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Minho sits roughly on his bed, still in a daze after the events that unfolded at the soul beam show recording today.
He stares at the wall and places a hand over his stomach, exactly where Chan's hand had been. A shudder wracks through his body as heat coils below his waist.
Even though he's changed clothes, he can still smell remnants of Chan’s sea salt and cedarwood scent, as if it still clings to his skin. His own amber and whiskey scent sweetens as his other hand trails along his hip, pressing lightly into the faint bruises left behind by his only hyung. They’re not deep, his skin probably won’t even darken, but for now they sting ever so slightly, just enough to remind him that the memory is real.
A gasp escapes his lips as he presses in again. A familiar tightness begins to form in the front of his pants, and the tiniest hint of caramel hits his nose.
No. He can't. Not like this. He's an alpha. Chan's an alpha. Neither of them are in rut. Sure they've helped one another out before during their cycles, the all have. It’s what good pack-mates do for each other. But wanting Chan outside his rut? Wanting another alpha? No. That's not allowed.
His pulse thrums loudly in his ears as he makes his way towards the bathroom to wash up. (To wash away the lingering scent of Chan.)
The rest of the house is quiet; everyone is worn out from the recording, and winding down either solo or in sleepy, shared company. Lights are dim, doors are closed. It should be peaceful, comforting. But the silence crackles through Minho like a live wire. He wishes there was something, anything, to get rid of this spark of desire, this need for their pack leader that he shouldn't have.
The hot water pitter-patters down his back as he stands beneath the stream. He doesn't wash, not at first. Just stands there and hopes the white noise and comforting warmth will be enough to wash away the ache of wanting.
He exhales sharply as the memory plays in his head again. It started out so innocent, too. Well, it definitely didn’t look innocent. But with Chan, Seungmin, and Hyunjin all piled around him as they struggled to get free of the net, in some ways it didn’t feel all that different than a lazy night at home.
But then Chan had grabbed him from behind. Held him in place. Held him tighter as he tried to slip free. His hands gripping his thighs, his hips, his stomach. Chan's legs bracketing his hips as his backside made contact with Chan's abdomen. And the there was the matter of the small, playful growl that Minho felt, but didn't hear as Chan yanked him back again.
It was the growl that undid him. It pierced him deep, shattering his resolve. He had to duck his head beneath the collar of his jacket to catch his breath. To hide the flush that painted his cheeks. His ears. To yank back the small slip of caramel that bloomed in his scent, leaking out for a fraction of a second before he was able to pull it back in.
It was the growl that echoed loudest in his mind now, alongside the memory of Chan's scent spiking. Not with sweetness, not exactly. Just more of it. More of it that still clung to him hours later.
Gritting his teeth, Minho flips the water to cold, hoping to put out the fire that ignited between his legs.
The soap washes away all traces of Chan's scent; Minho smells himself compulsively to make sure. But it doesn't wash away the memory of it, sharp as a needle, pulling all of his attention to a singular point.
He sighs heavily through his nose as he towels off; the shower didn't help. If anything, it's worse now that the scent of Chan is gone. It's as if the lingering scent was keeping him tethered, secure, and now that its gone, now that he’s broken free, adrenaline surges through his body in earnest. Minho’s going to have to do something else to get the energy out of his body.
Back in his room, he pulls on dark sweats, and tugs a cap low on his brow. He sends a quick text to the group chat — “stepping out for a few” — so not to cause anyone in the house to worry about his absence as he slips out the back door.
The night air is cool. He's sure it’s biting, it is winter after all, but he can barely feel it.
He starts jogging at an even pace, before quickly picking up speed. Eventually, the echo of his feet on the pavement and sting of cold air in his lungs distracts him just enough. He runs and runs until his sides burn and he's nearly delirious with exhaustion. He has no idea how long he's been out, just that he no longer has the energy to crave something he shouldn't want.
Unable to think straight anymore, he slows, panting and turns around to walk back home. It takes a while, he ran quite far. But he needed it.
Eventually he makes it up the driveway panting, and slips back into the house, returning to the same quiet as it was when he left.
“Minho.”
Sea salt hits Minho's nose. He stops breathing.
“Ahh, good night hyung.” Minho mumbles, avoiding eye contact and turning the corner to slip up the stairs.
“Minho? What happened?” Chan presses, rising from his chair and following Minho around the corner. His scent grows sharper, forcing its way into Minho's brain. The worry laced through it was unmistakable. “It's past two in the morning.”
Minho stills halfway up the steps, but doesn't turn around. “Talk later, too tired.” He exhales, desperately trying to only breathe through his mouth.
He continues making his way upstairs, not entirely sure if Chan had said anything else. He wasn’t stopped, but he knows he's not off the hook. That will be tomorrow Minho’s problem.
He steps into the shower again, just long enough to wash off the sweat, and hurries back to his room, locking the door behind him. He falls into bed on top of the covers, naked, damp, unable to find it in him to care about clothes or blankets.
Blissfully, he falls asleep before his mind betrays him again.
☆
Minho's alarm rings. 6 AM. His normal time to get up for a run. He blinks slowly, heavily, groaning inwardly as he shuts off the blaring tone. His head is foggy, and, well, to be blunt, he feels like shit. He's exhausted, sore all over, his head is throbbing, and he's so dehydrated he feels like he could drink a small lake.
He dresses in a fresh pair of joggers and hoodie. The soft fabric feels wrong on his skin, too tight despite the baggy fit. He unlocks his bedroom door and steps into the hall. His mind wanders to Chan, wondering if he's up, if he even went to bed last night. Minho hopes he can grab water and something small to eat without running into him.
He shudders, unsure about what comes next, what he's to do if those unwelcome thoughts return. (When those thoughts return.) For now, the pounding in his head is enough to distract him.
Not a sound can be heard in the house as he makes his way down the stairs. Dim light spills around the corner, and Minho knows before he sees, before he smells, that luck is not on his side this morning.
He feels Chan's eyes track his silent steps as he retrieves a glass and fills it. Minho drinks, eyes closed, hand shaking slightly, draining the glass completely in one go. The sharp thud of the empty glass on the counter reverberates through the silence.
Minho clenches his jaw, bracing for impact as he finally looks up and meets Chan's gaze. His inner alpha bares his teeth defensively, unsure of what to think, what to feel, as Chan slowly rises. Minho's hands ball into fists on the edge of the counter, his nails digging sharply into his palms. His scent sharpens, bitterness coating the edges as Chan approaches.
He doesn't turn, doesn't even look as Chan stops next to him, his eyes trained on the now empty chair at the table. Warm cedarwood floods his senses. It should smell safe, like home like it normally does, but today, with the way his thoughts and feelings are all mixed up, his pack leader smells closer to a threat.
A small growl rises in the back of Minho's throat before he can stop it. He winces, squeezing his eyes shut, and takes a deep stuttering breath. He feels bad, it's not Chan's fault, none of this is.
But how can he even begin to explain what's going on? He doesn't even fully understand it himself. All he knows is that yesterday something deep and primal awoke within him.
Chan doesn't prompt him to speak, he just waits beside him, calm and patient. Minho knows he's not leaving the kitchen without telling him what happened yesterday, that by not speaking he's just delaying the inevitable.
“I'm fine, hyung.” He tries to keep his tone light, and fails spectacularly. He clears his throat.
“You don't have to hide from me, Minho-yah, you know that right?” Chan says softly. So caring. So loving. Minho knows he doesn’t deserve it.
“Just had too much energy. My rut must be near.” Minho lies. He knows that Chan will know it's a lie, but he says it anyway.
Chan sighs next to him, and places a hand on Minho's shoulder. The touch is an electric shock. Minho flinches, jerking away, his scent souring.
Chan takes a breath to say something, his brows furrowing, but Minho cuts him off.
“Drop it, Chan.” he snaps, thunder in his eyes as he looks at Chan.
The muscle in Chan's jaw twitches, and one eyebrow raises. His gaze hardens and his scent spikes in response to the challenge, overpowering Minho's.
Minho's alpha shrinks inside of him at the display of dominance from his pack leader, but he stands firm, holding Chan's gaze.
The two alphas stare one another down, bitterness radiating off of them in waves. Minho knows it's futile to challenge his pack alpha like this, but he can’t bear the alternative — the thought of Chan learning what's really going on.
Chan could never know that all he could think about at dinner last night was Chan throwing him around like he weighed nothing, just like he did on the show, except this time, shoving his cock deep inside, and forcing him to take his knot.
He'd never wanted that before, another alpha. In fact, he'd never even considered the possibility. He'd never imagined himself in a position of vulnerability, a position where he was at the mercy of another’s whim, to be thrown around, pinned down, used, fucked until he couldn’t think.
That sort of thing isn't what alphas are supposed to want.
But now, now that he had gotten a taste, a hint really, of how easily Chan could throw him around and do with him as he pleased, it was all he could think about. He was like a moth to flame. Minho craved it. Needed it. Needed to know what it felt like to be at the mercy of Chan's will. A pack alpha's will.
“Enough, Minho. Just talk to me. What's going on?” Chan’s voice, barely above a whisper, slices through the bitterness.
Minho falters. He blinks and looks away. “It's nothing, Chan-ah.” he mumbles.
“Uh-uh, no. You don't get to disappear for hours without warning and expect me to believe it's nothing. Everyone was worried, you know that, right?”
Minho clenches his jaw. Turmoil crashes through him in rough waves, demanding his full attention, threatening to yank him under water.
“And then you come down stairs, lie to my face, challenge me? And you want me to believe it's nothing?”
Chan shoves Minho's shoulder, causing him to stumble back. Chan steps in front of him, giving him no where to look except directly at him. Minho squeezes his eyes shut, taking a ragged breath in.
“Look at me.” Chan's voice was just a hair shy of a command.
“Chan, please —” Minho heard himself say. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He threw away the right to those things the second he snapped at Chan.
Chan takes a step closer, his scent swelling, and Minho nearly caves right then. Chan's scent softens as it engulfs all of Minho’s senses, desperately trying to to calm him down, despite everything.
That was the worst part of it all. Even though Minho was lashing out, all Chan cared about was making sure he was okay.
The cedarwood is too much; the desire to drown himself in it overtakes him. His chest heaves, and another tiny growl punches out of him on the exhale. Minho’s control frays as he clings to the tiny shred of resolve holding everything he can’t say at bay. Chan is so close, smells so good, he can’t, he can't but god, he wants.
Minho opens his eyes to meet Chan's hard gaze, and he slips.
The ache inside him blooms. It takes everything in him to keep sweet caramel from leaking out. If Chan smelled the scent of his arousal, it would be over. Minho's heart pounds loudly against his ribs. He feels himself tremble with the force of hanging on to the fragments of his composure.
Chan shoves Minho back again, a low, warning rumble escaping his chest. He was undoubtedly frustrated with Minho’s behavior, and trying to snap him out of it.
Minho bumps into the island behind him, his bruised hip knocking into the drawer handle. Sparks shoot through him as the memory of yesterday flashes. A whimper escapes his lips, as does a spark of caramel.
No, no! Fuck! Minho thinks, frantically trying to pull it back, but it's too late.
He hears Chan inhale deeply, exhale slowly, and inhale again.
“Minho?” Chan asks carefully, all traces of frustration gone.
Minho's face burns. He blinks rapidly, looking down at the floor as a brutal mixture of shame and adrenaline surges through him.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Chan frantically searching his face, his brows pinched together.
“Please, just let me go. Forget that this happened.” Minho manages, trying to push past Chan.
Chan blocks him, stepping forward and pinning him against the island, caging him with his arms.
Minho shrinks back, ducking his chin in a feeble attempt to cover his scent gland as whiskey and amber take a back seat to the caramel leaking out of him. Chan takes another deep breath in and Minho wishes for a swift death.
“Please.” Minho whispers, his voice cracking.
Chan lifts a hand, curling a single finger under Minho's chin and nudging softly, his touch feather light.
Reluctantly, Minho straightens, meets his gaze, and the dam breaks. His eyes are molten as caramel floods between them in earnest. Sweetness swirls, thick and demanding, settling into the space in between their noses like it belongs. Minho doesn’t bother holding it back anymore, there’s no point, Chan’s already smelled it.
Chan holds his gaze as his other hand ghosts past Minho’s waist and settles on his bruised hip. His hold is gentle, firm, too much, not enough. Minho shudders beneath him.
Chan’s eyes flutter shut as he inhales deeply again. He leans in, nose brushing along Minho’s jaw. The finger under Minho’s jaw pushes his head back, baring his neck, giving Chan access to his scent gland. A cold sweat breaks out across Minho’s brow, and warning bells sound off distantly in the back of his mind, but he's too far gone to care. He exhales slowly, willing his racing heart to slow. Chan didn't immediately reject him, which was a good sign.
“Now what kind of pack leader would I be if I let you go while you’re hurting like this, hmm?” Chan’s voice is liquid velvet in Minho’s ear.
What? Minho blinks, not quite sure if he’d heard right, or really, even what Chan meant by that. There’s no way he could mean —
Chan closes the distance, his lips latching onto Minho’s scent gland. He swirls his tongue across and sucks lightly. Minho jolts at the contact, his eyes widening.
“Chan —” Minho whimpers as sparks shoot through his body. He grabs at Chan’s shoulders only out of reflex; he didn’t actually want Chan to stop.
“Shhh,” Chan presses in closer, their chests brushing together. “Let me help.” Chan coaxes. He brings his hand to Minho’s center, and palms Minho's arousal firmly through his sweats.
Minho bites back a moan at the contact, one knee buckling. He slams a hand back against the edge of the counter for support, the other hand digging sharply into Chan's shoulder. His head was spinning at the abrupt change in atmosphere. What was happening? Chan was two seconds away from ripping his head off in frustration not even a minutes ago, and now he has him pinned against the island and is…is…oh god. Minho feels his cock twitch heavily beneath Chan’s hand, leaking precum into the soft fabric.
Chan pulls back off of Minho's neck, looking him in the eye as he slips his hand beneath the waistband of Minho’s joggers. He pauses, looking back and forth between Minho’s eyes, his fingertips brushing against trimmed hair. Minho's core clenches at the contact, the tension in his body pulling him taught. He's afraid to move, to blink, fearing that this is somehow all a dream, that if he moves too much, Chan will realize what he’s doing.
Please, please, keep going. He silently begs Chan, his eyes wide and shiny with a hope that he doesn’t have the strength to say out loud.
Chan lets out a soft, knowing hum. “Channie’s here, Minho-yah.” he whispers.
Chan circles his hand around Minho's cock, and tugs on it slowly, feeling the weight of it in his palm. Minho takes a deep stuttering breath in at the increased friction, pleasure shooting through his body.
And then suddenly, all at once, it hits his nose. Sweet summer rain.
Minho breathes in deeply, leaning forward, closer to the source of the smell, his brain processing, but not understanding. Why does Chan smell so sweet right now? Is he into this? Does Chan want him, too?
Chan pulls his hand back and pushes Minho's joggers down just far enough to free Minho's cock. He then brings his hand up and holds his palm out to Minho’s mouth.
“Spit.” he whispers.
Minho breathes deeply again, his brain growing fuzzy at the sweetness taking hold inside him. He collects spit in his mouth, a growing understanding settling inside him with every swirl of his tongue.
He meets Chan's gaze and lets the collected spit dribble down into Chan's waiting palm. Chan's mouth parts and his gaze flicks down, watching Minho's spit dribble down with lidded eyes. His thumb brushes along Minho's bottom lip after, the touch so soft, so caring, so electric. Chan circles Minho's cock again, slicking up his shaft with spit. He twists his palm across the leaky tip, collecting Minho's precum and spreading it across the head. A sharp whine escapes Minho's mouth, his hips jerk up into the slick glide.
Chan presses his hand firmly into Minho's mouth. “Easy, baby, someone will hear. We don't wanna wake the whole house, hmm?”
Minho nods, his breath catching before he exhales slowly.
“Good boy.” Chan whispers, and then his hand picks up the pace, stroking Minho firm, fast, unrelenting, twisting his hand across the head each time before pressing back down his length.
Heat floods through Minho's body. It feels so good. His breaths come in sharp bursts though his nose, partially blocked by Chan's hand. He can barely breathe, but it doesn't matter. All he can smell now is caramel and sweet rain weaving together and settling into the base of his skull.
The world around him narrows to nothing but pure sensation — Chan's calloused hand on his cock, the slick sounds echoing loudly in his ears, the scent of their arousal, the hand pressed tightly across his mouth, it’s nearly too much. Tears well in the corners of Minho's eyes as all the pent up energy inside him pulls tighter and tighter with each pass of Chan’s hand.
Chan leans forward again, peppering wet kisses along the column of Minho's neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He sucks at Minho's scent gland again, and Minho's vision whites out. He can't help the moan that slips out, muffled beneath Chan’s hand. He's trying to be quiet, he's trying, but there's only so much he can do.
“That's it, baby, there you go. Doing so good for me.” Chan whispers against the shell of his ear.
The praise and the vibrations of Chan's voice ricochet through Minho, piercing clean through him. Minho can feel himself shaking. His hips jerk forward as he thrusts into Chan's hand, meeting him halfway through each stroke. His thrusts are sloppy, urgent, as he desperately chases sweet release. He’s dizzy, lost in it, before he realizes what’s happening.
No, please, wait, he can’t —
“Oh, what’s this?” Chan purrs. His hand slows, pausing to squeeze the growing knot at the base of Minho's cock before resuming languid strokes.
A pathetic sound escapes Minho's throat and tears spill over his lashes.
Chan pulls back enough to see the panic in Minho's eyes. Chan immediately pulls his hand back, and cups Minho's jaw.
“It's okay, you're okay, I've got you. Hyung's got you.” Chan leans in and kisses away the tears on Minho's cheeks before kissing his lips so gently that Minho nearly cracks in half.
“Please, Chan.” Minho begs, kissing him back like the world is about to collapse around him.
He melts into Chan's mouth as Chan begins stroking him faster again, squeezing his knot with every pass. The pace is brutal. The kiss is claiming. Chan licks deep into Minho's mouth, pressing his tongue against the sensitive ridges behind his teeth.
Minho gasps into Chan's mouth as he dangles on the edge, his cock throbbing and pulsing in Chan's hand.
“You can do it, Minho-yah, come for me, come —"
The permission tips him over the edge, and Minho comes with a strangled cry, shooting hot white ropes into Chan's hand and onto the front of his sweats. Chan strokes him through his release, squeezing his knot, milking every drop of release out of him.
Chan continues brushing his fingers across the head, the glide even more slick now that it is coated with cum. Minho pants, desperately trying to catch his breath. He can't tell if gravity is still working properly; all he can feel, all he can think about is Chan’s fingers slipping over the head of his cock.
His whole body twitches at Chan’s relentless attention. The overstimulation is like an electric current through him; it’s as addicting as it is maddening. A desperate sound slips through his lips as his hips jerk forward again, the slick shaft of his cock sliding against Chan’s fingers, the pressure of his touch branding him.
Minho feels the electricity in his teeth; he isn’t sure if he wants Chan to stop or not. His inflated knot keeps his cock hard, and the sensation stays just sweet enough to keep him wanting more.
Minho collapses forward, his head landing on Chan’s shoulder, right next to the source of sweet rain. Lost in the haze of scent, sensation, and post-orgasmic bliss, he licks at the gland, and sweetness bursts on his tongue like a firework. The moan that punches out of him is loud. He needs more. He licks at it again, sucking the gland into his mouth, and the sweetness that pours out of it makes him feel floaty, pliant, and fills him with a hunger that dwarfs the ache he felt last night.
Minho grabs desperately at Chan’s torso, slipping his hands beneath his t-shirt and around his back, pulling him closer. Chan’s skin is burning hot. Minho hisses as the head of his cock brushes up against Chan’s clothed erection. He’s so sensitive that it borders on painful, but he ruts up against him again, desire building again before it fully had the opportunity to dissipate. Chan’s breaths come in sharp as Minho grinds against him and suckles against his neck.
“Chan-ah,” Minho pants.
“What, baby?”
“N-need — hah!”
Chan's fingers slip across the head of Minho's cock again, and a sharp twitch of overstimulation cuts him off.
“Need what, hmm?” Chan urges, his voice lilting, teasing.
Minho reaches down, hastily brushing his fingers against the large strain at the front of Chan’s sweats.
“Oh, yeah?” Chan coos. “You want my cock, baby?”
“Nng — knot —” Minho moans, kissing up Chan’s neck and nipping at his earlobe. He’s drowning in the sweetness, his thoughts blurring into nothing but raw desire, all earlier worries forgotten. “Please, need it— ‘s why I left yesterday. ‘s why — please.” Minho slurs, barely able to string together a single thought, drunk off Chan’s scent. Chan groans as Minho’s fingers press into him again, harder, more insistent this time.
“Okay okay, come here, let’s go.” Minho hears Chan say distantly. He barely registers Chan tucking his throbbing cock back into his sweats for him and then dragging him out of the kitchen and down hall.
The click of Chan's bedroom door locking catches Minho's attention. He blinks, taking in his surroundings. The inside of Chan's room is clean as always. Sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting a warm blue hue across the pale linen sheets. He looks down, dimly registering Chan’s grip on his wrist, his thumb brushing softly against the sensitive skin.
Minho drags his eyes up Chan’s body, lingering on the thick bulge in his sweats before finally meeting his eyes. The hunger he finds there makes him bold, and he surges forward, capturing Chan’s lips in a searing kiss. Minho’s hands lace through Chan’s hair, pulling him closer, closer. He licks deep into Chan’s mouth, a whine building in his chest. He can’t seem to get close enough to Chan no matter how hard he tries.
They kiss hard, fast, teeth clashing and tongues exploring with an urgency Minho has never felt before. Chan’s hands are everywhere, Minho’s hips, his chest, his hair. It’s not enough.
They separate for a few painful seconds, their shirts barely hitting the floor before their lips are on each other again, swollen and insistent.
Frantic hands meet heated skin, the touches anything but gentle. Now that he’s allowed to touch, allowed to feel, Minho claims everything Chan gives to him.
“Chan,” Minho pants in between fierce kisses. “Needed you, yesterday, since the recording, when you — hah!”
Chan grazes his teeth down Minho’s neck, biting not nearly hard enough for either of them to be satisfied, but it will have to do.
“Since that game with the net? When I grabbed you to keep you from advancing?” Chan rasps. Minho could feel Chan’s lips twitch with a smile as he kissed back up his jaw. “Oh, baby, I know, I smelled you.”
Minho jerks back, the shock of Chan’s words sobering him up instantly. He knew this whole time? “Wait —”
“I was just waiting for you to come around.” Chan says simply, softly, his voice entirely too gentle for the heat of their actions.
“But we’re both —”
“Both alphas? Yea. So?”
“Isn’t it, I don’t know,” Minho looks around, chewing at his lip with nervousness.
Chan just cocks his head, giving Minho space to elaborate.
“None of that stuff matters to me, if that’s what you’re worried about, Minho.” He says after a moment.
Minho’s brows furrow. He looks down, Chan’s words slowly settling into his brain. He’s still a little bit hazy, and quite frankly, a lot has happened in a very short amount of time. It's been a lot to process.
“You’re allowed to want things, Minho-yah. Even if they are things you ‘shouldn’t’ want.” Chan whispers. He leans in and plants a tender kiss on Minho’s lips, sealing his conviction.
Chan pulls back and cups Minho’s jaw, his thumb brushing against his cheekbone. Minho leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. They stand there for a few moments, the air between them delicate, intimate, as Minho turns Chan’s words over in his mind again and again.
He’s allowed to want things. How strange.
Minho opens his eyes slowly, finding Chan’s filled with nothing but warmth.
“Chan-ah?” he asks carefully.
“Yes, Minho-hyung?”
Minho exhales a short laugh. He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the fond smile that cracks across his face at the nickname. His heart kicks a little faster and he feels warmth spreading across his cheeks, but for the first time since yesterday, it wasn’t due to feelings of shame.
He considers the words that were on the tip of his tongue for one more moment before finally taking a deep breath. “I need you to fuck me, Channie.”
“Yeah, baby?” A slow grin spreads across Chan’s face.
“Hard. Like you mean it.”
Chan hums, considering Minho’s words. Minho can’t read his expression. He feels a twinge of panic, was Chan re-considering? No, surely not, they’d come this far already.
“Please.” Minho begs.
Suddenly, Minho is stumbling backwards, his back hitting the wall of Chan’s room hard, his vision blurring for a moment, and then Chan is pressing forward into him, grabbing his jaw and connecting their lips once more. Minho had thought their kisses had been intense before, but now? Now, Minho’s breath was quite literally being taken away.
Chan claims every corner of Minho’s mouth over and over, swallowing all the sweet sounds spilling from him with every sweep of his tongue and press of his lips.
Chan nips hard at Minho's bottom lip. Exquisite pain bursts at the corner of Minho’s mouth, and he gasps in surprise as iron coats their tongues.
Chan pulls back and growls, low and claiming. His eyes are dark, hungry, his pupils blown wide. He looks almost dangerous with his gaze transfixed on the red beading on Minho’s lip. Minho can finally, finally start to see the crack in Chan's composure, him finally starting to let his alpha take control. It sends a wave of excitement through his veins.
“So pretty,” he mummers, brushing his thumb across Minho’s chin, smearing the dark crimson before diving in and lapping up Minho’s blood like a man starved.
Minho’s heart thunders in his chest as Chan connects their lips again and devours him once more. He wishes he could live in this moment forever, but the ache between his legs is growing hard to ignore.
As if reading his mind, Chan shifts, slipping his leg in between Minho’s and flexing his thigh against his crotch.
Minho gasps, and grinds against Chan’s thigh, the pressure as dizzying as it is satisfying.
Chan's hands wind around Minho's waist, pulling him closer before he slips them beneath the waistband of his joggers. He squeezes Minho's ass, then guides him to grind into his thigh.
The friction brings a tiny bit of relief. Chan rocks Minho’s hips again, and his cock twitches, leaking more precum into the front of his joggers.
Minho can feel the hard length of Chan’s arousal press into his hip with every thrust, and it quickly becomes overwhelming.
“Chan!” Minho whines, loud and needy, his sounds growing high pitched and needy as Chan guides him to grind again and again. Minho reaches down and tugs feebly at Chan’s sweats, hoping his unspoken ask was clear.
Chan pauses his movements, and Minho almost regrets it. He feels the blood rushing through his ears, and his hips jerk forward on their own, chasing the sweet muted pleasure. Chan catches him by the hips, steadying him as he sways forward.
“You want me to take my pants off, but you don't want me to stop touching you? How's that gonna work?” Chan teases.
Minho huffs, annoyance on his face. He shivers at the rush of cool air that envelops him when Chan steps back. Chan just laughs.
In a flash, both of them are out of their sweats. Chan tugs Minho towards his bed, pulling him down with him. Minho lands on Chan’s lap, his legs straddling Chan’s torso, his knees pressing into the mattress. Chan wraps an arm tightly around Minho’s waist and shifts them up the bed into a comfortable position.
Chan reaches into his side table drawer, and produces a bottle of lube. He clicks it open, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.
Minho flinches as slick fingers press against his rim, massaging the tight muscle before the tip of one nudges its way inside. A whine builds as Minho clenches down around the intrusion.
“Shhh baby, breathe for me, just breathe, it will feel good, I promise.” Chan continues to say over and over again as he works his first finger all the way inside. Chan presses his finger in and out slowly at first, before eventually picking up speed.
Adrenaline surges though Minho. He’s tense with anticipation, his arousal having returned tenfold. The feeling of Chan’s finger inside him is so much it’s nearly overwhelming, and yet the ache for his cock is still burning through him.
Before long, Minho is able to relax into the feeling. Soft moans fall from his lips as the pressure builds into something pleasurable. He begins to thrust in tiny short movements, the slick drag of his weeping cock against Chan’s stomach making his head spin.
“Relax for me, Minho-yah.” Chan murmurers, rubbing Minho’s back with his free hand as he presses a second finger against his rim. Slowly, slowly he’s able to work a second finger inside, and then a third, pressing against his walls, scissoring him open, ensuring he’s well prepped for what’s to come.
“Doing so well for me.” Chan whispers, peppering tiny kisses along the base of Minho’s throat.
After a few minutes, Chan shifts, pulling his fingers back. Minho hears the click of the lube bottle again, and then the wet sounds of Chan slicking up his cock.
Minho gasps as the blunt head of Chan's cock nudges his rim, and slowly begins pressing inside. Chan grabs Minho's hips tight, the pressure against his bruise reminding him of the catalyst of his desire.
Minho shifts, abruptly sinking the rest of the way down onto Chan’s cock. The moan that punches out of him feels closer to relief.
“Fuck, Minho,” Chan groans, his voice rough.
Minho rolls his hips, grinding down on Chan’s length. It's so good but he can feel Chan holding back and the restraint is killing him.
“Fuck me, Alpha, I need you to fuck me.” Minho growls, leaning down and wrapping an arm around Chan's shoulders, his other hand finding purchase in the short strands at Chan's nape and tugging.
A low rumble reverberates through Chan's core at Minho's words. He plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up into Minho hard and deep, so suddenly that it nearly knocks the wind out of him.
“Oh fuck, Chan,” Minho moans.
“Yeah, baby? Is this what you've been wanting?”
Chan slams into him again hard and deep.
Minho gasps. He’s so full, so much fuller than he’s ever felt before. Sweetness from both alphas floats freely through the room, laying claim to every unoccupied corner and shadow.
Chan presses in again, slowly picking up speed, the drag of his thick cock inside Minho stretching him nearly to the breaking point. It’s the best thing Minho has ever felt.
Finally, the coil inside Minho begins to loosen as Chan slams into him again and again, hard and fast. Minho is pliant as Chan dives deeper and deeper into him, the slaps of skin and squelch of lube echoing off the bedroom walls.
Little growls punch out of Chan with the force of his thrusts. “Look at you, just look at you, taking me so well. It’s like you were made to take cock.”
“God, Channie, fuck,” Minho breathes, Chan’s words ripping through him, sending sparks down his spine.
Chan’s grip on Minho’s bruised hip tightens, and Minho keens. A soft chuckle leaves Chan’s lips as his other hand dances up Minho’s spine, gripping the back of his neck.
Chan pulls out and scruffs Minho, flipping him onto all fours, and into the same position they were in yesterday afternoon.
Chan wraps his arm around Minho’s stomach and pulls his hips back, thrusting back inside Minho hard and deep, impaling him with his cock.
Minho cries out, this position is so much more intense; he can feel Chan so much deeper inside him now.
“There we go,” Chan purrs. “Now this is what you truly wanted, huh?”
Chan slams into Minho so fast, so hard, that Minho’s arms slip out from underneath him. Chan catches him, holding him up, his whole body pulled flush against Chan’s.
“Yes, Channie, wanted thiss — nnghh — needed — hah —”
Chan shifts, angling his hips just right so that he hits Minho’s prostate dead on.
“Oh god, fuck!” Minho’s cock jerks, precum leaking from the tip and down onto the sheets below.
“Feeling good, baby?” Chan asks like he doesn’t already know the answer. Minho’s caramel scent swirls over them, thick, and completely unmistakable.
Chan’s pace is torturous and unyielding, sending pleasure cracking through Minho with such ferocity that he feels like he might split in two.
“Can’t — shit, fuck —” Minho stutters as all consuming pressure builds deep in his core. It's full-body and intense; Minho doesn't think he's ever felt anything like this before. A thick string of precum leaks steadily out of his cock, connecting him to the bed.
“Yes you can, you can do it,” Chan urges, and Minho feels the words in his spine.
The deep pressure continues to build. Waves of heat heat and electricity radiate from his core all the way to his fingertips. Every nerve is alive, captivated beneath Chan’s touch so profoundly, so much so that Minho barely remembers to breathe.
Every thrust builds him higher, buries him deeper, unravels him a little bit more. Minho thinks he hears Chan saying something, telling him he’s doing well, but Minho can’t quite process it.
Chan slows slightly, concentrating his thrusts against Minho’s prostate even more, firm and deep. Minho’s chest heaves and vision blurs with unshed tears; he doesn’t know how much more he can take. He clenches down around Chan's cock at the overwhelm of it all, ripping a loud moan out of Chan.
“Oh, fuck, Minho, baby, you gotta relax,” the strain in Chan's voice nearly sends Minho over the edge.
Liquid tension pools low in his core, burning so hot it almost feels cool. It takes him a moment, but Minho relaxes just enough.
“There you go, good job.” Chan sighs, rubbing Minho's hip, never once stalling his relentless thrusts.
Chan's sweet words, his cock pounding inside, it's too much. Before he can even think, Minho tries to jerk forward, only to be grabbed and yanked back, just like he was yesterday.
And with that, something snaps inside Minho. Heat and pleasure flood through his body in waves, growing steadily stronger.
“Wait Chan I — I feel something — I feel weird, please —”
Chan growls beneath him, his pace picking back up. “Yea, Minho?”
“No, wait — no I’m serious, somethings not —”
“Just let go, let it go, it's okay, trust me.”
“Chan, I can’t hold it — I — fuck, I'm sorry, I don't —”
“Yes! Yes, Minho!”
The wave of euphoria that had been building peaks, and Minho’s vision blacks out for a moment. He arches against Chan’s grasp as a supernova explodes inside him, starting low in his core and pulsing rhythmically through every nerve, every vein on his body, it’s reach extending farther with every wave. His untouched cock spasms, squirting clear liquid onto the sheets.
Minho is shaking with pleasure so intense he doesn’t think he’ll return to earth. Then Chan wraps his hand around his cock, pumping hard and fast, and Minho screams.
Minho’s orgasm detonates, and he spills white ropes onto the sheets. He moans through his release, low and primal that comes from the depths of his soul.
“Good boy, good job, Minho, you did so good.” Chan murmurs against Minho’s ear, his thrusts turning languid, almost gentle as he helps him through his release.
Then, just as Minho starts to catch his breath, Chan's knot begins to inflate, catching against Minho's swollen rim.
It’s everything, the fullness, the pressure, it’s everything Minho was hoping it would be, and it hasn’t even fully popped yet.
“Chha—” Minho breathes. He can barely string a single thought together.
Chan moans. “Minho,” Another desperate sound escapes him. “Minho-yah, I’m gonna — gonna —”
“Do it, please,” Minho slurs.
Chan forces his knot fully inside, locking them in place, and Minho cries out. Chan rolls his hips once, twice more, and then he comes with a loud groan. Heat floods deep inside Minho as Chan’s cock pulses again and again, his release filling Minho nearly to the breaking point.
Relief washes through Minho. This, this is what he has been aching for.
When Chan’s cock stops pulsing, he helps them to lay down on their sides, legs tangled together, his arms wrapped tightly around Minho’s torso, holding him secure.
Then, without warning, Chan reaches down and brushes his fingertips cross the head of Minho’s spent cock. “Want more, baby?”
“Ahh!” Minho writhes away from Chan’s touch, painful overstimulation shooting through him. His sudden movement caused Chan’s knot to tug painfully against his rim. “Ow! Fuck. Chan-ah, I will stab you in your sleep.” Minho growls.
Chan hums. “Ahh, there’s the Minho I know and love. I missed him.” Chan giggles, a squeaky little sound, really, and squeezes Minho’s middle.
“Fuck off.” Minho huffs.
“No, actually, I think I’m going to stay, I’m pretty sure I’m exactly where you want me to be.”
“You have zero proof.”
Chan kisses down Minho’s neck, sweet, tender kisses, with none of the earlier heat behind them. They’re soft, full of care and comfort that Minho accepts this time. “Like I said earlier, I’m here whenever you’re ready.”
Minho’s heart skips, remembering everything that happened leading up to where they are now.
“Chan, I’m s—”
“Don’t you dare.” Chan cuts him off, his voice sharp. Minho flinches, not having expected Chan to be so stern.
“But —”
“No.” Chan says firmly.
Minho just blinks. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Just let me take care of you every now and then, Minho-yah.” Chan whispers.
Minho sighs. “I just —”
“I know. I know you don’t like it. So do it for me then, yeah? I want to. I want to take care of you when you need someone to lean on.”
“Only if you stick to a regular sleep schedule.” Minho shoots back.
“If only my kids would listen to me, then maybe I wouldn’t be up all night stressing about them and I could actually get some sleep.” Chan sighs dramatically.
“Bang Chan-ssi I will put gochujang in your protein powder.”
Chan shivers. “Ahh, alright, alright, you win this time.”
Minho hums. He smiles, nestling deeper into Chan’s pillow. His eyes droop as cedarwood washes over him once again. Light blue dances behind his eyelids as his body finally relaxes.