils swell and his cheeks color.
They’re laying completely sideways on the bed at this point, most of the blankets completely kicked off, but Minho gets Jisung pillowed on his chest, fingers tracing idle drawings across his back. He can let them rest for a few minutes before they have to clean up.
Just when he thinks Jisung has dozed off, a mumbled voice into his skin.
“D’you own a strap-on?”
A sigh. “Yes, honey.”