It’s only once Jeongguk is elbow-deep in butter that he remembers he has a quiz tomorrow. Well—today, technically, since it’s somewhere in the dark hours between Tuesday and Wednesday, and he’s lost track of time. He’s lost track of a lot of things, and for a moment, he stops to think about… art history. That’s the reason he’s at this school to begin with, even if he spends most of his time trying to think up ingenious new ways to ruin the day of a bunch of stupid alphas.
The quiz is on the history of the colour field painting movement, which—he knows plenty about. He knows plenty about a lot of art movements, and now probably isn’t the time to think about abstract expressionism and Kenneth Noland. He’s too busy trying not to gag as he slides the stick of butter over the floorboards again, crawling backward a foot so he can cover more and more. The entire hallway is nearly white with butter. He can practically taste it from here.
It’s a strange situation to be in, and not for the first time, he takes a step back from it all. He thinks about it sometimes, especially in moments like these, thinks about what his parents might say if they knew exactly what he spent so many of his weekends doing or why he actually broke his arm last semester. They always sound so proud of him when they talk to their friends about their son, the president of Omega Tau, one of the most prestigious fraternities on the UCLA campus.
He can’t help thinking how disappointed they would be to find that his life as president usually involves this—sneaking into the Alpha Theta Chi frat house and fucking with everything and anything he can find. Tonight, it happens to be buttering the floors.
“This is disgusting,” someone mutters, and is quickly shushed by someone else; they’re working under the cover of darkness, the clock ticking nearer and nearer to three in the morning with each breath. Jeongguk thinks, idly, about his quiz tomorrow and the fact that he definitely hasn’t studied enough but—this is more important.
He pauses to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, taking a moment to survey the damage thus far; they’re only buttering the main floor, and only the areas that aren’t carpeted. It’s left the kitchen, bathroom, front entrance, and most of the hallways, which they’re currently working on at the moment. And it is disgusting; Jeongguk’s knees are coated with butter, his gloved hands no better.
They’re almost done, thank god. It was a struggle to actually break into the Alpha house in the first place, not to mention getting all of the omegas from his own house inside without disturbing any of their sleeping rivals, and—butter. There’s so much fucking butter.
“I’m out,” mumbles Taehyung where he’s on his hands and knees a few feet from Jeongguk, working on the hallway. Jeongguk silently slides an extra stick over. He knows they’re running out of time, because they need to get out before the alphas wake up and discover them, even though they’ll figure out what happened soon enough.
The image of the brutes slipping and sliding all over their own house as they race to leave for class is enough to bring a sweet, sweet smile to Jeongguk’s lips. It’s not quite the revenge they deserve for cutting all of the shower curtains in the Omega Tau house in half last week, but it’ll do for now.
They’ve been locked in this prank war for years and years, long before Jeongguk ever came to UCLA or got into the Omega Tau frat or became president. He doesn’t even remember why it started all those years ago, only that they have to continue it because if they don’t, the alphas will take it as a victory. And that’s the very last thing Jeongguk wants to happen—so. He’s buttering the floors.
It’s a shame he’s losing so much sleep over this. There’s less than a month left of classes and then finals and then—it’s Christmas break, and he knows he should focus on his classes instead of doing stupid shit like this. As a junior, he still has time left to pull his socks up and he’s been doing well enough all year, but he’s tired. Physically, sure, but tired of this as well, too, sometimes. There’s no reason he should want to be buttering the floors of his rival fraternity house at three in the morning when he could be sleeping soundly in his own bed.
Jeongguk is busy thinking about his own bed when light floods the stairwell at the end of the hallway, and he freezes, head snapping up. He feels Taehyung still beside him, but there’s no way to warn the other omegas, most of whom are in other rooms further away from him, and—talking quietly. He can hear someone laugh, and Jeongguk’s entire heart seizes inside his chest when he realizes they’re about to get caught.
“Fuck,” he hears Taehyung mutter, and then Jeongguk is shooting him a look, sending Taehyung crawling back down the hallway toward the rest of the omegas to tell them to get out as quickly and as quietly as possible. No one has come down the stairs, so Jeongguk thinks maybe, maybe—
And then he hears a gruff voice ask, “Why does it smell like omega?” from the stairwell.
Jeongguk sniffs himself and is met with a disgusting mix of stale scent blockers and the store-bought alpha scent they’d all doused themselves in to mask their own scent, to make sure none of the alphas actually realized they were being infiltrated. But someone must have forgotten. Someone who is about to be in very, very deep shit.
He hears movement from behind him, quiet and rushed. The door opens, and he knows that some of the omegas are escaping, but Jeongguk keeps still until he hears movement on the stairs, and then a large figure steps down into the end of the hallway and turns to look. For a moment, Jeongguk thinks the darkness might actually be enough to shield him—all of them—and then the alpha flicks the light switch for the hallway and they’re all doused in light.
“ABORT!” someone yells from behind him at the same time that the alpha in the hallway yells, “OMEGAS!” and Jeongguk throws the stick of butter.
“Go, go, go!” he yells as he jumps up from his spot on the floor; activity and noise burst around him as his frat brothers run for the door and there’s thundering on the stairs as alphas run for them; he takes a moment to look back and sees the first alpha hit the buttered hallway and immediately go down. Jeongguk can’t help but laugh knowing that the rest of them will meet an equal fate, and he runs the other way, heading for the door. He knows this house like the back of his hand already, skidding around the corner as he catches sight of the door with half of the others already piling out.
“What the fuck?” he hears from the hallway—another crash as an alpha goes down, a lot of banging as he imagines they keep crashing into the walls and doors—and he can hear shrieking that sounds suspiciously like Taehyung from somewhere further in the house.
Jeongguk hits the entrance room and—there’s butter all over the floor, sending him flying with a shout of his own as his feet no longer find traction. He collides with one of the walls painfully, shouting echoing through the house as more and more alphas wake to the desecration of their house.
“Guk!” he hears and turns to see Taehyung fighting off one of the alphas, smashing a stick of butter into his head.
“Get out of here!” yells Jeongguk as he pushes off the wall, trying to keep his balance as he slides toward the door. He’s so close, roaring alphas behind him as he takes one slippery step, and then another and another and—
Everyone stops yelling as Jeongguk loses his balance, toppling to the ground at the sound of the familiar, low voice. It sparks something in him, and he knows without having to look that the owner of the voice is using all of his fucking alpha dominance, pushing every last bit of it into his voice to make Jeongguk want to submit—but he doesn’t want to, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself to his feet and turns to look at the alpha standing in the doorway between the hallway and the entrance.
He’s silhouetted in the light from the hallway, moonlight from the open door creeping upon his feet, and Jeongguk knows that—he’s so close, he could just take one, two steps backwards. He could close the door behind him and leave.
Instead, he sets his jaw.
Instead, he narrows his eyes slightly.
Instead, he says, “Min Yoongi. What a coincidence.”
Someone flicks the light in the entrance on and Jeongguk finally sees him. Yoongi stands in the doorway with all of the authority of a frat president—an alpha frat president—his eyes dark and demanding. The other alphas have stopped their movement, waiting for their leader to command them, and Jeongguk knows that the omegas left in the house have stopped, too, waiting for—something. Waiting for Jeongguk to tell them to leave, maybe, or waiting for Yoongi and Jeongguk to tear each other apart, because they always seem to be on the verge of something similar at times like these.
Jeongguk has never quite understood where the vendetta between the two frats started, but oh, he gets it now. The sight of Min Yoongi sparks something deep-rooted within him, and he tries to keep his expression one of light amusement as he watches the alpha place his hand on the doorway, likely to keep himself from slipping on the butter.
“What a coincidence,” repeats Yoongi. His voice is laced with venom. “I wouldn’t agree with you, considering this is my frat house and it’s three in the morning and you’re the one who broke in.”
“We didn’t break in,” says Jeongguk, chuckling a little. “One of your big, dumb alphas gave us a key a few days ago. Didn’t you, Hoseok?”
The alpha in question, standing next to Yoongi, startles a little, taking a step back as Yoongi turns a murderous gaze on him—and slips on the butter, landing with a painful thump that has Jeongguk snickering into his hand.
“I’ll deal with him later,” mutters Yoongi, turning his gaze back to Jeongguk. It’s equally as murderous, and Jeongguk tries to stop something from tightening in his stomach—the anticipation, maybe, or the fear. He can never be sure what to expect when it comes to Min Yoongi, who has been known to terrify younger students just by walking past them, but has also been voted to be one of the best chapter presidents due to his welcoming and friendly attitude toward pledges.
Either way—“Why don’t you let us go, Min?” asks Jeongguk, glancing over his shoulder at the few omegas who, until now, have been frozen in place. At his question, the rest of them quickly scramble out of the house. The alphas let them go.
“I’m not very interested in them, if I’m being honest,” says Yoongi. Jeongguk looks back to him, tilts his head.
“And why is that?”
“Because I know for a fact that this was your idea,” says Yoongi. “You’ve been wanting to butter our floors for months but some of your more… delicate omegas have been worried about hurting us. Isn’t that right?”
Jeongguk narrows his eyes. Sometimes he’s convinced that the alphas have bugged their house somehow, although he supposes they’ve all got rats somewhere. As much as the frats might be rivals, it isn’t as though everyone in the organizations share the same contempt that the presidents publically have for each other.
When he doesn’t answer, Yoongi grins—and it’s not a comforting sight. “So I’d really rather just deal with you, Jeon,” he says. “We both know my boys will have something planned for you omegas within a week, and we’ll continue this war we’ve had since the very beginning. But I think we ought to pay special attention to you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” scoffs Jeongguk, only now realizing that he’s—alone in the alpha house, surrounded by a disgusting amount of alpha hormones that are beginning to make his head hurt. There’s something predatory about the way Yoongi is looking at him, and he doesn’t dare look at the rest of the alphas who are watching. “I know you’re obsessed with me, Min.”
Yoongi barks out a laugh. “Sure, Jeon,” he snaps. “Maybe if you stopped pulling idiotic tricks like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.”
“Like the shower curtain stunt was any better than this,” Jeongguk scoffs. “What were you trying to pull with that one?”
“We just wanted you to see some dicks,” Hoseok helpfully chimes in, to which someone smacks the back of his head, although Yoongi seems to take that thread and run with it.
“He’s not wrong,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest now that he seems to have the upperhand; he’s smirking now, and Jeongguk grits his teeth to keep himself from reacting. He knows he could still run, but now it’s more about the pride—more about being caught in the act and having to hold his own for it. Yoongi couldn’t get across the room toward him without falling, anyway, but Jeongguk still keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground. “I don’t imagine you see a lot of dick in your daily life, anyway.”
“More than you,” he shoots back, ignoring the laughing from the alphas. “And Seokjin pity-fucking you doesn’t count.”
He’s pleased with the few aborted laughs from the alphas, someone coughing into their hand to hide the fact that they are laughing—he’s less pleased with the look Yoongi gives him, like he suddenly doesn’t care about the distance or the butter between them. He’ll strangle Jeongguk at the first chance he can get, conduct of the university be damned.
“You disgust me,” says Yoongi.
“You’re the one with butter all over your floors,” says Jeongguk. As much as he’d love to continue the argument, though, he knows he’s run out of time to stall, and if the other omegas aren’t halfway back at the frat house by now, they’re going to die along with him. “So, anyway,” he continues, sliding one of his feet backwards a little. “If we’re finished here, I’m just going to—” He turns to dash out of the door and is met with a solid block of chest, almost slipping backwards before the alpha grabs his arm. Fucking Chanyeol and his dumb height.
“I don’t think so,” laughs Yoongi, and Jeongguk frowns as he turns back to see the alpha sliding (somehow gracefully) across the room until he reaches Jeongguk, too, clamps onto his shoulder with unnecessary force. “I can take it from here, gentlemen. Let me escort our lovely guest off the premises.”
“Get your paws off of me,” Jeongguk snarls, trying to wrench his arm out of Yoongi’s grasp, but the alpha is relentless, roughly dragging him through the door as the rest of the alphas cackle behind him.
Yoongi pauses on the doorstep, turning around to face the rest of his frat brothers. “I suggest the rest of you get on your hands and knees and start cleaning up this mess,” he spits, which effectively silences their laughter. “Starting with you, Hoseok. Fucking traitor.”
With that, he pushes Jeongguk down the stairs that lead to the front door and out onto the moonlit lawn. They’re silent for a moment before Jeongguk says, “What are you going to do with me, alpha?”
“I have a few ideas, omega,” Yoongi replies, a thread of dominance in his voice, and Jeongguk glances back at the still-open door to the house as Yoongi changes course and begins dragging him around the side of the house.
“Oh, yeah?” asks Jeongguk. “Like what? Gonna punish me? Get me on my knees and spank me like a bad boy?”
They round the side of the house, out of sight of the other alphas, and Yoongi finally lets go of his arm, but only so he can grab hold of Jeongguk’s chin, force him to look at him properly. There, Jeongguk sees that familiar smirk again—but there’s something a little different about it this time. Less angry, although just as predatory.
It’s just—“We did that last time,” growls Yoongi, voice low as he backs Jeongguk up against the side of the house, brings his face closer and closer. He watches Jeongguk carefully as Jeongguk—trembles a little, can feel Yoongi’s breath ghosting over his lips, then his jaw. Yoongi sniffs at his neck, makes a disgusted noise. “Did you really have to use the cheap alpha scent from the fucking Dollar Tree?”
“We can’t exactly afford the real stuff,” huffs Jeongguk, keeping as still as possible as Yoongi attempts to wipe off the scent from his neck. “Besides, it worked.”
“I like your natural scent too much,” Yoongi murmurs. “And it clearly didn’t work enough if you got caught.”
“Maybe I wanted to get caught,” smirks Jeongguk, and Yoongi finally pulls back enough to look at him carefully. Very carefully.
“You didn’t butter our floors just so I’d fuck you, did you?” he asks.
“Didn’t need to butter your floors to get you to do anything, hyung,” says Jeongguk, pulling off his butter-slicked gloves and then reaching up to pry Yoongi’s fingers off his chin. This time, he’s the one who leans close, smirk still curling on his lips as he brings his face a hair from Yoongi’s. “You’ll fuck me anyway.”
Yoongi seems to consider arguing—although Jeongguk knows he can’t. The thing is, Yoongi is so damn good at commanding the rest of his frat, at terrifying the omegas when he inevitably catches them in the act of trying to prank the alphas. The thing is, he’s good at making something coil tight and tight in the pit of Jeongguk’s stomach, but it’s never true fear or dread—it’s arousal.
“Is that what you think?” murmurs Yoongi, but there’s no malice in it. There’s no command, nothing that makes Jeongguk think otherwise. Yoongi is good at making everyone else submit to him, but Jeongguk has had him wrapped around his little finger since the beginning.
Jeongguk grins, shit-eating, and reaches out to curl his fingers in Yoongi’s shirt. He tugs forward, grin widening when Yoongi comes easily, so, so close—“I think,” he begins, only to be interrupted by a loud thump on the other side of the wall. He startles slightly, remembering that there are a group of angry alphas mere feet from them, alphas who, if they were to know the truth, would quite possibly murder the both of them.
Yoongi takes the opportunity in Jeongguk being distracted to nip at his jaw. “I think you should come with me,” he murmurs. “You didn’t butter the hallway from the back door, did you?”
“Obviously not,” huffs Jeongguk, but he lets Yoongi take his hand and lead him along the side of the house toward the back door, keeping silent the whole way even though anticipation curls low in his belly, along with the thrill of—silence, of secrecy. Of slipping into the house and heading up the stairs with Yoongi’s hand in his while the rest of the alphas curse him for keeping them occupied at three in the morning.
Jeongguk will go to his grave swearing that half of the pranks are just that—pranks, because he really is pissed about the shower curtain thing, or because it’s just what their frats do. But sometimes he just likes being able to fuck Yoongi in a bed without having to worry about being caught.
“That comment about Seokjin was out of line, by the way,” says Yoongi as they slip through the back door.
“You’re the one who said I didn’t see any dick in my daily life,” pouts Jeongguk—just a little. “I thought it was funny.”
“They laughed at me.”
“Aw, are you upset that all of your alpha friends think I’m funnier than you?”
Yoongi stops halfway up the stairs to look at him. Jeongguk grins, even though he’s a little afraid of what it might mean; he can’t help being a brat, especially when it riles Yoongi up so much.
“We’ll see how funny you are when you’re begging me to let you come,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk just—swallows tightly.
They’ve barely made it through the door to Yoongi’s room before Yoongi has him pressed up against it, lips on his jaw, his neck—everywhere but where Jeongguk really wants them, a whine already escaping him. It’s pathetic and he’ll blame his omega genes for it, but he likes what it does to Yoongi nonetheless; the alpha has one hand on his waist and the fiddling with the lock, making sure they’re going to be safe from someone walking in before he kisses a line up Jeongguk’s neck.
“Hyung,” breathes Jeongguk, tipping his head back against the door.
“Quieter,” replies Yoongi, and it—it’s not hot, it shouldn’t be, because Jeongguk is always loud. He likes being loud, can’t help the noises that escape him, but he knows that he doesn’t have a choice when all of the alphas are a mere floor below them. So he bites his lip, trying to keep quiet even when Yoongi forces his legs open with his knee so he can slip between them, conveniently brushing his thigh against Jeongguk’s cock.
“Hyung,” he tries again when Yoongi has been paying too much attention to the underside of his jaw, nosing there like he’s just trying to drown himself in Jeongguk’s scent. Jeongguk’s hands move for Yoongi’s hair, but he’s instantly met with resistance, the alpha pulling back and catching both of Jeongguk’s wrists in one of his hands.
There’s a careful look in Yoongi’s eyes—clouded only slightly by the arousal that blows his pupils wide—and then he’s leading Jeongguk forward with a hand on his wrists. “No touching,” he says.
Jeongguk frowns. “That’s not fair,” he complains.
“You were just buttering the floors.”
“I had gloves on!”
“No touching, Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk huffs, about to argue again, but then Yoongi turns and shoves him onto the bed, letting go of his hands in the process. There’s definitely something predatory about him now, as Yoongi gets onto the bed after him and crawls his way up Jeongguk’s body, pausing when his face is an inch from the omega’s.
“Are you gonna be good for me, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head slightly. Jeongguk hates how it makes something curl low and hot in his stomach, how his mouth goes a little dry. He wants to blame it on Yoongi’s scent already getting to him—he’s surrounded by it, drowning in the woodsy scent that permeates the entire room, but he knows that it’s never just been the fact that Yoongi is an alpha. It’s never been about biology, about the fact that their brains are wired for this.
It’s just—Yoongi. It’s always just Yoongi.
All he has to do is look at Jeongguk like that and every bit of brattiness melts away.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk whispers back, resisting the urge to surge upwards and just kiss Yoongi. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”
“Don’t need me to tie your hands?” asks Yoongi quietly. Jeongguk’s stomach gets a little tighter. So do his pants.
He shakes his head in response, sliding his arms up in the space between them and clasping his hands together above his hands. They won’t stay there, he already knows, but—it’s the attempt that counts. It makes Yoongi grin anyway, a little warmer than before, and he finally leans down to peck Jeongguk’s lips.
“Good,” he says, leaving it at that—and leaving Jeongguk to whine again as Yoongi is suddenly gone. Jeongguk keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, trying not to get light-headed from Yoongi’s scent as it fills every part of him, trying not to start leaking slick like he’s desperate. He’s not, although it’s been a few days.
“This is supposed to be a punishment, by the way,” he hears from across the room, and Jeongguk lifts his head enough to see that Yoongi has shucked off most of his clothing, folding them neatly on the dresser. He might just be the neatest frat boy Jeongguk has ever met, and he tries not to let his mouth water at the slight bulge in Yoongi’s boxers. It does nothing to help his own hardness, quickly turning his eyes back to the ceiling when Yoongi returns.
As Yoongi begins tugging off Jeongguk’s clothing, too, he adds, “Did you hear me, Guk-ah?”
“Yeah,” replies Jeongguk.
“You broke into my house,” says Yoongi almost conversationally as he slides off Jeongguk’s jeans, then makes quick work of his shirt. “Buttered my floors, might have injured some of my alphas. And then you have the nerve to think that you deserve something from me.”
Jeongguk—will not apologize, and he’s resolute about it, but he still lets out a little whimper when he’s suddenly left stark naked on the bed with Yoongi hovering over him again, fingers trailing lightly over the omega’s sides. “Isn’t that right?” asks Yoongi.
“I won’t touch,” says Jeongguk. Yoongi quirks an eyebrow, leans down a little more—he’s so close, lips barely brushing against Jeongguk’s, and the anticipation curls hot in Jeongguk’s gut.
“Say you’re sorry, Jeongguk,” whispers Yoongi. Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut because he—won’t, he refuses to, but Yoongi is still trailing his fingers over his chest, moving down and down and then away, refusing to cross the line that Jeongguk needs to leap over. He hates himself just a little for wanting a kiss, too, hates how much power Yoongi has over him right now.
Still, there’s no alpha dominance in the words. Yoongi is just waiting for Jeongguk to decide on his own, to decide that he wants Yoongi to fuck him more than he wants to be a prideful bastard about a little prank.
Instead of apologizing, Jeongguk whispers, “Please kiss me.”
He keeps his eyes closed, just in case. Yoongi’s fingers stop their feather-light touches, instead sliding up and up until he has one hand around both of Jeongguk’s wrists again. It’s a forewarning, and Jeongguk’s eyes open to see Yoongi staring at him, something dark and wanting in his eyes.
“Only because you asked so nicely,” says Yoongi, and Jeongguk has no time to bask in the small victory before Yoongi’s lips are on his, crushing them together. Jeongguk makes a noise in the back of his throat, arms already straining against Yoongi’s hold as Yoongi kisses him hot and heavy in an instant, prying Jeongguk’s mouth open and licking into it within seconds. There’s nothing gentle about it, but he feels it anyway—feels the way this is familiar, like fitting puzzle pieces together.
Yoongi’s hand fits on his wrists. His mouth fits against Jeongguk’s, tilting his head just so to deepen it in a way that makes Jeongguk want to whine again, but it’s swallowed by Yoongi, anyway, as his other hand finally, finally wraps around Jeongguk’s cock.
He lets out something akin to a gasping moan, feels the first bit of slick leak out of him as Yoongi thumbs over the head of his cock, doing nothing more. His arms strain again, and he doesn’t want to fight but he has to, because he just wants to touch Yoongi, wants to get his hands in his hair, wants to do something as Yoongi nips at his bottom lip. Like a warning.
“I said no touching,” he whispers against Jeongguk’s lips, but Jeongguk is too focused on everything else to really listen; he knows he’s stronger than Yoongi, can easily break out of his hold, but it’s something about—trust, something about submission. Even if he wasn’t an omega, he knows he’d do anything Yoongi wanted, and he tries to keep himself still when Yoongi begins sloppily kissing down his neck again.
He keeps moving down, down, hand eventually leaving Jeongguk’s wrists, and Jeongguk sucks in a breath when he knows where Yoongi is going; he braces himself for the mouth on one of his nipples but he can’t help the cry that leaves him anyway, at least under Yoongi flicks the tip of his cock in response.
“I also said you have to be quiet,” says Yoongi, voice low, and Jeongguk just nods because he knows, he knows that being loud means getting caught, but he also knows that Yoongi is purposely aiming for all of his most sensitive spots. He’s testing Jeongguk, seeing how far he can go before a real punishment has to happen.
Jeongguk is determined to last through it, hands grasping at the pillow above his head in a desperate attempt to keep himself from moving when Yoongi finally gets low enough to spread his legs. He’s been steadily leaking this whole time, knows just from the way Yoongi laughs a little, one finger ghosting over Jeongguk’s hole.
“Cute,” he hears, and Jeongguk clamps his teeth down onto his lips. “Too bad you’re all wet down here. I almost wanted to make you use the butter for other purposes.”
“You wouldn’t,” whines Jeongguk. “That’s fucking disgusting.”
“You’d probably like it,” muses Yoongi, which—might actually be true, but he has no time to worry about it before the alpha is suddenly sinking one of his fingers into Jeongguk’s hole. He lets out a yelp of fuck before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, and he keeps his eyes closed before he knows if he looks down at Yoongi, he’ll probably just say something he’ll regret. Because Yoongi always looks the best when he’s between Jeongguk’s legs, trying to work him open with one finger sliding in and out easily, squelching a little with all the slick pooling out of Jeongguk’s hole.
He wants to touch. He wants to touch so fucking badly, but he keeps one hand pressed to his mouth and the other fisted in the pillow, even when Yoongi adds a second finger.
“We have to be quick,” says Yoongi, almost as an afterthought as he scissors Jeongguk open. He seems to pay no mind to the way Jeongguk is squirming a little, struggling to keep his arms in place, “considering it’s three in the morning and it won’t take that long for everyone to clean up. Think you can come quick for me, baby?”
Jeongguk nods his head because Yoongi doesn’t even have to ask; he could probably come from Yoongi’s fingers alone—has done it plenty of times before. He needs Yoongi’s cock inside of him first, though. After a moment, he calms down enough to say, “Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Yoongi’s fingers stop, buried deep in Jeongguk’s ass, and he finally looks down to see the alpha staring at him incredulously. Despite himself, Jeongguk lets out a giggle, and then wiggles downward, trying to fuck himself on Yoongi’s fingers.
“You’re a brat,” mutters Yoongi, although he lets it slide as he begins pumping his fingers. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”
“Yeah, but you know you can’t—ah,” Jeongguk gasps as Yoongi adds a third finger, hands moving of their own volition when they fly down to grasp at—something, anything, he doesn’t even know, but he knows it’s a mistake as soon as Yoongi uses his free hand to catch one of them. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, steadily sliding his fingers in and out of Jeongguk’s hole to stretch him, and that’s… probably worse. Jeongguk’s stomach tightens in anticipation, the same thing he felt when he first saw Yoongi tonight, but there’s a horrible thread of excitement along with it.
The thing is, Yoongi likes to talk when they fuck. Silence is foreboding. Silence is uncomfortable.
After a minute of nothing but Jeongguk’s whimpers and the sound of Yoongi’s fingers sliding in and out of his ass, Yoongi seems to figure it’s enough. He removes his fingers from Jeongguk’s ass, wiping them and the slick off on the inside of Jeongguk’s thigh, and then he—gets off the bed.
For a moment, Jeongguk panics, thinking that perhaps he’s just going to leave it like that—Jeongguk’s cock hard against his stomach, hole open and ready. It would be a worse punishment than anything else he could think of, and Jeongguk begins to sit up only to see that Yoongi isn’t leaving. Instead, he makes his way over to his drawer and pulls out—a tie. Jeongguk thinks that the faculty likely don’t approve of students using their school ties for things like this. Yoongi doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, not as he returns to the bed and grasps both of Jeongguk’s hand with his, quickly tying the fabric around them.
Jeongguk swallows tightly, keeping silent as Yoongi ties his wrists together with frightening speed and precision, and it’s only when he’s done that Yoongi pauses. He carefully slides a finger in between the fabric of Jeongguk’s wrists before he murmurs, “Not too tight?” And it’s—nice, maybe, the bit of concern and care in his voice when he says it, pausing only to make sure that Jeongguk is comfortable and safe and okay with it.
Jeongguk stops himself from reading into it, since that’s just the right thing to do in this situation, and just shakes his head. Yoongi nods. And then he steps out of his own boxers, grabs a condom from the top of his side table, and returns to the bed.
Finally, he kisses Jeongguk again—the omega latches onto it, hating the restraint on his hands already because he still wants to touch, but he just kisses Yoongi with everything instead, distracting him from everything else until he feels the nudge of Yoongi’s cock at his hole. He lets out a little gasp, ignoring the strain in his arms in favour of focusing on Yoongi’s hands—one holding open his thighs, the other rubbing circles into the side of his waist.
Sex with Yoongi has always been just—sex. But there’s something about the way Yoongi holds him anyway, the way he kisses him gently as he pushes in, that makes Jeongguk want to bare his neck. Makes him want something more, makes him want everything—wants Yoongi’s scent all over him, wants his scent all over Yoongi. It goes straight to his head as Yoongi pushes in and in, filling Jeongguk up as he lets out a whine into Yoongi’s mouth.
Yoongi doesn’t let go of him even as he bottoms out, still rubbing smooth circles into his skin. And despite the need to go quickly, he just—stays there, pressing kisses into the side of Jeongguk’s mouth, his top lip, his nose. Jeongguk breathes through the stretch, trying to relax into the bed, trying to keep his arms from tensing up.
It’s easy, somehow, with Yoongi draped all over him, already whispering praises into his ear—how good he is, how good he feels, because even if this is supposed to be some sort of punishment, he knows that Jeongguk can never get by without praise. Without reassurance, without knowing that he’s doing something right and good. Without knowing that Yoongi might just care about this more than he lets on.
Jeongguk takes advantage of it, just for a minute or two—even when he knows he’s adjusted to the feel of Yoongi’s cock, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything because Yoongi is busy kissing him properly, one of his hands moving up to brush back his hair. Because Yoongi is busy murmuring praises, because he’s busy doing whatever he can to make it good for Jeongguk, and that’s. That’s what he wants, really. He likes when Yoongi fucks him. But he likes when Yoongi takes care of him more.
But then he hears a noise from downstairs and Jeongguk is reminded that this is supposed to be some quick fuck while everyone else is occupied—just like every time they fuck. They’re not supposed to do this, because they’re supposed to hate each other. Even if it’s becoming less and less about the physical for Jeongguk and more and more about just—liking Yoongi, despite their public rivalry, he knows he can’t let it be more now.
So he hums low in his throat, wrapping his legs around Yoongi’s waist before he murmurs, “Move.”
And like that, his moment of pretend is over. Yoongi leans back, just enough to give himself better leverage, draws his hips back and back, and then thrusts them forward, beginning to fuck him properly. He goes slowly at first, and Jeongguk moans at the slide of Yoongi’s cock inside of him, spurred on by the slick that still leaks out of him. He keeps his hands away even though he wants to touch—Yoongi, wants to touch himself, wants to do something as Yoongi thrusts in slow and deep.
He thinks it’s in an attempt to keep him quiet, but it doesn’t really work as he lets out another low moan. It’s too loud, and Yoongi knows it—the alpha reattaches their lips again, just to keep him quiet even though Jeongguk just likes kissing him anyway, trying to breathe through Yoongi’s pace as it begins to quicken.
It’s hard to breathe, though, not because it hurts—but because the air is thick with both of their scents, with Jeongguk’s slick and both of their pheromones, and Jeongguk gasps a little when Yoongi picks up the speed again and snaps his hips into Jeongguk.
“Fucking hell,” murmurs Yoongi, speaks against Jeongguk’s lips and they’re no longer kissing, just breathing against each other as Yoongi’s hands find Jeongguk’s waist. His grip is tight as he fucks into Jeongguk, lips trailing down the omega’s jaw again. “How are you so tight when I fuck you so often?”
Jeongguk lets out a breathy laugh that quickly turns into a moan when Yoongi’s cock brushes against his prostate, just right. “Are you complaining?” he asks, and he thinks he hears a growl in response.
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, though, just works at pounding into Jeongguk, hitting his prostate as the omega gasps. Suddenly, it’s not enough—he doesn’t need the praise anymore, doesn’t need Yoongi’s hands on his waist. “Touch me,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his arms strain against the tie around them. “Touch me, hyung, please, please—”
The alpha kisses him instead, stopping his pleas, but Jeongguk whines loudly into his mouth, almost threatening to get loud enough to alert someone to his presence if Yoongi doesn’t listen to him—because somehow it’s always a bit of a game between them, and he doesn’t mind playing.
“Needy,” mutters Yoongi, but he does it anyway, slowing the pace of his hips as he sits up enough to get a hand on Jeongguk’s cock. From there, he begins rolling his hips instead, grinding into Jeongguk as he begins fisting his cock lazily and Jeongguk lets out a sigh, something like relief. He’s reminded that Yoongi told him to make it quick, but now he wants to draw it out, wants to stay here—he always wants to stay here, drowning in Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.
And then Yoongi says, “I don’t know if I should even let you come,” and Jeongguk opens his eyes, mustering up enough of a glare even though it’s hard when he’s overwhelmed with how good he feels—Yoongi’s cock in his ass, Yoongi’s hand on him. “You did break a lot of rules.”
“Yoongi-hyung,” whines Jeongguk, unsure if he even has other words.
Yoongi stops. Just—stops, stilling his hips with his cock still deep in Jeongguk’s ass, hand closed around the base of Jeongguk’s cock. He looks down at Jeongguk with a tell-tale smirk and Jeongguk almost lets out a pathetic little sob because he’d been close, he’d felt the coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter and now it’s stalled. He tries to roll his own hips down only for Yoongi to squeeze his cock in a warning, eyebrows rising.
“Hyung,” whines Jeongguk. It’s not fair how much power Yoongi has over him—nothing to do with being an alpha, everything to do with how much Jeongguk wants him.
“Are you sorry, Jeongguk-ah?” asks Yoongi. “For breaking in and buttering my floors and then making me fuck you, anyway?”
“I didn’t make you do any—” he gasps as Yoongi squeezes his cock again. He falls silent, figuring this might be some sort of emotional manipulation that isn’t overly healthy, but he’s not sure what he expected. Yoongi can be an asshole when he wants to be, and he likes to play with Jeongguk when he knows he has the omega right where he wants him—on the urge of breaking down, where he’d say just about anything to get what he wants.
And Jeongguk, if he’s being honest, doesn’t care enough to fight back against it.
Letting out a sob, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Yoongi-hyung, please,” and he doesn’t even want to see the triumphant on Yoongi’s face as he starts up all at once again, pumping Jeongguk’s cock as he leans down and, with his mouth against Jeongguk’s ear, whispers, “Come for me, baby.”
Jeongguk does—with a bit of a cry, head thrown back. Yoongi strokes him through it, and then just as quickly lets go of his cock and grabs both of Jeongguk’s thighs, kneeling up so he can begin fucking back into him with earnest. Jeongguk doesn’t have the heart to think that he’s oversensitive, letting out a low whine as Yoongi fucks him hard and fast, chasing after his own release.
He likes that, too—when Yoongi knots him, when he stays. But he knows needing to be quick means it won’t happen, and when he feels Yoongi’s cock beginning to catch on his rim, Jeongguk feels tear pricking at the backs of his eyes. He is oversensitive, but it’s not about that, and he tries to ignore the strange emptiness in his chest even though Yoongi is still filling him, pounding into him over and over as he gets harder and harder to move, and then—at the last second, he pulls out, letting go of Jeongguk’s legs in favour of peeling off the condom and coming directly onto his stomach.
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything about it, because he knows he’s not supposed to. He just lets out a bit of a groan as Yoongi collapses on top of him.
“Hyung,” he mutters. “That’s gross. Also, my arms hurt.” Yoongi makes a grunting noise, but doesn’t move otherwise. “Hyung,” he tries again. “The sooner you clean me up, the sooner I can leave and then you don’t have to worry about your dumb alphas finding me.”
That seems to spur Yoongi on, at least, and he pushes himself up enough to reach over and untie Jeongguk’s wrists. The tie wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but he rubs at the skin anyway, inspecting Jeongguk’s wrists carefully. And then he kisses each of them gently, keeping his gaze away from Jeongguk, and Jeongguk tries to keep his stomach from doing something stupid like turning into knots.
Yoongi is in the middle of cleaning them up when there’s a knock at the door. Jeongguk panics for a moment, wide eyes turning from the door to Yoongi, who stares back at him for a moment before putting his finger to his lips in a silent call to be quiet. Then he turns toward the door and hollers, “What?”
Hoseok’s voice filters through the door—“We’re done cleaning,” he says.
“Then go the fuck to sleep,” says Yoongi. After a moment, he adds, “We’ll work on retaliation tomorrow.”
That seems to appease the other alpha, who doesn’t say anything back. Jeongguk assumes he’s left and is about to say something when he hears, a little quieter, “We should probably open the windows too. It seems like omega really strongly over here.”
Jeongguk can’t help it—he lets out a giggle, although the look that Yoongi gives him doesn’t help in making him want to keep silent. Still, everything is silent after that so Jeongguk figures it’s safe to speak again, giggling as he helps Yoongi finish cleaning up before he begins grabbing his clothes off of the floor.
“You have any more of that cheap alpha scent?” asks Yoongi as Jeongguk tugs on his clothes. “It smells awful, but hopefully it’ll keep the boys from asking questions about why my room smells like an omega.”
“Just tell them you fucked some other omega,” says Jeongguk with a shrug. “Works every other time, doesn’t it?” There’s a smirk on his lips, although he hates the words—hates that he and Yoongi can’t just be together properly. He supposes if they’d gone public when all of this had first started, it might have been different, but it’s too late now. Instead, he gazes over at the window, trying to decide how much it would hurt to jump out before Yoongi speaks instead.
“They’re going to be everywhere,” he says, and when Jeongguk looks at him, he’s leaning against the headboard and decidedly not looking at Jeongguk. “You might as well just stay. You know, to keep yourself from getting caught.”
“Yeah,” says Jeongguk, a teasing tilt to his words as he makes his way back to the bed. “To keep myself from getting caught.”
He crawls on, not bothering to check the time—it’s somewhere between three and four and he doesn’t have class until the afternoon, anyway—before he pulls back Yoongi’s covers. He’s been here enough to know that he’s welcome, to know how it works, still smirking as he watches Yoongi get under beside him.
It’s not until they’re under the covers, an awkward few inches from each other, that Yoongi says, “Shut up.”
“I wasn’t saying anything.”
“I can practically hear you smirking.”
“I’m not,” argues Jeongguk, although the words are ruined by the giggle that he lets out. “You can just admit that you want to cuddle with me, hyung. It happens too often to be a coincidence.”
“I don’t want to cuddle you,” says Yoongi with a huff. “You’re like a fucking octopus and you smother me and it gets too hot and it’s not enjoyable at all.” Jeongguk waits, staring at the ceiling for one, two, three seconds—Yoongi sighs. “Get over here.”
Jeongguk laughs as he goes, turning onto his side so he can shuffle over to Yoongi’s side of the bed. He thinks about fitting—it’s more than just physically, more than just sex. Jeongguk curls into Yoongi and it makes sense, how their legs tangle together and Yoongi’s arms move to wind around him. How he fits his face into the space between Yoongi’s neck and shoulder, presses his nose into the alpha’s skin. He breathes in, filling himself with Yoongi’s scent again even though it’s already all over him—he likes the reminder anyway. Likes to think that this is where he belongs.
Some time later, Yoongi murmurs “Goodnight, bun,” and Jeongguk already knows he’s half-asleep because it’s the only time he uses pet names, but—Jeongguk allows himself one moment of flushing at it, of nuzzling further into Yoongi’s chest.
“Goodnight, hyung,” he murmurs belatedly, after he’s heard Yoongi’s breathing even out. He thinks—he likes this. He thinks about how, in some other world where their frats didn’t exist and they weren’t supposed to hate each other, he could have this. He could have this always. Sometimes, he thinks about how they’ve never really put a label on whatever they do, how he’d probably call it friends with benefits if he needed to, but there’s something else. There’s something about how Yoongi holds him against his chest, how he breathes into his hair. How he calls him bun when he’s most vulnerable, how he’s gentle and sometimes Jeongguk has to remind himself not to mistaken it for more.
Maybe it’s not the time to worry about it. Maybe there’s never a time to worry about it, so he just shuts his eyes and presses further and further into Yoongi’s hold and tells himself to go to sleep.
And in the morning, when he wakes up before Yoongi—because he always wakes up before Yoongi—he slips out of the alpha’s grasp. He plants a careful kiss against Yoongi’s forehead.
He leaves the hallway outside of Yoongi’s door buttered, because he’s still a member of Omega Tau and he’ll be damned if he lets the prank fail just because he’s fucking the president of Alpha Theta Chi.