Work Text:
Seungkwan huffs and throws his phone to the other end of the couch, letting his scent sour since he knows he’ll be the only one smelling anything in the apartment for weeks to come. It shouldn’t affect him. It really shouldn't. He’s past this. He knows it was a joke- or sorry, a pun, whatever. He knows that all of them love him, and think he’s attractive enough and all of that. Besides, he’s the one who said he’s perfectly fine with the ribbing and jokes and–
He stands abruptly, cutting off the spiral before it starts, smacking a hand over his mouth and shaking his head for good measure. He strides into the kitchen and grabs the same glass he had washed and dried on the dish rack just three hours ago. It still smelled like the Liquid IV and pre-heat meds he’d been on for the last 2 days. He tries to regulate his breathing as he runs the tap and holds his hands under the water without actually filling the glass. The meds won’t suppress his oncoming heat, but he only takes them to make sure he doesn’t lose his mind prematurely anyway. So the slingshotting emotions are curtailed down to a bearable level, and he doesn’t feel like tearing off the first few layers of his skin. Or at least, that’s what they are supposed to do, and to their credit, barring the rubbed-raw spike in sensitivity, he doesn't have any of his usual cramps or nausea. He just needs to get some food in his stomach before it hits, and eating and staying hydrated fall to the least of his priorities. Without Jeonghan to calm his nerves and neurotic tendencies a lot or scent leading up to a heat, Seungkwan was thankful to his delusional brain and a particularly strong nose because even now, he thought he could smell the faintest traces of cherry whiskey in the air, making his throat dry and a shiver run up his spine. He should shower and get ready, he thought, no need to put it off any longer. And maybe being clean and crawling into his nest would help ground him a bit. He sighed and trudged to his room, turning the humidifier on, topping it off with some water and dropping several drops of the scent neutralizer into it. He felt like the cleaning people already did so much, and whatever he could do to make their lives a little easier was an essential part of his routine.
He hears the keypad beeping when he's stepping out of the shower, and he is already getting ready to profess his undying gratitude to his manager hyung, who had probably picked up his delivery, feeling like the final step in putting the day’s events behind him was hot soup. The scent of whiskey hits him before he comes face to face with Seungcheol standing in his entryway, hands full, and the lightest layer of sweat gathering at his hairline.
“Coups hyung? What the hell are you doing? You can't be here right now!” Seungkwan stutters, taken aback by the subtle hints of caramel that signify Seungcheol's anxiety.
“Kwan ah, I had to see you, I wanted to apologize, in person.” Seungcheol pouts, toeing off his shoes and strolling into the apartment. His hands are full, and he walks straight into the kitchen and starts unboxing and putting away the food and supplies Seungkwan had ordered.
“Hey, I was gonna eat some of that!” Seungkwan whines, but Seungcheol’s mind was still stuck on the joke—God, it hadn’t even been a good joke, it was supposed to be a stupid pun—landed sideways the minute he posted it. He’d known it when the comments started rolling in, when Seungkwan had gone quiet in the group chat, when he realized the phrasing hit just a little too close to the bruises Seungkwan kept hidden under practiced wit and self-deprecating smiles.
And he hadn’t been at the studio with the rest of the Vocal unit and Hoshi because that’s where Seungcheol had gone first. Apparently, he’d stayed home, so Seungcheol had rushed here.
He took a breath, tried to ground himself. Finally, looking at Seungkwan, standing there with wet hair clinging to his cheeks, a hoodie two sizes too big hanging off his small frame, blinking up at him. He didn't know if Seungkwan had heard his intent to apologize, and he was about to ask when Seungkwan let out a little huff. His scent bloomed into the orange blossom scent that signified that Seungkwan was back firmly on stable ground, and he felt calm and in control, almost conversationally, he said, “I shouldn’t have taken it to heart, right? The joke?” he scoffs at himself, “I mean, it’s not like I’m competing with you or the rest of the visuals. I should be thankful they let me sing. The main vocal is no small feat anyway. That’s where my worth is for the team.”
It was so calmly said. So matter-of-fact, like he’d been telling himself that same line for years, and Seungcheol had to swallow back the burn of how wrong it was. How wrong he had been. He stepped forward before he even meant to, heart hammering, scent flaring out—not angry, not demanding, just earnest.
“Seungkwan. No.” His voice cracked on the word. “Do you even—do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
“I’m serious. You—God—you’ve always been stunning, Kwan-ah. You shine in every room you walk into. Why do you think we all can never keep our hands off you? I couldn't even keep a lid on it around you during the last tour? Why do you think I—”
His voice broke off, breath coming faster, scent blooming too fast for him to pull back in time. The hallway was thick with it now—cherry whiskey gone heady, golden-warm and pouring through the apartment like truth he couldn’t keep down any longer.
Seungkwan stared at him. Not laughing. Not dismissing. Just watching. Shit.
Seungcheol needed to pull back. He knew better. He’d trained for this—he’d taught this to the others—how an alpha’s scent could flood and overwhelm if they weren’t careful, especially around packmates already on edge, experiencing drastic life changes or just feeling somewhat fragile. He reached out with his senses, sniffed the air carefully, habitually, needing to know whether his scent had overwhelmed Seungkwan, needing to soothe if it had given him a headache like it used to when they were trainees. And he nearly stumbled backward.
Spiced orange mocha. Sweet and ripe and ready. Seungkwan’s scent had spilled wide, raw and unfiltered, coating his tongue like melted chocolate and running up his spine like a flame to liquor. And under it: heat. Tangled and trembling and barely held back.
He hadn’t known. Double shit.
Of course, he hadn’t been at the studio with the rest of them. Of course, Josh had said he stayed home. Of course, Seokmin had told Seungcheol to give it a few days. Of course, Ji—
He suddenly realized this was Seungkwan’s first heat without Jeonghan. Without Jeonghan’s normal chiding and quiet steadiness grounding him, keeping him from spiralling, Seungkwan was likely to lose his mi–
“Hyung.” The word was low, a growl under it. Seungkwan’s eyes shone, lips parted, the smallest tremble in his jaw.
“You can’t leave now.”
Tears gathered at the corners of his lashes, but his expression stayed composed—more composed than most of their pack's alphas Seungcheol had seen in rut, let alone an omega balancing on the edge of heat. And Seungcheol... Seungcheol had trained for emergencies like this. He’d dealt with packmates in distress, in pain, in transition.
But never like this. Never inviting him into their heat space.
He should say no. He should insist on calling someone; he knows Hansol has usually helped Seungkwan in the past, and the last one, on tour, he’d spent with Wonwoo and Mingyu, who could put aside their petty butting of heads when it came to Seungkwan. But instead, he follows Seungkwan into his room, the door clicks shut behind them like a trigger. Seungcheol swallows around the rock in his throat as he steps into Seungkwan’s room—humid, dim, laced with scent suppressants that have long since lost their edge. The faint hiss of the humidifier is barely audible over the sound of Seungcheol's pounding heartbeat. The nest in the corner is made with painful care. Folded blankets, worn sweaters, and an old hoodie Jun had left at the dorms once that still somehow smells like him. The edges are fluffed and fortified like a fortress. He shouldn’t be here. He should not be here.
But Seungkwan is blinking up at him with wide, heat-glazed eyes, breath catching in his throat like he’s afraid that if he says too much, Seungcheol will bolt. And Seungcheol definitely wants to turn tail and run, but how could he? Especially when Seungkwan looks like that—damp hair curling at his nape, cheeks flushed pink, hoodie long gone and replaced by a threadbare sleep shirt that clings damply to his hips and does nothing to hide the way he’s already slicking up, thighs trembling with restraint.
“Come here,” Seungcheol murmurs. Not really a command. His voice came out as barely a whisper, just a thread of longing, delicate and frayed.
Seungkwan steps forward, scent blooming around him like spring turned molten—bright, fresh citrus twisted into something deeper, richer. Spiced orange mocha: sweet and burning and ripe, the kind of heat scent that hits Seungcheol right in the ribs and drags all the air from his lungs. He’s so small. Seungcheol can’t help it. His hands rise instinctively, fingers ghosting along Seungkwan’s flushed cheeks. He cups them, slow and reverent, thumbs smoothing over the apples like he’s afraid Seungkwan might vanish if he’s too rough.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he breathes, voice gone thick, like molasses caught in his throat. “You’ve always been pretty, Kwan-ah. Even when you’re angry. Even when you’re puffy. Especially then.”
Seungkwan whines—a soft, high sound in the back of his throat—and presses closer. His whole body moves like a magnet toward him, and Seungcheol’s hands slide down, over the soft plane of his sides, landing squarely on that impossibly tiny waist. He can’t not touch him, can’t help but feel how Seungkwan’s already trembling, thighs flexing around the knee Seungcheol barely noticed pressing between them.
Seungkwan ruts down once, hips stuttering—and gasps, high and helpless, as slick floods hot between his thighs.
“Oh- fuck,” Seungkwan whispers, clinging to him, nails digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders like he needs something to hold or he might come apart entirely. “Don’t- don’t go- please, hyung-”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol murmurs against his hair, pressing his nose to the crown of Seungkwan’s head and inhaling deeply, anchoring himself in that overwhelming scent. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Seungkwan is leaking so sweet, hips rolling and chasing friction like instinct has taken over. His heat radiates through the thin fabric between them, his thighs already trembling from how tightly they’re clamped around Seungcheol’s leg. He’s panting now, little whimpers spilling from parted lips every time he rocks down, again and again, faster now.
And all Seungcheol can do is hold on. Let him move. Let him take what he needs. Let his hands roam, slow and careful, like he’s cataloging the way Seungkwan fits into him—hips snug in his palms, torso curving against his chest, heat-drunk scent clinging to Seungcheol’s neck like a promise.
“You smell—” Seungcheol shudders. “God, Seungkwanie smells so good. You’ve been driving me fucking crazy, I can’t belive you didn’t even know it.”
“Hyung,” Seungkwan gasps, desperate now. “Touch me, please. Just—
The room hums with heat, thick and damp and soft-edged, like the walls have melted and the air has turned to syrup. Seungcheol can feel his own pulse echoing in his palms, steady where they cradle Seungkwan’s waist, and frantic where his mouth hovers just above the scent gland on the side of Seungkwan’s neck.
"You're so pretty, baby," Seungcheol murmurs, barely audible over Seungkwan's breathy moans. "My sweet boy."
The words have Seungkwan clinging harder, nails pressing crescents into Seungcheol's shoulders, lithe legs wrapping around his hips, heels digging in as if he could pull Seungcheol in closer, deeper. His hips rock, needy and slick and messy now, smearing the thick scent of spices into the heat-slicked air.
Seungcheol is trembling. He hasn’t even gotten their clothes off yet, and already he feels wrecked, overwhelmed by how it feels. How natural Seungkwan feels in his grasp. How his.
His wolf is pacing, like claws dragging along the inside of his chest, ears pricked to every sound Seungkwan makes. His omega. His. One of many under his care, yes, but right now the one in his arms is pliant and trembling and leaking. For him. Seungcheol doesn't always help packmates through cycles, which was a precedent originally intended to carefully draw boundaries to avoid favouritism or impropriety. But even now, schedules don't always line up, the members seek out whomever they need and feel drawn to in the moment. It's all worked out that Seungcheol has never needed to service Seungkwan before this. Seungkwan whines, high and breathless, pulling Seungcheol out of his head when he buries his face in Seungcheol's neck as his scent spikes again, impossibly sweet and cloying. Seungcheol's cock twitches at the smell alone. His teeth ache. And sure, every member of their pack bears the faint healed-over pinprick points of Seungcheol’s claim on their wrist. A symbolic bond, on quiet display for those who are looking. But this—this is something else. He wants to bite. He wants to sink his teeth into Seungkwan’s throat and hold him there until the boy cries for him to seal it into his skin. He wants to knot him, breed him, soothe him with every inch of his body until Seungkwan is nothing but slick-stained, stuffed and sated.
Seungkwan whimpers again, shifting his hips, his thighs spread loose and mewling with arousal, and Seungcheol groans against his cheek. "You want it, baby? Hm? Want me to take care of you?"
"Please hyung," Seungkwan mewls. His eyes flutter open for a moment, dazed and shining. "I want more. I need your fingers, make me feel good. Please-"
Seungcheol nearly chokes. He pulls back just enough to look into Seungkwan’s face, thumb stroking beneath his eye, and Seungkwan is smiling, eyes somehow still entirely focused on him. A slow, soft thing that makes Seungcheol’s chest cave in.
"Fuck," Seungcheol breathes, forehead pressing against Seungkwan's. "You’re killing me. You know that?"
And Seungkwan laughs, quiet and trembling, wrapping his arms tighter around Seungcheol's neck. "Well, then you'd better be a good alpha and show me who's boss."
He’s so happy, Seungkwan realizes distantly, blinking through the haze. So content he almost thinks it’s the Liquid IV or the suppressants finally messing with his brain chemistry, but no. No, this isn’t what his heats usually feel like with the others. The betas, Minghao and Hansol, and Jihoon, had always been sweet, steady and thoughtful, sharing in quiet, private affection. And Jeonghan—when he had needed him—had always been gentle and calm, anchoring him like only a pack omega could. And sure, he loved the way the other omegas helped each other sometimes, slipping into one another’s nests during shared cycles, cuddled, petted, fingered and cooed over until the worst passed.
But this is nothing like that. This is the trip to Italy dialled up to thirteen, the way Wonwoo and Mingyu and Seokmin had shown him what it meant to be taken apart by an alpha.
And this is Seungcheol, with his impossibly large hands, his broad chest, his dark eyes framed by impossibly long lashes and the scent of ripe black cherries soaked in velvety liqueur drowning almost all of Seungkwan's senses.
This is his pack alpha, looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world.
And this is Seungkwan, keening as he grinds down, slick, dripping and knot-drunk before he’s even been knotted, whispering, "Please, hyung. Please fuck me. Please make me yours."
And Seungcheol is holding his wolf back from scaring Seungkwan, trembling with the force of the possessiveness building in his chest, growls low in his throat, "You already are.”
Seungcheol pushed down the shorts that clung to Seungkwan’s hips like a second skin, damp with sweat and arousal, bunched tight between his thighs. Slowly, dragging the soaked fabric over flushed skin until Seungkwan rolled out of them with a shiver. The air kissed at his slick, exposed skin, and his cock twitched, red and leaking, against his belly.
“Look at you,” Seungcheol murmured, almost reverent, palm dragging up the back of Seungkwan’s thigh, “so fucking wet already.”
A breathless laugh escaped Seungkwan’s lips. “Don’t act like you’re not the one who did this to me.”
He spread his knees wider on the bed, arching into Seungcheol’s touch like it was instinct, like his body had been waiting for this exact moment.
Seungcheol pressed a kiss to the small of his back, then lower, until his breath ghosted over his entrance. He reached for the lube Seungkwan had unearthed from some secret corner of the nest, squeezed out enough to coat one finger before pushing in, slow and deliberate. The glide was easy—Seungkwan was so wet already—but Seungcheol took his time anyway, pressing his finger in until the knuckle, curling gently.
Seungkwan let out a soft, choked noise and buried his face into his arm, hips twitching. “More. I need more.”
“You’re so tight though baby,” Seungcheol rasped, mesmerised by the way Seungkwan seemed to suck him in.
Seungkwan turned his head, cheeks flushed, eyes dark yet steady as he rolled them in annoyance, “Hyung, I’m not going to break. Just– come on!”
Two fingers, this time. The stretch had Seungkwan gasping, keening into the mattress, his neglected cock kicking against his stomach. Seungcheol worked him open with deep, rhythmic thrusts, scissoring him apart with careful pressure, until Seungkwan was pushing back on his hand, chasing every curl of his fingers like he was starved.
Seungcheol leaned in then, tongue lapping up the slick dripping down Seungkwan's balls and licking at his rim around Seungcheol's own fingers. Making an absolute mess of them both as the air filled with filthy, wet sounds that only had Seungkwan moaning louder.
“Oh my god—Hyung! Fuck! Your mouth—”
He was trembling, caught between wanting to prolong this particular pleasure or trying to get Seungcheol to understand the urgency with which he needed to be knotted. When Seungcheol’s third finger pushed in, the stretch slow and sweet and perfect, Seungkwan’s mouth dropped open around a sob, hips jerking forward helplessly.
“Fuck just like that hyung,” he gasped, voice breaking. “and me, haven’t I been good for Alpha?”
That word on Seungkwan’s tongue tore through Seungcheol like a lit match to dry kindling.
“You’ve been perfect,” he groaned, sliding his fingers free with a wet sound, kissing down Seungkwan’s spine, barely holding himself back. “So fucking perfect.”
His cock throbbed and his hands shook as he reached for the condom, tearing it open fast, rolling it on with trembling fingers. He lined himself up, guiding the head to Seungkwan’s slick, fluttering entrance, and paused only long enough to look at Seungkwan’s face, flushed, messy-haired, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.
Then he pushed in, slow, deep, inch by inch, until the heat of Seungkwan swallowed him whole.
Seungkwan cried out, voice cracking as an orgasm hit him so suddenly, he almost blacked out. Clawing at the blanket under them as Seungcheol bottomed out, hips snug against the ample curve of Seungkwan’s ass, the tight heat spreading like wildfire under Seungcheol’s skin as Seungkwan clenched around him, overwhelmed. “Hyung—fuck, so full—s’good—don’t move—don’t—”
“Too much?” Seungcheol asked, breathless but still gripping Seungkwan’s hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles into flushed skin.
Seungkwan shook his head rapidly. “No—just—god, stay there. Let me feel you.”
Seungcheol kissed the back of his neck and stayed, buried to the hilt, breathing through the sharp edge of his wolf, needing to move, demanding that he take, allow it to claim. Instead, he wanted just to feel it. The tightness. The heat. The way Seungkwan clenched down like his body never wanted to let Seungcheol go.
“Alpha,” Seungkwan whispered again, voice soft and wrecked. “You feel so fucking good.”
Seungcheol’s body ached with the need to move, to chase that growing pressure at the base of his cock, but he held back. Not yet. Not until Seungkwan asked for it. True to everything Seungcheol knew about him, Seungkwan moved first, rocking his hips in a slow circle that made Seungcheol groan like he’d been punched in the gut. The tight heat around him squeezed, dragging delicious friction down his cock as Seungkwan started to move in earnest, fucking himself on Seungcheol with long, slow rolls.
Seungcheol collapsed back against the pillows, wide-eyed, wrecked. “Jesus, baby—”
Seungkwan climbed into his lap, straddling him fully now, thighs shaking but determined. Sweat shining on his skin, chest flushed pink, lips kiss-bitten and parted. He braced a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder and one on his chest and began to ride him thoroughly—grinding down, lifting, then slamming back down until the sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, until Seungcheol was cursing under his breath with every bounce.
“You’re—fuck, you’re unreal—”
Seungkwan threw his head back, moaning, his own cock bouncing against his stomach, already hard again and leaking. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, mouth perpetually open.“I—I-can’t stop—” he gasped, “feels so good—don’t want t—”
“You don’t have to,” Seungcheol begged, holding onto his hips, helping him keep the rhythm, deep and fast. “Just take whatever you need, sweetheart.”
And Seungkwan listened. Riding Seungcheol like it was the only thing tethering him to the very earth, it felt feral, relentless, desperate. His body moved with purpose, with hunger, every lift dragging a loud moan from his throat, every drop down taking Seungcheol deeper, until it felt like there wasn’t a single part of him not wrapped up in Seungkwan’s tight, wet heat.
Seungkwan was so close his whole body trembled with it but he stopped right before the edge, grinding down to sit fully on Seungcheol’s cock, trembling as he held himself still.
Seungcheol blinked up at him, dazed. “Kwan-ah?”
“I’m– gonna come if I move again,” Seungkwan said, voice shaking, mouth twitching at the corners. “But I want your knot. I want you so deep in me you can’t pull out. I want you to breed me, keep me full for the rest of my heat.”
Seungcheol knew Seungkwan was well aware that none of that was actually possible; they both knew he had put on a condom, but he let out a strangled noise anyway, eyes almost rolling back in his head, “You’re trying to kill me.”
“I want your knot,” Seungkwan said again, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Want you to fuck me like you want to get me pregnant. I’m already begging for it. Like you need to knot me.”
“I do need to,” Seungcheol groaned. His hips rolled up into him with a sharp thrust, and Seungkwan cried out, grabbing onto his shoulders again. “God, you’re so good—tight little omega cunt made just for me, fuck—”
Seungkwan shivered, his whole body trembling like a wire pulled taut. “Say it again.”
“Made for me,” Seungcheol growled, fucking up into him hard now, grip bruising. “So pretty, so perfect, taking me so well—fuck, baby, you’re milking my cock, are you even hearing yourself?”
Seungkwan bit into the meat of Seungcheol's shoulder, trying to muffle the sobs that spilled out of him. “Want it. Want your knot, Hyung, please—been so good for you—”
“You want me to fill you up, baby?” Seungcheol’s voice was a snarl now, somehow both desperately possessive and reverently fond. “You want to take my knot like a good little omega and let me stuff you full?”
Seungcheol lost it at the image his own words conjured up in his mind. He flipped them, pressing Seungkwan into the bed, folding him in half as he pounded into him. No finesse, just raw need. The base of his cock was thickening now, tugging with every thrust, trying to catch. Seungkwan was incoherent, clawing at his back, panting, wrecked, “Yes— yes— fuck— please, please Alpha—”
“Let me–,” Seungcheol groaned. “fuck, baby, I need—”
And then his knot popped, a stretch and lock that made Seungkwan scream. His eyes flew open wide, and his cock throbbed untouched between them as he came again, spilling white hot between them, hole pulsing hard around Seungcheol’s cock. Seungcheol wasn’t far behind. His body tensed, knot thick and snug, buried to the hilt. He came hard inside the condom, hips jerking, breath punched from his lungs, as pleasure tore through him like lightning.
“Fuck,” he whispered into Seungkwan’s neck, still grinding into him, still pulsing, still panting. “You’re gonna take all of it—my knot, my cum—fuck, baby, you’re so full—”
Seungkwan whimpered beneath him, looking so beautifully debauched and utterly ruined. “Say it—say it again—”
“You’re gonna look so pretty, a pretty belly for my pretty omega,” Seungcheol whispered, voice wrecked and tender. “So full, and round, swelling with my pups. The pack will know just by your scent. They’ll take care of you so well because you’re mine. Our omega. They’ll dote on you, pamper you, spoil you—because you’re the most perfect little thing we’ve ever had and that’s exactly what you deserve.”
Seungkwan couldn't help but sob again, overwhelmed, clutching at Seungcheol as aftershocks tore through him like a wave crashing down, his body wrung out and trembling in its wake. Collapsing into Seungcheol’s arms after they subsided, tangled, knotted, and breathless as Seungcheol whispered into his hair between kisses- how good he’d been, how beautiful he looked, how much he loved him. How proud he was. How well he’d done. How he deserved to nap and rest, promising to clean him up and feed him as soon as it would be possible to get out of bed.
Seungkwan leaned closer then, blissed-out and cock-drunk and stuffed full, “I want you again. As soon as it goes down.”
Seungcheol balked, still breathless, “Insatiable, how long do your heats usually last?”
Seungkwan nuzzled closer, “Well, some of us are still in our prime, hyung. Don’t hate the player, hate the game…”
Seungcheol grinned, tilting his head down to capture Seungkwan’s lips in a slow, syrupy kiss that tasted like promise and safety. When he pulled back, Seungkwan’s dazed expression made him chuckle softly.
“If you nap now, and then let me get some food and water in you,” he murmured, voice soft, “Then we can talk about a couple more rounds.”
Seungkwan tucked his head beneath Seungcheol’s chin, curling tighter against him. “Deal.”