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“You look like shit,” Minho says the second Jisung drops his tray on the cafeteria table and slumps into the seat beside him.
Across from them, Changbin glances up from his curry just long enough to meet Jisung’s bleary eyes, then goes right back to eating without a word. Next to him, Jeongin is collapsed forward with his head buried in his folded arms, motionless.
“Thanks,” Jisung mutters, peeling the lid off his container with a sigh. “I’m dying. I got like... maybe three hours of sleep.”
Minho raises an eyebrow. “What, were you up playing Overwatch with Felix again?”
“Nah.” Jisung rips open his chopsticks with a dramatic snap. “Seungmin’s been hooking up with some girl for the past three weeks. And I swear to God, she screams. Like, how the hell does that loser make someone scream like that?”
Minho frowns. “Wait. Seungmin’s fucking? I thought he was, like... asexual or something.”
“It’s not because you can’t fuck him that he has no game,” Changbin chimes in dryly, not even looking up from his bowl. “But yeah, I figured he was just into weird law trivia and baseball stats.”
“Well, apparently he’s into loud sex now,” Jisung grumbles. “And it’s every night. I swear I’m hearing stuff that’s rewiring my brain chemistry.”
Minho snorts. “She was still there this morning?”
“She left around six. I think I heard her when I was contemplating murder and rethinking all my life choices.”
There’s a quiet pause as they all chew or exist in shared secondhand exhaustion. Then Minho nods toward the unmoving Jeongin. “What about him? He’s alive?”
Jisung glances over, squinting at the younger boy’s still form. “Unclear. Might be dead.”
“He hasn’t moved in twenty minutes,” Changbin says between mouthfuls. “But he’s breathing.”
“So not dead. He said something about putting Seungmin’s head through a wall this morning, so I think he's handling it well.”
Changbin snorts. “Well. Someone’s getting laid, at least.”
Jisung pouts, eyes locked on his plate. He isn’t even that hungry—just so fucking tired.
He’d barely slept the night before, thanks to the relentless moaning echoing down the hallway. When he finally dragged himself out of bed to complain, he hadn’t expected to find Jeongin already in the living room, looking like death warmed over. The poor guy sat slumped on the couch, his eyes dull, his dark hair a mess, his whole posture screaming end me. Understandable—his room is right next to Seungmin’s.
And Seungmin… is having another very good night.
The first time it happened, it was humiliating. Jisung avoided looking at his roommate for an entire day, trying very hard to forget how enthusiastically that girl had praised Seungmin’s performance. But after the third (or was it fourth?) night, the horror wore off. Now there’s just bitterness and exhaustion. At least Jeongin seems to share his pain — the grimace he wears in the morning says it all.
Seungmin, though? Smug. The absolute worst.
And speak of the devil—
“Hey guys,” Chan greets as he walks in, Seungmin casually trailing behind him.
The moment Jisung meets his roommate’s gaze, he snaps.
“You motherfucker,” he spits, pointing directly at Seungmin. “Stop being so goddamn loud when you bring someone home! Ever heard of decency, you animal?”
Seungmin blinks innocently, too calmly for someone very much guilty.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“No shit, bro. You kept us up for hours! I had an exam this morning and I’m pretty sure I fucked it.”
“You don’t need me to fail your exams,” Seungmin replies with a lazy grin. “You’re doing great all on your own.”
Chan blinks between them, looking caught between concern and confusion, while Minho and Changbin try (and fail) to stifle their laughter with mouthfuls of curry. Jisung narrows his eyes at them, bristling.
“I hate you.”
“You’re bitchless.”
“You’re a hoe,” Jeongin mumbles from where he slumps over the table, face half-buried in his arms. “And I’m trying to sleep since someone didn’t let me last night, so shut up, hyung.”
Everyone falls quiet.
The low growl in Jeongin’s voice has a bite to it, and his citrusy scent is suddenly strong, sharp and clean like a freshly peeled yuzu. Jisung wrinkles his nose — not because it’s unpleasant, but because it’s… comforting. And he doesn’t want to feel comforted right now.
Seungmin, of course, looks entirely unbothered, grinning like he’s won something.
Jisung sighs and watches as Jeongin curls up tighter into himself, a walking (or technically slumping) embodiment of sleep deprivation.
God, he really hopes tonight will be quieter.
“Ah, ah—Seungmin, oh my god!”
It’s nearly two a.m. when Jisung last checks his phone, and he’s losing his mind. It’s been one hour, one fucking hour, and they still aren’t finished. The dick cannot be that good, right? Especially Seungmin’s. This guy is an enigma. How can someone as reserved and stuck-up as Seungmin pull someone as loud as that girl? The girl they’ve never heard of or seen — she’s a figment of their imagination at this point. At first, they thought Seungmin was joking when he said he was bringing someone home one night. Then they heard it, and they knew they were fucked — in every sense of the word.
And now, on a fucking Thursday night, they’re stuck in their room, forced to hear them fuck because even if they say something, they won’t stop. Jisung is losing it.
He tosses in his bed again, searching for a good position to try to sleep while silently hoping she chokes on it and shuts up for once. A loud, muffled sound echoes through the apartment, quickly followed by Jeongin’s voice.
“Seungmin, I swear I’m gonna punch you in the dick if you keep banging on my fucking wall!”
In response, a moan even higher than the previous ones rings out. Jisung grunts, grabbing his pillow to shove it over his head, trying to cover up the outside sounds. In the opposite room, Jeongin screams like a banshee, making Jisung giggle.
Right now, with his pillow covering his face, the moans are quieter. Quiet enough for him to try falling asleep again before he suffocates himself in the process. With some luck, they’ll have to finish soon.
But a knocking sound keeps him awake, and Jisung grunts again.
“What?” he screams, his voice muffled by the cushion.
“Hyung, can I sleep with you?” Jeongin asks, entering his room. Jisung sits up, his pillow falling with a thump beside him. “I have a game tomorrow, and I’m gonna bang my head on the wall if I listen to Seungmin’s dirty talk once again. The couch is too hard for my back, and I can’t fuck this game. So please, I’m begging you, let me sleep here before I murder him.”
“Yeah, sure. Close the door.”
“Oh my god, thank you.”
Jeongin closes the door gently despite the noises echoing in the hallway, leaving only the distant moans of that girl audible.
He shifts toward the wall to make room for Jeongin, who drops down beside him, his head hitting the pillow. Jisung watches him, the way his dark hair falls on the cushion as he sighs lightly. His eyelids flutter a little, as if he’s getting used to the darkness of the room. The glowing stars above his bed partially light the space, allowing Jisung to watch Jeongin settle comfortably next to him. The younger boy faces him, his dark eyes meeting Jisung’s, and a small smile takes its place on his lips.
“Thank you.”
Jisung smiles but doesn’t speak. He lets himself settle in his bed, closing his eyes. Even if the noise is still perceptible, he focuses on Jeongin’s breathing — calm and steady. And there’s his scent, sweet and citrusy but not overwhelming. It’s comforting in a way, something that reminds him of home.
Before falling asleep, he thinks yuzu mixes well with the scent of tulip.
Jisung is halfway through his cereal when he hears footsteps in the hallway. He looks up just in time to see Seungmin shuffle into the kitchen, sleep still clinging to him like a second skin.
Without a word, the beta goes straight for the coffee machine, moving on autopilot. Jeongin, perched on a stool nearby, eyes him with open suspicion. His brow furrows as Seungmin turns toward them, cup in hand.
“Did she maul you?” Jeongin’s eyes narrow slightly, voice low and teasing.
Seungmin blinks, clearly not following. Then Jisung sees it—and promptly chokes on his cereal. He coughs harshly, nearly spilling milk down his chin.
“Oh my God,” he coughs, eyes wide in horror. “Is that a hickey? Are you hooking up with a leech?”
Jisung’s gaze darts between Seungmin’s neck and Jeongin, disbelief mixing with amusement.
Seungmin doesn’t bother replying. “She?” he echoes instead, raising a brow at Jeongin. His tone is incredulous, a flicker of irritation passing over his face.
“Yeah, you know. The one who screams like she’s auditioning for a horror movie.” Jeongin shrugs.
That makes Jisung snort, and Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Here we go again.” Seungmin crosses his arms, trying to look unimpressed but failing to hide a small smile.
“If you acted like a normal human being, maybe we wouldn’t have to do this every time,” Jeongin mutters, his voice dropping to an exasperated growl.
“It helps me de-stress!” Seungmin shoots back, a hint of defiance in his eyes.
“You’re stressing me out!”
“Not my fault you’re not getting any!” Seungmin grins, a spark of challenge in his tone.
Jisung munches silently, watching the testosterone-fueled argument unfold like some early-morning reality show. The glares the two exchange could burn holes through walls, but what hits him harder is the sudden shift in Jeongin’s scent—acrid, bitter, heavy. It makes Jisung’s skin prickle. Gritting his teeth, he instinctively releases a small wave of calming pheromones, brushing against Jeongin like a gentle breeze. The alpha’s shoulders slowly relax, his posture easing.
Jisung’s eyes soften as he watches Jeongin visibly calm down, reflex flickering behind the tension.
“Seungmin, please,” Jeongin cuts in, voice calm but tired. “I’m begging you—just keep it down for a few days, at least until the end of the qualification games. I can’t screw this up.” His gaze drops to the table, voice heavy with exhaustion.
The beta sighs, still staring at Jeongin like it’s somehow his fault. He runs a hand through his hair, a reluctant acceptance in his posture when he eventually nods.
“Fine,” he mutters. He grabs his cup with a small huff, then heads down the hall. “I’m taking the bathroom.”
He downs the rest of his coffee, rinses the cup in the sink, and vanishes down the hall. A few seconds later, the sound of the shower running echoes faintly through the apartment.
Jeongin exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours. He buries his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes with a groan. The silence that follows feels... off. Not tense like before, but not comfortable either—charged with something Jisung can’t quite name. He watches the alpha, waiting for some kind of reaction. Nothing.
“Well,” Jisung says, trying to break the weird stillness, “that went smoothly. Thanks to you, we might actually sleep tonight.” He nudges Jeongin’s arm lightly, trying to lighten the mood.
Jeongin just lets his head drop forward onto the table with a dull thud. Jisung winces at the sound and scoops another spoonful of cereal.
“I want to kill myself,” comes Jeongin’s muffled voice. The exhaustion and frustration seep through every word.
That does it—Jisung bursts into laughter, nearly choking again. Milk almost sprays out of his mouth as he doubles over, while Jeongin lifts his head just enough to shoot him a look of pure disgust. But Jisung saw the way the corner of his mouth twitch and the shadow of a smirk.
“You’re the worst,” the alpha grumbles.
“And yet you love me,” Jisung grins, cereal still in his cheek. “Give me a napkin, please.”
The arena buzzes, alive with the electric hum of anticipation. Cold air bites at their cheeks even from the stands, a thin mist rising off the rink like the breath of something wild and waiting. Jisung squints against the harsh white of the ice reflecting the overhead lights in a near-blinding shimmer. The scrape of skates slices through the noise like steel on glass.
The omega leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed with quiet intensity on the rink below. Even though he doesn’t know much about hockey—Jeongin tried to teach him, but back then he only thought the players were hot—he is attentive. His focus is laser-sharp, trained solely on number 8. He barely registers when Minho smiles like a maniac as Changbin body-checks someone a little too enthusiastically.
Helmet slightly askew, cheeks flushed from exertion, mouthguard clenched between his teeth as he chases the puck like he owns the ice. Jeongin’s eyes blaze with fierce determination, jaw set tight. Jeongin is fast—dangerously fast—cutting across the rink like the laws of physics don’t apply to him. There’s a reckless abandon in his movements, like he’s daring the world to catch him. A rawness to his game, something wild and dangerous, like he doesn’t care if he crashes.
One of the players takes the puck and shoots—a point for them.
Everybody cheers.
“Is it going better with Seungmin’s fuckboy life?” Felix asks as the game continues.
Jisung grunts, looking away from Jeongin. “Jeongin threatened him like, three days ago. Didn’t bang since that morning.”
“Do you know who the girl is?” Minho asks, eyes on the game.
On the ice, Chan barks orders like a general with skates.
Jisung wrinkles his nose, shifting attention to Seungmin. He’s sitting a little further away with Hyunjin and a girl Jisung vaguely remembers as Yeji. His gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary, searching for something unspoken. They’re talking, not really into the game. Jisung squints at her as if that would be enough to tell him if she’s the girl or not. Nothing looks suspicious in the way she interacts with Seungmin. She seems friendly enough to be considered a friend, but she doesn’t look like she’s trying to flirt with him. On the other hand, Seungmin isn’t either. As usual, he looks reserved.
“No,” Jisung says.
Beside him, Felix whistles, gaze still fixed on the ice. Jisung easily spots Jeongin among the players. He’s following Changbin. The latter steals the puck and passes it off with a roar, making Felix whoop loudly. Jisung’s heart thuds a little harder every time Jeongin slams into someone and comes out grinning, a cocky twist of his mouth like he knows how good he looks. There’s a magnetic pull in the alpha’s confidence that leaves Jisung breathless. And at that exact moment, Jisung is stunned with the realization that Jeongin is hot. He’s beautiful—everybody knows that—but right now, there’s something more. Something Jisung can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there.
And when Jeongin scores—slamming the puck into the net with a flick of his wrist and a devil-may-care grin—Jisung’s breath catches. Not just because it’s the goal that seals their team’s victory, but because Jeongin turns, looks up into the crowd, and for half a second, it feels like he’s looking right at him.
And damn if Jisung doesn’t melt a little.
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the heater and the low dialogue from the movie playing on Jeongin’s laptop. He was still buzzing with post-game adrenaline, but had long since peeled off his jersey and traded the chill of the ice for the comfort of sweatpants and an old hoodie. He’d skipped the victory drinks—too many people, too much noise, too much everything. What he really wanted was warmth and quiet.
Jisung had followed him home without much thought, dropping onto the foot of Jeongin’s bed like he belonged there. Which, in fairness, he kind of did. Roommates for a year, best friends before that, and now… something else humming quietly under the surface. Something neither of them had named.
The movie was halfway through. Neither of them was really watching it.
Jisung was tucked under Jeongin’s blanket with a half-eaten bag of honey butter chips on his chest, legs curled close to avoid brushing against Jeongin’s. His scent was soft tonight—like freshly cut tulips and the faintest trace of something more earthy, warmer.
Jeongin lay beside him, still in sweats and a hoodie thrown over a loose tank top. His hair was damp from the shower, sticking slightly to his forehead. He looked comfortably wrecked from the game—shoulder loose, leg stretched out, the edge of fatigue softening the usual sharpness in his expression.
They weren’t saying much, didn’t need to.
Jisung laughed softly at something on screen, glancing at Jeongin out of the corner of his eye. “You okay?”
Jeongin yawned, blinking softly. “Tired. But yeah.”
Jisung nodded. He could still see the echo of that cocky grin Jeongin wore on the ice, could feel the heat in his gut every time he remembered the way Jeongin had moved—sharp, relentless, utterly in control. Now, in this quiet, it felt more dangerous. The scent of Jeongin—warm, tangy, alpha—hung in the room like something heavy.
“You played good today,” Jisung said casually, eyes on the screen.
Jeongin didn’t answer right away. He turned toward Jisung, watching his profile. “You were watching me?”
Jisung snorted, cheeks flushing just slightly. “Everyone was watching you. You were practically glowing.”
Jeongin smiled, a bit smug but quiet. His heart gave an unexpected lurch.
And then—
BANG.
A thump on the wall. Followed by a muffled, rhythmic cranking and—
“Oh, fuck, Min—”
Jisung froze. His eyes went wide, pupils dilating just a little too fast. The scent in the room changed in an instant—sharpened into something tense, hesitant. He stared straight ahead, the bag of chips slipping unnoticed to the bed.
Jeongin groaned, low and annoyed, and sat up. Without a word, he balled up his fist and slammed it into the wall, hard enough to echo through the room.
“SEUNGMIN,” he barked.
The moaning paused for about two seconds. Then it started again, louder.
“Oh my god,” Jeongin growled under his breath. His scent spiked—a flicker of agitation, the kind of alpha edge that normally set Jisung’s instincts on fire. He tried to breathe through it, but his face was already warm, throat tight.
He just choked on a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m gonna bleach my ears.”
Jeongin huffed, rubbing at his temple. “He knows we can hear him. He does this on purpose.”
“Do you think they’re gonna stop soon?” Jisung mumbled, a small smile on his lips.
The alpha let out a dry laugh, leaning back on his elbows. “This fucking dog is in his ‘I forgot other people exist’ phase.” He rubbed his neck, then turned his head just enough to glance at Jisung. “You okay?”
“Me? Yeah, fine.” He snorted lightly, in disbelief. “Just wasn’t… expecting background porn tonight.”
Jeongin snorted. Then his voice dropped, teasing: “Should I turn the volume up on the movie so you don’t get ideas?”
Jisung flushed deeper. “I’m not the one growling and slamming walls.”
That made Jeongin pause. He looked at Jisung—really looked—and something in his gaze softened, shifted. The lazy tension in his frame coiled just a little tighter.
“Fair,” he said finally, his voice quieter.
Outside, the moaning dragged on. But inside the room, the silence between them had shifted into something heavier. Charged. Jisung could feel it in his skin, in the prickle at the back of his neck where instinct curled in warning—or maybe want.
And then, he smelled it.
Not strong, not overwhelming. But there, unmistakable—heat, musk, the sharp tang of alpha arousal curling through the room like smoke. Faint, but real. From Jeongin.
His body jolted like someone had poured ice water down his spine.
Oh no.
His brain short-circuited. Thoughts firing and dying in quick succession: That’s definitely Jeongin. That’s his scent. That means he’s—no, non. Shut up. Don’t think about it. Don’t react. Don’t—
“I could go to fried chicken,” he blurted.
Jeongin blinked. “What?”
“Chicken,” Jisung said again, louder this time, clutching the blanket like it was a shield. “I really crave fried chicken. Right now. My treat.”
Jeongin stared at him for a beat, then slowly raised an eyebrow. “You suddenly want chicken at eleven at night?”
“Yes,” Jisung was already on his feet, blanket half-dragging behind him. “Desperately. Like, an emergency-level craving. I think I might die if I don’t get some.”
Jeongin’s lips twitched. “You’re always this dramatic when you’re hungry?”
“I’m always dramatic, but yes.”
The alpha huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Fine. My car’s downstairs, let’s go.”
They stepped out of the room together, Jeongin locking the door behind him. As they passed Seungmin’s room, a fresh round of enthusiastic groaning echoed through the wall.
The alpha didn’t even slow down. He raised his fist and banged repeatedly on the door, then let out a ridiculous, high-pitched moan.
“Ooh, yes, Minnie! Harder! Oh god, baby, more—” he shrieked, pitch perfect and absolutely horrifying.
Inside, a loud thump followed by a muffled “Jeongin!” answered him.
Jisung stopped mid-step, hand flying to his mouth to muffle a snort. He stared at Jeongin, wide-eyed, before dissolving into laughter—half horrified, half impressed.
“You’re the worst,” he said between wheezes.
Jeongin grinned, proud and unrepentant. “If I have to hear it, he has to hear it too.”
They pushed out the front door, Jisung still giggling, Jeongin smirking like the menace he was. And for a moment, the tension between them melted into something easy, comfortable. Dangerous in a different way.
The fried chicken place was half-empty, all humming neon and sticky laminated menus, the kind of late-night haven where everything smelled like grease and comfort and bad decisions. They’d snagged a corner booth by the window, still a little breathless from laughing too hard on the way in.
Jisung sat across from Jeongin, chin propped in his hand, the glow from the red “OPEN” sign bleeding across the table.
Jeongin was mid-rant about the third period of the game—something about a near-miss pass from Chan that turned into an accidental goal anyway, which he claimed as a “calculated risk,” even though Jisung knew he was full of shit.
“And then,” Jeongin said around a mouthful of chicken, “Bin was yelling at me from the bench like ‘you’re such a reckless little shit,’ but the puck went in, so who’s the genius now?”
Jisung smiled, biting into his own chicken. “Still Chan,” he said through a mouthful.
Jeongin narrowed his eyes. “Betrayal.”
Jisung laughed again, warm and easy. But then Jeongin smiled—wide and genuine, sauce on the corner of his mouth—and something in Jisung’s chest shifted.
It was stupid. So stupid. He looked ridiculous, hair now dry and slightly flattened under his hoodie, a smear of spicy sauce on his cheek, talking like he hadn’t fully come down from the adrenaline of the game.
But Jisung couldn’t look away because, damn, he was cute.
Not just in the obvious, broad-shoulders-pretty-face way Jisung already kind of knew (and tried really hard not to think about too much). But like… actually cute. Dorky, passionate, real. And worse—he was relaxed. With him.
Jisung’s stomach flipped, and it had nothing to do with the chicken. He looked down at his plate, willing himself not to get weird. Not to inhale Jeongin’s scent again. Not to wonder if Jeongin meant to be looking at him like that—soft-eyed, mouth tilted just slightly like he knew something Jisung didn’t.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” the alpha said, voice low, but not teasing. Just curious.
Jisung blinked and forced a grin. “Processing. You say a lot of words when you’re excited.”
“Rude.” Jeongin leaned forward a little, pointing his wing at Jisung. “You like my post-game rants. Admit it.”
Jisung shrugged, pretending to focus on his food again. “I tolerate them.”
A beat.
Then Jeongin laughed, head tilting back just slightly, and Jisung swore his heart skipped. Just a little.
The worst part was—he didn’t want it to stop.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
Jisung had meant to sleep, but he couldn’t. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling through the dark, the sheets twisted around his hips. His window was cracked open, letting in a faint breeze and the distant hum of city traffic, but the silence in the apartment still buzzed under his skin—awkward and heavy, like something he'd accidentally overheard and couldn’t un-hear.
He was thinking about what had happened earlier, about the evening he had spent with Jeongin. Seungmin’s voice when he fucked that girl, the way Jeongin’s scent spiked through all the embarrassment.His mind had wandered—or maybe not wandered so much as snapped straight to Jeongin. To his scent, dripping with arousal in spite of himself. It had hit him like a punch. Sharp, citrusy, wild—yuzu and heat curling around the edge of his senses like it had teeth. He didn’t want to think about this, but his body had already responded. Heat had pooled low in his stomach, thick and slow, and there was a dull ache between his legs now that wouldn’t go away. His boxers were growing tight. Damp.
Jisung swallowed hard, shifting beneath the covers. His cock was fully hard now, twitching against his stomach, and his scent was starting to shift too—sweet and sticky and blooming like tulips in a greenhouse, heavy with want.
He pressed his thighs together, but it was no use. His body had already decided.
He wanted Jeongin.
And worse, he wanted the version of Jeongin he’d only ever imagined—breath hot at his throat, hand wrapped around his wrist, voice deep and wrecked with need.
Jisung let out a slow breath, eyes fluttering shut.
Then he slid his hand under the waistband of his boxers.
He tried to think about something else, something that wasn’t Jeongin nor his scent. But his fingers were already between his thighs, wet with need, when he turned over and pressed his face into the sheets. His own scent—tulips, warm and a little sugary tonight—clung to the pillow, but it was threaded with something else. Subtle, but still there.
Yuzu.
Not fresh like the fruit itself—it was deeper, darker, like heat wrapped in citrus peel and skin. Faint, but unmistakable. Jeongin. Leftover from when the alpha had flopped onto his bed after practice, laughing, stretching out like he owned the room. He’d only stayed for a bit, but Jisung hadn’t changed the sheets since. He just followed him to his own room when the alpha suggested they could watch a movie after he took a shower.
Now, with the lights off and the memory stuck in his skin, he breathed deep and let his hips rock forward into the mattress. His cock was hard, pressed tight against the sheets, and he was leaking slick, hot and slow, soaking through the fabric between his thighs. Just the scent of Jeongin—the phantom heat of him—was enough to undo him.
He closed his eyes. He imagined Jeongin’s face: the way his jaw tightened when he was trying not to lose control, the way his scent had spiked that day when their hands brushed too long during training, the deep roll of arousal that had filled the air like a warning, or maybe an invitation.
He hurried to undress himself, discarding his damp briefs and shorts, throwing them somewhere in his room. He didn’t care.
When he was finally free of his clothes, Jisung whimpered softly and reached back, fingers trailing down, slipping through the mess of slick he was already making. His entrance was flushed, sensitive—clenching around nothing, desperate—and when he pushed one finger inside, his whole body arched with the relief.
“Fuck,” he gasped into the pillow, voice muffled.
One finger turned into two, slow and stretching, his other hand still working his cock in lazy, needy pulls. Every movement made the scent on the sheets bloom around him—yuzu and heat and Jeongin—and Jisung couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to have the real thing. Jeongin’s mouth, Jeongin’s hands, Jeongin’s cock inside him instead of his own fingers.
The thought alone made his thighs shake.
He fucked himself open slowly, hips grinding into the bed, breath stuttering every time he hit the spot that made stars bloom behind his eyes. Slick dripped freely now, obscene and hot, wetting his hand and the sheets beneath him. The room was heavy with scent—tulip-sweet omega and the lingering citrus-spice of an alpha who wasn’t even there. But Jisung was already falling, already on the edge, lost in the thought of Jeongin holding him down, whispering in his ear, growling his name in that voice that went low when he was turned on.
“Jeongin,” he moaned, body tightening around his fingers as the pressure built, sharp and hungry in his gut.
He was close—too close. Every drag of his fingers inside made his walls flutter, too slick, too sensitive, too greedy for more. The pressure coiled in his belly, sweet and sharp, dragging him toward the edge faster than he wanted.
But the apartment was silent; no music, no late-night TV hum, nothing but the sound of his own breath catching in his throat.
He bit down hard on the pillow.
His hand worked faster, cock aching in his grip, his fingers fucking into himself deep and rough now, chasing that last, unbearable wave. The sheets were soaked beneath him, warm and sticky with slick, but he couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—not with Jeongin’s scent still clinging to the cotton like a secret.
“God—”
It was barely a whisper, muffled and strangled in the pillow, as his body locked up, trembling. His orgasm hit fast, hard—his muscles tightening in a full-body shudder as he spilled across the sheets, his cock twitching in his palm. His fingers were still buried inside, his whole body clenched tight around them as the pulses rocked through him in waves he couldn’t suppress.
He stayed like that, frozen, breath trapped in his chest. A quiet whimper escaped him before he could catch it—soft, but it made him panic all the same.
He held still.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint hum of the fridge out in the kitchen and the wild thump of his own heartbeat.
Jisung finally exhaled and pulled his hand free, wincing at the slick sound it made. His legs trembled, body still buzzing, nerves frayed raw. He wiped his palm against the sheets before rolling onto his back, eyes wide open in the dark.
And that’s when it hit him.
Not the climax—that was gone now, ebbing into afterglow. The thoughts. The way he’d imagined Jeongin’s hands, Jeongin’s voice, Jeongin inside him.
The heat that had burned so brightly inside him a minute ago suddenly felt dangerous. Too real. Too revealing.
His own scent was sharp with arousal, the tulip sweetness almost cloying now, clashing with the ghost of yuzu still woven into the sheets. He stared up at the ceiling, one arm draped over his eyes, chest still rising and falling too fast.
He wasn’t supposed to think of him like that.
Not his friend. Not Jeongin.
But his body had spoken louder than reason—and now it was quiet again, leaving him alone with what he’d done, and what it meant.
jisung [2:04 am]
i’m fucking gonna murder him
i swear
minho-hyung [2:06 am]
can’t you like
sleep???
lix [2:06 am]
?
jisung [2:06 am]
seungmin
lix [2:07 am]
aGAIN???
is he in heat or something ?
jisung [2:08 am]
idk, but i hope his dick fall next time he use it
or istg im gonna chop it for him
Minho-hyung [2:08 am]
lmao
lix [2:10 am]
how’s jeongin?
Jisung pauses, holding his breath, straining to hear anything other than the muffled moans and creaking from Seungmin’s room. Nothing. His brow furrows.
jisung [2:13 am]
didn’t hear him scream
nor cry
brb
He throws his comforter aside and pads to the door, bare feet silent on the floor. In the hallway, the sounds are louder despite Seungmin’s door being shut. But Jeongin’s is half-open.
Jisung steps carefully, avoiding the floorboards that tend to groan under his weight. He peers inside—no one. The bed is stripped of its comforter, one pillow missing.
The living room is darker, softer somehow. That’s where he finds him.
Jeongin is curled on the couch, comforter tangled around his legs, clutching the missing pillow to his chest. Headphones sit crooked over his ears, white noise spilling faintly from them.
Jisung crouches, just watching him for a moment, unsure if he should wake him. When Jeongin shifts, a quiet, weary sound escapes him. That’s enough to make Jisung reach out.
“Jeongin-ah?”
The alpha’s eyes blink open, slow and unfocused, before finding Jisung. He slips one earcup off.
“Hyung?”
“You okay?” Jisung’s voice is low.
Jeongin sighs, tugging off the headphones completely and dropping them onto the coffee table. “I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbles, the weight of exhaustion in every word.
“You said it wasn’t comfortable here.”
“I know. I just— I didn’t want to wake you.”
The quiet stretches between them. Jeongin’s eyes flutter closed again, though Jisung can tell he isn’t asleep. Out here, the noises from Seungmin’s room are only a faint echo, fading into the stillness.
Jisung hesitates, then asks softly, almost afraid to break the calm, “Do you want to sleep in my room?”
“Nah. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
Another pause. Then—
“Can I stay, then?”
Jeongin’s eyes open, catching the dim light. There’s something in his gaze—soft, warm—something Jisung can’t quite name.
“You don’t have to,” Jeongin whispers.
“But I want to.”
Jisung straightens, gesturing for Jeongin to shift. The younger moves sluggishly, making space on the couch. Once Jisung settles beside him, Jeongin’s arm slips around his waist almost immediately, anchoring him so he won’t fall.
Jisung lets himself relax into it—the steady warmth of Jeongin’s body, the quiet citrus-sweet trace of yuzu in his scent. He feels each slow rise and fall of the alpha’s chest, the faint tightening of his arm pulling him closer.
Gradually, Jeongin’s breathing deepens, his arm growing heavier. When his nose comes to rest against the back of Jisung’s neck, Jisung knows he’s asleep.
Somewhere between that warmth and the muffled quiet of the apartment, Jisung’s own eyes finally close. The world narrows to the rhythm of Jeongin’s breath, and the night, at last, is peaceful.
It was early evening, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the half-closed blinds of Jeongin’s room, painting faint stripes across the bed. His door was slightly ajar, the soft hum of his playlist blending with the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen. He was lying on his back, textbooks open on his desk but mostly ignored, his phone resting on his chest as he absently scrolled with one hand. He wasn’t really studying anymore—hadn’t been for the past half hour, if he was honest with himself—but the open book helped ease the guilt.
His legs dangled off the side of the bed. The room smelled faintly of clean laundry and citrus—his own scent, always there like background noise. He looked peaceful, brows relaxed, the usual tight line of his mouth softened by the ease of solitude.
He heard footsteps down the hallway—familiar ones—and didn’t react when they stopped in front of his room. The door creaked open a little more.
A second later, Jisung walked in without knocking, as usual. His hair was slightly messy—a telltale sign he’d been pacing or overthinking something. He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the room and flopped down dramatically beside him on the bed, arms spread like a starfish.
Jeongin lifted his gaze from the ceiling just as Jisung turned to face him, eyes a little too bright.
“I think we should fake fuck,” Jisung said, completely deadpan.
The alpha didn’t answer right away. He just blinked. Once. Twice. Then a third time, just in case.
“Come again?”
Jisung grinned and flopped backward onto the mattress, arms stretched overhead. The bed creaked obnoxiously.
“You heard me. Fake fuck. You know—moan a little, slam the headboard, make Seungmin regret having a sex life within earshot. Classic revenge plot.”
Jeongin stared. “That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Isn’t it great?” Jisung shot back, already bouncing lightly on the mattress. Thump. Thump. The headboard knocked against the wall—too soft to be convincing yet, but he was just getting started.
Jeongin opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed a hand over his face like he was trying to erase this moment from existence.
“He’s not even with anyone tonight. You’re gonna fake moan at empty air.”
“Even better. Psychological warfare. He’ll think he’s going insane.”
Before Jeongin could stop him, Jisung kicked the wall with his heel and let out a loud, “Ah—ahh, Jeongin!” in the most overacted, breathy voice possible. It sounded like a B-grade drama and a dying bird had a baby.
Jeongin actually flinches. “Stop—what the fuck?!”
But Jisung was already on his knees, bouncing more enthusiastically now. The bed frame groaned and thudded against the wall with every move.
“Ah, fuck, right there—harder!—God, you’re so big!”
“Oh my god.” Jeongin stared at him like he was watching a car crash he physically couldn’t look away from. He looked half-offended, half-impressed.
Jisung was howling internally, trying to keep his composure as he flopped down and threw a pillow over his face to muffle the laughter.
“Ooh, Jeongin, your knot—”
“You’re going to hell.”
Jisung smirks. “Commit to the bit, alpha.”
Jeongin stares at him another beat. Then exhales hard through his nose, like this was the last straw. Slowly—so slowly—he set his phone on the nightstand and sat up. Jisung was watching when he planted a knee on the bed, his expression suddenly serious.
“Fine. You want fake? I’ll give you fake.”
He grabbed the headboard with one hand and slammed it once—hard enough that the wall rattled. Then he leaned down near Jisung’s ear and moaned.
Low. Rough. Way too real.
Jisung’s laughter dies in his throat. He turns to look at Jeongin, mouth open, eyes wide. Jeongin raises a brow. Smirking now. Dangerous.
“What? That’s how you wanted it, right?”
Jisung blinks. Once. Twice. Oh. So this is it. Well...
He grins when Jeongin slams the headboard again, louder this time.
From the other side of the wall came a distinct groan—followed by a thump, like Seungmin had thrown a pillow in pure agony.
Jisung’s whole body shook with stifled laughter. He was half folded over on the bed, shoulders trembling, cheek pressed into the mattress. Jeongin was behind him now, on his knees, gripping the headboard like he was rehearsing for a drama. He moaned again, exaggerated and guttural :
“Ahh, hyung, tighter—”
“You’re so stupid,” Jisung wheezes, twisting to look back at him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from laughing too hard.
“You started this,” Jeongin says, tossing a pillow at his head. Jisung batts it away and retaliates by bouncing on the mattress again, making it thud loudly against the wall.
Then, without thinking, he threw a leg over Jeongin’s lap and straddled him.
It was meant to be dumb. Just part of the bit. He grabbed Jeongin’s shoulders and started fake-riding him, moaning dramatically in his ear like a total clown. “Ah, ah, harder, alpha!”
Jeongin didn’t shove him off.
In fact, his hands settled low on Jisung’s waist, and he laughed—breathless—like he was about to say something snarky. But he didn’t. Because Jisung shifted—just a little—and felt it. The press of Jeongin’s cock, thick and hard through his sweats, right against the swell of his ass.
He froze. So did Jeongin.
Something slow trickled through Jisung’s core—heat pooling, slick following it, too much, too fast. He knew his scent must be changing, knew the air was turning heavier, sweeter, warmer around them.
Jeongin blinked up at him.
“You smell nice,” he says softly. “Something sweet.”
“Yeah?” Jisung whispers.
Jeongin’s nose twitches as he breathes it in, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. Like he knows what he's sensing but hasn’t caught up to it yet. Then—he does.
Jisung sees it. The way Jeongin’s eyes go wide, the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers twitch on Jisung’s hips like he’s realizing exactly where they are, how Jisung feels beneath him. Warm. Wet. Buzzing.
“Are you slicking right now?”
Jisung lets out a laugh—light, embarrassed, but not denying it.
“Is that your slick that I’m smelling? You’re turned on?”
“Well,” he says, shifting just slightly—enough to rub against Jeongin’s cock, enough to make both of them jolt. Jeongin gasps. His hands clamp down harder, thumbs digging in just above Jisung’s waistband. “I can feel your boner against my ass, Jeongin-ah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Jisung repeats, smirking, though his heart is racing now. Too loud. Too real.
Jeongin looks at him—really looks at him—and Jisung’s throat feels dry. There’s heat in his gaze, but something else, too. Like he’s searching for a signal, a reason, a way to stop this before it goes somewhere they can’t take back. But his dick is still hard under Jisung’s ass, and Jisung’s scent is getting sweeter by the second.
The silence stretches. Not awkward—but tense. Charged. Dangerous in the best way.
Jeongin locks his eyes on Jisung’s. They're glinting with desire, and something akin to smugness. Then he licks his lips.
“Wanna fuck? For real?”
His voice is soft, raspier than usual, and it sends a shiver down Jisung’s spine. He could lie, say they didn’t have to. That they shouldn’t.
But right now, with the heat of Jeongin pressed against him, and the damp patch growing in his own underwear, that would’ve been a waste of breath. So instead, Jisung rolls his hips slowly, grinding against him—and smiles when he feels Jeongin shudder beneath the pressure.
“I kinda want to suck you,” he says, breathless, eyes locked on Jeongin’s.
The alpha’s gaze is fixed on him—on his mouth, his own half-open and his eyes shining with something like reverence. Jisung can feel the spark of arousal coil low in his stomach—hot and sharp. Jeongin swallows hard, his lips parting before he nods, quick, almost shy. And that makes Jisung smile more.
He lets the alpha lean back and sits up straighter, drinking in the sight in front of him. Jeongin is all lean muscle, soft skin with just enough roughness around the edges. Beautiful. Ridiculously hot. And right now, Jisung is aching for him.
His hand drops to Jeongin’s waistband, eyes flicking down to the outline of his cock—thick and heavy even through the fabric. He can see the shape of it, feel the way his mouth waters at the idea of having it between his lips. He tugs the sweats and briefs down in one smooth motion, letting Jeongin spring free. The head is flushed an angry red, wet with precum that glides slowly along the shaft. It’s a good cock—long, not too thick, just right to wrap his lips around. Just right to make someone feel it.
Jisung wraps his right hand around it—slow and loose—fingers gliding over warm, slick skin. His left hand comes to rest on Jeongin’s thigh, thumb stroking lazy circles while he leans in, placing a trail of soft kisses over his lower belly, making him shiver softly.
He works him gradually, pumping with steady pressure while his lips trail from his groin to his cock, finishing with a gentle kiss at the tip—almost reverent. Jeongin shivers.
Jisung looks up. Their eyes meet, and something in the alpha's expression—a kind of stunned, wide-eyed vulnerability—makes Jisung's chest bloom with heat.
He traces the prominent vein along the shaft with two fingers, slow and deliberate—a teasing touch that makes Jeongin’s hips twitch with another quiet shiver.
Jisung pumps him again, feeling the weight, the pulse of it in his hand, before leaning down without breaking eye contact, dragging his tongue along the tip.
The taste hits his tongue first—salty, yes, but there’s more to it. Something musky, sharp, citrusy. Something terribly Jeongin.
He licks slowly, teasingly, then opens his mouth and takes him in, inch by inch. A gasp escapes Jeongin—soft and ragged, more breath than voice—and Jisung moans low in his throat as the tip nudges the back of his mouth.
He starts to move, bobbing his head slowly, hand pumping what he can’t take. He makes sure to drag his tongue along every inch he can reach, letting Jeongin feel the wet heat, the slight drag of lips, the pressure of his throat tightening around the tip. Every little sound Jeongin makes—the stuttered breath, the strained sighs—echoes through him, feeding the slow burn in his belly.
“Hyung,” Jeongin’s voice comes out low, strained—almost like a plea. One of his hands gently cups the back of Jisung’s head, not pushing, just resting there, trembling slightly. His fingers tighten in his locks, but not harshly—just something to anchor him.
Jisung looks up, lips still wrapped around the tip, eyes wide. Something warm spreads in his groin, something dangerous.
“Wait—stop,” Jeongin gasps, chest rising sharply. “I don’t wanna come like that. Not… not yet.”
Jisung stills, blinking slowly, and lets him go with a soft pop. A trickle of saliva still connects his red lips to Jeongin’s cock. He raises an eyebrow, teasing despite the heat in his flushed cheeks.
“What, too good?”
Jeongin lets out a huffed breath—somewhere between a laugh and a curse.
“Just—get up here.”
The omega barely has time to move before Jeongin tugs him up by the waist, their mouths colliding somewhere between desperate and clumsy. It isn’t gentle—it’s teeth and tongue, heated breaths caught between them, and the soft, involuntary noise Jisung makes when Jeongin’s fingers curl into the waistband of his sweats.
Their kisses deepen fast, Jisung’s fingers tangling in Jeongin’s shirt as he lets himself be pulled closer, legs straddling the alpha’s lap. His body is warm all over, trembling under the pressure of hands skimming beneath his clothes, thumbs dragging slow along his skin.
“Clothes,” Jeongin murmurs against his lips, already tugging at the hem of Jisung’s shirt. “Off. Please.”
Jisung helps him, shucking his shirt with a breathless laugh, eyes glinting with something wild. Jeongin sits up, kissing down his chest now, hands greedy and impatient as he tries to peel away the layers between them.
And when Jisung leans back just a little, slick already wetting the inside of his underwear, Jeongin’s hands pause briefly at the waistband, fingers trembling in anticipation.
“You smell insane right now,” Jeongin whispers, voice wrecked. “You’re driving me crazy, hyung.”
Jisung smiles, flushed and breathless, fingers sliding into Jeongin’s hair as he leans in for another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Their mouths meet again, hot and open, tongues brushing, moving in sync like they can’t get enough of each other. And beneath it all, the heat pulsing between them—thick with want and something dangerously close to more.
It’s new. Strange. The first time since they’ve known each other that things have taken a turn like this. But right now, with Jeongin kissing him like it’s natural—like he needs it to live—Jisung couldn’t care less. He just wants to let himself go, to sink into the alpha’s body, his heat. Him.
Their mouths stay locked, kisses messier now—lips and tongue and half-swallowed gasps. Jisung feels like he’s burning from the inside out, trembling against Jeongin’s chest, hands fisting in the fabric still clinging to the alpha’s shoulders.
Jeongin’s fingers skim down the small of his back—slow at first, then lower, until they slip beneath the waistband of his underwear. Jisung’s breath hitches against his mouth.
“Okay?” Jeongin whispers, lips brushing his cheek now, voice rough with restraint.
Jisung gives a small nod, barely more than a breath.
“Yeah. Keep going.”
The alpha’s hand shifts, and Jisung lets out a soft gasp when warm fingers slide between his cheeks—gentle but confident. His body arches slightly into the touch, instinctive, his thighs tightening around Jeongin’s hips. He can feel the weight of his own arousal, the damp heat spreading through his skin, the aching need curling low in his belly.
Jeongin’s mouth moves to his throat, placing slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses along the side of it, his free hand gripping Jisung’s hip like it’s grounding him. His nose presses against his skin, against his glands—sweet and fresh tulip scent growing more insistent, almost too much. His other hand explores Jisung’s body—not rushed, not greedy. Just careful.
His fingers glide easily now, slick making the way smoother. Then the tip of his middle finger presses lightly to Jisung’s hole, making him gasp again. He eases it in—just up to the first knuckle—and there’s no resistance. Jisung’s body welcomes him eagerly, slick easing the way.
When he hears Jisung moan breathily in his ear, Jeongin pulls out and presses two fingers in at once—the heat wrapping around him immediately. He spreads them slowly, watching the way Jisung’s hole flutters around him.
Jisung buries his face in Jeongin’s shoulder, biting back the moan that tries to escape. His scent—tulips, warm and dizzyingly sweet—blooms thickly around them, tangled with the soft citrus edge of Jeongin’s own.
The room feels too quiet, too charged, like it’s holding its breath with them. Every shallow inhale, every shaky exhale. Every shift of their bodies as Jeongin adds a third finger into Jisung’s hole, stretching him even further and easing him open just a little more—slow and patient.
“God,” Jisung whispers, trembling, his lips grazing Jeongin’s jaw. “You’re making me—fuck, Iena.”
“You’re perfect,” Jeongin murmurs back, hand still moving with care. “You feel so good, Sung.”
They kiss again—lower this time, deeper. Jisung’s fingers thread through Jeongin’s hair as he melts against him, the pressure of every touch making him feel like he’s unraveling from the inside out.
When his fingers graze his prostate, Jisung moans loudly, clutching Jeongin’s shoulders like he needs something to ground him. His breath comes in shallow bursts against the alpha’s skin, the latter fucking him lazily with his fingers.
“Fuck, Jeongin—please,” Jisung moans, just before Jeongin captures his lips in a hurried kiss, swallowing the omega’s sound.
The room is quiet, but their shared breaths and racing hearts fill the space with something heavier, something that pulses between them. Jeongin pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, their foreheads nearly touching. Jisung’s lips are swollen, eyes bright and glassy, and for a second, neither of them speaks.
Then Jisung smiles—crooked and teasing—even though his voice trembles.
“Okay, stop. Underwear off and fuck me, please.”
Jeongin blinks, lips parting slightly, stunned for only a moment before he nods. “Are you sure?”
Jisung rolls his eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be saying it with your fingers in—” He cuts himself off, grinning as he ducks his head. “Yes, Jeongin. I’m sure.”
The alpha laughs—breathless, almost nervous. He reaches down and tugs gently at Jisung’s waistband. “Then let me help.”
Their movements are hurried but clumsy—both of them eager, fumbling a little, laughing under their breath when they knock into each other or get tangled in fabric. Jisung wriggles out of his underwear, tossing them somewhere off the bed, and Jeongin follows quickly after.
They pause for a second, both kneeling on the mattress, taking each other in—flushed skin, raw want in their eyes, and something more vulnerable layered beneath.
Then Jeongin’s hands are at Jisung’s waist again, guiding him gently. “Turn around for me?” His voice is soft now, steady but laced with heat.
Jisung raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shifts to all fours, arching his back a little before glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You like giving orders now, huh?”
Jeongin huffs a quiet laugh, sliding closer behind him. His hands stroke his hips. “Only if you like following them.”
“I might,” Jisung says, voice sing-song, eyes daring. “Depends if you make it worth it.”
Jeongin leans in, close enough for Jisung to feel his breath on his skin. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
Jisung’s expression softens just for a beat. He gives a small nod, a smile still playing on his lips. “I will.”
For a long second, they stay like that—hovering between tension and tenderness, anticipation and trust. Jisung gazes at Jeongin, cheeks flushed as he catches the alpha staring back. His eyes are fixed on Jisung’s slick entrance—puffy, flushed a deep cherry-red, slick dripping down his perineum.
“Do you have a condom?” Jisung asks at the exact same time Jeongin blurts out, “Can we do it raw?”
They freeze, blinking at each other in disbelief, before Jeongin huffs out a short, startled laugh. Jisung’s blush spreads instantly from his cheeks down to his neck, and he groans, flopping back dramatically against the pillows.
“Wow. Great. Perfect timing. Love that for me.”
Jeongin leans over him, grinning now, his hand gently tracing the side of Jisung’s neck where the blush blooms warm. “Do you always sync up your awkward moments with people you’re gonna fuck, or am I just lucky?”
“Shut up,” Jisung mutters, covering his face with one hand. “It’s a fair question. I wasn’t sure if you were the reckless type.”
“I’m not,” Jeongin says, more serious now. His fingers slip down to brush Jisung’s wrist and gently tug his hand away. “But I am the tested-and-clean-and-definitely-in-the-moment-with-you type. And you?”
Jisung hesitates, then nods. “Same. I’ve got the implant. And I get my shots done regularly.”
Jeongin’s expression softens, his thumb brushing over the back of Jisung’s hand. “Then… can I? Like that? Only if you want to.”
There’s something quiet in the way he says it—hopeful, but careful. Jisung feels it in the way Jeongin holds his gaze without pushing, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. Trust hums between them, low and grounding.
Jisung rolls his eyes with a small, crooked smile. “God, you’re so earnest. It’s annoying.”
“You’re into it.”
“Yeah, unfortunately,” Jisung admits softly, nudging his knee against Jeongin’s side. “I am.”
Then, trying to break the sudden weight of the moment before it gets too serious, he adds with a smirk, “But if you give me a rash or something, I’m keying your car.”
Jeongin barks a laugh, leaning down to press his forehead to Jisung’s. “That’s fair. Emotional closeness and mild threats. Very on brand for you.”
“Exactly,” Jisung whispers, the smirk fading into something more genuine as he leans up and kisses him—slow and sure, their breaths mingling.
When they break the kiss, Jeongin helps him get on all fours, making sure Jisung’s comfortable. His hand wanders absently over Jisung’s skin while the omega spreads his legs, welcoming the alpha between them.
“Ready?” Jeongin asks, his eyes meeting Jisung’s briefly. The omega nods, his back arching a bit more, inviting.
Jisung sneaks a glance when he feels Jeongin’s fingers slide down the back of his thighs, using his slick to lube himself, stroking his cock lazily before taking it in hand.
“Oh my god, come on,” Jisung whimpers, hips bucking back slightly, chasing him.
Jeongin chuckles lightly. He rubs his cock over Jisung’s hole again and again, teasing. Then, the tip eases past his rim without much effort, making Jisung moan loudly, trying to press himself back. He feels Jeongin’s dick drag against his walls slowly, inch by inch, slick easing the glide. Jisung lowers himself onto the bed until his chest is against the mattress, hands gripping the sheets tightly. His back arches, ass propped up as Jeongin fills him—thick, warm, huge.
When Jeongin stops, hips flush against Jisung’s ass, he moans breathily. “Oh my fucking god, Jisung, you’re so tight.”
His hands still squeeze the omega’s hips like he needs something to anchor himself. He hangs over Jisung’s back, chest pressed into his sweaty skin, breath brushing against Jisung’s nape. His cock is buried deep, the stretch splitting Jisung in two as more slick slides down his thighs.
Neither of them moved for a moment, taking time to adjust. But Jisung was impatient—worse when he could feel just how much Jeongin was filling him. He made a tentative thrust, messy and hasty, pushing the alpha’s cock a bit deeper, making him moan.
“Iena, please, move.”
He couldn’t see him, but the younger nodded eagerly, hands settling on Jisung’s waist, fingers sinking into the soft skin. Then Jeongin pulled out slowly and slammed back in—again and again—building a rapid rhythm that had the omega moaning unabashedly. His voice echoed through the room, filling the silence, the sound of skin on skin loud in their ears. Jeongin was fucking him languidly, yet hard.
Jisung’s mouth parted in a silent scream when Jeongin’s tip nailed his prostate dead-on. The pleasure was electric, overwhelming. All he could do was brace himself as Jeongin gripped his waist, pulling him back as he pushed forward, his cock dragging deliciously along Jisung’s walls. The lewd slap of bodies, the wet squelch of slick—it was all too much and not enough.
Jisung had his face buried in the sheets, drowning in Jeongin’s citrusy scent.
“Iena, harder,” he moaned as the alpha picked up the pace. He drove into Jisung’s prostate, panting heavily as he fucked him with everything he had.
The omega let out breathy moans in time with each thrust. He didn’t hold back—he didn’t care about Seungmin, didn’t care if they were loud, or if the bed squeaked and slammed against the wall. All that mattered was the heat in his groin and the way Jeongin kept hitting his sweet spot, again and again.
His eyes rolled back after a particularly brutal stroke against his prostate, a long, trembling moan escaping him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his scent flared uncontrollably—sweet tulips mixing with Jeongin’s citrus and heat.
Jeongin kept railing into him, his hands roaming, touching everywhere he could reach. One hand slid over Jisung’s stomach, fingers wrapping around his neglected cock, bouncing uselessly between his legs. Jisung let out a wrecked moan as the alpha stroked him, matching the rhythm of his hips.
“Fuck,” Jisung gasped.
“You take me so well, Sung. Like you were made for me,” Jeongin panted, his breath warm against the back of Jisung’s neck.
“So good... making me feel so good, alpha.”
The growl Jeongin let out was low and primal, making Jisung moan harder. The alpha’s left hand gripped his hip tight, while the other pumped his cock, stroking him vigorously as he fucked him faster, the bed shaking beneath them.
Jisung felt everything—the thick drag of Jeongin’s cock, the relentless assault on his prostate, the constant stimulation. It was almost too much, overwhelming him inside and out.
One particularly rough thrust pushed him over the edge. Jisung came with a strangled cry, spilling all over Jeongin’s hand and the sheets. But the alpha didn’t stop—he kept fucking him through the orgasm, setting off waves of overstimulation.
“Stop, Jeongin—‘s too much,” Jisung whimpered, even as he felt himself getting hard again. Jeongin felt it too, his strokes gentling but not stopping.
“You think you can come again?” Jeongin asked, pace slowing just a little. “Think you can ride me?”
“Dunno,” Jisung breathed, honest and wrecked. But just the thought of being on top made his cock twitch, hardening painfully. “Help me?”
Jeongin didn’t hesitate. He pulled out quickly, the wet sound of slick and cum making Jisung wince. Jeongin collapsed beside him onto the damp sheets while Jisung tried to catch his breath. His chest heaved, his heart racing, legs still trembling from the force of his orgasm. He wasn’t even sure he could stand, let alone ride again.
But when their eyes met—Jeongin’s blown-wide pupils, flushed cheeks, and cock still hard and glistening with slick—Jisung’s breath caught. His gaze locked on the red, swollen head.
When Jeongin noticed, he smirked—something smug and fond—and let a hand slide to the small of Jisung’s back, helping him sit up.
“C’mere,” he murmured, guiding him close.
Jisung followed slowly, legs shaky, settling across Jeongin’s thighs. The alpha’s hands found his hips, fingers curling around the curves, guiding him closer. Their skin was slick and warm, their faces inches apart, breath mingling in the charged air.
Jeongin brushed Jisung’s bangs from his damp forehead, and Jisung’s gaze dropped to his lips—parted, cherry-red, swollen. Something about the softness of them, the way they lingered so close, tugged at him—not with urgency, but with yearning. Deep and real.
He leaned in.
The kiss was slow at first—soft, reverent—then deepened, lingering. Jeongin’s hand cupped his jaw, holding him steady as their lips brushed. It tasted like warmth, like something unspoken blooming between them. He tilted his head, slotting their mouths together more perfectly, his grip tightening like he needed to hold onto something real.
Jisung sighed into the kiss, letting it carry him—tender, heated.
As he began to roll his hips, grinding against the alpha’s abs, the kiss broke, Jeongin planting a lingering one on his scent gland, moaning softly at the sweetness of Jisung’s tulip scent.
“Jeongin—alpha,” he whimpered, gasping as his cock rubbed against Jeongin’s stomach, the friction both delicious and frustrating.
“Yeah, okay baby. Up,” Jeongin said, giving his ass a light spank. Then his hands slid down, pulling his cheeks apart. Jisung rose slightly, one hand on Jeongin’s shoulder, the other guiding his cock to his hole.
Jeongin moaned loudly when the head caught against his rim, slipping a few times before easing inside. He threw his head back with a groan as Jisung sank down, slowly taking him in, inch by inch.
Jisung gasped at the stretch, the new position letting Jeongin reach deeper, until he was fully seated in his lap, panting, adjusting. The alpha’s hands kneaded his ass, grounding him.
When Jeongin met his gaze, Jisung lifted himself slowly, then sank back down. At first, his rhythm was unsteady—slow, deep—but soon it picked up. Sweat glistened on his throat as he bounced, pushing down harder each time.
His thighs began to shake, muscles strained and trembling. Jeongin’s hands gripped his hips again, then slid to his ass, using the leverage to pound into him from below.
“Shit, Iena,” Jisung moaned, head falling to Jeongin’s shoulder. “Fuck, right there, please—” he cried out when Jeongin bent his knees, thrusting up into him with force.
He kept slamming his hips up, jolting Jisung’s body with each brutal snap. Jisung whimpered, licking and sucking at Jeongin’s scent gland, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making the alpha shudder.
“I’m close,” Jisung breathed, catching Jeongin’s lips in a desperate kiss. “Please, Jeongin, harder.”
Jeongin didn’t answer. He just pulled out, cock slipping free with a wet sound that made Jisung whimper. He laid Jisung down on the bed, grabbed his hips, and bent him nearly in half—one leg over his shoulder.
Then he sank back in.
Jisung screamed.
Jeongin fucked into him hard, relentless, driving him up the bed with each thrust. The sheets twisted under them, the sound of wet, filthy skin-on-skin echoing through the room.
Jisung could feel it—heat blooming in his stomach, threatening to consume him. Then he felt the knot swelling at the base of Jeongin’s cock. A loud moan tore from his throat, his hand flying to clutch Jeongin’s, nails digging into his skin.
“Don’t knot me,” he panted.
Jeongin frowned. “What?”
“Don’t knot me. Don’t wanna get stuck.”
“Okay, baby,” he says in a breath, still pounding into him brutally, Jisung clenching around his cock with every deep thrust.
The alpha leans over him, the new angle making him moan and whine. He arches his back, pushing himself off the mattress to better feel each of Jeongin’s movements, taking as much of the alpha as he can. The new angle has the younger hitting Jisung’s prostate even harder, catching it, rubbing it constantly. A sob rips from Jisung’s throat, and he comes all over his stomach, clenching around Jeongin’s cock as the alpha continues to fuck him. It’s so much, too much—it hurts, but he doesn’t want Jeongin to stop.
Jeongin’s thrusts grow messier, sloppier, his rhythm faltering. And after just a few more thrusts, he pulls out, his fist clenched around his knot as he comes on Jisung. Jisung feels every thick rope of cum land on his skin, adding to the mess on his stomach.
Jisung closes his eyes, breathless, as Jeongin finishes above him. His body feels distant, weightless, overtaken by the warm haze of afterglow that leaves him floating in quiet contentment. The alpha collapses next to him not long after, completely fucked out too.
They lie together in silence, their arms and legs lightly tangled, skin still buzzing from the aftermath. Jisung can feel the warmth radiating off Jeongin’s body, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as the alpha works to steady his breath next to him.
He blinks open his eyes, clearing the slight blur of tears clinging to his lashes. When he turns his head, he finds Jeongin already watching him. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair a mess from Jisung’s hands, and his eyes shine with something quiet—something found.
“You okay?” Jeongin asks gently, his fingers curling around Jisung’s hand, brushing lazy circles along his knuckles.
Jisung nods, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah… Just feeling gross and sticky,” he admits with a small wince, glancing down at the mess smeared across his stomach and thighs, the cling of sweat and slick still present.
Jeongin lets out a quiet chuckle, the sound soft and breathless.
He sits up a little, his gaze drifting over Jisung’s face—unreadable at first, though something in his eyes flickers with intent. Jisung swallows, feeling the shift in the air as Jeongin leans closer, slow and deliberate, giving him space to move away. An escape.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, Jisung tilts his head and meets him halfway, their lips brushing lightly. The kiss is nothing like the ones they’d shared earlier—there’s no hunger, no urgency. Just warmth, affection. A lingering sweetness that settles between them like a shared breath. Their mouths move together slowly, like they have all the time in the world. It’s not about wanting; it’s about feeling—being held, being known.
When they finally pull apart, Jeongin presses another kiss to his cheek, right where his beauty mark sits, as if grounding him.
“Do you want to take a shower?” he murmurs, still close.
Jisung’s voice is soft, touched with amusement. “Will you carry me?”
Their eyes meet again, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.
Jeongin grins, already moving to help. “Come here, you big baby. I’ll help you.”
The shower is a blur of steam and gentle touches—quiet laughter echoing between tiled walls, fingers smoothing through hair, over rinsed skin, tender without asking for more. Neither of them speak much, and they don’t need to. The silence isn’t awkward.
Later, Jisung finds himself tucked under his sheets, his damp hair pressed to a clean pillowcase, the familiar scent of tulips coming from his nest, faint beneath the lingering citrus warmth clinging to his skin—yuzu and something deeper, earthy and warm, like sunlight in early spring.
He’s drifting to sleep, limbs heavy, body warm and spent when the mattress dips slightly behind him. Then arms—tentative at first—wrap around his waist. A chest presses to his back. Jeongin’s nose buries in the crook of his neck, where his scent gland is, tulips blooming under his skin. Jisung exhales slowly, his muscles relaxing further at the contact. Yuzu again, stronger now, settling in the sheets and in the air.
And just like that, his thoughts slow—the buzz in his chest dulls into something soft, something safe. Jeongin’s breath tickles his nape, their legs tangled under the sheets. The warmth behind him, the quiet comfort of being held, the familiar citrus scent settling in his lungs—it’s enough to lull him under.
That night, sleep comes gently.
When Jisung woke up that morning, something felt off. Not wrong, but not life-changing either. Just… different. Like the air in the room had shifted slightly into something he couldn’t name.
He groaned as he rolled onto his side, the sheets dragging across his bare chest, cool and familiar. A dull ache settled in his hips, not painful—just enough to remind him of the night before. Sleep still clung to his thoughts, heavy and slow, until the scent hit him.
Yuzu.
Thick in the air, mellow and citrusy, but layered with something else—something warmer, richer. Tangy, almost spicy. It curled under his skin and made his chest thrum, pulse jumping.
Jeongin.
And then the memories came, fast and unwelcome.
Heat.
Hands.
Skin against skin.
His lips brushing Jeongin’s neck.
The sounds the alpha made.
The way they looked at each other—soft, real. Nothing rushed. Nothing fake.
Jeongin had slept with him. Not just fucked him—he stayed. Jisung remembered the warmth of the alpha pressed to his back, how it had lulled him to sleep.
But now?
Now Jeongin wasn’t there.
He sat up too fast, back twinging in protest. The bed beside him was empty. The sheets were creased, still faintly warm. He stared at them for a second, then pulled a hoodie—Jeongin’s, he was pretty sure—over his head and padded out of the room on shaky legs.
The apartment was quiet. Seungmin’s door was open, the lights off, bed unmade. For once, he wasn’t home.
In the kitchen, Jeongin was hunched over a bowl of cereal, perched on a stool like he’d been there forever. His dark hair was a chaotic mess, a fresh hickey visible just above the collar of his shirt—right over his scent gland. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and offered a sleepy smile, spoon still in his mouth.
There was no tension.No awkward silence. No “about last night.” No “was it a mistake?”
Nothing.
Jeongin didn’t say a word about it. He just kept eating his cereal, half-asleep and utterly unbothered.
Jisung moved to the sink in silence, poured himself a glass of water, and forced his eyes anywhere but the line of Jeongin’s jaw. Or the hickey he’d left there. Or the fact that Jeongin hadn’t run. Hadn’t acted weird. Hadn’t done anything but carry on like this was normal. Like they were fine.
Like it was nothing.
He slid into the seat across from him, resting his cheek against his palm, the cold glass still in his hand. One of the sleeves of Jeongin’s hoodie slipped down his forearm. Across the table, Jeongin looked up—casual, unphased, like he hadn’t absolutely ruined Jisung twelve hours ago.
“You coming to the game tonight?”
Jisung blinks. “Huh?”
“The qualifier. Seven.”
Right. The match. The one he’d been training for all month. The one they’d both said they needed a good night’s sleep for. The one he was supposed to go to with Felix and Minho.
Jisung nods. Too fast. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there.”
Jeongin smiled, gave a nod in return, and turned back to his cereal like that was that. Like the air between them didn’t still buzz with something unsaid. Like none of it meant anything. And maybe that was fine. Or maybe it was driving Jisung insane.
The rink is buzzing—the kind of loud that makes it hard to hear your own thoughts, which suits Jisung just fine, honestly, because his thoughts are loud enough on their own.
Felix has already spilled his beer twice, half from excitement and half because Minho keeps elbowing him every time Chan does something cool. They’re crammed together on the bleachers, coats still half-zipped, the air thick with sharp laughter, skate screeches, and the slam of bodies against the boards.
And then there’s Jeongin.
God, Jeongin.
He’s glowing on the ice—sharp, fast, grinning like he has a goddamn secret. His passes are clean, his speed insane, and even when he misses a shot, he laughs, tapping his stick on the ice like he couldn’t care less.
“That man,” Felix says, eyes wide, “is thriving.”
“Someone got laid,” Minho mutters, arms crossed over his chest.
Jisung chokes on nothing, startled. Minho side-eyes him silently.
Felix blinks. “Wait. Seriously? Did he?”
“Uh.” Jisung tugs his hood up even though they’re indoors. “I mean. That’s. Hm.”
Minho tilts his head, a maniacal smile tugging at his lips. “Oh my god.”
“What—?”
Felix frowns while Minho laughs like the maniac he is.
“You did not.”
“Okay, technically,” Jisung says, already regretting every life choice that led him here, “it started out as a fuck-you to Seungmin because we were losing our minds with the noise—”
“You slept with Jeongin,” Felix says, scandalized and delighted. “Like. Actually?”
Jisung drags a hand down his face. “Yes. Okay? It was supposed to be petty and chaotic and—whatever—but it wasn’t just—like—it was also really good. And now he’s—” He gestures helplessly at the rink. “Look at him! He’s floating! He’s—giggling, Minho, what the hell did I do?!”
Minho blinks rapidly. “You gave the little alpha the best night of his life, apparently.”
“I knew you two had tension,” Felix says, bouncing in his seat. “I felt it.”
“Oh my fucking god, shut up!” Jisung groans. “You didn’t felt shit.”
“Yes I did!”
“Well it’s not just tension anymore,” Jisung mumbles, cheeks burning.
They both turn to him, staring like he’s some rare zoo animal. Jisung groans. “I liked it.”
Felix gasps dramatically.
Minho smirks. “I knew you were doomed.”
Jisung sinks lower into his seat. “I hate you both.”
“You don’t,” Minho says calmly. “You’re just mad you caught feelings for someone who can ice skate and eat you alive.”
“Seungmin knows?” Felix asks, his sweet pomegranate scent spiking through the layers of his clothes. The question makes Jisung groan.
“Seungmin can choke on my dick.”
Minho bursts out laughing, sharp and sudden, startling the two betas beside him. While they’re still side-eyeing the alpha, Felix leans in.
“You gonna tell him?”
Jisung stares at Jeongin, who laughs again as he skates back toward center, sweat in his hair, smile blinding, yuzu scent practically seared into Jisung’s memory even from this distance.
He swallows. “…Eventually.”
Minho snorts. “You’ve got two options : confess, or die of pining. Either way, it’s entertaining for us.”
Jisung doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Jeongin score—and then immediately glance up at the stands. Right where they’re sitting. Right where he is sitting.
And goddamn it—he smiles.
Right at him.
Jisung’s heart does something absolutely unforgivable.
“…Shit.”
The movie is some mindless action flick, all explosions and one-liners, but Jisung hasn’t absorbed a single scene. Not with Jeongin sitting this close.
The couch isn’t small, but they share the middle cushion like the edges don’t exist: thighs just barely brushing, Jeongin’s knee angled in like gravity wants them tangled.
Jisung stares at the screen, or more like tries to. It’s nearly impossible with the alpha next to him. When Jeongin shifts slowly, a casual thing, his scent rolls over Jisung again, clean and sharp, that unmistakable tang of yuzu that always hits a little too deep. It curls into Jisung’s chest, lights a quiet ache somewhere behind his ribs.
Seungmin isn’t here—and hasn’t been all day. Jisung knows he’s sulking. After everything, he refuses to make eye contact with them for an entire 24 hours, which would be funny if Jisung wasn’t so painfully aware of what causes it. Because Jeongin hasn’t stopped smiling since last night. And the worst part? Jisung hasn’t either.
But now the air between them feels different. Heavier. The kind of silence that buzzes.
Jisung can feel Jeongin’s presence like static. His warmth, the rhythm of his breathing, the occasional press of his thigh, casual and devastating. He risks a glance.
Jeongin isn’t watching the movie either, he’s watching him.
Jisung freezes. Their eyes meet, and it’s like something locks into place—breath catching, time folding in. Jeongin’s gaze flicks down, barely a second, to his mouth, and Jisung feels it in his gut, a twist of heat and want so intense he has to bite the inside of his cheek just to stay still.
Neither of them move.
The tension is ridiculous, stupid even. Like gravity has shifted and they’re both pretending not to feel it.
Jisung’s voice is barely more than a whisper. “You’re staring.”
Jeongin’s voice comes just as quiet. “So are you.”
And that’s it. That’s the moment where something should happen—a lean-in, a kiss, anything to relieve the ache that’s been simmering between them for weeks. But instead, Jeongin turns back to the screen with a small, almost shy smile.
Jisung’s heart is pounding so hard it drowns out the sound of gunfire on the TV.
He stays perfectly still, so does Jeongin throughout the movie. The space between them buzzes, like it’s waiting, wanting. But neither of them moves.
It happens slowly.
Like muscle memory rewiring itself, like gravity tilting just a little toward Jeongin, always.
At first, it’s Jisung pulling one of Jeongin’s hoodies from the clean laundry pile, wearing it without asking. Not to tease, not really. He just likes how it smells, comforting and familiar. A little sharp, a little warm. Yuzu and something under it he can’t name.
Jeongin only looks at him, smiles once, and says, “Keep it.”
So Jisung never stops.
By the end of the week, Jisung is wearing his shirts at home, burying his face in the collar when he’s tired, or annoyed, or just doesn’t want to talk. And Jeongin never complains.
And then there are the touches.
Brief at first—a hand on the back when they pass each other, a knee pressing against his under the table. Then more. Jeongin sits next to him on the couch and slings an arm over the backrest behind Jisung’s shoulders like it’s nothing, like it’s normal. But his fingers brush lightly against Jisung’s neck, linger a bit too long.
Sometimes he leans in too close to talk, voice low, scent even lower, curling warm around Jisung’s senses like it belongs there.
Jisung hates how much he likes it. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the problem.
Because sometimes, when they’re curled up together on the couch or in their bed, Jisung feels Jeongin’s nose press briefly against the top of his head—scenting him in small, gentle passes. Not enough to be possessive, not enough to say mine. Just enough to soothe, to make Jisung melt a little inside, every time.
And Seungmin notices. Of course he does.
He watches them with raised brows and biting commentary, arms always crossed like he’s enduring something personal and deeply offensive. And Jisung tries to ignore him, mostly. Sometimes, he meets Seungmin’s eyes across the room and shrugs helplessly. The beta sighs like he’s tired, but he never says anything to Jeongin nor Jisung. And Jeongin never says anything either.
And that’s what makes it harder. Because Jisung doesn’t know if this is just instinct, alpha-omega magnetism, something comfortable. Or something more. He wants to ask, so many times, but every time he catches Jeongin smiling at him over the rim of his mug, or pulling him closer without thinking, Jisung stays quiet. Because he doesn’t want to break it. Doesn’t want to fuck it up by putting a name on something that’s still forming.
One night, as Jisung curls into his nest, the sheets still smelling of Jeongin—warm yuzu and the faint musk of their skin mixed together—he’s just drifting off when the sound of a headboard slamming into a wall breaks the silence. Moaning. Rhythmic and loud.
Jisung blinks his eyes open, groaning softly. Then—
“Seungmin! For fuck’s sake, shut up!”
That’s Jeongin. Somewhere down the hallway. Angry, sharp, and half-muffled through the walls. Another breathy moan answers him, followed by a weak curse.
“Seriously—some of us are trying to sleep!”
Silence falls after that, save for a few rustles and muffled grumbles, but Jisung doesn’t move. He just pulls the covers higher over his head and sinks deeper into the nest, into the scent that grounds him. It makes his throat tight, somehow, and his chest warm. He breathes in Jeongin’s smell and lets himself drift, ignoring the ache behind his ribs.
He falls asleep like that.
So he keeps stealing his clothes. Keeps curling into his scent when the world feels too sharp. Keeps letting Jeongin pull him close and hold him like that’s where he’s supposed to be. And maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s enough, for now.
And god, Jisung hopes it means something, too.
But the thing about hope was—it didn’t quiet the restlessness. Not really.
It didn’t stop the way Jisung caught himself watching Jeongin’s mouth when he talked. Or how his heart kicked up at every offhand touch, even the lazy ones Jeongin probably didn’t think about. It didn’t stop the tension from crawling up his spine every time he leaned too close. Every time Jeongin’s nose brushed against the curve of his throat like it was an accident. Like it didn’t mean anything.
It meant something to Jisung.
And lately, that truth felt like a bruise forming under the skin.
They didn’t talk about it. Of course they didn’t. They kept the rhythm—shared hoodies, shared warmth, quiet touches on the couch that lingered a second too long. But none of it broke the surface. So Jisung didn’t either.
But today, it was starting to unravel.
Maybe it was the way Jeongin had looked at him during lunch—casual, but warm, with that half-smile he never gave anyone else. Maybe it was Seungmin’s offhand comment earlier: a muttered “You two should get a room,” paired with the kind of pointed glare that stuck under Jisung’s skin longer than it should’ve.
Or maybe Jisung was just tired. Tired of pretending his chest didn’t tighten every time Jeongin pulled him close. Tired of pretending he didn’t want to kiss him when he laughed too hard at one of Jisung’s dumb jokes. He couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t deal with the weight of his own thoughts pressing in like fog.
So when he came home from college after classes, he went straight to his room to rest. He shut himself in, buried under a nest of blankets and Jeongin’s hoodie, with a movie playing on his laptop—something loud and distracting. And still, none of it helped. His pulse was too fast, his skin felt weirdly tight. His senses sharper than they should’ve been—like he was waiting for something, and didn’t know what.
He’d been rotting in bed for about an hour when he heard footsteps in the corridor. The sound caught his attention, making him turn in his nest of blankets. His gaze met Seungmin’s.
The beta looked half-dead on his feet, judging by the dark circles under his tired eyes.
“I’m gonna take a nap. If something happens, please, let me die.”
“Huh, okay,” Jisung said.
Seungmin didn’t respond, just grunted like a caveman and disappeared down the hall.
Jisung listened to his footsteps fade, followed by the slam of a door, then turned back to the movie. He hugged a pillow to his chest—one that still smelled like Jeongin. The sweet scent of yuzu with that tangy edge mixed easily with his own tulip scent: fresh, soft, a bit floral. Strangely, their scents blended well together—zesty brightness and delicate petals. And he liked it. So much, in fact, he could get used to it. Just thinking about it made warmth bloom in his lower belly, light and pleasant.
Then came a noise from the living room, followed by Jeongin’s voice behind him. Jisung turned, meeting the alpha’s gaze.
“Do you know where Seungmin is?”
“Trying to nap,” Jisung replied, the movie still playing in the background. “Why?”
“Nothing important,” Jeongin said. “What are you watching?”
“Something Minho-hyung recommended. Wanna stay?”
“Can I?” Jeongin asked, already closing the door behind him.
Jisung smiled. “Sure.”
He shifted to give him space, still clutching the pillow. Jeongin settled in behind him easily, his left arm wrapping around Jisung’s waist like it was second nature. He adjusted, pulling Jisung closer, making himself comfortable.
Jisung tried to ignore the heat blooming low in his stomach.
They lay like that for a while—Jisung curled into Jeongin’s chest, the alpha’s hand absently stroking his stomach, fingers brushing the hem of his shirt. It was both usual and unusual. Something had changed between them—not for the worse, just... changed. Jeongin had become more attentive, more affectionate. And that wasn’t like him. Jeongin wasn’t clingy. He wasn’t touch-starved like Jisung could be. He didn’t even like being hugged. But now? Now he was in Jisung’s bed, cuddling him like it was nothing. And Jisung didn’t mind. He actually liked it. Jeongin was handsome, kind, someone he’d known for years—someone he was completely comfortable with. So yeah, this shift between them? It was good. More than good.
Behind him, Jeongin shifted slightly, his hand tightening around Jisung’s waist. Then his lips brushed against his ear, warm breath ghosting over skin.
“You said he was resting in his room?” he murmured.
Jisung hummed in response, eyes still on the screen.
“Would you let me eat you out?”
That definitely got his attention.
His eyes widened, breath catching. He turned quickly, needing to see if Jeongin was serious.
He was. There was a glint in Jeongin’s eyes, something sharp and heated, underlined by the citrusy scent that had grown heavier in the air—thick with want.
“You’re kidding,” Jisung said, even though he could tell he wasn’t. “You want to do it now?”
Jeongin shrugged. “Why not? You’re here. And I can tell you’re getting wet.” He kissed the nape of Jisung’s neck—a soft brush of lips against skin. “Makes me wanna taste it.”
They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. The warmth in Jisung’s lower belly was spreading, blooming outward. He was definitely getting wetter. Last time had been good—more than good. Jeongin had made him feel things no one else ever had. And knowing he wanted to do it again made something flutter deep inside.
The room was thick with their scents now—Jeongin’s sharp and tangy, Jisung’s soft and heady like a blooming bouquet. It filled the space between them, intoxicating.
“Yeah. Okay,” Jisung finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
“You sure?”
Jisung nodded quickly, cheeks flushed.
“Come here.”
Jeongin smiled softly as he spoke, and Jisung let him guide him into position—onto his stomach, still clutching his pillow. His face burned at the way Jeongin’s hands moved over his body, warm and familiar.
“Okay?” Jeongin asked gently.
Jisung met his eyes and nodded again. “Okay.”
The alpha helped him remove his shorts and underwear in one go, and Jisung shivered as the cool air hit his heated skin. He settled into the bed, trying to ignore how exposed he felt—face down, back arched, ass up. His dick was slowly hardening against the sheets, the idea of Jeongin eating him out making his breath quicken.
Jeongin’s hand slid down his hip, slow and deliberate, fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. Jisung could feel slick dripping down his perineum, warm and messy.
“You’re already so wet, Sung. What the fuck…”
“Jeongin-ah, please.”
The alpha smirks at the whiny tone Jisung used. He watches him—dripping wet, his slick glistening on honeyed skin.
Jeongin wraps his arms around Jisung’s thighs and pulls him flush against his mouth. For a beat, his breath ghosts over the omega’s wet skin, making him whimper impatiently beneath him. Then Jeongin dives in.
Fresh tulip floods Jeongin’s mouth as he slides his tongue over Jisung’s hole, drawing a breathy moan from him. Jisung’s eyes roll back as the alpha sucks on his rim, drinking down as much of him as he can. His slick carries the scent of tulips in bloom—but richer. Warmer. Deeper. Soaked through with want. Not just floral, but ripe, like petals crushed between trembling fingers. Sweet, and wet, and alive. It didn’t drift through the room—it clung, coating the air in velvety sweetness that made the alpha’s tongue ache.
“Fuck, Iena,” Jisung moans, hips bucking into the mattress. He clutches a pillow to his chest.
Jeongin loves watching him fall apart like this—just from his mouth. He thinks he could bring Jisung to orgasm over and over again with only his tongue, lap him up until there’s nothing left. He even thinks he could come like this—completely untouched—just from the sounds Jisung makes.
He laps at him slowly, lips dragging against his rim, taking his time. Jisung is moaning freely now, like he doesn’t care what they’re doing or where they are. Just him. Jeongin. His tongue in him.
When it breaches his rim, a moan rips from Jisung’s throat—long and full of pleasure. It makes Jeongin want more. More of his sounds. More of his slick. More of him.
He pushes in a finger alongside his tongue. Jisung’s slick and his own saliva make the slide easier. He fucks him with his tongue, alternating between slow, languid strokes and fast, precise ones against his walls, making the omega moan louder. The angle is awkward on his wrist, but it lets him curl his finger just right—pressing against Jisung’s prostate, drawing whimpers that Jeongin loves.
He stays focused, tongue teasing over him and inside him, Jisung’s thighs quivering in his grasp. That tulip scent is almost nectar-like now, as if the bloom had opened too wide. Inviting—no, demanding to be devoured. Each shift of his legs, every drop that wells out, is soaked in feral sweetness—like the moment just before a flower goes to seed. It drives Jeongin crazy.
“Jeongin,” Jisung whines, rocking his hips against the alpha’s mouth. Jeongin works his tongue and finger in and out of him, slick dripping down his chin. “Iena, I’m gonna come, please—”
One of his hands finds Jeongin’s head, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. Jeongin moans against his rim, speeding up—his tongue, his finger.
Jisung’s moans echo through the room, drowning out the sounds of the movie still playing on the laptop.
“Fuck,” Jisung gasps, arching his back, tugging Jeongin’s hair harder. “Fuck, Jeongin—oh my god, please!”
His words catch in his throat as the alpha’s other hand wraps around his neglected cock, stroking him fast, his tongue still working him open, slick dripping everywhere.
Jisung’s breath hitches when Jeongin plays with the head of his cock, and his hips jerk into the friction. The alpha doesn’t slow.
“Fuck—” The word cracks out of him, half-moaned. His thighs go rigid under Jeongin’s touch. His cock pulses hard in the alpha’s palm, twitching—
Then he comes, sudden and messy.
The first spurt lands on Jeongin’s fingers, hot and thick, then another, and another. Jeongin keeps stroking, slower now, coaxing it all out while he licks at his rim, drinking the last drops of slick. Each release brings another jolt through him, aftershocks pulsing through his body, making him shiver.
When it’s over, he exhales long and low, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. His body stills for a beat—then goes slack.
A whine escapes him as overstimulation sets in. He tugs at Jeongin’s hair, rough now, trying to make him stop. The alpha relents, pulling away reluctantly. He presses a soft kiss to Jisung’s cheek, his hand gently stroking his hip.
Jisung is warm, flushed, wrecked in the best way—and still twitching as Jeongin’s hand brushes his away.
He flops back onto the mattress, breath shallow, heart pounding. He lazily rolls onto his back, gaze meeting Jeongin’s. The younger’s cheeks are red and shiny with slick, his pupils blown wide.
“Fuck,” Jisung mutters, voice rough. “That was good. You were good.”
A smirk pulls at Jeongin’s lips.
Jisung barely catches his breath before the alpha sits up between his legs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand (the same one coated in cum seconds ago) before dragging it along the sheets. That smirk curves lazily at the corner of his mouth, smug and satisfied, like he knows exactly what he just did.
“Feeling better now?” Jeongin murmurs, voice low and amused.
Jisung rolls his eyes, still flushed and fucked-out, but raises a hand anyway—beckoning. “C’mere.”
The smirk deepens. Jeongin leans in, but the moment their mouths touch, Jisung makes a face, nose wrinkling.
“You taste like me,” he mutters—not pulling back, just caught off guard.
“Wow, shocking,” Jeongin replies dryly, grinning. “Almost like someone just came all over my hand.”
Before Jisung can fire something equally rude back, a loud bang rattles the door, followed by a muffled, exasperated shout:
“I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking kill you when you get out of this fucking room!”
They both freeze—then crack up, breathless and helpless. Jisung clutches Jeongin’s shoulder, the younger collapsing into him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, laughing too hard to sit upright.
Their laughter lingers, fading into soft exhales and the warmth of skin pressed close.
Jisung’s smile stays as he tilts his head back on the pillow, eyes half-lidded, still caught in the afterglow and absurdity of it all. Jeongin remains propped above him, one hand braced on the bed, the other tracing idle circles along his bare hip.
Their eyes meet, the moment stretching—quieter now. Charged in a different way.
This time, when Jeongin leans down, there’s no smirk. No teasing flick of the tongue. Just a gentle press of lips to lips, slow and unhurried.
Jisung sighs into it, letting himself melt. It isn’t hungry—not anymore. It’s deep. Tender. Like they’re teasing the edges of something else.
The kiss lingers. Warmer, softer. Jisung’s fingers slip into Jeongin’s hair, tugging lightly as their mouths move together, slow and steady. Every now and then one of them pauses, just to breathe the other in—noses brushing, lips barely apart, like neither of them wants to pull away completely.
The room was warm with late afternoon light, filtered gold through half-closed blinds. Jisung lay curled under his duvet, cheek pressed into his pillow, already on the edge of sleep. Jeongin lay behind him, close but not quite touching, stretched out lazily across the mattress, socked feet grazing Jisung’s calves.
It was quiet. Too quiet, maybe, except for the rhythm of Jisung’s breath slowing, the hum of the street outside. A nap had sounded good, innocent and safe.
But Jeongin shifted, lifting himself just slightly to nose at the back of Jisung’s neck.
Jisung froze. Not because it was unexpected—Jeongin had been like this lately. Touchy. Gentle in ways that made Jisung’s heart ache a little. Ever since that night, when Jeongin had eaten him out like it meant something. Like he meant something.
Maybe he did.
Jeongin breathed in softly, and Jisung felt it. That quiet press of scent against scent, Jeongin’s nose brushing beneath his hairline.
“You smell like me,” Jeongin murmured, barely a whisper. His voice was hoarse from disuse, from the quiet.
Jisung didn’t respond, didn’t have to. Jeongin leaned in closer, chest pressing to his back, hand sliding over his waist like it belonged there.
“You always smell like me lately,” Jeongin added, almost to himself.
“Maybe I like it that way,” Jisung whispered.
And then Jeongin stilled. Just for a second. Like the air had thickened between them.
He didn’t say anything. Just let his nose trail along the curve of Jisung’s jaw now, moving slow, reverent. Jisung turned toward him, letting himself be pulled into that gravity again, the one that had been tugging at him for weeks now.
Their eyes met, quiet and close. Jeongin looked at him like he was trying to memorize something fragile.
Then, he kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t about wanting anything more. Just mouths pressing together like they already knew how to fit, slow and soft, like they had all the time in the world.
Jisung sighed against his lips, fingers curling in Jeongin’s shirt. His scent spiked faintly—contentment, something warmer layered beneath. It was soft, nothing like the ones they shared when they slept together.
When they pulled back, Jeongin didn’t go far. Just rested his forehead against Jisung’s, one hand tucked over his hip.
“Stay like this?” he asked quietly.
Jisung nodded. “Yeah.”
And they did.
Jeongin tucked himself in closer, his hand staying right there on Jisung’s hip, warm and grounding. His breath evened out gradually, brushing soft against the curve of Jisung’s neck with every exhale. It didn’t take long before his body went slack in that way Jisung recognized—Jeongin had fallen asleep.
Jisung didn’t move.
He just lay there, eyes half-open, watching the way the late afternoon light crept across his wall. The shadows moved slowly, like time had softened just for them. His heart was still beating a little too fast, his lips tingling from the kiss. Or maybe from everything behind it.
He hadn't expected that. Not really. The kiss, yes—they'd been circling it for days now, weeks maybe. But not like that. Not so... tender. Not so real.
Jeongin kissed him like it meant something.
And maybe it did.
Jisung bit the inside of his cheek lightly, grounding himself. He could still taste him, feel the shape of his hand on his waist. Everything about Jeongin lingered. In his sheets, in the air, in the quiet buzz in Jisung’s chest that wouldn’t fade.
He wanted to stay like this forever. Or maybe not forever, because forever was terrifying. But longer. He wanted to curl into Jeongin’s warmth and let himself believe it was okay to feel like this.
He turned just slightly, enough to see the younger’s face in the dim light. Jeongin was relaxed in sleep, the tension always wound into his jaw now smoothed away. He looked peaceful, soft in a way Jisung didn’t think many people got to see.
Without thinking, Jisung reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly along Jeongin’s arm. He didn’t wake. Just shifted a little, nose twitching like he was chasing Jisung’s scent even in sleep.
Jisung smiled faintly to himself.
He didn’t know what this was, not really. Not yet. But for now—in this room, in this nest, with the weight of Jeongin’s hand still resting against him—it didn’t matter.
For now, it was enough.
He closed his eyes, and this time, sleep came easy.
Since then, Jisung couldn't think of anything else. All his thoughts were focused on Jeongin, so much so that he felt like he was thirteen again and had his first crush. The pages of Jisung’s workbook were half-filled, his handwriting getting sloppier the longer he stared at the same problem without actually solving it.
Across the table, Minho was calmly highlighting something in neon pink. He looked way too put-together for a group study session at home, one leg tucked under the other, his bangs falling in his eyes.
"I'm going to fail this," Jisung muttered, slumping dramatically over his notes.
"No, you’re not," Minho said without looking up.
"Okay, but spiritually, I am."
Minho snorted. "Spiritually, you’re always failing."
Jisung groaned, flopping harder onto the table. "Why are you so mean to me?"
"Because it’s fun." Minho paused, flipped a page, and added offhandedly, "So how’s it going with Kim Seungmin and his crazed sex phase?"
Jisung lifted his head just enough to glare at the alpha. "I hate you."
Minho smiled sweetly.
"It’s… manageable," Jisung said, dragging a pen between his fingers. "The walls haven’t collapsed. Jeongin hasn’t killed him yet. I think I’m getting desensitized to the moaning."
"That’s concerning."
"What’s concerning is the number of times Seungmin gets his dick wet. But also," Jisung added, fidgeting with his pen cap, "I’ve been sleeping in my earbuds."
Minho gave him a look. "So that’s a no on ‘manageable.’"
Jisung exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I mean… it’s not just Seungmin, okay? It’s—" He paused. "It’s also Jeongin."
Minho didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow. His pink highlighter was on the table, already forgotten, like their study session.
Jisung hesitated. "I think I have a crush on him."
"Think?"
"Okay, I know. Probably. Maybe." He waved the pen in a vague circle, feeling something warm in his abdomen. "I don’t know. It’s… dumb."
Minho leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. "Since when?"
"Since—" Jisung’s mouth opened, then closed. "Since the game, maybe? Or maybe before, I don’t know. He looked really good out there, and then we got chicken, and he was smiling like a dumbass with sauce on his cheek and just—" He groaned again, softer this time. "We had sex. He acts differently now, and, I don’t know—It’s not a big crush."
Minho stared knowingly. Jisung shrank a little.
"Okay. Maybe it is more than this."
Minho clicked his tongue. "You’re so emotionally constipated, it’s painful to see."
"Excuse me for being uncertain about my feelings for my alpha roommate and best friend who’s also hot and nice and occasionally smells like yuzu and kills me with his stupid laugh."
There was a beat of silence. The alpha was just watching him, maybe judging him.
Then he said, "You’re so fucked."
Jisung dropped his face into his arms. "I know."
Jisung lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling like it might give him a divine answer if he stared long enough. It didn’t.
Minho’s words were stuck in his head since yesterday, when he came back home, the flat silent and abnormally calm—Jeongin was at practice and Seungmin was with friends, certainly studying with Hyunjin and Felix.
You’re fucked.
At the time, it had been funny. Kind of. Now? It felt less like a joke and more like a diagnosis.
He let out a sigh and rolled to his side, eyes landing on the empty side of the room—Jeongin’s side when he came to sleep with him. A hoodie was still on his side of the bed, next to his nest, and an open pack of apple-flavored gum on the nightstand, the alpha’s favorite. And that smell.
It lingered even when the younger wasn’t here. Subtle, like citrus carried on the wind. Yuzu—bright, clean, just a little tart. Fresh in a way that clung to Jisung’s memory more than it should’ve.
He hated how much he noticed it now.
How sometimes, when Jeongin walked past him, that scent bloomed warm and sharp under his nose, and something in his body reacted before his brain did. Omega instinct, maybe. Or just… him.
Because it wasn’t just the scent. It was how Jeongin laughed when he got flustered. The way he stretched before bed like he didn’t even realize he was showing off. The way his voice went soft when he asked if Jisung was okay, like he mattered. It was ridiculous.
They live together. Jeongin was probably just being nice. Jisung was probably just lonely. Or…Jisung pressed his face into his pillow and groaned.
Or maybe Minho was right. Maybe he was fucked. Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore, was it?
He’d had crushes. This didn’t feel like that. This felt like a slow, steady burn—like something that had been building under the surface without him noticing. It felt like watching Jeongin laugh with chicken sauce on his cheek and wanting to kiss it off, and then immediately wanting to throw himself out of the nearest window.
It felt like jealousy, a little, when other people looked at Jeongin. Like tension when they sat too close. Like comfort when they didn’t have to talk at all. It felt like want.
Shit.
Jisung rolled onto his back again, staring at the ceiling with wide, panicked eyes.
He was so screwed.
Jisung is lying in bed, his laptop dead beside him. He wakes up a bit disoriented, in the dark, the sound of his show no longer filling the silence of his room. He fell asleep watching it, surely, but now, he isn’t sure where he is or what time it is. A long noise escapes his mouth when he turns over, the sheets following his limbs’ movement, the rustling filling the quiet, mixing with his calm breathing. He fumbles to find his phone on the mattress, smiling softly when his fingers latch onto the screen, the latter lighting up.
When he sees the time—nearly one in the morning—he sighs. Tomorrow is Jeongin’s big game, the last one of the season. It’s the one that could change everything for him and his team, and Jisung wants to be there without feeling like he’s dead on his feet. He needs sleep for that.
So when he turns over in his nest, burying his face in his pillow, searching for Jeongin’s scent to fall asleep more easily, he doesn’t think he’ll hear it. Not right now. The first time he hears the distant thump, he tries to ignore it, thinking it’s a figment of his imagination. But when it happens again, and again, he knows he’s not getting any decent sleep tonight.
Seungmin knows. He knows. It’s written on their fridge, on the monthly schedule he forced them to update—so it’s impossible that he doesn’t. But Seungmin is a menace, and he’s still pissed since Jeongin fucked him before his exam, so Jisung could have suspected he’d take revenge by bringing her over to fuck loudly the night before Jeongin’s decisive game.
Across the hall, he can hear Jeongin’s muffled voice, probably insulting Seungmin and the girl who’s now started moaning, the sounds echoing far too clearly through the apartment.
Jisung waits, still lying in bed, his comforter tangled between his legs. He looks toward the door, his eyes adjusting to the dark enough that he can make out some of his things. Outside, footsteps echo—at first distant, then a door slams, and they approach. He blinks rapidly as his bedroom door opens, revealing Jeongin stepping inside. His hair’s a mess, and his t-shirt hangs loosely from his shoulders, collarbones visible in the dim light.
“I swear, Sung, he’s doing it on purpose,” he groans, shutting the door behind him. Jisung watches him approach.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, scooting to the left, leaving space for the alpha to join him.
Jeongin lets himself fall onto the mattress with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling like it’s personally offended him. The bed dips between them—a familiar weight Jisung’s grown used to. But tonight, it feels different. Charged, like something is buzzing beneath the surface of both their skins. The room is dim, shadows stretching across the walls. Outside, Seungmin’s revenge continues: laughter, bedsprings, another moan that makes them both flinch.
Jisung stays quiet, but his fingers itch to reach for Jeongin. Maybe to comfort him. Maybe just to anchor himself. He can feel their scents shifting in the air—Jeongin’s too—subtle, but heavier now, warmer.
“Sorry he’s ruining your sleep,” Jeongin mutters, finally turning his head to look at him.
Jisung shrugs, trying to sound unaffected, though his heart is thudding. “I’ll live.”
Jeongin smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks tired, tense. And there’s something else too—something in the way he’s watching him now. Like maybe he’s not just here to escape Seungmin’s noise.
Jisung meets his gaze, and everything inside him pauses.
Because right now, something feels different. Maybe it’s the way Jeongin’s looking at him, with that softness and adoration Jisung only sees when they’re alone together. Maybe it’s his scent: fresh and calm, but heavy with something else. Maybe this is it, the moment they’ve both been circling, pretending whatever’s between them doesn’t mean anything. That it isn’t real. But it is. Jisung can feel it in the space between them. See it in Jeongin’s face, in the way his brows pinch like he’s hesitating to say something—or do something—or—
When Jeongin leans in, hair falling over his face and the collar of his shirt slipping lower to reveal a glimpse of chest, Jisung finally breathes again, but he doesn’t move. His breath catches, lips parting slightly, enough to say yes without needing to speak.
The kiss is slow. Careful. Not the kind you give when you want to shut the world out—but the kind you give when you’re letting someone in.
Jisung closes his eyes, letting himself fall into it. The softness of Jeongin’s lips, the warmth of his hand resting on Jisung’s thigh, pulling him closer, thumb brushing over the fabric of his shorts as their mouths move together, unhurried. It feels like something inside him is cracking open. Something fragile and blooming.
By the time they pull apart, Jeongin’s lips have drifted lower, brushing his neck, and Jisung’s fingers are curling into his shirt. When he feels warm lips press to his scent gland, his breath hitches. Jeongin’s mouth parts, tracing it again, making Jisung tremble—overwhelmed by the feeling, by the wet heat of his lips, by the weight of Jeongin’s body pressing closer.
Their scents hang thick in the air now. Fresh tulips and yuzu, thick and sweet, mixing with Jisung’s own musk—slick and sharp and dizzying. He moans when Jeongin shifts just right, making their cocks brush through layers of fabric.
“Iena…” Jisung sighs, the nickname slipping out like muscle memory.
Jeongin doesn’t pull away. “What?” he murmurs against his skin, voice muffled, refusing to lift his mouth from Jisung’s neck.
Then he smiles—Jisung can feel it. A lazy, smug smile that makes his stomach twist in ways that have nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with how loved he feels.
Jeongin’s hands slide down to his ass, kneading softly. When he pulls back to meet Jisung’s eyes again, he looks wrecked in the prettiest way—pupils blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, hair tousled and falling over his forehead.
His voice is low when he asks, “Can I knot you tonight?”
“Please.” There’s no hesitation. Jisung’s voice is already frayed, barely holding together. “Jeongin.”
“Alright, come here, baby.”
It’s stupid, really, how a single word can do that to him. But Jeongin calls him baby like it means something. Like it carries weight.
Jisung watches the younger sit up, brushing a kiss to his cheek before pulling off his own shirt and helping Jisung out of his. The alpha’s touch is careful, like he’s unwrapping something precious. Jisung lets him, heart pounding.
When they’re both naked, Jeongin helps him settle back into the center of the nest. Jisung sinks into it—soft blankets and worn sheets still smelling like both of them. He feels vulnerable lying there, exposed under Jeongin’s gaze—but not afraid. Thrilled, but never afraid.
The alpha’s hand slides over his thigh, warm and slow, coaxing him to spread his legs. Jisung obeys easily, watching the way Jeongin’s eyes darken with want.
“You okay?” Jeongin asked, his voice softer now, nearly drowned out by another distant moan echoing through the apartment.
Jisung scoffed but nodded. “I’m fine. Better now.”
Jeongin watched him as he moved his hand lower, circling around Jisung’s rim. He scooped up some of the slick, coating his finger with it, eyes trained closely on the omega’s reaction. Jisung let out a quiet whine when Jeongin pushed in slowly—the slick gushing out of him made the intrusion easier.
His lips parted on a soft gasp as Jeongin pushed in again, bottoming out gradually. A satisfied smirk tugged at Jeongin’s mouth when a shaky moan escaped Jisung’s throat. A moment later, he added a second finger, using his other hand to stroke up and down the omega’s thigh. It made Jisung shiver as he pushed down onto Jeongin’s fingers, slick gushing out of his hole with the movement, a small gasp of pleasure leaving his parted lips.
Jeongin leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of Jisung’s hip as he worked his fingers deeper, curling them deliberately. Each scissoring motion sent more shivers through the omega’s trembling frame. After a moment, he added a third finger, stretching him even more, making Jisung moan louder. The alpha smiled to himself, his cock twitching in his underwear.
“Iean, yeah—right there—” Jisung cried out, eyes squeezing shut as Jeongin’s fingers hit his prostate dead-on. His arousal surged, a heat blooming in his groin. He arched his back, thighs twitching every time the younger applied pressure to that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck, I’m gonna come—Jeongin, stop.”
Instead, the alpha angled his fingers just right, lips latching onto Jisung’s hip and sucking lightly, surely leaving a mark. When he pressed hard against his prostate, Jisung gasped sharply, his back arching off the mattress. Jeongin continued stroking that sweet spot over and over, pressing into it as he watched Jisung unravel. The omega’s hand tangled in his hair, yanking on the strands to make him stop.
“Jeongin—alpha, don’t wanna come yet,” Jisung managed to whine, chest rising and falling rapidly. His neglected cock twitched against his belly, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip after a particularly hard thrust.
Jeongin smirked against his skin, kissing the mark he’d left. “Dunno if I want to make you come like this before knotting you or not,” he murmured, his breath hot against the damp skin of Jisung’s hip.
The omega whimpered. “Baby—” his voice cracked, thick with need, arousal overtaking him as he continued to be edged. Jeongin was still brushing against his prostate, but every few seconds, he’d back off, leaving Jisung teetering right on the edge.
“Just fuck me already, please.”
Jeongin hummed softly, then withdrew his fingers, making the older whine. “Okay, okay. Can do that,” he mumbled, his cock twitching.
Jisung watched as Jeongin stroked himself with his still-slick-coated hand, each motion against his shaft loud and lewd in the otherwise quiet room. He spread his legs further, giving the younger a clear view of his leaking hole while lazily stroking his own cock. Jisung could see the lust in Jeongin’s eyes—a glint sharp and focused—and a small smirk curled on his bitten-red lips.
He reached out with grabby hands, silently pleading.
Jeongin snorted lightly, scooting closer and pressing his body against Jisung’s. The omega shuddered as he felt the pressure of Jeongin’s tip against his rim, grazing teasingly over his slick entrance. He tried to lift himself off the mattress to get the alpha inside him, only for Jeongin to stop him with a firm grip on his hip, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. When he felt Jeongin’s lips on his flushed cheek, Jisung turned his head, capturing his mouth in a slow, deep kiss. He moaned when the alpha deepened it, one hand resuming its caress along his skin.
They kissed for a moment, grinding against each other, the friction between their aching cocks making them both breathless. Jisung felt Jeongin smile into the kiss when he whimpered, impatience getting the better of him. He carded his fingers through Jeongin’s black strands, reveling in the guttural sound the alpha let out when he thrust his hips against him.
When they pulled apart, Jisung looked at him through lidded eyes, admiring the way Jeongin’s pupils were blown wide with arousal. Then he smiled—small, perfect—dimples hollowing out his cheeks. Jeongin pecked him on the cheek, right where his mole was.
“Ready?” he asked softly, still caressing his skin.
Jisung nodded, eyes locked onto the alpha’s. “Yeah.”
The younger smiled once more before lining himself up with Jisung’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, slick easing the way. The stretch burned just right, pleasure tinged with pain sending tingles dancing across Jisung’s skin. He hummed softly as he felt himself fill, oh so full.
Jeongin exhaled shakily when he bottomed out. “You okay?” he asked gently, his hand dragging up the omega’s waist.
“Yeah,” Jisung choked out, releasing the breath he’d been holding. “You can move now.”
Holding Jisung’s waist steady, Jeongin began to move, slow at first, building a steady rhythm. Jisung let himself go, gasping and moaning with every thrust, trying to guide Jeongin’s angle with breathy murmurs. But each motion only grazed his prostate, just enough to leave him aching.
With a teasing hum, Jisung lifted himself and pushed back down, grinding until Jeongin’s cock pressed perfectly against his walls, making him moan louder. He braced his hands on Jeongin’s back, fingers digging into his shoulders as the alpha picked up the pace. Airy gasps left his lips with every thrust.
Under Jeongin’s intense gaze, Jisung burned hotter. There was a flutter in his stomach—something close to adoration, fondness—and it didn’t scare him. Instead, he rolled his hips with him, grinding slow and filthy, pulling guttural groans from Jeongin. The alpha’s hands gripped his waist tighter, possessive, as he sank deeper.
Jeongin grunted with each thrust, the slow pace breaking apart as Jisung met him in the middle—faster, more frantic, but not quite enough. That heat in Jisung’s lower abdomen built unbearably, almost painful. He clutched Jeongin’s shoulders harder, blunt nails digging into skin.
“Harder. Fuck me harder, alpha.”
Jeongin shuddered—raw and full-bodied—a growl rumbling in his throat as something deep inside him snapped. He buried his face in Jisung’s neck and snapped his hips forward, hard. Jisung gasped from the force.
Jeongin pounded into him, harsh and relentless. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, along with the obscene squelch of slick around his cock. Jisung couldn’t hold back—moans and cries spilled freely from his lips, pleasure consuming him.
Jeongin sucked on his scent gland, the taste of fresh tulips blooming in his mouth. Sweet. Addictive. Their scents mingled in the air, heady and overwhelming. Jisung grew dizzy, thighs trembling with each thrust. He could barely meet Jeongin’s rhythm anymore—he was pinned beneath him, unable to do anything but take it, take all of him. It bordered on pain, but it filled him so perfectly he didn’t care.
The air grew thick with the scent of citrus, sweat, and sex—heady and almost suffocating, clinging to their skin like heat. Jisung tried, pathetically, to grind against Jeongin, desperate for friction, but Jeongin had him pinned down solidly.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he was fucked into the mattress, caught in that unbearable mix of pain and pleasure. He felt so full, his hole stretched wide, Jeongin’s forming knot catching on his rim with every thrust. There was a burning in his stomach that made him feel like he might combust.
“Knot me,” Jisung whispered, desperation lacing his voice as his back arched. He didn’t know what felt more dangerous—the ache between his legs, or the way Jeongin’s name tasted like a promise on his tongue. “Please, Jeongin… knot me.”
The whines kept spilling from his lips as Jeongin pushed his knot into him, stretching the omega further, slick pooling beneath his hips. Their mouths met in a desperate kiss, Jeongin swallowing every sound Jisung made while snapping his hips, pulling his knot out only to force it back in.
A few more thrusts, and Jisung’s back bowed off the mattress, coming untouched all over his stomach, his body trembling as Jeongin kept moving—pushing his knot in deeper, chasing the final thrust. Then Jeongin cried out, broken and raw into Jisung’s cheek, releasing deep inside him, his knot locking them together. That last thrust sent Jisung’s whole body into a shudder, moaning freely in Jeongin’s ear, overwhelmed and full in every sense.
They stayed like that for a while—Jeongin slumped against him, his cock still pulsing inside, steadily pumping him full. Jisung’s chest rose and fell with each breath, his pulse slowly returning to normal.
Jeongin didn’t speak. He just stayed close, grounding them both. His hand brushed gently over Jisung’s ribs in lazy, calming strokes, as if tracing every breath he took. His body was still buried inside him, but his touch had gone soft. Careful. Almost worshipful.
Eventually, he whispered, “You okay?”
Jisung only hummed, nodding. The knot still inside him made it hard to lie still, but Jeongin seemed to sense it, shifting slightly to ease the pressure without pulling away. His hand found Jisung’s again, their fingers threading together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m not crushing you, am I?”
“You’re warm,” Jisung muttered, voice hoarse, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Don’t move yet.”
That made Jeongin laugh quietly—softer than usual. He nosed behind Jisung’s ear and kissed his temple, just once.
He felt heavy. Not just from the knot, or the mess pooling between them, but from the weight of the moment. Of everything that had just passed between them.
Jeongin nuzzled along his neck, lips brushing over sensitive skin before pressing the softest kiss to his gland. A kiss—not a mark. Not a claim. Just care.
Jisung exhaled shakily. “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled.
“Do what?”
“Be so gentle.”
Jeongin didn’t answer right away. He just kissed him again. Slower this time. Lingering.
“Yeah, I do,” he whispered, eyes still closed. “Because I want to.”
That shouldn’t have hit Jisung the way it did. But it did. And something inside him cracked open—wider, deeper than before.
Something had shifted. He could feel it in every inch of his skin. In the way Jeongin’s scent clung to him—not overwhelming, but wrapping around his own like it had always belonged there.
He didn’t say anything. Just reached up and combed Jeongin’s hair back from his forehead with his free hand, smoothing it behind his ear. The younger’s eyes fluttered open at the touch, sleepy and impossibly soft.
“I’ll get you water in a minute,” he said quietly, still stroking Jisung’s hip. “And a towel. You want food or something?”
Jisung blinked up at him, startled by the sudden wave of tenderness. “You’re stuck in me.”
Jeongin grinned. “Yeah, but I can multitask.”
Jisung laughed—hoarse and breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”
But Jeongin didn’t stop touching him. Didn’t stop looking at him like he mattered. And Jisung felt it—not just the physical fullness, but the emotional one. Something quiet and immense and terrifyingly real.
And that’s when it hit him.
He loved him.
Of course he did.
It wasn’t a crush anymore. Maybe it never was.
It had crept in quietly—in the way Jeongin kissed like he meant it, touched like he knew him, stayed like he wasn’t going anywhere. Even now, still here, still kissing his temple. Still wiping his skin clean with the edge of the comforter. Still whispering promises of water and food like they hadn’t just fucked each other raw.
“Jeongin,” Jisung said, barely a whisper.
The alpha hummed against his skin, eyes still closed. “Hmm?”
But Jisung didn’t say it. Not yet. He just held him tighter, burying his nose in his neck where their scents were thickest, and closed his eyes.
The crowd was loud tonight. Not just the usual low thrum of chatter and scattered cheers from parents and students, but alive—buzzing with something volatile. Excitement crackled like static in the air, voices echoing off the high ceiling of the ice rink.
It was the last game of the season. The final match before summer break pulled everyone into internships, travels, or the slow decay of hot afternoons spent inside with fans buzzing in the windows.
It felt like the kind of night that would stick in people’s memories—not because of what was at stake, but because of how charged it all felt.
Jisung was on edge.
He sat wedged between Felix and Minho on the cold metal bleachers, the chill seeping into his thighs despite the layers. His hands were crammed into the pockets of his hoodie—Jeongin’s hoodie, if he was honest with himself—fingers twisting the fabric into knots.
The game hadn’t even started, and he already felt like his whole body was vibrating, like he was tuned into something only he could feel.
Seungmin and Hyunjin were there too, a rare alignment of stars that had brought the whole pack together.
Seungmin looked like he regretted coming the moment he sat down. Hood up, earbuds in but not connected to anything, one foot bouncing in a steady rhythm. His eyes tracked the players on the ice with a flat, unimpressed look.
Hyunjin, on the other hand, was chaos embodied. He kept sighing dramatically and shifting in his seat, his scarf wrapped high over his face like the rink air had personally offended him.
“Do they have to skate like that?” he muttered eventually, pulling the scarf down just enough to talk. “I feel like I’m watching a K-drama. With blades.”
“They are wearing skates, dumbass,” Minho replied, not even glancing away from the rink. His voice was casual, but his posture was just a little too still—the only tell that he was invested.
Felix giggled beside Jisung, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s kinda beautiful. Like dance. But with bruises.”
Jisung didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t.
Because his eyes were locked on Jeongin.
There he was.
Number 8. Black and silver jersey pulled tight across his shoulders, helmet hiding half his face—but not the way he moved. He cut across the rink with easy, practiced grace, like the ice belonged to him. His stride was clean, smooth, powerful. Every shift of his body was so fluid it was hypnotic, like watching choreography in real time.
Jisung could pick him out in a second, even from here.
Something twisted in his chest when Jeongin turned near their side of the rink, the edge of his mouth just visible beneath his faceguard. He looked focused. Determined.
Happy.
Jisung didn’t know shit about hockey. He still struggled to follow the rules, forgot what icing meant, and had a habit of cheering at the wrong moments—even after the alpha had tried to teach him. But none of that mattered, not when Jeongin was on the ice. Not when he looked like that.
Sharp. Effortless. Goddamn radiant.
Jisung didn’t just watch him—he absorbed him. Took in every little movement. The way he passed the puck across the rink without even looking. The way his legs bent low before a turn. The burst of speed when he picked up momentum. The way he flicked his wrist after scoring like it was nothing.
He looked like he was born to do this.
And he looked good.
Too good.
Jisung’s throat felt tight, his skin prickling beneath his hoodie. Every time Jeongin’s gaze so much as brushed the stands, Jisung sat up straighter—like he was afraid of being caught slouching. Like that alone would make him unworthy of the attention.
He knew it was stupid. He’d been with him. Slept in his bed. Had his mouth on him, his hands all over him, and still—still—he sat here watching him like some breathless teen girl at a concert. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
When the final buzzer rang—shrill and echoing across the rink—the whole place erupted.
Jisung barely registered the score blinking across the screen, bold and bright, before the players were throwing their sticks into the air, helmets tossed aside like confetti.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wave of cheers and stamping feet that rattled the metal bleachers beneath them.
Jeongin’s team swarmed the ice, yelling and laughing, gloved hands slapping shoulders, tugging each other into jubilant collisions. Chan practically tackled Changbin from behind, the two of them tumbling into the boards in a mess of hugs and noise.
The goalie—some sophomore Jisung didn’t even know the name of—ripped off his helmet and screamed like his life had peaked.
It was chaos. Glorious, victorious chaos.
And through it all, Jeongin turned.
He twisted on his skates, breath still coming fast, sweat gleaming at his temples—and looked. Not at his teammates. Not at the coaches or the fans behind the plexiglass.
He looked straight at Jisung.
Time didn’t slow down, not exactly. But it pulled taut.
Their eyes locked, and Jisung forgot how to breathe.
Jeongin’s helmet was gone, hair matted to his forehead, cheeks flushed red from cold and adrenaline. His mouth was parted, chest heaving, his smile wide and open and blinding.
He looked like everything Jisung had ever tried not to want too much—flushed and full of life, shining, his.
He didn’t hesitate.
He skated across the ice, not even pausing to celebrate with the rest of the team. Blade-cuts precise and fast, he headed straight for the wall. Straight for Jisung—like the win meant nothing if he couldn’t share it with him first.
Jisung stood before he realized he was moving, hands half-lifted like he might catch him even across the glass. His breath fogged in the cold, heart a rapid stutter in his ribs.
Jeongin stopped at the boards, just beneath him.
Their faces were inches apart, the chill air between them pulsing with heat.
And then—before Jisung could say congrats or you were amazing or I think I’m in love with you—Jeongin surged up on his toes and kissed him.
Just like that.
Right there.
In front of the entire rink.
It was quick, barely more than a press of lips—but it was hungry, unguarded, warm enough to burn. The kind of kiss you gave when the game was over and you’d won and you wanted the whole world to know who you were celebrating with.
Jisung’s breath caught, the taste of cold and sweat and Jeongin’s chapstick blooming across his mouth like firecrackers. His body lit up—startled, aching, flooded with something terrifyingly close to joy.
He didn’t even notice the stunned silence around them until it shattered.
“What the fuck?” Hyunjin blurted, voice cracking like he’d just watched someone get slapped in a period drama. He was half out of his seat, scarf unraveling, mouth open in full dramatic disbelief.
Seungmin didn’t even look up. He pulled one earbud out and sighed, flat and unimpressed. “Disgusting.”
On the ice, Changbin had frozen mid-celebration, stick in hand like a confused NPC, staring with his mouth open.
Chan blinked once. “Huh,” he said. “That explains a lot.”
Felix was already clapping. “Finally!” he whooped, laughing as he tugged on Jisung’s sleeve like a proud mom.
Minho just smiled—a quiet, sharp little thing. He sipped his beer and leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
Jeongin pulled away, just enough to breathe—lips pink and curved, dimples showing, eyes bright with something that made Jisung feel dizzy.
“Hi,” he said, grinning like he hadn’t just kissed the life out of him in front of their friends, dozens of strangers, and an entire hockey team.
Jisung could only laugh, breath catching in his throat as he blinked down at him.
“Hi,” he echoed, dazed.
And god, he was so fucked.
But right now?
He didn’t care at all.
The pizza joint smelled like grease and heaven.
It was loud and cramped and weirdly festive, with mismatched chairs, plastic trays, and old K-pop songs playing too loud through busted speakers. The eight of them were crammed around a couple of greasy boxes of pepperoni and bulgogi pizza, paper cups filled with flat soda, and enough fries to feed a small army.
Chan leaned forward, elbows on the table, still a little pink from the win, but his eyes were sharp. Curious.
“Okay, but seriously. How did you two end up together?”
He pointed between Jeongin—who was sipping from his straw like he hadn’t just publicly mauled his crush on ice—and Jisung, who choked mid-bite and nearly dropped his slice.
Jeongin smirked. “You kissed me back, remember?”
“That’s not what he asked,” Minho said, mouth full.
Chan waved a hand. “Yeah, we saw the kiss, Romeo. I mean how. When did this even happen?”
There was a beat.
Jisung blinked, then narrowed his eyes at Seungmin across the table. “Because of him,” he said, voice full of betrayal as he jabbed a thumb toward the beta, who calmly picked olives off his slice.
Seungmin didn’t even blink. “You’re welcome.”
“No!” Jisung snapped, looking around. “Listen. This bastard kept bringing some girl home every other night, and I swear to god—she was so loud. Like, awfully loud.”
Jeongin groaned beside him, slumping onto the table like the memory physically hurt. “You kept me awake, hyung. I had to sleep with my headphones on and I could still hear it.”
“He was this close to setting the apartment on fire,” Jisung added dramatically, holding up his fingers. “And then one night, I’d just had enough, and Jeongin was also dying, and—well. We ended up sharing his bed.”
“You… hate being touched when you’re cranky,” Felix pointed out, blinking.
“Yeah, well.” Jisung glanced at Jeongin, cheeks going pink. “It wasn’t like that at first, but—yeah. Couldn’t stop thinking about it, and now I—” He clamped his mouth shut, eyes wide.
Minho grinned maniacally. “Now you what?”
Jisung groaned into his hands. “Now I like him, okay? A lot. I hope you’re happy, Seungmin. You sex-noise menace.”
The table erupted into chaotic laughter—Felix wheezing into his napkin, Changbin howling, Chan coughing soda through his nose.
Only Seungmin stayed silent.
He looked up, finally, face unreadable—then slowly raised one eyebrow.
“It wasn’t a girl,” he said, tone bland.
Jisung stiffened. “Stop kidding. You bring her over like, every two days.”
“It’s not a girl. That was Hyunjin.”
The silence dropped like a bomb.
Jisung froze. Jeongin blinked. Hyunjin’s mouth fell open in real-time horror.
“WHAT?!” Jisung screeched, nearly tipping his drink.
“No the fuck it wasn’t,” Jeongin gasped, eyes darting between them.
Seungmin calmly took a bite of crust. “It was.”
“Seungmin!” Hyunjin made a strangled noise, burying his face in his hands. “I thought we agreed to never say that out loud!”
“You scream my name, Hyunjin. Like every time,” Seungmin deadpanned. “They figured it out eventually.”
“I didn’t!” Jisung yelled.
“Me neither!” Jeongin cried, horrified.
“Dumb and dumber,” Minho muttered, sipping his Coke.
“Oh my god,” Felix whispered, scandalized and delighted.
Hyunjin groaned so hard he practically collapsed onto Seungmin’s lap, dragging his scarf over his face like a funeral shroud. “I hate all of you.”
“You’re the one who can’t shut the fuck up,” Seungmin replied, entirely smug, arm settling lazily around Hyunjin’s shoulders like he’d just won a prize.
Jisung and Jeongin stared at each other, mouths open, like their entire lives had been a lie.
“I can’t believe we trauma-bonded over your boyfriend’s sex noises,” Jisung finally whispered.
Jeongin leaned into his shoulder and whispered back, dead serious, “We’re never recovering from this.”
Chan wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Well. At least now we all know what brought you two together.”
“Misery,” Jisung said.
“And Seungmin’s dick,” Minho added.
“Never say that again,” Jeongin muttered.
Seungmin was smiling, sharp and satisfied, like the chaos had been entirely worth it.