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He looks like he stepped out of one of Hongjoong’s wet dreams. Plump pink lips, alluring dark eyes, underwear peeking over the waistband of low-slung jeans, a cropped shirt that reveals a tantalizing sliver of toned stomach and a sinfully slender waist, made to be grabbed. When he bends over to retrieve a drink from his bag, Hongjoong’s eyes hungrily track the way the slightly damp fabric of his t-shirt rides up, revealing the smooth skin of his back, sweat gathering in the deep dip of his spine.
Hongjoong hadn't planned on spending the hottest day of the year in a laundromat, but now he’s glad he is, so he could meet this person who’s both an angel and sin on legs.
Case in point: He looks obscene, post-coital, with the sheen of sweat on his golden skin, the pink flush on his cheeks, the way he slowly tilts his head back and parts his lips around a silent moan as he rolls the cool glass of a bottle of sparkling lemonade over his cheeks and neck. The glass glistens with condensation, droplets sliding off and dripping down the angel-devil’s skin.
Hongjoong wasn’t sure at first about the subgender of the sinfully beautiful stranger, but then he walked right by where Hongjoong sat to get a laundry cart, and Hongjoong caught a whiff of his scent—light and sweet and citrusy. An omega’s scent.
Hongjoong watches the omega now with naked desire, watches his sweat and the condensation from the bottle drip down his neck and dampen the collar of his shirt, some of it slipping beneath to continue its path down his chest. Hongjoong wishes he could follow with his tongue. The omega’s t-shirt is tight over his round chest and, despite the muggy heat, his nipples are hard, two visible peaks under the soft white fabric.
What makes it all so much worse is the omega must know he’s being watched. Hongjoong has been staring openly, shamelessly, and he’s the only other person braving this laundromat and its shitty AC today. The omega moves like he wants to be watched—the slow way he tilts his head back, exposing the elegant length of his neck, sweat-slick and gleaming like liquid gold in the late afternoon sunlight. The way he stretches, making the t-shirt ride up, exposing more of his taut stomach and a perfect belly button that Hongjoong wants to take shots out of.
He licks his lips, tasting the salt of his sweat beading there, and imagines instead licking sweat and salt off the omega’s skin, taking a lemon wedge from between his plush lips.
The crack of the bottle cap being twisted open draws Hongjoong out of his reverie and his eyes back up to the omega’s face, and he realizes he’s being watched now, too. The omega holds Hongjoong’s gaze, a question, a challenge, in his dark eyes.
He looks like he’s in an ad, the sexy omega spokesmodel meant to convince you to pay for the fancy name-brand sparkling lemonade. Hongjoong drinks in every detail, and it’s like it’s happening in slow motion: the omega raising the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to bare his sweat-shiny throat. A drop of sweat trembles at his chin and then falls, catching the light. He drinks in deep, desperate gulps, his throat bobbing, his eyes closed and brows furrowing like he’s receiving the best pleasure of his life. A trickle of the lemonade escapes from the corner of his mouth, slides past his jaw and down his neck. When he’s done, he pulls the bottle away with a deeply satisfied, deeply sensual moan. His eyes flutter open and catch Hongjoong’s stare. With the sweat and unstyled hair and flushed cheeks and slack jaw, he looks like he’s in a post-orgasmic haze.
Hongjoong squirms in the uncomfortable orange plastic chair and tugs at his tightening jeans. Sweat prickles at the small of his back. It’s really too hot for jeans and a denim vest, but Honjoong always commits to a look, even on laundry day, even on the hottest day of the year.
When the smell of lemon and sugar reaches him, he thinks at first he’s just lost in fantasizing, his brain conjuring the scent of lemonade on the omega’s breath. But then it hits him in full force, and he nearly swoons in his seat.
He’s not imagining anything. It’s real, and it’s the omega’s scent, blooming thick and sweet and filling the laundromat. The pieces click into place all at once—the flush, the sweat, the stiff nipples, the heavy-lidded looks. He thought it was just the heat—the temperature—but the scent makes him understand: the omega is in heat.
His alpha stirs in his chest, suddenly alert, and Hongjoong does his best to control it and his own strong whiskey scent.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice comes out in a husk. His throat feels like sandpaper and clicks on a hard swallow as he tries to wet it, though he knows this isn’t that kind of thirst.
The omega flicks his gaze over to Hongjoong, and he can see it now, the glassiness in his eyes, the way he seems to struggle to focus for a moment. Again, his alpha stirs, nose raised to catch another whiff of the omega’s lemony scent.
“I’m fine,” the omega says. He aims for dismissive, but Hongjoong can hear the strain in his voice.
He bites the inside of his lip to keep from smirking. If the omega wants to play hard to get, then he’ll play along. He likes a little push and pull. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and spreads his legs, and doesn’t miss the way the omega’s eyes sweep him up and down, his pupils dilating.
Hongjoong gives him his own silent once over, as if to say, Damn right, you are.
“If you’re sure,” he says with a shrug, as if it makes no difference to him, as if he wouldn’t fall to his knees on the faded linoleum to beg for just one taste of the omega.
They hold each other’s gaze for several drawn-out seconds, tension building, thick and close like the humid air outside. The moment is broken by the mechanical buzz of the omega’s washing machine announcing its cycle is done.
Hongjoong watches the omega walk over at a languid pace, hips swaying, like he knows he’s being watched and he knows how good he looks. He sets his lemonade on top of the machine and leans down to open it, bending at the hips rather than at the knees so Hongjoong can see the shape of his perky ass under his jeans and the arch of his back, the taper from his broad shoulders to his slim waist.
It occurs to Hongjoong then that this is all on purpose—not just the way he’s behaved since he noticed Hongjoong watching, but being here at all. Hongjoong was concerned at first. Why would an omega come to do laundry when he was in heat? It’s a lot of physical work, it’s hot as hell outside and hardly better inside, and who knows who he might run into?
Unless running into someone was the point.
His cock, now straining uncomfortably against his zipper, twitches with interest.
“I’m Hongjoong, by the way,” he says, with affected laziness.
The omega looks over his shoulder without turning or straightening up. “Seonghwa,” he says.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong repeats, the syllables popping on his tongue like the bubbles in Seonghwa’s sparkling lemonade, sweet and tart and refreshing. “Nice to meet you.” Now that he knows, every word feels charged, laden with possibility.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Hongjoong asks again. He could be asking about the laundry, but they both know he’s not.
Seonghwa glances over his shoulder again, and Hongjoong can see how much he’s enjoying the chase by the coy grin that tugs at his plush lips. “You really wanna help?” he asks, voice dripping with suggestion.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Hongjoong asks.
“I’m just here to do laundry,” Seonghwa says, and, as if to illustrate his point, holds up a pair of freshly-washed white lace panties. Hongjoong can so easily imagine them on him: the contrast of the white against Seonghwa’s tan skin, the lace hugging his sharp hipbones, the thin fabric disappearing between the round globes of his ass.
His scent, dark amber whiskey, bursts forth with a flare of desire, and hits Seonghwa like a physical force, making him sway and his lashes flutter, his hands gripping the washing machine to support himself. The panties slip from his fingers and fall to the floor.
“Damn, you’ll have to wash those again,” Hongjoong says and clicks his tongue, pretending he hasn’t noticed the state Seonghwa’s in.
Seonghwa stands and turns to lean back against the washing machine, scorching stare fixed on Hongjoong, teeth gritted. His dark hair is damp around his temples, and a bead of sweat drips from the ends, tracing a perfect path down the sharp line of his clenched jaw.
Hongjoong stands slowly and takes his time sauntering over, hands in his pockets, his eyes already devouring the omega. His alpha snaps its teeth in impatience, but Hongjoong’s having too much fun turning the tables, being the one to make Seonghwa squirm now.
Seonghwa is taller than him, but is slumped against the washing machine like a wilting hot-house flower, so they’re nearly eye to eye when Hongjoong steps close, trapping the other between his legs. Slowly, he leans in, bracing his hands on top of the machine on either side of Seonghwa, until the tips of their nose are almost touching.
The omega’s lips part with a nearly inaudible little sigh of relief, and his eyelids droop as he moves to close the distance. Hongjoong leans away, a crooked smirk on his face, sharp, white teeth flashing. The whine of frustration Seonghwa makes is adorable and sinful all at once. Hongjoong wonders how long he’s been this needy, how much desperation he was hiding under that little show he put on.
“You gotta tell me what you want, angel,” Hongjoong says. “I’m not a mind reader.”
Seonghwa looks in that moment like he’s torn between falling to his knees and swallowing Hongjoong’s cock or biting his head off. “You’re insufferable,” he says, like he’s just decided it’s true, though the heated way he says it makes it sound more like a come-on than an insult.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” Hongjoong says. And he’d very much like to hear Seonghwa beg. He presses closer until their bodies are flush, hot skin and damp fabric and matching bulges in their jeans. Between them their scents mix, a heady lemon-whiskey cocktail that’s just as intoxicating as the real thing.
The pretty flush on Seonghwa’s face deepens, and the last of his control dissolves. “I want your help,” he says, voice so taut with need it’s close enough to begging.
Hongjoong could be mean, could make him be more specific and see how high and whiny he can make that velvety voice go. But he can achieve that in other ways, and he’s too ready to finally get his hands on Seonghwa.
He starts with Seonghwa’s waist, that strip of skin between his waistband and his t-shirt that’s been taunting him. Seonghwa melts like sorbet under his touch, a puddle of lemony sweetness begging to be tasted.
The inside of the washing machine and the little round door are beaded with condensation, the clothes still soaked through with warm water, and it emits heat and steam like a miniature sauna. Between his sweat and the steam, Seonghwa’s t-shirt is clinging to him. It sticks to the crevice between his pecs and his nipples stand out even more now, hard with arousal.
Hongjoong slides his hands higher, pushing up the hem of the shirt to expose more of Seonghwa’s waist and abdomen, fingers sliding over the damp, silken skin of his back. He leans in close again, but still not to kiss, instead brushing his nose against Seonghwa’s neck and breathing in his lemon sugar scent. He licks just beneath Seonghwa’s scent gland, and Seonghwa gasps and shudders in his hold, his knees going weak and feet sliding against the linoleum tiles with a harsh squeak. Hongjoong grips more firmly to his waist, keeping him upright.
“Do you always come to laundromats to seduce random alphas to help you with your heat?” Hongjoong asks against Seonghwa’s skin, just below his ear.
Seonghwa shakes his head. “No,” he says breathlessly.
“So it’s just my lucky day, huh?” Hongjoong chuckles. Seonghwa doesn’t answer, and something about the way he stills under Hongjoong makes him pull back. When he tries to catch Seonghwa’s eye, Seonghwa turns his head away, his ears going pink.
“I was looking for you,” he says quietly and glances at Hongjoong from under his lashes.
“Me?” Hongjoong says. He racks his brain, trying to remember if he’s bumped into Seonghwa somewhere before, but already knows he hasn’t—he would have remembered him.
He’s still close enough to kiss Seonghwa, to see the individual beads of sweat on his brow and the way his throat catches when he swallows.
“I saw you here a while ago. I wanted you so bad.” He turns his head slowly to face Hongjoong again, his eyelids drooping, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip as he eyes Hongjoong up and down. “But I got too shy. I couldn’t even come inside.” Hongjoong can’t imagine Seonghwa being shy, not with the way he’s looking at him now, but it’s cute. “Then my preheat started, and I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
“So you came to a laundromat looking like this,” Hongjoong says, voice hot and low, and runs a finger under the elastic of Seonghwa’s underwear, then snaps it against his skin. “Hoping to get me alone? Hoping I’d fuck you and knot you right here? Where anyone could walk in?” He leans in close again and says each word in an exhale against Seonghwa’s neck, lips brushing his skin.
“Yes,” Seonghwa says around a gasp as Hongjoong’s teeth sink into his earlobe.
“Then I guess it’s your lucky day, angel,” he husks in Seonghwa’s ear, deftly popping the button of his jeans without even looking. He tugs at the waistband, forcing the zipper open, and the jeans fall loose, hanging even lower around Seonghwa’s hips, exposing his black underwear and the bulge in the front of them.
Hongjoong is delighted to find Seonghwa’s underwear is more like panties, cut high over his prominent hips. As if Seonghwa couldn’t be any more of a wet dream.
Hongjoong palms over the bulge, and Seonghwa bucks into the touch, his lashes fluttering. Hongjoong’s eyes are hungry, predatory, and they zero in on Seonghwa’s pink lips, the pretty little O they make when he moans. They look plump as ripe fruit, and Hongjoong can’t resist sinking his teeth into the lower one, then slipping his tongue past Seonghwa's perfect teeth—because there’s not a part of Seonghwa that isn’t perfect—and stealing the soft moans out of his mouth.
The kisses are messy, rough, desperate, seeking relief from each other’s teeth and tongues and lips. The hunger is audible—the wet slide and smack of their lips, their moans and gasps, their harsh breaths every time they force themselves to separate for just a moment, lightheaded with heat and humidity and lack of air.
Seonghwa’s body rolls against Hongjoong’s, grinding into his touch, and Hongjoong smirks against his mouth. The front of his underwear is growing wet too, clinging to the outline of his cock.
Hongjoong’s own clothes are clinging to his body too, sticking to the sweat at the small of his back, on his chest, around his collar. He feels like Seonghwa’s scent is condensing in the air, seeping into his clothing, a scent he’ll never be able to get out or forget. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to bottle it, turn it into perfume, lotion, fabric softener.
“You smell so good,” he says, nosing at Seonghwa’s scent gland. He’s pushing his luck, paying so much attention to the gland when he and Seonghwa hardly know each other, but he can’t help himself. No other omega’s scent has ever affected him like this before. Seonghwa seems to love it anyway, and releases another wave of sweet lemon in response to the praise.
Hongjoong licks along Seonghwa’s neck again, savoring the salty tang of his sweat and his scent, so potent now he swears he can taste it too, lemon sugar coating his tongue. He keeps moving, licking and kissing and biting his way down Seonghwa’s neck, dipping his tongue into the hollow of his throat where sweat has gathered.
He squeezes Seonghwa’s cock through his underwear and rubs his thumb over the steadily growing wet patch over the tip.
Seonghwa moans and throws his head back and arches, his shoulders knocking hard into the washing machine and making it quake and—the bottle of lemonade he set there, long since forgotten, wobbles and falls, hits Seonghwa’s shoulder, and spills its contents all down his front. It soaks his shirt through, cascades down his body, flowing into twin streams down his v-line. His shirt, already damp and clinging, is nearly transparent now, showing every line and dip of his muscles, his stiff nipples and brown areolas.
The bottle clinks to the floor and rolls away, completely unnoticed by either of them. They’re too wrapped up in each other, too far gone. Seonghwa looks at his soaked shirt and then at Hongjoong through lidded eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly with his panting breath. He’s unreal, a heat-induced mirage, a wet dream made into a person. Hongjoong wants to ruin him.
He presses Seonghwa even more firmly against the machine, hands gripping and squeezing his waist, and leans down to lick his nipple over the soaked fabric of his shirt. Seonghwa whines, high-pitched, and his body rolls under Hongjoong, seeking relief.
Hongjoong keeps a hand cupped over Seonghwa’s cock, letting him rut weakly against his palm, while he focuses his attention on his nipples. He licks in long, firm strokes, the lingering taste of lemonade and the salt of Seonghwa’s sweat making his mouth water. The fabric is soon plastered to Seonghwa’s skin, hot and rough against Hongjoong’s tongue and Seonghwa’s nipple. He can feel Seonghwa’s cock twitching in his hand from the intense stimulation, and wave after wave of sugared lemon scent seeps from him.
Once he’s done with one nipple, the bud now visibly swollen and red through the semi-translucent fabric, he switches to the other. He licks broad and flat, flicks with the end of his tongue, closes his teeth around it and tugs. Seonghwa responds so beautifully, crying out at each little touch, hands clamped tight to Hongjoong’s shoulders.
Hongjoong wonders idly if he could get Seonghwa to produce milk if he keeps at it long enough. His chest certainly looks full enough for it. Indulging himself, he cups Seonghwa’s full tits in his hands and presses them together, licking through the crevice created between them.
If he could get Seonghwa leaking milk, he wonders if it would taste as good as he smells. Like a sweet lemon cream soda. He growls softly against Seonghwa’s chest at the thought, and he’s suddenly overcome with the need to taste Seonghwa everywhere.
Forcefully, he turns Seonghwa around, pushing firmly on his shoulder to bend him over the top of the machine. He plasters himself against Seonghwa, his hard cock rutting against his firm ass, and noses at the damp hair at the nape of Seonghwa’s neck. He hungrily breathes in the smell of sweat and coconut shampoo and the pervasive sugar lemon scent. Everything about Seonghwa is mouth-watering.
Hongjoong drops to his knees so quickly it hurts, but he barely registers the pain over his arousal and his single-minded desire to have Seonghwa’s taste on his tongue.
He drags Seonghwa’s jeans down his sinfully long legs and lets him step out of them. He runs his hands appreciatively up the newly exposed smooth, clean-shaven skin of his legs, admiring the golden expanse of his toned hamstrings. The muscles quiver under Hongjoong’s hands.
The scent of lemon and sugar is so much stronger here, where slick coats the insides of Seonghwa’s thighs in thick, shining streaks. Hongjoong slides his hands higher to cup Seonghwa’s tight, round ass and spread him open, revealing the slick-soaked skin and fabric between his cheeks. The band of his underwear stretches tight, only just covering his hole, and Hongjoong can see the dusky rose shade of skin around it.
Hongjoong licks him over the fabric first, dragging his tongue over the bulge of his hard cock and his balls. He presses closer, mouthing at his balls, his nose pressed against his perineum, the fabric there damp with sweat and slick. The heady musk of sweat, sweet bite of lemon, and clean whiff of body wash make Hongjoong’s head spin. Beneath it all is the undercurrent of his whiskey scent, rolling off him in steady waves. It smells like summer nights, a bar, a dance floor, sweaty bodies and hot skin and liquor-sticky floors. It makes Hongjoong feel reckless, wild.
He tugs Seonghwa’s underwear down, groaning when he uncovers a tan line, a tiny triangle of paler skin, and two thin lines of it low on Seonghwa’s hips. The image of Seonghwa tanning in nothing but tiny string bikini bottoms makes Hongjoong growl, equal parts turned on and possessive at the thought of anyone else seeing him like that.
“You’re just a slut, aren’t you?” he says, tracing the outline of the pale patch of skin, then landing a firm, open palm smack on Seonghwa’s ass.
Seonghwa yelps, his body tightening all over, and his hole clenching, leaking a fat dollop of slick. Hongjoong groans and watches it hungrily, follows the slow drip of it down to Seonghwa’s perineum before he catches it on his tongue and retraces its path, licking over Seonghwa’s soaked hole.
The slick slides down his throat like a lemon drop shot, sweet and tart and going straight to his head.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong groans, breathing the curse hot against Seonghwa’s skin. “You taste so good, angel. Such a sweet little omega.” Never mind that Seonghwa is taller than him and he can see his defined back muscles flexing through the tight fabric of his damp t-shirt. He folds under Hongjoong’s touch so easily.
With his model-worthy body and face, and delectable scent, Seonghwa could have any alpha he wanted, but he chose to spend his heat in a laundromat on the off chance that Hongjoong would be there. Hongjoong has always had a possessive streak, but he’s never felt it so strongly before. Just the thought of the possibility of Seonghwa spending his heat with another alpha makes him growl, his whiskey scent flaring with a bitter, burnt sugar note.
Seonghwa’s body reacts instantly, already so attuned to Hongjoong. Another wave of slick gushes from him, and his muscles go lax, his head lolling like he’s had one too many drinks, exposing the side of his neck.
From his position on his knees, Hongjoong can’t bite him there like his canines itch to do, so he satisfied the urge, at least temporarily, by biting the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh. The taste and smell of Seonghwa is everywhere, filling his mouth and his nose and making him lose more and more sense by the second.
At the sensation of Hongjoong’s teeth sinking into his skin, Seonghwa’s feet slide on the tiles, his thighs parting wider, giving Hongjoong more room.
Hongjoong bites down hard—hard enough to leave a mark—and sucks harshly, until he’s left a sizable bruise, lurdily red against Seonghwa’s tan skin. He licks it, like he would a mating bite, as if to seal it in place, and then kisses his way up the back of Seonghwa’s thigh, over the curve of his ass, to get his mouth on his hole again.
He pushes his tongue inside, Seonghwa taking him so easily, releasing a keen and a gush of slick. Hongjoong devours him the way he deserves, swirls and pumps his tongue as deep as he can, holding him open so he can press his face flush, his nose filled with the smell of salt and sugar and lemon. He drinks Seonghwa’s slick in greedy swallows, letting it slake his thirst like lemonade on a hot day.
He doesn’t think he could ever truly have his fill, but eventually the ache of his hard cock grows too insistent, borderline painful, to ignore.
He straightens and, as he makes quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans, he takes in the sight of Seonghwa, whistling low in appreciation.
He looks like a goddamn porno magazine centerfold—bent over, wearing nothing but his cropped t-shirt, white crew socks, and sneakers. His shirt is rucked up over his slender waist, golden skin glistening like he’s been oiled up. His mile-long legs are spread wide, and his back is arched to push his ass out, exposing that tan line and his slick- and now spit-soaked hole, rivulets of wetness dripping down his thighs like lemon sugar glaze. His cock is as pretty as the rest of him, because of course it is, and hangs heavy and flushed between his legs.
With one hand Hongjoong shoves down his jeans and underwear, freeing his aching cock with a groan of relief, and with the other he pushes two fingers into Seonghwa.
It’s so easy, Seonghwa’s hole so slick and willing. He’s tight, clenching around Hongjoong’s fingers like he’s desperate to keep him inside, but he takes Hongjoong so well as he begins to pump and crook his fingers. Each movement creates a soft, wet squelch, the scent of lemon blooming as more slick pours around Hongjoong’s fingers, the omega’s body signaling to the alpha that he’s ready.
Hongjoong still hasn’t heard him beg, though, and he’s enjoying the sight in front of him too much. He strokes his own cock for some relief, squeezing every time Seonghwa clenches around his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out until only the tips remain inside and slowly slips in a third alongside them, moving like they have all the time in the world, like he needs to take his time really opening Seonghwa up and getting him ready, even though he’s an omega in heat and could take Hongjoong with zero prep.
“Please,” Seonghwa finally says, voice cracking.
Hongjoong stops moving his fingers and tilts his head in mock ignorance when Seonghwa turns to look over his shoulder. He tries to glare, but the effect is mostly lost thanks to his glazed, heavy-lidded eyes. He looked wanton, undone. Hongjoong’s never seen an omega sweat so much, but it suits Seonghwa. Of course he doesn’t look messy or disheveled; he looks even more gorgeous, like a siren just emerging from the sea. Sweat beads and glitter like jewels on his feverish skin.
“Please what?” Hongjoong asks, voice low and teasing. More a challenge than a question.
Seonghwa whines and tries to keep taking Hongjoong’s fingers, rocking back against them and clenching tight. Crystalline drops of sweat tremble on the end of his nose and his chin and then fall. His sweat-beaded brow furrows and his lashes flutter, pink mouth hanging open around relieved moans. Hongjoong lets him take what he needs for a moment, lets him build up a rhythm, then pulls his fingers out completely.
Seonghwa stills instantly and lets out a plaintive little cry. His slick, loosened hole winks around the sudden emptiness. Hongjoong watches with his lip caught between his teeth, thumbing at the leaking head of his own cock. God, Seonghwa is even more than a wet dream—Hongjoong’s imagination could never conjure someone so obscenely perfect.
“Please what?” he repeats, injecting a little of his alpha voice into the question.
Seonghwa trembles all over and gasps, like he almost came untouched. His head hangs limp between his shoulders, and he pants in soft, labored little gasps. Then he gathers his strength and lifts his head and looks over his shoulder again and gives Hongjoong a pleading gaze, begging before he’s even opened his mouth.
“Please fuck me, Hongjoong. Alpha. Please knot me, I need it so badly. It hurts, I need you, need to come on your knot, please.” His rich voice climbs higher and higher with each word until the last please comes out in a high-pitched whine.
Hongjoong can’t tell if the growl that comes out of him is him or his alpha, but either way, it makes Seonghwa’s eyes roll back and his hole clench, a thick gush of slick waterfalling down his thighs.
Hongjoong grabs hold of Seonghwa’s hips and shoves him forward, pressing him against the washing machine while moving forward to cage him in with his body. It’s a bit of an awkward shuffle, with his jeans and underwear tangled around his ankles, and he practically falls onto Seonghwa, plastering himself against his sweaty back, his hips and thighs meeting the slick-coated back of Seonghwa’s legs with a wet smack.
He lets the momentum carry him forward and buries his nose against Seonghwa’s neck, bared for him by Seonghwa’s head lolling back limply, knocking against Hongjoong’s.
“You beg so pretty, angel,” he says against Seonghwa’s skin, his breath coming thick and humid. He holds the base of his cock so he can slide it between Seonghwa’s wet cheeks, the head catching Seonghwa’s rim and making them both moan. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll never want another alpha. I’ll knot you right here in this laundromat where anyone could walk by and see you taking me like the perfect omega slut you are. Just like you want, right?”
“Yes—fuck—please, please, Hongjoong, please, need it so bad,” Seonghwa babbles, half-incoherent from his heat and the heat and Hongjoong still teasing him, rutting against his ass and moaning deep and rough in his ear.
The stream of desperate chatter is cut off with a loud moan when Hongjoong repositions himself and, on the next roll of his hips, presses the head of his cock inside Seonghwa.
Any thought Hongjoong had of continuing to draw this out disappears the second he feels the tight, wet heat of Seonghwa around him. With another growl, he slides his hands to grip Seonghwa’s waist, fingertips digging into the firm muscles of his abdomen, and tugs him back onto his cock. Seonghwa is so tight but takes him so easily, like he was made for it.
Roughly, Hongjoong pushes Seonghwa away as he pulls back until only the head of his cock remains inside, then repeats the motion from before, tugging Seonghwa back and snapping his hips forward, connecting with Seonghwa’s ass with a loud, wet slap of skin against skin.
He sets a steady rhythm that way, fast and deep and rough, each thrust punching a loud Ah! out of Seonghwa. The sound of Hongjoong’s laundry still going and the hum of the clunky AC may cover up the sound of them a bit, but not much. If there’s someone in an office somewhere they don’t know about, they’ll be able to hear and have no doubt about what’s going on. Especially when Seonghwa starts practically screaming for Hongjoong.
“Oh god, alpha, yes! So good, so fucking good, don’t stop!” He looks like he belongs in a porno, and now he sounds like it too. It’s driving Hongjoong even wilder.
He admires Seonghwa beneath him. While Hongjoong fucks him brutally, his tight little ass bouncing against each hard thrust, he also touches him gently, reverently, appreciating him like a work of art. He runs his fingers down the gorgeous curve of his spine, tracing invisible patterns into the sheen of sweat on his back. He spreads Seonghwa open so he can watch his hole, shiny with slick and puffy from use, take his cock. Hongjoong may be shorter than the average alpha, but he’s big where it counts.
Then he slides one hand around, across the damp skin of Seonghwa’s abdomen, and presses down, searching—and yes, he can feel it. Every time he fucks into Seonghwa, the taut skin of his lower belly bulges with a small bump from Hongjoong’s cock.
Hongjoong curses and plasters his chest against Seonghwa’s back while his other hand reaches, fumbles for Seonghwa’s hand where it’s clutching for dear life to the back of the washing machine. Hongjoong grabs his wrist and guides his hand to lay where Hongjoong's had been and pants in his ear, “Do you feel that, angel? Told you I’d fuck you so good. You’re mine now, my omega.”
Seonghwa comes then, the combination of feeling the bulge and hearing Hongjoong call him his omega pushing him over the edge. All his muscles seize, and he cries out, one sharp, loud moan. His cock spills across the front of the washing machine and onto the linoleum tiles, and his hole throbs around Hongjoong’s cock.
Hongjoong hisses through his teeth and stills for a moment so he doesn’t come prematurely from the feeling of Seonghwa’s wet heat squeezing even tighter around him. He lays against Seonghwa’s back, his forehead pressed to his shoulder, hair plastered to his forehead from his sweat and Seonghwa’s damp t-shirt and the humid air of the laundromat, even steamier now thanks to their fucking.
Seonghwa, though, isn’t satisfied. He’s in heat; he needs a knot inside of him. His first orgasm is barely finished, his thighs still trembling, when he starts fucking himself back on Hongjoong’s cock. “Alpha, please!” he cries, sounding like he’s on the verge of tears.
Hongjoong isn’t going to make him beg anymore. His fingers dig into Seonghwa’s waist in a bruising grip and he starts fucking him faster, harder, rougher, wilder.
Between their sweat, Seonghwa’s slick, and the force of Hongjoong’s thrusts, the sound of his hips meeting Seonghwa’s ass is obscene. It’s wet and sticky and messy and the hottest thing Hongjoong has ever seen or heard.
He pants hard with exertion as he chases his own orgasm, his knot beginning to swell, and makes sure Seonghwa is receiving the best fucking of his life, so he’ll never even think about another alpha. Sweat drips from the ends of his hair and his nose and his chin and falls onto Seonghwa’s back.
Seonghwa sobs with pleasure, a constant chant of please, please, please falling from his lips, until Hongjoong gives one final, hard thrust and tugs Seonghwa back against him and pops his knot inside.
Immediately, Seonghwa comes again. His back arches, and his legs wobble, and he moans loud and long and blissed out. His hole clenches, squeezing around Hongjoong’s knot, and that pushes Hongjoong over the edge, too. He lets out a loud moan that pitches up into a whine at the end, just before he quiets it by biting down on Seonghwa’s shoulder. His senses are completely filled with Seonghwa—the taste of his sweat on his tongue, the feel of his hole milking his knot, and the smell of his lemon sugar scent. His own scent pours forth, richer and slightly sweeter too now, with his satisfaction. Their scents mix perfectly, a fragrant cocktail, getting them both completely drunk off each other.
Seonghwa sighs when he feels Hongjoong spill inside him, all his muscles relaxing so he becomes loose and pliant under Hongjoong—except inside, where he’s still clenched tight, milking Hongjoong for everything he’s worth. He caresses his lower stomach, as if he can feel Hongjoong’s cum there, and lets out a contended little hum.
They stand like that for a while, not speaking, breath gradually coming slower and deeper as they get it under control.
Hongjoong knows from experience his knot isn’t going down any time soon, so he gently presses Seonghwa further forward, lets him drape his upper body over the top of the washing machine and lie there, Hongjoong pressed against his back, leaving soft kisses on his warm, sweat-slicked neck. He kisses each knob at the top of Seonghwa’s spine above his collar, then down the ones exposed by the clinging fabric of his shirt.
Unable to resist, he slides his hands under the front of Seonghwa’s shirt, peeling it away from his skin so he can feel his bare chest. He squeezes Seonghwa’s soft pecs and then brushes his fingertips over Seonghwa’s nipples. Seonghwa gasps and flinches, turning his head to pout at Hongjoong and whine petulantly.
“‘S too much,” he mumbles, slurring his words like he really is drunk off the cocktail of his and Hongjoong’s scents. He looks adorable with his blush and one cheek squished against the washing machine.
Hongjoong has never found an omega both so sexy and so cute before, and he realizes in that moment that he’s a goner.
He covers up the weight of the realization by lightly pinching Seonghwa’s nipple. Seonghwa squeals and squirms, which makes his hole clench around Hongjoong’s knot, which makes Hongjoong let out a pained moan. He guesses he deserved that.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he soothes, sliding his hands out from under Seonghwa’s shirt and running them along his sides. He presses a soothing kiss to Seonghwa’s shoulder, where the shallow imprint of his teeth still shows.
“Let’s hope no one walks in before my knot goes down or we’ll have to find a new laundromat,” he muses.
Seonghwa giggles tiredly and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I actually did this. I’ve never been this crazy over an alpha before. This,” he says and gestures lazily to indicate the whole situation, “is so not like me.”
“Yeah?” Hongjoong says, unable to keep the smug note from his voice, and grins.
Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but his lips tug up in their own smile. “Yeah, even though I still think you’re kind of insufferable. So you better have meant what you said about there not being another alpha ever again.”
Hongjoong’s chest glows bright as the golden hour sunlight, his alpha content and settled. “Yeah, ‘course I did,” he says. “Who else could’ve fucked you so good in a laundromat, huh?”
He punctuates his teasing with a light smack and squeeze to Seonghwa’s ass. Seonghwa laughs, bright and bubbly as sparkling lemonade, and Hongjoong greedily drinks in the sound, already thirsty for more.
Eventually, Hongjoong’s knot goes down enough for him to pull out, which they’re both privately relieved about, because being bent over the washing machine was getting uncomfortable.
They’re both sweaty and sticky with semi-dried slick, and agree that what they need is a nice, cold shower. Together.
But first, they have laundry to finish. They throw their washed clothes in the dryer and, when that’s done, peel out of their clothes to change into something fresh, eyeing each new piece of skin revealed with interest. The feverish flush returns to Seonghwa’s cheeks, and Hongjoong’s reminded that he’s still in heat. Their plan to go back to the same apartment solidifies.
They forego the uncomfortable plastic chairs and sit on the floor to wait so they can be as close as possible, mindless of the heat as they lean into each other’s bodies, inhaling their scents, now indistinguishable from each other, a perfectly mixed drink.
Hongjoong begins to wonder if they could get away with fucking in a laundromat twice in a row, but distracts himself by asking Seonghwa questions, learning all he can about this omega he thought was a figment of his imagination the first time he laid eyes on him.
At some point, Seonghwa retrieves a second bottle of sparkling lemonade from his bag. It’s barely even cold anymore, but they’re thirsty and need something to do with their hands so they’ll keep them off each other until they’re somewhere more private.
The lemonade is good, an expensive brand Seonghwa shyly says he lets himself indulge in because it makes him feel fancy. But, Hongjoong thinks as he takes a slow sip, it doesn’t compare to the taste of Seonghwa at all.