Chapter Text
Jungkook likes to prepare. His eomma says he is over-sensitive, finicky and prone to perfectionism. Jungkook, however, thinks there’s nothing wrong with practicing. With wanting things to go right.
But some events in life are so special and so important that they may be done only once. They cannot be practiced; instead, he must make himself ready in his mind. He must try to imagine the moment so thoroughly that it is already perfected before it arrives.
And there is no moment more special or more singular than his own wedding.
He’s lived every moment of this in his own imagination a thousand times: the pillow of vibrant blue silk beneath his knees; the waxy scent of the blue candles lit on the wedding table before him; the cool breeze blowing across the courtyard, fresh with the promise of spring around the corner. He’s even imagined the man kneeling across the table from him, though he’d existed only as a name to him until a few weeks ago. All he’d known, at the young age of 7, was that someday he would be wed to an omega prince of Sanguk named Hoseok; that their saju charts[1] were compatible; and that their union would bring safety, peace, and power to Haeguk, his home.
He hadn’t known his face, his scent, the sound of his voice. He’d had to wonder, to imagine them, and to wait patiently.
He’s waited well. As a second son, Jungkook will never sit on the throne of Haeguk[2]. No, his most important offering, his most sacred duty, is this: the offering of his body and heart in marriage. His whole self, made perfect.
It is important that he be chaste and pure, the most intimate places of his body untouched by any hands, not even his own. The customs in Sanguk are much the same, he knows. Their purity will show their masculine restraint, their strength. He has made himself a worthy offering in anticipation of this very moment.
And now he is here.
Or, his body is here. His mind, however, feels stuck, overstimulated by the confusing mix of scents from the wedding guests, so heightened with emotion. This is the most special day of his young life, and he wishes he could be present to enjoy it, but all he can feel instead is how unpracticed he is. How ill-prepared.
The honju leads them in another series of low bows, and Jungkook follows dutifully, barely hearing the instructions.
As he straightens, still fogged-over and dazed, he meets the eyes of his husband-to-be, rising from his own bow across from him. Hoseok’s eyes flick down to Jungkook’s hands, then back up to his own, sparkling with delight. The corners curl up like the petals of a cherry blossom, pretty and soft. Jungkook, unsure why he looks so pleased, follows his gaze to his own hands, stroking absently at the hen held in his lap.
He’d forgotten she was there, she’s been so still.
Her counterpart, the rooster, is still swaddled tightly in his silk wrappings on the wedding table, but the little hen had managed to wriggle her way free earlier in the ceremony, nearly ruining everything. Jungkook was quick, though, his reflexes honed from years of geomdo[3], and no sooner had she jumped off the table than she was in his hands. Since then, she’s calmed considerably, mollified by Jungkook’s attentions. She hadn’t meant to cause trouble, after all. Perhaps she’d simply wanted some affection.
He gently strokes at her feathers, and Hoseok’s eyes smile, though his mouth stays stoic.
It makes Jungkook want to smile in return, but he musn’t: weddings are a serious affair, and while their guests may be joyful on their behalf, he and Hoseok have a responsibility to keep their faces composed and their scents subdued. To honor the occasion. He tears his eyes away from Hoseok’s, afraid he may do something silly and shameful, like smile, or laugh.
There are worse problems to have, though, than wanting to smile when he looks upon his fiance’s face.
Jungkook doesn’t like to admit it, but he had been worried about Hoseok. The night before Hoseok’s arrival he had finally confided as much in Yoongi, speaking close in the garden beyond his chambers when he was too nervous to sleep. After all, they had never met except in Jungkook’s flights of fancy.
“What if Hoseok is mean?” he had asked, meekly, hardly daring to say the words aloud. It felt like a betrayal to even think them, but he could hardly help himself. “Or what if he smells bad? What if he’s shy too and we have nothing to talk about?”
Yoongi had patted his back in that slightly awkward but very fond way, and had reassured him that Jungkook would be able to handle any of these problems or more.
“If you try hard enough, there’s no problem the two of you won’t be able to solve,” Yoongi had said, and even though they were words Jungkook had thought himself many times, there was something comforting hearing them come from his hyung.
But he should have had more faith. Over the scant weeks of wedding preparation, he’s learned that Hoseok is beautiful. He is kind. He makes wonderful conversation. And he smells — well, Jungkook needn’t have worried.
There is something reassuring and beautiful in the knowledge that they’ve been preparing themselves so diligently for one another since they were children. Saving themselves for the moment when their two halves may become a whole. And now that they’re here, Jungkook is proud of how well he waited.
As the honju leads them in their marriage vows, their promises to be faithful and wise and to care for one another til death, Jungkook is overcome with gratitude. He knows, deep in his heart, that everything will be alright, so long as Hoseok is his partner.
When the vows have finished, Hoseok rises across from him, and Jungkook blinks, confused. But his whole body flushes in a rush down to his fingertips when he realizes: it’s time for the mating bite. For the final step that will tie them together forever in matrimony. He wills his scent to remain restrained.
But the little hen in his lap is sitting so peacefully, eyes closed. How can he rise and disturb her when she looks so warm and cozy? He looks up at Hoseok, now standing over him beside the table, helplessly.
“What should I do?” he mouths up at him. “She’s asleep!”
Hoseok’s pretty face (it’s so pretty, Jungkook still cannot believe how pretty it is) widens into a smile. He hurriedly brings his hands up to his face, trying to cover the break in decorum, but Jungkook can hear a couple of high, clear giggles break through. An instinct swells in his chest, prideful at having made his pretty mate laugh, but he shoves it down. Now is not the time.
Thankfully, at that moment his attendant moves forward, hands out to take the hen. Jungkook lifts her very carefully out of his lap, whispering, “Try not to wake her.”
The woman looks perplexed, but she takes her gently enough.
Hoseok offers his hand, easily pulling Jungkook up when he takes it. The prideful thing in Jungkook’s chest, pleased that his delicate and beautiful mate is still so strong, swells further, and his scent swells with it before he hurriedly gets it under control. He should not get carried away.
Hoseok, on the other hand, has kept his scent subdued, as is proper. Still, Jungkook’s nose is eager and strong, and this close he has to hold himself back from taking in deep huffs of it. It’s difficult to hold back when Hoseok smells so delicious. He smells fragrant and bright, like fresh bergamot. Like he’s ripe and sweet and full of juice. It has a way of making Jungkook’s gums ache; as if, even if his mind is steadfastly avoiding the thought, his body is already thinking of biting him. (It makes — other parts of him ache, too, between his legs where he doesn’t touch. It’s like his — like that part of him wants to pierce Hoseok’s skin the same as his teeth do. Find the sweet juice at his center.)
Jungkook holds that unruly part of himself firm and steady now. He tells it: Wait. Soon.
Jungkook takes Hoseok’s arm, making sure his posture is strong and proud and worthy of an alpha and a grand prince, and leads him to the edge of the courtyard. A series of thin paper screens are set up a short distance away from the guests, so they may have privacy for the bite.
When they’re finally behind the screens, however, alone with each other only in illusion, Jungkook finds himself unable to look at Hoseok. But Jungkook — Jungkook is the alpha, and the grand prince, and Haeguk is his home, so it’s his responsibility to make sure this goes smoothly for Hoseok. He kneels before the small table set up behind the screen, hurriedly pouring wine for the two of them.
His hands shake around the flask.
As Jungkook is staring at his own traitorous hand, trying to steady the stream of wine, another, more elegant hand reaches out from across the table and rests atop his.
When he looks up, Hoseok is smiling at him kindly, his warm hand clasping Jungkook’s, helping him to pour steadily.
Already, even in this, they are partners. Jungkook can’t wait to start their life together.
Jungkook raises the glass to drink politely, then offers it across the table to Hoseok. Hoseok puts his mouth on it — right where Jungkook’s lips had just been — and drinks. His lips, when he lowers the glass, shine with wine before he licks it off.
Jungkook reaches for the display of dates and jujubes before them, plucking one fruit to place delicately in his mouth. Across from him, Hoseok does the same, daintily biting through half the date with his teeth while he holds the rest between his fine-boned fingers. Jungkook can’t stop watching his mouth as he chews, the fruit in his own mouth nearly forgotten as he fixates on the pillowy shape of Hoseok’s lips. When Hoseok pops the second half in his mouth, he licks his fingers — normally a breach of decorum, but it’s just the two of them here. Perhaps he’s already more comfortable around Jungkook than other people. Comfortable enough to let him see the delicate pink of his tongue as it darts out, lapping the sticky residue from his fingertips. Jungkook is pleased at the thought.
And now… now there’s nothing left but to bite him.
Jungkook has done his best not to imagine this part of the ceremony too much. The thought of it has always made him feel — constrained. Wild. Full of strange impulses that are difficult to hold back.
Late at night, when his body has resisted his control, aching for something he mustn’t give it, he’s comforted himself by imagining how good it will feel: for him to learn himself for the first time as he learns someone else. For him to save this experience so it may be singular. Special. Unable to be practiced.
But now that it’s arrived, Jungkook has no idea how to begin. His imagination fails him.
Hoseok’s scent has already started to fill the close space created by the screens, ripe and fresh. Jungkook, to his own mortification, knows his own scent has grown thick and dark in anticipation. All he had to do was watch Hoseok eat a piece of fruit and think about biting him and already there’s a swirling low in his belly. Hungry.
He kneels primly, covering his lap with his folded hands lest his body react too soon, and wonders how to go about this.
“Daegam[4],” Hoseok says softly. “May I come sit next to you?”
Jungkook nods, unable to look up and meet his eyes.
Hoseok kneels next to him, so close Jungkook can feel his body heat through the silk of his robes.
“Perhaps,” Hoseok starts, hesitating, “we could start by scenting each other?”
For the bite to be successful, first the mating gland must be coaxed out from where it hides beneath the skin. Made ready for teeth. They must be — aroused.
It’s not as if Jungkook has never been — has never felt those feelings before. Many times in his young life, his mating gland has throbbed insistently to him, like it was calling out. Each time, it was asking for this — for a bite, a companion, another body to learn and love. And each time, he’d had to deny it. It had been promised to Hoseok’s teeth. Now, finally, it will get them.
But Hoseok has been saving himself as well. He has been waiting for Jungkook’s teeth; for his bite. In this, too, they are partners.
Scenting, at least, is something Jungkook knows how to do. He shifts his position, turning toward Hoseok, and Hoseok mirrors him. Their knees nearly touch; Jungkook stares at them for a moment, collecting his scattered thoughts, before he glances back up to Hoseok’s kind face.
Jungkook offers up his hand, palm out, for Hoseok to intertwine their fingers. He’s most accustomed to this polite way of exchanging scents: a brief touch of the glands between their fingers. There are only a handful of people he’s close enough with to take the extra, more friendly step of swiping his wrist across their neck.
Hoseok looks down at his hand, confused, before his face lightens in recognition.
“Oh,” he giggles. “I didn’t mean like that. We’re about to be married after all, aren’t we?”
He gently takes hold of Jungkook’s wrist, guiding it toward his neck. Jungkook slides his wrist briefly against the scent gland on Hoseok’s neck, then withdraws his arm to the safety of his lap. He feels a bit shy. He hopes Hoseok will like the way his scent sits on his skin.
“That’s a good start,” Hoseok says kindly. There’s still amusement dancing in his eyes.
“May I?” Hoseok holds up his wrist in question.
This close together, his scent already fills Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook feels awash in it. It makes it easy, almost instinctive, to tip his head back and bare his neck to Hoseok.
“Very good,” Hoseok murmurs, and Jungkook sighs, all his muscles loosening at the praise.
Hoseok hums as he moves closer, as if not to startle him. Jungkook has noticed it’s a habit of Hoseok’s to punctuate his movements with these little sounds and exclamations. It’s so endearing and sweet. Jungkook is eager to learn every sound, to know Hoseok inside and out.
Jungkook expects a short swipe of Hoseok’s wrist in return, but instead Hoseok presses both his forearms on either side of Jungkook’s throat and holds them there, letting his scent soak into him. His fingers rub at the small scent glands behind Jungkook’s ear, low firm pressure. Jungkook exhales in surprise. Heat rushes through him, prickling.
It feels good. Hoseok’s pretty fingers and firm forearms work his scent into Jungkook’s skin, satisfying some primal desire. It feels heavenly to have that scent on him. His mate’s scent. One that will, for the rest of his life, be more special to him than any other. Soon, once they are mated, he will be able to smell that scent even more strongly than he does now. He will be able to intimately discern the shades of meaning within it in a way no one else can.
Jungkook realizes his mouth is watering. Hurriedly, he swallows the extra saliva. He has more self control than to drool all over his new mate.
“Oh, daegam,” Hoseok murmurs, “your scent is opening up so prettily. You must have been working hard to hold it back, hm?”
The tone of his voice is — it’s low now, raspy. Only for Jungkook’s ears. Jungkook shivers, nods. He has been holding it back.
“Poor thing,” Hoseok continues, massaging so firmly now Jungkook barely holds back a grunt. It nearly hurts. It feels so good. “You can let go now. We want your pretty scent to be nice and strong so you can get it all over me, right? Make me smell like I’m yours? Wouldn’t it be so nice, for everyone to smell on me who has claimed me?”
Heat rises in Jungkook’s cheeks. He’s never heard anyone say the kinds of things Hoseok is saying to him. They feel — forbidden.
He nods shyly.
“Ah, would you look at that?” Hoseok says, a smile in his voice. “You’re nearly all ready for me.”
Ready? Jungkook’s eyes fly open. He’s sure his hands — he looks down, and thankfully, his hands are still discreetly covering his lap. Nothing can be seen.
But Hoseok moves closer — his slender body is nearly draped across Jungkook’s lap now — and runs one finger across the mating gland nestled near Jungkook’s collarbone at the base of his neck. Jungkook’s whole body lights up. He gasps, one hand reaching up to clutch at Hoseok’s wrist. But he doesn’t dare pull his hand away. He’d never known that — that such a simple touch could feel like this. That one finger, stroking so gently at the tender, swollen flesh, seems to be calling his entire body to attention. His body is saying to him: yes. We are ready. We ache.
“You’ve done so well, daegam,” Hoseok praises.
Jungkook is used to feeling ashamed of his eager, unruly body. It is quick to arousal, quick to disobey and embarrass him. To have his own quickness praised now, in his mate’s low voice, sends a shudder through him.
Hoseok kisses his neck chastely, just at the edge of the gland.
“Already I could bite you on this sweet little gland and make you mine,” he muses.
“No!” Jungkook protests, dragging Hoseok’s hands away by his wrists. Hoseok’s scent flares, his eyes large with alarm as he looks at Jungkook. “Oh — my apologies,” Jungkook says, remembering himself and releasing his grip. He mustn’t bruise Hoseok’s lovely golden skin. “I simply mean — I think it would be better if — if we were both ready first. So we may bite at the same time?”
Hoseok’s face relaxes into a smile. “That sounds lovely,” he agrees.
But when Jungkook looks at Hoseok’s neck, he — his mating gland isn’t visible at all yet, only a beautiful hollow carved out by the elegant bow of his collarbone.
Jungkook frowns. He’d been so greedy, too eager for Hoseok’s teeth. He’d let his body take without giving anything back.
He steels his resolve. His first duty as Hoseok’s mate is to coax this gland out of its hiding place. He will perform his duty well, to show Hoseok he is a worthy mate.
“Allow me,” he says. The strength in his own voice surprises him. He sounds — he sounds like an alpha. Satisfaction rises in his chest, throbbing through his neglected mating gland.
It must surprise Hoseok too, because he obeys, his posture uncertain as he kneels back down.
Jungkook squares his shoulders. He must be — he must be brave.
He does his best to keep his movements sure as he reaches out, tipping Hoseok’s chin up with gentle fingers. Hoseok complies, baring the pretty expanse of his neck to Jungkook’s desirous eyes. It might be Jungkook’s wild imagination, but Hoseok’s scent seems to swell, strong and proud. Jungkook cannot let it drown out his own.
He surges forward, deciding to plunge straight in, to move on instinct. He buries his face in Hoseok’s long neck, allowing his own scent to pour from him as he drags the gland buried in his cheek along the column of Hoseok’s throat. He feels Hoseok’s breath stop, his scent retreating and curling to allow Jungkook’s in, and his pride makes him ever bolder. His tongue darts out to taste the salt on Hoseok’s skin, the residue of his scent rich in the back of his throat. Hoseok’s hand comes to his shoulder with a quiet gasp. Jungkook flushes simultaneously, barely believing he could be so forward, but this is his mate. If he may be so with anyone, it is him.
He remembers how feverish and fluttery Hoseok’s words had made him feel, as if they were made specifically for him. Hoseok must already be so attuned to him, as his future mate, to know just the right things to say to draw out Jungkook’s deepest instincts so. Jungkook doesn’t know if he can do as well, but he is determined to find his own things to say. To reciprocate Hoseok’s attention properly.
“You,” he says right against Hoseok’s skin, inhaling in gulps. “You smell so good. I — sometimes I think I’d like to — to lick it all off you. Clean it off so you can make more.” His large front teeth, wet and blunt, rub up along the soft skin of Hoseok’s neck. “Then I’ll take all that too.”
The words are clumsy, foreign in his mouth, but they are, at least, sincere. He hopes it is enough. Hoseok makes a small sound, and Jungkook, encouraged, renews his efforts.
He scents him fervently, filled with pride at the small intakes of Hoseok’s breath each time his nose digs into his skin, the way his pretty hand clutches at Jungkook’s shoulder, squeezing. He cannot know what’s happening within Hoseok’s body, but he can only hope he makes him feel — special. Afire with his love.
“Ah, please,” Hoseok rasps, his hand reaching out to guide Jungkook’s arm around his waist. “Please touch me.”
Hoseok’s body is hidden by the folds of his robes, secret, but when Jungkook runs his hand up and down his side, over his layers of clothing, he can feel what must be beneath it. How slender and strong it is. Tonight — tonight they will be married. They will — they will do the things married people do to one another’s bodies. The knowledge of it makes him breathless. It feels impossible to want something so much.
“I cannot wait to be your husband,” he confesses. He feels glad he can hide his face in Hoseok’s neck like this, clutch at his waist so he does not have to meet his eyes.
Hoseok’s fingers brush at the long hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck, soothing.
“Let’s not wait, then,” he says gently, pulling Jungkook’s head out of its hiding spot.
Jungkook blinks at him, dazed, but then his eyes fall on the base of Hoseok’s neck and desire and pride rush through him at the sight of his mating gland, properly puffed up and awaiting him.
His teeth click together in an aborted snap, and Hoseok smiles, eyes hooded.
“See? You’re ready,” he whispers, still low and soothing, and Jungkook is glad for it, glad none of the guests just beyond the screens will be able to hear his mate’s sweet voice saying such sweet things.
Hoseok’s hands are firm on Jungkook’s shoulders, but gentle, as he maneuvers him back into a kneeling position. Then he — he lifts the hem of his robes out from beneath his shins with dainty hands, shuffling forward on his knees until he hovers over Jungkook’s thighs. Jungkook’s hands come up, unbidden, to grasp at Hoseok’s waist, small beneath his robes.
He moves slowly, as if underwater, when Hoseok coaxes his head to the side, his eyelids fluttering closed as the warmth of Hoseok’s breath gusts over his aching mating gland. Hoseok’s lips press against it tenderly, a sharp rush of pleasure that makes Jungkook gasp, before his mouth opens over it, wet and hot, a touch of his tongue like a lick of fire down Jungkook’s body, and then — a sharp, piercing pain sings through him, melting into an overwhelming heat that vibrates the instrument of his body like a bowed string. It’s the most intense rush of pleasure, euphoria, connectedness, he’s ever known. He could never have imagined anything might feel this way.
A sound rings loud and long in the air, one that Jungkook realizes too late is his own voice, moaning his pleasure shamelessly for the whole courtyard to hear.
He drags one hand to his mouth, too late to stop it, but his motions are slowed and sluggish as Hoseok’s touch continues to bring him ecstasy. His tongue and lips move against Jungkook’s skin as he swallows the gland’s fluid and solidifies the bite. From between his fingers Jungkook drags in gulps of air, heavy with Hoseok’s scent.
Soon enough Hoseok pulls away, his eyes large with dilated pupils, his mouth bright and shiny with saliva and fluid. He breathes heavily. Jungkook can see the fluttering of his pulse in his neck, his eyes drawn there instinctively, the one-sided bond singing out to him to complete it.
Hoseok tries to draw back, away from Jungkook, but Jungkook’s hand tightens its grip on his waist. He will not let his mate leave him, not while he remains unmarked.
With Hoseok still hovering above him, Jungkook reaches for the back of his neck, dragging him down. He tries to mirror Hoseok’s actions; a gentle kiss to the swollen gland, eliciting a sharp gasp from Hoseok. A drag of his tongue, lapping at the skin where Hoseok’s scent is strongest, sharp in his throat. Saliva floods his mouth. He has never felt a hunger like this before.
He huffs in gulps of Hoseok’s scent, already so sweet and perfect and about to become so much stronger, richer, when their bond has been completed. He opens his jaw around the precious, tender gland, teeth nudging at it. His gums ache; his neck aches; he aches low down in his belly. He bites down, sharp, feeling the pop as his pointed canines pierce Hoseok’s skin like a piece of fruit. A low, rumbling growl rises from his chest as the first taste of the fluid inside hits his tongue. He clamps his teeth down harder, snarling quietly, and Hoseok gasps, his weight dropping onto Jungkook’s thighs. Jungkook’s arm braces him at the small of his back, clutching his slender delicate body as it sways like a reed, and he feels — he feels strong, and capable, like a half made whole, as the warmth of the bond floods through him.
He swallows the gland’s remaining fluid slowly, savoring the slight salt of it in his mouth, the way it coats his tongue, the softness of Hoseok’s skin where his lips brush against it, but soon enough — too soon — the moment is over, both of them drained dry. He feels alert, alive, full of wonder at the realization that he is mated now. Part of himself is inside Hoseok now, forever, and part of Hoseok resides in him. They will always be one.
When he regains his senses, he realizes he is still holding Hoseok’s body close, both of his arms wrapped around him in an embrace. Hoseok’s head rests in the crook of his neck, nose nudging at the new bite there, on the same side as Jungkook’s heart.
He breathes in the cloud of Hoseok’s scent, thicker in the air now, full of notes he cannot yet interpret, and smiles. He has felt so nervous for weeks, full of anticipation and anxiety over this new step in his life. But now, he feels — settled. Secure. All has gone well.
It takes them several minutes to extricate themselves from one another, rearranging their clothes, wiping their mouths, smoothing down each other’s hair, until they look respectable once more.
Jungkook takes Hoseok’s hand, standing tall, and asks him, “Are you ready, husband?”
Hoseok smiles back, nodding.
As soon as they step out from behind the screen to the cheers of the guests, Jungkook picks out Yoongi in the crowd, the faces of his parents, his brother, and flushes deep, remembering how just moments ago, all these people — his closest friends, the kingdom’s most distinguished officials, the leaders of not only his own nation, but Hoseok’s as well — had all heard him moaning like a — a harlot, helpless and wanton, but he stands tall nevertheless. He was with his husband; perhaps it is alright to be so eager for that pleasure. To lose himself to it just a little.
He clasps Hoseok’s hand tighter, and they stride forward, newly married, as one, to greet their guests properly.
***
The feeling of being dazed only intensifies as Jungkook escorts Hoseok back to the palace, attendants flanking them on both sides, their lanterns lighting the way in the darkness. The night air is chilled around them with the last vestiges of winter, but Jungkook is warm all over. The bite over his mating gland throbs pleasantly with each fluttering beat of his heart. He can’t stop himself from sneaking glances over at Hoseok every so often; once, he catches Hoseok looking back, and the fluttering in his chest intensifies. The smile that spreads over his face is completely involuntary, but he’s allowed to smile now. He can smile at his husband.
He’s married.
The quarters that were prepared for them are as new to Jungkook as they are to Hoseok, and he surveys them with interest when they step inside. He’s never seen them before. He was only asked, at one point, whether he wanted them to have separate bedrooms, or even separate apartments. Of course he didn’t want that. He and Hoseok aren’t going to have a loveless, distant marriage like some couples he knows. They’re going to be close.
When he made the choice, it was hopeful, wishful thinking. But now that he’s met Hoseok and seen how kind and beautiful he is, now that he’s marked with Hoseok’s bite and Hoseok is marked with his, he knows he made the right decision.
Attendants flock around them, bringing food and wine, lighting candles and lanterns. Amidst the chaos, Jungkook and Hoseok stand slightly apart from one another and make eye contact — Jungkook is surprised to see that the overwhelmed feeling suffusing his body is reflected back at him in Hoseok’s face. But then Hoseok smiles that beautiful smile, and Jungkook smiles too, his face scrunching up with the force of it.
It doesn’t matter that his whole body is thrumming with something he doesn’t understand. Hoseok’s must be too. An attendant takes Jungkook by the shoulder and leads him toward a privacy screen in the corner of the room, and he goes with one last backward look at his husband, who’s being ushered in the opposite direction. It doesn’t matter, because they’re about to learn each other for the first time, together, like they’re meant to. Like Jungkook has been patiently waiting for all his life.
He stands there, heart in his throat, while two attendants undress him with busy hands. The beautiful ceremonial clothes are removed, carefully untied and unfastened and folded with precision into a chest that sits to the side, never to be worn again. When he’s left in only the thin underlayer, preserving his modesty, he’s handed a beautiful, silky robe and then left alone to finish changing.
From across the room, he hears Hoseok say something and then laugh. It’s too quiet to be understood, but it settles some of the nerves Jungkook feels. He tries to dampen his scent too, so it isn’t quite as obvious what he’s thinking and feeling, but he doesn’t know how well it works. The room is awash with different scents anyway, incense and candle smoke and the wine and fruit laid out on a low table in the middle of the room. Maybe Hoseok won’t even be able to tell how nervous and excited he is.
Hoseok is so kind, anyway. He won’t mind if Jungkook is nervous. And nor will Jungkook mind if Hoseok is scared; he’ll do his best to lead them both through the beginning of their marriage, even if he’s the younger one. This private meal together is the start of it, the first time they will be alone, and he can’t wait to speak with Hoseok properly and get to know him better. He can’t wait to stay up late laughing and sharing their hopes for the future, for the rest of their lives together. He can’t wait to fall in love with his husband.
There is another thing he can’t wait for.
It has been present in the back of his mind all day — longer than that, even — but he is reminded of it as he removes the final layer of his clothing and is left standing bare behind the screen. Somewhere over to his right, Hoseok might be bare too.
The thought causes a sort of tug in his belly, way down low, in a place he’s always steadfastly ignored until today. It must feel emboldened by the attention it received at the wedding: even with its desire for a bite satiated, it still demands more. He glances down his body, embarrassed at the lack of control he has over himself. He wants so desperately for Hoseok to be pleased with him, all of him, even if he’s not quite sure what he is supposed to do. When he’s asked the friends he has who would have reason to know, shyly and quietly and making them promise they’d never, ever tell, they all said his instincts would help him know what to do when the time came.
The time is almost here. He hopes his instincts are up to the job, because he doesn’t want to disappoint Hoseok.
When he emerges from behind the screen, Hoseok is already seated, legs demurely folded to the side, on a cushion next to the low table. An attendant stands in the corner, waiting to clean up after them. Jungkook does his best to ignore him for now. If he thinks about someone watching them while they talk and eat, he’ll be too nervous to even speak.
“You look nice,” Hoseok murmurs as Jungkook folds himself onto the cushion opposite the table. Their robes are complementary shades of blue, chosen for each other and delivered as gifts before the ceremony. Hoseok’s shows off his complexion perfectly. It makes Jungkook blush to hear such compliments from Hoseok, when he knows he can’t be half as beautiful in comparison.
Still, he whispers a quiet “thank you” as he arranges the robe around himself.
When he glances back up, still shy, Hoseok is gazing at him with a calm, even expression. Jungkook averts his eyes immediately, fleeing to safer ground. The table is laden with winter fruits sliced and placed into elaborately patterned dishes. Smaller bowls contain dried meat, injeolmi, honey pastries, and hangwa.
After waking so early and having the most overwhelming day of his young life, Jungkook should probably be hungry. As it is, his stomach is small and knotted, filled to the brim with Hoseok’s scent. Instead of food, he wants…
A low hum makes him look back up, where he sees Hoseok’s expression has shifted. His eyes are dark, the lids lowered so his gaze is heavier. His mouth — luscious, plump, those lips are for Jungkook to kiss now, oh, heavens — draws Jungkook’s eyes like a magnet. All of it tugs at that same place, that same yearning deep within him.
He’ll get to satisfy it. Soon.
“We should eat something,” Hoseok says, his voice husky in a way that licks up Jungkook’s spine. “So we have energy.”
Jungkook wets his lips; Hoseok’s eyes follow the movement. He nods and lets out a shaky breath.
“You look nice too,” he finally says, and is proud of how steady his voice is. Hoseok’s lips tip up in a smile, murmuring his thanks. So, okay. Jungkook can do this. They are in it together. Even if Hoseok seems more confident than he is, probably due to his age, they’re navigating everything for the first time as a pair. A married couple.
And Hoseok is right. They need energy for their first night together.
When he looks around the table, there are no chopsticks. The minor dignitaries who’d prepared him for the wedding had been vague about this portion of the marriage ritual, as if they were speaking in a code they thought he had the key to. Jungkook did not have the key, but he’d nodded along anyway when they’d spoken of providing for your partner and satisfying your instincts in meaningful tones. Now, he is at a loss.
“Do you have chopsticks?” he asks quietly, like the attendant in the corner can’t overhear him even though he’s only a short distance away.
Hoseok giggles, and Jungkook flushes, ashamed. Has he missed something crucial? Will Hoseok think him ill-prepared?
He’d forgotten, though: Hoseok is kind. There’s only kindness in his eyes when he says, gently, “I think we’re supposed to share it more… intimately.”
Jungkook’s eyes widen. Intimately? Are they meant to… eat the food off each other’s bodies? He’d thought they would have more time to get acquainted before anything of — of that nature occurred.
Considering the idea of it must make his scent rise, because Hoseok says, rather meaningfully, “Oh, do you like that idea, dearest?”
Jungkook’s mouth falls open, unsure of how to respond. Hoseok, however, seems to take this as an invitation, and before Jungkook can apologize, or protest, or intervene in any way, Hoseok is plucking a slice of persimmon out of a bowl and leaning across the table toward Jungkook.
He holds the fruit in his delicate fingertips, his eyes sparkling, mere inches from Jungkook’s mouth. The scent meets his nose and mingles with Hoseok’s sharper, riper scent, and Jungkook’s mouth starts to water, making him swallow involuntarily.
“Please eat.” Hoseok licks his lips then, seeming suddenly shy, and adds, “Husband.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter without him telling them to, and he’s so overcome he just does it. He leans forward and plucks the fruit from Hoseok’s fingers, his teeth sinking gently into its flesh before Hoseok relinquishes his hold.
The fruit’s juice coats his tongue as he chews. He can feel so many things stirring inside him, feelings he wasn’t aware of before. Feelings he’s pushed down and resisted. Hoseok draws his hand back and, again, licks his fingertips of juice, his pink tongue lapping gently at the fingers that were just so close to Jungkook’s lips.
Jungkook swallows quickly and selects a portion of clementine from a different bowl. Just as Hoseok had, he leans forward to reciprocate the offering.
“Please eat, husband.” He repeats Hoseok’s words and is gratified, almost breathlessly giddy, when Hoseok sits forward and wraps his lips around the fruit. He pulls it into his mouth, lips pursed around it as he crushes the juice out of it and swallows, and a whole new rush of heat clouds Jungkook’s thinking.
It seems that Hoseok enjoys Jungkook’s reaction. His scent becomes deeper, muskier. In response, Jungkook knows his own only gets stronger.
Another piece of fruit is presented to Jungkook; he leans forward and takes it gently, keeping eye contact with Hoseok. Something about knowing he affects Hoseok too makes him feel bolder. His next offering is less timid, his fingers more sure as they hold persimmon to his husband’s lips. Hoseok takes it from him just as primly, only this time there is the barest touch of the skin of Hoseok’s top lip to the skin of Jungkook’s knuckle, and unexpected heat flares out from that singular point of contact.
Jungkook is aware of the sound he makes in response, a quiet, muted gasp, but he is completely powerless to stop it.
He barely notices Hoseok’s slim hands rising to hold his wrist, until they’re there, gently encircling him with all ten fingers. Hoseok’s hands are warm, his skin silky against Jungkook’s.
“Your scent is so pretty,” Hoseok murmurs. His lips are still shiny, fruit juice, or maybe he licked them. Jungkook is having a hard time keeping track. He can only watch helplessly as Hoseok, holding his hand in place, leans forward and, there’s no other word for it, nuzzles the pointed tip of his nose against Jungkook’s fingers from knuckle to knuckle. He nudges it into the space where Jungkook’s scent glands are and inhales, glancing up at Jungkook through lowered eyelashes as he does so.
“Yours too,” Jungkook whispers, even as Hoseok leans further forward to rub Jungkook’s knuckles against the scent gland in his cheek. He’s so shivery inside. He’s scented before — they scented earlier, more intimately than Jungkook could have ever imagined — but this is. Something else. It feels more intentional, less urgent than their scenting before the bite. There is time to savor it, and to let it build. Hoseok’s instincts must be leading him so well, perhaps because he’s an omega. Maybe he understands these things more innately than Jungkook does. Each touch sends heat, heat pulsing through him until he’s aware that his — that he —
Jungkook shifts slightly in place, hoping his arousal isn’t as obvious as it feels.
“May I come closer to you?” he asks, breathless, and Hoseok twinkles at him.
“You may,” Hoseok says, and he relinquishes his hold on Jungkook’s wrist.
As soon as he’s free Jungkook misses the touch, but he has permission, and he’s only able to think one step at a time right now. Anything else is too overwhelming.
There is not really a dignified way to move around the table, but he manages the best he can, holding his robe in place and shuffling on his knees until he’s seated next to Hoseok, just as close as Hoseok had sat to him earlier. Already, he is learning how to be a better partner to Hoseok, and he wonders if Hoseok notices.
They are very close now, their arms nearly touching when Jungkook finally settles in place. He looks up, and there is Hoseok’s face — beautiful, lovely and high-cheeked and open. It steals the breath from his chest, especially when Hoseok’s eyes fall to his mouth.
The very, very smallest shuffling sound from behind him reminds Jungkook that they are not alone, and he averts his gaze immediately, shaken from the spell Hoseok has put over him.
“Please,” he says, and he reaches for a piece of injeolmi. There is a part of him he doesn’t quite understand that finds great satisfaction in seeing Hoseok eating from his fingers. With each dainty bite and each small, fastidious swallow, his alpha is more and more pleased.
He is pleased in an altogether different way when he bites into a section of orange Hoseok presents to him, and a small rivulet of juice escapes his lips to drip onto his chin. Slowly and carefully, as if he’s waiting for Jungkook to spook, Hoseok runs the pad of his thumb through the mess and then brings it to his own lips, sucking it inside. Jungkook aches in a desperate way.
He swallows and looks away, toward the table. Hoseok’s scent has grown steadily stronger, and Jungkook can tell his own has too. They aren’t doing a very good job of talking, as they are supposed to be doing before their first night together. But Jungkook thinks they will have time to talk yet. He wants — something more, even, than the proximity of their bodies, but they are not moving forward, to anything more… intimate. He does not know whether he should initiate that next step, or how to go about doing it. Will he seem too eager, by suggesting it so soon?
For now, then, he will continue to feed the confusing part of himself that rumbles with delight at the proximity of his fingers to Hoseok’s mouth. He takes in a deep, steadying breath and reaches for a small piece of honey pastry. It’s sticky to the touch, sweet and spicy with honey and ginger.
Hoseok bites half of it off when it’s presented to him and Jungkook is, again, transfixed by his lips while he chews. He barely even registers when Hoseok takes the remainder of the pastry from his fingers; he does, however, notice the sticky residue on his fingertips, and goes to pull his hand away, searching for a cloth to wipe them.
He’s stopped by Hoseok’s fingers on his wrist.
“Let me,” Hoseok murmurs, and Jungkook’s questioning sound slides into a surprised groan as Hoseok parts his lips and places the tips of Jungkook’s fingers inside his mouth. They’re engulfed in wet heat when Hoseok closes his lips around them, and Jungkook… Jungkook…
He has never felt like this before.
How could he have known that his fingers were so intimately connected with that other part of his body? When he feels Hoseok’s tongue move inside his mouth, pressing wetly against his fingertips, a sound rumbles out of him that he can’t control. There’s a rushing inside him, his blood heating until he feels nearly feverish.
And all the while, Hoseok’s gaze is on him. When Jungkook shifts restlessly where he sits, desperately uncertain of what to do next and unwilling to move his hand and his scent darkening in a cloud around him, Hoseok’s nostrils flare. His eyes flutter closed and then back open. Jungkook gasps when his fingers are pulled from Hoseok’s mouth and his wrist pressed to the scent gland on his neck, opposite his mating bite.
“Oh,” Jungkook breathes. Hoseok’s scent is growing ever-sharper as he rubs Jungkook’s wrist over his scent gland, and it makes him ache . His eyes trail down from Hoseok’s mouth to his throat, and then down even further, involuntarily. Down to the skin peeking out between the edges of Hoseok’s robe, where it’s stretched over his collarbone. He allows himself to wonder, for the first time, what Hoseok looks like under his clothing.
It makes his breath hitch. He will see it soon.
Hoseok makes a small, pleased noise, and Jungkook’s wrist is released. It falls back to his lap helplessly. He feels lost. How can he reciprocate this? Is Hoseok feeling what Jungkook is feeling, this strange, enormous need? He isn’t nearly as overwhelmed as Jungkook, if so. Does that mean Jungkook is not doing a good enough job?
“Would you like it if we moved to have more privacy?” Hoseok asks, his eyes flicking to the attendant standing behind Jungkook before settling back on Jungkook’s face. And Jungkook’s heart trips in his chest. He — he wants —
“Yes,” he whispers. “Please?”
Through all of this, even though Hoseok is making Jungkook feel things he did not know he could feel, even though they are rushing headlong into uncharted territory together, Hoseok’s face never loses its kindness. The smile on his face when Jungkook impulsively stands to his full height and stretches his hand down toward Hoseok is the same one he’d worn after the ceremony. The same one he’d worn when they first met.
Kind, certain, steady.
Hoseok allows Jungkook to help him stand, and as he does so, the bottom of his robe waves open just enough for Jungkook to see Hoseok’s calf and knee, the bottom of his thigh. His mouth goes dry and his head starts to spin and there’s a shuffling noise behind him, and Jungkook turns to glare at the attendant.
The man has his eyes averted. Good.
His attention is drawn back by a giggle from Hoseok and delicate fingertips under his chin.
“It’s okay,” Hoseok says sweetly. “Will you lead me? Darling?”
Yes. Jungkook can lead him behind the sheet hung to separate them from prying eyes. He offers Hoseok his arm and Hoseok links their elbows together, laying his free hand over Jungkook’s forearm. He squeezes, once, and it sends a shiver through Jungkook’s whole body.
Behind the sheet, when he parts it and leads them through, is their marital bed, spacious and lit by flickering candlelight. It is sparse and orderly, fit for their status, fit for its purpose. Its purpose of being the place they will — where he is going to —
Jungkook stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath. Hoseok stops alongside him for only a moment, looking surprised, but then he’s smiling and drawing away. His arm slips through Jungkook’s until his hand can trail down Jungkook’s forearm and cling to his fingers, and he pulls Jungkook along with him. Jungkook goes, in a trance, his senses overwhelmed by whatever incense or perfumed sachets are hidden in the enclosed space.
“Let’s sit,” Hoseok suggests. His voice is low and safe and it soothes Jungkook somewhere deep down. He settles on the foot of the bed and Jungkook sits next to him so they’re angled together.
Hoseok looks him over, eyes flicking from his face down his body, and he says quietly, “Is everything alright, daegam?”
And that’s… Jungkook wants to melt. His mate — his husband — is so kind and considerate. He must be just as nervous, but he’s being brave and taking the lead. Jungkook is so incredibly lucky.
However, Hoseok should not have to lead them through everything. Jungkook is the alpha, and even though he is younger, they are in his home. Jungkook should be brave too. After all, he is not only nervous — he is excited, even though he does not know what exactly to expect. The way his body is reacting, apparent in his thin robe in a way that makes him flush deeply, is evidence of that.
So he reaches out and takes Hoseok’s hand in his own, resting them on his thigh.
“You don’t need to be so formal with your husband,” Jungkook says. The smile he gets in return is pleased, almost coy. One corner tipped further up, nearly a smirk.
“Husband,” Hoseok repeats. He squeezes Jungkook’s hand. “I feel like we’ve been engaged forever, don’t you? A whole lifetime. And now that we are finally married, and mated, I can hardly believe it.”
Jungkook understands that sentiment deeply. He’s had all the time in the world, and he has prepared as diligently as he could, but nothing has prepared him for this part. For giving away the most intimate parts of himself and receiving, in turn, the gifts of his husband’s body and love, just as intimate. Just as sacred. For the two of them to share and know, and no one else.
“It makes me happy,” he says shyly, and Hoseok tilts his head to the side, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. His scent spikes.
“I can see that,” he murmurs, his gaze sliding down Jungkook’s body to his lap.
Jungkook — burns. His cheeks heat, and his heart races, and he instinctively drops his gaze and moves to cross his legs, to hide his impropriety. He’s aware that his scent is thick and potent, but there’s less he can do to control that.
All of this just makes Hoseok giggle, and he twists his hand within Jungkook’s grasp until he can interlace their fingers.
“It’s okay,” Hoseok says again, his voice sweet. Jungkook dares to glance up at him, and there’s nothing mocking or ridiculing in his face. Nothing unkind. “Would it be improper if I said I liked knowing you are excited?”
Would it? Maybe he’s allowed to convey his excitement. Hoseok seemed to enjoy it earlier, during the ceremony. He’d praised Jungkook’s eagerness, his willful body’s quick reactions. Perhaps this part of himself had simply been wasted before Hoseok, but now, in the full flower of their union, it finally has a purpose. Jungkook wants to convey his excitement. His mind is spinning with ways he could convey it, although they are all a bit blurry, a bit uncertain.
Is this what was meant about following his instincts?
On the other side of the sheet, the attendant is clearing the dishes and food away. It draws his attention; Jungkook can hear him and see the outline of his movement through the sheet. He wishes the man would leave; he’s already nervous enough, and does not want someone uninvolved in their marriage to see or hear any of his first, clumsy attempts at pleasing his husband.
“Dearest,” Hoseok murmurs. His fingertips come to rest under Jungkook’s chin, gently pulling his attention back to Hoseok. Hoseok, whose eyes are dark, whose scent has deepened. Who slides closer to Jungkook on the bed, his robe catching with the movement so Jungkook can see part of his thigh.
Jungkook swallows.
“Just focus on me,” Hoseok says quietly. Jungkook sags and then nods. He can do that. He will do that. He will focus well on Hoseok, and they will begin their marriage happily. They will begin it… satisfied.
Now that he is looking at Hoseok, in fact, he hardly feels like he can do anything but focus on him. Hoseok is striking, particularly this close up. His high cheekbones and gently sloped nose perfectly complement the roundness of Jungkook’s own features. The mixture of their scents in the air makes his heart and stomach flutter; it makes him want to taste again, and then taste more. His teeth are satisfied, but there are other parts of him, still, that wish to sink into the warmth of Hoseok’s slender body.
And then, almost before he knows it, Hoseok is leaning forward. He goes slowly, so slowly, making eye contact the whole while. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat, alongside his heart, and he closes his own eyes in the moment just before Hoseok’s lips press tenderly against his own.
It’s soft at first, chaste, and Jungkook still does not know what to do. He tries to push his lips forward to meet Hoseok’s, but then Hoseok is pulling away with a small smile.
“Is that what you wanted?” Hoseok asks, low and teasing. His fingers squeeze around Jungkook’s; the pad of his thumb rubs soothing circles into Jungkook’s skin.
“Yes,” Jungkook breathes. “But… but it is not all that I want.”
“No?” Hoseok smiles at him, his eyes roaming Jungkook’s body before returning to his face.
“No,” Jungkook assures him, shaking his head. It makes his thoughts spin away until there is nothing left except the desire to feel Hoseok’s lips again. To feel more.
He leans in on his own this time, and Hoseok meets him halfway. Their second kiss is firmer, less uncertain. No less overwhelming. Hoseok’s lips are exactly as warm and soft as they look, and each time they brush Jungkook’s they stoke the heat in his core.
His hands are quietly and safely still, but he aches so badly to touch and feel his husband. The insistent thrum of their mating bond urges him to, greedy for contact to strengthen the bond. Gingerly, he lifts the hand Hoseok is not holding and places it on Hoseok’s waist, just as he had before. It makes Hoseok moan slightly against his mouth, and suddenly he is aflame. He wants to hear Hoseok make that sound again. He wants to make Hoseok make that sound again.
With their next kiss, Hoseok’s lips part slightly, and they urge Jungkook’s to do the same. And Jungkook has no frame of reference for anything past this. He’d seen, once, a man and a woman kissing passionately in the gardens at sunset, and at the time he could only stare in amazement at seeing something so private. He was too young to pay close enough attention and he’d wandered away quickly, bored of it. Now he wishes he could remember what he’d seen.
Their lips brush together softly, repeatedly, and Jungkook squeezes Hoseok’s waist. Hoseok’s hand flexes in the grip of his other one; he releases it, his body — his alpha — begging him to touch Hoseok somewhere else. Without looking, he reaches out, and his palm lands on the bare portion of Hoseok’s thigh, just above the knee.
Jungkook gasps, his fingers tightening involuntarily.
Hoseok pulls away from his mouth to whisper, “You can,” and then he’s placing soft, tender kisses along Jungkook’s jaw, all the way down to his neck. His tongue drags along Jungkook’s flushed, sensitive skin, causing Jungkook to breathe out a soft groan. The muscles of Hoseok’s torso flex under Jungkook’s palm as he moves, an overwhelming sensation. To feel Hoseok’s body as Hoseok makes him feel so shivery, so light and so desirous.
His hand clenches on Hoseok’s thigh, gripping him tightly, and Hoseok smiles against his skin.
“Such pretty noises you make,” Hoseok murmurs. He nudges his nose against Jungkook’s scent gland, brushing it with his cheek and leaving his own thick scent in the wake of his movement. “If I touch you just right, will you moan for me as you did when I bit you?”
Such a heat rushes through Jungkook at the words alone, he fears the answer is likely yes.
And then Hoseok’s hands come to his shoulders, skimming down the front of his robe until they can part it. Jungkook watches through heavy-lidded eyes as Hoseok draws backward, his own gaze focused on the work of his hands, and his fingertips brush Jungkook’s chest as he pushes the robe open and off of Jungkook’s shoulders, easing it down his arms.
When it reaches his elbows, Jungkook, in a daze, helps Hoseok disentangle his arms from the silk. It leaves Jungkook’s torso bare to Hoseok’s molten gaze, the robe pooled around his waist and covering the evidence of his desire.
“You are lovely,” Hoseok sighs. He places his hands on Jungkook’s waist, holding him firmly, and Jungkook cannot control the way his skin breaks out in goosebumps. A shivery heat slides through him; his mate is happy with his body. His hard work has paid off. He has done well.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “I hoped — I wanted —”
His words falter under the heat in Hoseok’s gaze as he slides his hands up Jungkook’s chest to his shoulders. Hoseok’s thumb skims over the sensitive skin of his mating bite as he drags his hands down to Jungkook’s arms, the muscle Jungkook has worked hard for.
“You wanted what?” Hoseok asks, his own voice breathless as well. His hands find Jungkook’s chest again, his gaze hungry.
“To — to have a body pleasing for my husband,” Jungkook admits, the words shaky as Hoseok touches him. He has never said as much out loud, although it was implied to him his whole life. A strong, pristine alpha body would be necessary for his eventual marriage. One pure and untouched by anyone, including himself.
Hoseok glances up at him, his gaze matching the intensity of the swell of his scent. Jungkook has not had enough time to learn the nuances to which their bond gives him access, but he thinks and hopes that the sharp potency of it means Hoseok is — anticipating what comes next as much as Jungkook is.
Somewhere in the corner of his attention, he hears the door to their outer room open and then click shut. Alone, they’re alone. Finally. Alone with his husband on their wedding night.
“Very pleasing,” Hoseok murmurs, “so far.” One corner of his lips lifts in a coy smile, and he withdraws his hands. Everything below Jungkook’s belly button aches, throbbing, desirous of touch.
Just a bit longer. Just a little longer. He can wait. He has waited so long.
He knows what he needs to do next, although the prospect of it fills him with butterflies, their delicate fluttering wings making it difficult to breathe. With shaking hands, Jungkook reaches out to bare Hoseok of his robe as well, taking care not to touch too much or go too fast or be too eager. But — but —
Hoseok, with his golden, smooth skin, his lithe, slim torso, the mark of Jungkook’s teeth at the base of his neck, is the most beautiful man Jungkook has ever seen. The most beautiful omega Jungkook has ever seen. He’s less muscled than Jungkook, compact where Jungkook is bulky. The tawny shade of his nipples is alluring in its contrast to the dusky brown of Jungkook’s. He — his mouth waters, his body urging him to do. Things. The types of things he has only dreamed about, feverish and hazy, dreams that have woken him with an urgent and pressing need he has used all his willpower to ignore.
Jungkook slides his palm up Hoseok’s side, to his ribs, easing a ticklish sort of sigh out of Hoseok. His skin feels soft and smooth under Jungkook’s hand.
This is his husband. His mate. Their bodies belong to each other now, and no one else.
Overwhelmed with the immensity of the moment, of the trust they are putting in each other, Jungkook leans forward and wraps both arms around Hoseok, pulling him into an embrace. He presses his cheek to Hoseok’s scent gland, squeezing him tight, and Hoseok wraps his arms around Jungkook too with a small, pleased sound.
The warmth of his bare skin against Jungkook’s is wonderful and grounding, and Hoseok feels so small in his arms. So light, as if Jungkook could pick him up and — and —
Ravish him.
“Ah, hyung,” Jungkook breathes. It thrills him a little to use such an informal title. No one else should be allowed to call Hoseok by that honorific; only Jungkook. He presses a small kiss to Hoseok’s neck, excited when it makes Hoseok squeeze him tighter and bury his face in Jungkook’s shoulder. “I think I’m ready, are — are you?”
“Yes, darling,” Hoseok murmurs. He drags parted lips up Jungkook’s neck and then he bites, gently, on Jungkook’s earlobe. A high-pitched sound falls from Jungkook’s lips unbidden, his arms instinctively tightening around Hoseok’s body. Hoseok’s lips brush against the shell of his ear when he whispers, “I’m wet for you.”
Jungkook is unsure of what this could mean. But he knows he wants to find out.
With wide, uncertain, greedy eyes, Jungkook watches as Hoseok pulls away. His hands slip from around Hoseok’s waist as Hoseok leans back and reaches down to untie the sash of his robe. He pulls the tie out of its knot and lets it drop to the side, and then he is placing his hands on the bed behind him and moving, and the robe stays where it is, and he — he is —
Jungkook drinks in the sight of him.
His long, slim torso, with a thin waist and such beautiful, unblemished skin. His surprisingly muscular legs, thighs thick and pleasing.
And between them…
Jungkook stares helplessly, his eyes drawn to the center of him, all the parts Hoseok has revealed to his husband’s gaze.
Before the wedding, Jungkook was sat down and given a talk, both humiliating and confusing, about things he would need to know about alpha and omega biology. So he is aware of… some things. But it’s different listening to his old, businesslike advisor talk about slick and heats and knots than it is seeing Hoseok, naked and exposed to him.
Hoseok’s legs are only slightly spread, but Jungkook can see… his intimate parts. His own… part aches, it throbs, at the sight. The scent, too, of Hoseok’s slick is mouth-watering. He can’t help himself; he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. How is it possible for something to smell so good?
It must be because they are meant for each other. Because he’s been waiting his whole life, and they have been saving themselves for this singular moment.
“Come here,” Hoseok croons at him, voice low and sultry. “I want to see my husband too. All of you,” he adds, when Jungkook starts to turn around without untying his robe.
He flushes. But… he is allowed. They are allowed to see one another, and touch one another, and… do other things, that they will learn about together.
His hands tremble as he unties his robe, revealing himself to another person for the first time. He glances up toward Hoseok as the robe falls away, and he is somewhat relieved, perhaps a bit confused, by the pleased, nearly smug smile that settles onto Hoseok’s face.
“Look at you,” Hoseok says. He glances up to Jungkook’s face and draws his bottom lip between his teeth before slowly pulling it back out, his teeth leaving faint indents. “So pretty, and all for me.”
Jungkook can barely believe what he’s hearing. Hoseok thinks he’s pretty, he thinks Jungkook’s… body is nice. He wants more of it, judging by the way he extends his hand out toward Jungkook, beckoning him.
Leaving his robe at the foot of the bed, Jungkook turns and crawls his way toward Hoseok. Hoseok spreads his legs, inviting Jungkook in, and Jungkook’s gaze falls helplessly to where he’s flushed dark, wet and pink at his center, so unbearably enticing. His hands skim up Hoseok’s legs and Hoseok makes a breathy sound that Jungkook captures and catalogs in his chest. He is determined to ensure Hoseok makes many such noises tonight. He is determined to be so, so good for his husband.
His heart, however, is rabbiting.
“I’m nervous,” he admits shyly, kneeling between his husband's spread legs, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. It’s okay for him to admit that to Hoseok, his partner in this and everything going forward.
Hoseok laughs, not unkindly, and reaches out for his hand, tangling their fingers together.
“Has it been a while for you?” he asks, his voice slightly teasing. “Have you forgotten what to do?”
Jungkook falters, unsure what to say.
“Well… yes,” he says, squeezing Hoseok’s fingers tighter to reassure himself they are in this together. “I’ve been waiting my whole life. But it’s been even longer for you, has it not? You are older than I am.”
Hoseok’s expression shifts slightly, confusion taking over some of the fondness.
“I am.” His eyebrows furrow. “It’s been about six months, though, not that long.”
And Jungkook…
Jungkook…
Jungkook sits upright, withdrawing his hand from Hoseok’s. A trickle of something, cold as ice, weaves its way through his veins.
“Six months since…?” he prompts carefully, forearms crossing protectively near his lap to hide himself from view.
“Since I was last — intimate with someone?” Hoseok replies uncertainly, sitting up slightly as if sensing Jungkook’s growing distress. Jungkook can’t think, can’t process what Hoseok is saying when his legs are still open, when Jungkook’s gaze is still drawn to the center of him. He wishes — he wishes he would close them. He wishes he were covered up.
Jungkook’s heart was already fast within his chest, but its excited fluttering has taken on a more urgent tone, a thumping he can hear in his ears.
“But you —” he stammers, unsure what to say. There must be some misunderstanding. “You are the first person to see my body like — like this.” He glances down at himself, where he cannot fully conceal the evidence of his desire.
Respectable young men like himself do not even visit the bathhouses before marriage, do not let attendants remain in the room when they bathe, do not bare their adult bodies to anyone. Their mate’s eyes must be first. And Hoseok’s, his mate’s, were. Were Jungkook’s? No one else’s eyes have seen that soft, inviting place between Hoseok’s legs… have they?
Hoseok’s face relaxes into a smile, relieved, and Jungkook instinctively relaxes too. Perhaps he had simply misunderstood. He knows Hoseok could never —
“Oh, darling,” Hoseok says gently, reaching out his hand to touch Jungkook’s arm. “It’s alright if this is your first time. I’ve —” he giggles then, his face turning coy, “— I’ve been with virgins before. I can show you what to do. How to make it feel good.”
Jungkook’s whole body freezes, only for a split second, but it feels like it takes an eternity to come to the realization — Hoseok is unclean. He has sullied himself. With — with more than one virgin? He has bared his thighs, his chest, his — all of himself to others.
A growl is ripped from deep in his chest — instinctive, wounded — and he tears his arm away from Hoseok’s hand, scrambling backwards on the bed.
Hoseok startles, frightened — Jungkook has frightened his mate, his instincts scream at him — and draws his own legs together, sitting himself up small against the pillows at the head of the bed.
At least he is more hidden from Jungkook’s eyes this way. He cannot bear to look upon his body, his body that he had thought was so beautiful, so worthy — but Hoseok’s eyes are still on him, wide and uncertain. He is still seeing things that are not meant for him, gifts Jungkook had prepared for his true husband’s eyes.
Jungkook leaps up from the bed, hastily tugging the sheet that separates them from the rest of the room to hide his body from view. When it brushes against his belly, against that eager and sensitive part of himself — Jungkook can’t help but gasp, his body still stubbornly eager to explore the willing omega it can smell so near, whose scent is — is soaking into his bed. Jungkook feels ill.
“You’ve bared yourself to others?” His voice wavers in an embarrassing way.
Hoseok unfurls a little, his feet pointing in front of him. His scent, which had been bitter with distress, begins to waft in a gentler way. A way that Jungkook’s nose is quite interested in, his — the place between his legs straining in response.
“I don’t have to have, alpha,” Hoseok says quietly, voice like silk. “You can still lead me in my first time as my husband. Guide me as an alpha would guide an omega. I could be untouched once more, just for you. What would you have me do?”
He puts on this face — an expression so false and alluring, Jungkook is horrified he can conjure it up at a moment’s notice like this — and raises himself up on all fours as if to crawl down the bed toward Jungkook.
“No!” Jungkook shouts, both at Hoseok and at the throbbing between his own legs, the thrum of his mating bite, the call of his whole body to respond.
How could Hoseok think he would want this performance, these lies? He had felt so understood by him, just moments ago, connected in a way larger than themselves. Does Hoseok think this is a game? Does he think Jungkook, too, was pretending? He’d thought, of anyone, Hoseok would know better. That he could be his true self with him.
His mind races, considering all the time he’s spent with Hoseok — his kind glances, his pretty smiles, the lovely sound of his laughter. Could it all have been falsehood? A construction meant to placate Jungkook, to give him whatever Hoseok thought he wanted? All Jungkook wants — has ever wanted — is for his husband to be true. For him to bare his honest self to Jungkook, with all the trust and love that entails.
How could it have gone so wrong?
“It’s alright,” Hoseok coos, placating, scent still thickening in a way that makes Jungkook’s head spin. “We will go at your pace. We could just — get to know each other a little better first.”
“I do not want to know you!” Jungkook spits, feeling tears well hot behind his eyes. “Not when others have known you before me! I had —” he gasps, panting, drawing the sheet ever-closer around himself, “I had been saving myself for you! Keeping myself close and hidden so you may be the first to see all of me, just as I would be the first to see all of you! But you have been —” He stops, unable to go on, stunned by the enormity of what is happening to him.
He had imagined so many things in his head before this night, so many ways that things might go wrong. He’d imagined he might need to smooth the way with a gentle hand or a diplomatic word. Even that his husband might require time before he could trust Jungkook with himself. He had never imagined — this. He can barely consider it, even now.
“Sweetheart,” Hoseok says, using names he’s not allowed to call Jungkook, honeyed words that Jungkook no longer wants, “I know that — I know that the pressures on us are strong. I know you were taught a lot of things, just as I was, and it can be difficult to let those things go. To rid ourselves of the strictures imposed on us, so we may be our own people. But you don’t —” his brow furrows, his eyes taking on that kind look, that false look that Jungkook now hates, “ — you can loosen yourself of those bonds. I promise, if you let them go and allow yourself to feel good, it will be alright. We can choose our own path, together.”
Jungkook gapes at him. He’s pulled the sheet completely down from its hanging now, and he staggers over to the large cushion nearby, unable to trust his own legs to carry him. He hangs his head and, much as he wants them not to, tears begin to fall.
“I haven’t been saving myself out of pressure,” he says quietly. “It’s a sign of love. There is nothing more precious I can give to you than myself. It means I regard my mate above all others.”
He takes a shaky breath.
“But you did not have the same regard for me.”
Hoseok makes a small noise, low and distressed. Something within Jungkook wants, strangely, to soothe it, but he wills himself to stay seated.
“Do you really think that just because I have been with some people in the years and years I knew nothing about you, that means I have no regard for you?”
When Jungkook does look up at him, his mouth is curved into a frown. Another falsehood.
“It does not mean that,” Hoseok says softly. “I promise, sweetheart.”
Jungkook’s emotions are muddled and confused, his head clouded with unfamiliar scents, uncertain thoughts. Part of him wishes to soothe this upset between them, this fraying of the delicate union they only just began. But… he can’t. Hoseok’s promise does not mean anything to him. He has already broken the most important one.
“How many people?” he asks, and Hoseok’s face falls at the question. “How many people did you lie with before you mated yourself to me forever?”
He hopes Hoseok does not answer the question. He does not want to hear the answer. But he has to ask; his pride begs to know the extent of his injury. Maybe Hoseok will refuse to tell him. Maybe he will lie. Would Jungkook even know if he did?
“Four,” Hoseok says, his voice quiet. Jungkook closes his eyes, unable to look at him. Four people. Four people have seen his husband in a vulnerable, intimate state. Four people have touched his mate, have brought him pleasure. Hoseok has given pleasure to four people who are not his mate, his husband.
Both of their scents radiate distress now. It is difficult to stay where he is, but equally difficult to imagine moving, being closer to the traitorous man who is now his husband. Hoseok’s scent calls to him, inexplicably, but the meaning behind it repulses him. For a horrible, fleeting moment, he wonders if this conflict within him is the natural consequence of allowing himself to indulge in arousal, to be tempted by one so loose with the affections of his body. But Hoseok, despite the slick Jungkook can still smell lingering in the air, does not move toward him, either. Perhaps his distress is merely the consequence of his heart breaking.
“They were never relationships,” Hoseok says, as if that is better. “I was never in love, before. My heart is yours, I swear.”
“That is so much worse ,” Jungkook spits, his anger rising fast. It surprises both of them; Hoseok’s eyes widen and he draws back, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. “You let four people touch you and see you and know you and… and dirty you and it meant nothing. Why should I believe you that anything is different now?”
His words hang heavy in the air, which is silent and still around them. Hoseok has shrunk into the bedcovers, as if to hide. His scent is sharp and bitter, unpleasant, demanding Jungkook’s attention. His eager, foolish body wants to fold him in his arms, but it wants a great many things. Things that it has proven to Jungkook cannot be trusted.
But Jungkook cannot understand how he can seem so casual about a betrayal so deep. He needs to make him understand.
“What you gave away was not yours to give,” he snaps. “It was promised to me! You promised it to me. I don’t understand how you can simply assume that I would have behaved as you have. Did you think I was pretending, as you were? Did you think I would be happy, to know that other people have spoiled you so irrevocably?”
Hoseok’s gaze shutters. Jungkook’s instincts flutter, nervous, at his mate looking at him with such blankness.
“You think what I’ve done is exceptional,” Hoseok says, blank and defeated. “But I’ve only heeded the call of my body so I could know how to use it when the time came. Most of the people around you, the ones who say they have maintained their chastity, are doing the same. I have not spoiled myself. I’ve practiced.”
Jungkook draws the sheet tighter around himself. He feels too many things swirling in him: upset at his mate’s anger, at his distance, but also the cold sting of betrayal. Something deep in his soul is grieving.
“Some things cannot be practiced,” he gasps. “They may only be given away once. There is only one first.”
“And I said it was alright if this was your first,” Hoseok pleads. Jungkook feels oddly relieved there is some emotion back in his face, his voice. “I understand that you’re upset, and if you need time, we have all the time in the world. But is this misunderstanding insurmountable? You are in possession of a beautiful body. Will you not give it what it asks for?”
“This is not how I wanted it,” Jungkook says, the fire knocked out of him. “I had thought we would learn together.”
“We still could,” Hoseok offers, his posture going small. “You are the one who is rejecting what I am offering.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s not what I want.”
Does Hoseok hear the heartbreak in his words? Does he understand at all what he has done to Jungkook? Or is his regard for this marriage so shallow that he thinks Jungkook is simply inconvenienced? That he will come around eventually, be pulled in by the allure of having an omega nearby?
He will not. Jungkook is nothing if not disciplined.
“Alright. I understand.” Hoseok’s eyes are trained on the bed in front of him now, not looking at Jungkook. “I am sorry that my actions hurt you, daegam.”
Jungkook does not know whether to believe him. He sounds sincere enough, but he has already revealed himself tonight to be emotionally deceptive. His scent, though… Jungkook does not think he could falsify the bitter unhappiness there. What he is unhappy about is another question, one Jungkook cannot answer. Perhaps he is only unhappy that his lies were uncovered, his mask of kindness torn away.
He takes a deep, shaking breath and sighs it out, his hands — still fisted in the sheet — coming to his face.
“We have to keep this hidden,” Jungkook says, the words muffled. “Nobody can know, it would be… awful.” He shudders at the thought of anyone finding out; their reputations would never recover. “How do we hide it?”
If his family knew he had been sent an impure, unclean mate, all the promised benefits of this arrangement, this alliance, would fall away. He cannot let that happen.
“I don’t know,” Hoseok says, his voice wavering. “I am having a hard time — it hurts, to be far from you right now. Can you not feel it too?”
Jungkook takes a steadying breath. He feels — a deep, penetrating ache. His fist comes to his chest, steadying himself. That Hoseok can feel it too — he understands now. They are mated by more than simple tradition or mere words. Their bodies are tied to one another, inextricably bonded, and that bond calls to him, begging him to touch Hoseok and repair this rupture. It aches in the same way his bruised heart aches. His whole body pulls him in the direction of his mate. He rocks forward on the cushion, nearly standing, before he can get ahold of himself.
“Please dress,” Jungkook says. “I can’t — please.”
He averts his eyes immediately, standing intentionally to cross the room to a chest of drawers containing some of his clothes. He turns his back to Hoseok and pulls them on clumsily, keeping his body hidden behind the sheet as well as he can. It hurts to think of just how excited he had been when he was undressing. Before he knew.
He waits to hear Hoseok’s affirmation, and when he does, he turns to see Hoseok, standing next to the bed, watching him with sadness in his eyes. He steels his heart. He will give only what he must of himself tonight, and nothing more.
Quietly, they both climb into the bed and under the covers. The scent of arousal still permeates the linens; Jungkook breathes through his mouth, but even still, the scent of Hoseok’s desire overwhelms his senses. He will refuse it. He must refuse it.
And still, their bond cries out to him. His mate is distressed. He is distressed. He cannot give in to what the bond truly wants of him, but it also cannot be ignored. They will wither without it. Jungkook draws one hand from under the covers and lays it, palm up, on the bed between them.
In only a moment, Hoseok’s hand is in his.
The effect is immediate; Jungkook’s entire body loosens. His heart rate slows. His breathing eases. Hoseok sighs, and Jungkook can tell from his scent that he is experiencing the same calming effect of his mate’s touch. It is, perhaps, the greatest betrayal of this long night: his own body’s comfort at the touch of the man who has brought him such pain.
“We will talk more tomorrow,” Jungkook says. A whispered okay is the only response he gets other than the continued firm grip of Hoseok’s hand.
They lay in silence as the candles burn out one by one. Jungkook does not know if he will sleep. His mind is too scattered. He stares at the ceiling, willing this to all, somehow, be a dream.
His hand, held in Hoseok’s, is warm. The rest of him is cold and empty.