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San cringes when the door of the apothecary nudges the silver bell hanging just above the door frame, the resounding tinkling noise echoing in his ears. The scent of sage and lemongrass washes over him in waves as the door swings shut behind him, the godforsaken bell ringing again as the top of the wooden door brushes against it.
He clutches the single scrap of paper Mingi had given him in his fist desperately, wanting more than anything to get what he needs and leave before anyone saw him here- or more specifically, what he was buying.
The chicken scratch Mingi calls “handwriting” is almost completely illegible as San scans it, trying to make some sense out of the convoluted ingredients list. The lilted script makes his eyes strain, the beginnings of a headache poking at the edge of his consciousness.
He meanders through the shelves aimlessly, comparing the lines and dots of Mingi’s penmanship to the labels on the carefully marked glass bottles littering the mounted wooden planks on the wall.
He’s engrossed in his search, concentrated. Were it not for his lupine senses, he surely would have jumped at the sound of the honey-smooth voice that calls out less than three feet away from him.
“Hi, is there anything I can help you with?”
Despite the warning his sharp senses gave him, he still reacts like a deer caught in headlights. His fist is quick to bury itself deep in his pockets, the pathetic slip of paper more than likely crumpled beyond salvaging. San can smell the sweet scent of lavender emanating from the stranger, mingling with notes of vanilla that is almost completely overpowered by the fragrant air of the shop. His nose scrunches, breathing long and deep. The stranger shuffles slightly, the chafing of his rubber soles against the grainy hardwood amplified tenfold in the otherwise silent shop. A light tinkling reaches him as the man clasps his hands, numerous rings clinking against each other as the fingers loop together. But his keen senses could never prepare him for the sight he was to behold when he finally wrenched his gaze away from the pock-marked flooring.
The stranger is beautiful. Otherworldly. Ethereal, even.
High cheekbones and full lips drag San in, and the crooked smile with perfect teeth captures him. The stranger’s eyes are, well, strange. A single, candied brown iris partnered with an iridescent purple one. A witch’s mark, San recognizes.
A quick glance is all it takes for San to see that the rest of the man stood in front of him is as beautiful as his preternatural visage. Long, lithe legs encased in perfectly pressed slacks; a slim waist accentuated by a silky shirt tucked into the waistband; a slender neck and defined clavicle framed by a choker made of the same silk as his shirt, tied into a bow.
The beautiful face shifts, a single, perfectly-plucked brow quirking pointedly at his pocket, still full with his clenched fist. San’s mouth goes dry.
“I’m good,” San’s voice comes out weaker than intended as he locks eyes with the stranger- a sales associate, he realizes belatedly.
It feels like falling into the depths of a whirlpool- he’s stuck there, and no matter how much he struggles to the surface, the greedy fingers of the tide grab hold of him and drag him down. It’s dizzying, addictive.
“Are you sure?” His voice draws San’s attention back to reality, grounding him. His magic-imbued iris flashes brilliant slivers of blue as the light catches it just right.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” San says, this time clearing his throat so his voice comes out deep and accented. The associate just nods, the ghost of a smile just barely gracing his lips.
“Alright, then. My name is Seonghwa, and I’ll be right over there if you need anything.” The worker- Seonghwa- waves over his shoulder at the check-out counter. The smooth wooden surface is littered with knick-knacks and baubles, a seemingly new cash register gleaming proudly in one corner.
San quickly nods in understanding and turns on his heel, embarrassed, and for some reason, overwhelmed.
He can feel his lupine instincts battling his human ones. The alpha in him wants to jump out, already addicted to the saccharine scent of lavender and vanilla; his chest puffs out as he takes deep breaths, chasing the smell as he forces his body to walk away from its alluring source. His human half battles with fervor, pushing the alpha back in its cage until he can get somewhere, anywhere but here. The last thing he needs is to give in to the full potential of his rut whilst trapped in a tiny shop with the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes standing no more than ten feet away. It is undoubtedly a recipe for disaster.
The ingredients on his list prove to be even harder to find than he’d initially hoped. There’s some sort of lucrative organization system in place that San can’t quite figure out, and coupled with Mingi’s disastrous handwriting, he finds himself holding only two glass bottles after fifteen minutes of scouring the cozy apothecary.
When he finally gives in and sulks over to the check-out counter, Seonghwa is staring at him shamelessly, eyes crescent-shaped and lips pursed as he tries not to laugh at San’s defeated disposition. He’s failing miserably.
San gently settles the crinkled sheet of paper in front of Seonghwa.
“May I have some help, please?” he whispers, unable to even make eye contact with the witch. His alpha makes a sincere attempt then and San breaks into a cold sweat as he beats it back, scrambling.
“Of course,” Seonghwa replies, mirth lacing his voice. He seems unaware of San’s predicament as his eyebrows drop in concentration, reading the hastily-written scribbles on the destroyed piece of paper. He hums to himself, low and smooth, as he steps out from around the counter and immediately disappears into the shelves. San follows far behind, holding out his hands as Seonghwa plucks powders and herbs from the racks and drops them into his waiting grasp, almost in a trance as he works.
They’re perusing the back of the shop when Seonghwa speaks up.
“So a rut-suppressant, huh?”
San coughs in surprise, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he mumbles an admission. He had hoped that the witch wouldn’t recognize the potion.
“Damn, it must be inconvenient to get your rut during exam season,” Seonghwa comments off-handedly as he reaches for a foot-stool, climbing up to grab something off a mounted sill that San has to crane his neck to see.
“Yeah, it… wait, how did you know I’m a student?” San questions, the words falling from his lips before he can halt them. He feels his blush travel down his neck now, hot and red.
“Oh, I’ve seen you around,” Seonghwa admits, giving him a breathtaking smile as he climbs back down. “I go to the same school as you. Although, I think we’re definitely in different departments.”
He follows Seonghwa back to the counter, unceremoniously laying down the contents of his hands. The witch settles himself on the opposite side, scanning bottles and weighing herbs and powders on a scale before sliding them into their wrappings deftly. His fingers fly as he works, and San finds himself staring, lost in their furiously-paced dance.
He’s never seen Seonghwa around campus if he’s being honest. However, being an engineering major means that his nose is stuck in a textbook most of the time, so it isn’t all that surprising.
“What department are you in?” he asks idly, watching as Seonghwa’s fingers end their dance, tying the brown paper package laden with goods with a perfect bow.
“Supernatural studies,” Seonghwa answers. “I’m an oneirology major. You?”
“Environmental engineering.”
It’s fitting, a witch like Seonghwa majoring in the supernatural. His own degree is mundane in comparison.
“Here,” Seonghwa says as he hands San a scrap of paper. When he looks down at it, he sees a neatly-scribed list with legible instructions in the most beautiful script he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.
“I figured I’d take the liberty of making it a bit clearer so you don’t accidentally grow another leg or something,” Seonghwa giggles. San smiles back at the sweet sound. He hadn’t seen Seonghwa reach for a pen in the time they’d been speaking, but the glinting purple iris shines brightly at him, swirling and sparkling with magic.
“Thank you,” he says sincerely, jabbing the pin for his credit card into the blinking machine.
“Anytime.”
Seonghwa hands him the package with the receipt, fingertips brushing lightly against San’s own. He almost feels disappointed as he turns to leave, the aroma of lavender and vanilla becoming distant as he pushes open the door into the bustling street.
The bell sounds once, twice as the door opens and shuts behind him, the chill of the spring air immediately biting into San’s cheeks. And then he hears it again.
When he turns, he sees Seonghwa standing there, sticks of something in his fist. When they lock eyes, Seonghwa jogs over, holding the objects in his hand out to San.
He looks up at Seonghwa questioningly.
“Cinnamon,” Seonghwa explains. “It might help the potion go down a bit easier. Just add one per batch.”
“Oh- thank you,” San says gratefully, adding it to his package. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” Seonghwa replies, smiling wide. “It’s on the house.”
San warms at the words, his own grin growing to match Seonghwa’s.
“Oh, okay. Thank you,” he repeats as Seonghwa walks back to the shop. The man pushes open the door, bell tinkling as he turns back to wave.
“Good luck with exams,” he calls out.
“You, too,” San raises a hand to wave back, watching as he disappears into the tiny apothecary, the fading peals of the bell following him as he walks home.
|||||
Seonghwa was right. The moment San had finished mixing the concoction on his stove, the smell alone was enough to make him gag, sick to his stomach. A stick of cinnamon did just the trick, warming his gullet as it slithered its way down to his belly, the magic permeating his cells instantaneously.
It became easier to concentrate on his notes when he sat down to review his exam material, the alpha within sated and locked safely away. The battle between his two halves simmers down to a ceasefire, the telltale feverish haze of his rut nowhere to be seen.
He drinks the potion twice a day, every day, sipping on the steaming liquid as he highlights notes and transcribes flash cards. Before exams, he chugs it from his thermos, the taste of cinnamon dancing along his tongue as he sits in the silent lecture hall. Even the scent of the omega seated next to him does little to break his concentration as he writes out line after line of complex equations.
Soon enough, four exams are out of the way, and all that’s left the last one- the hardest one.
And the dregs of his rut come back with a vengeance. San can hardly stand straight as he stirs the potion for what he hopes is the final time. His head is warm and fuzzy, and so, so heavy.
It hits him in waves, doubling him over until he rests his head against the cool surface of his counter. His very blood singes his veins as the alpha within prepares to pounce and give in to his base instincts. San can feel his cock twitch as it fills out, pressing against the smooth material of his underwear, insistent.
He ignores it and pants, pushing himself up and finishing up the potion weakly. His hands move out of habit, sprinkling in powders and pouring the remaining drops of liquid ingredients from the glass bottles into the pot systematically. There are only two sticks of cinnamon left, and San is reminded of the kind, gorgeous witch. The alluring witch with the magical eyes and long legs.
Long legs that would look so pretty wrapped around his waist-
San bites his own lip hard. He fights the rut as valiantly as he can, stirring the pot furiously. He throws in both sticks of cinnamon and the scent of it clings to the air of his tiny kitchen. But despite this, the memory of lavender and vanilla lingers, tangling with sweet cinnamon.
San’s breaths are labouring as his body becomes hot. But San moves faster, pouring the fragrant liquid into a mug and downing it in desperate gulps.
The magic works instantly but does little to soothe his scorched tongue and esophagus as he guzzles the potion without stopping for a breath. The heat overtaking his body subsides and he’s left panting, relieved. He can finally think, his head clear and light. San slumps against his counter, the exhaustion of fighting off his rut ramming into him all at once. His very bones ache and his stomach churns. Perhaps he downed the potion a little too quickly.
The remainder in the beaten up pot atop his stove is poured into a thermos and pressed haphazardly into the shelves of his fridge, between the take out containers and pizza boxes that had accumulated during his studying fog.
He’d drunk a little more than he usually would at this hour in his desperation to suppress his rut, the thermos not nearly as full as it should be. He hopes it’s enough to carry him through his final exam without incident.
San shuffles to his room after washing his dishes and settles at his desk, which is littered with papers and sticky notes. Diagrams and equations are tacked on his wall, but the numbers and figures dance in front of his eyes now, dizzying him. He shakes his head and rubs his face, steadying himself and picking up a highlighter. There’s no way he can fall asleep now. This exam is important, and he needs to pass.
With steely resolve, he uncaps his neon marker and pours over his notes. Hours pass unknowingly, and he slides into his bed at some odd hour of the morning, the sky lightening already as the sun begins to filter its way through a downy layer of cumulus clouds. The silky sheets slip over his bare skin like water, settling over him gently as he nuzzles into his pillow, drowsy.
A heavy warmth settles in him almost immediately, the taste of cinnamon still lingering on his taste buds despite the strong mint of his toothpaste. He drifts off as the sun paints the sky hues of pink, orange, and fiery red before melting into an azure blue.
A blue so bright it reminds him of the startling flecks of cerulean he’d seen hidden in the luminescent purple of Seonghwa’s eye, his stunning witch’s mark.
Thoughts of the beautiful witch consume his dream. Images swirl by- the pink curve of his lips, his svelte build, his beautiful, honey-glazed unmarred skin. Then the scent lavender and vanilla permeates his senses, sweet and lovely. And finally, a pealing bell, tinkling high and gentle.
A door appears in his dream, and San grasps the knob, pushing in.
It’s the apothecary, silent as the day San had visited. The wooden shelves are crammed with bottles and the like, and San picks one up, the glass cool and hard beneath his fingertips. It’s odd- he’s never had a dream with such startling clarity before. He can see each grain of powder in the vessel tumble as he turns it in his hand before placing it back on the shelf.
The check-out counter lies unmanned as he wanders to it, trinkets littering it like before. There is something new, though. Something that hadn’t been there when he’d visited last.
A shiny silver bell, not unlike the one hanging above the door. It sits by the cash register, begging to be touched. San grasps the thin, ornate handle between his thumb and forefinger and gently swings it back and forth, a light tinkling filling the air. He glances around the shop, anticipating something , though he doesn’t quite know what, but the room remains as still as it was before.
He sighs, resting his elbow atop the smooth countertop and cradling his chin in his palm. He wonders why his dream is taking place here, of all places. Sure, he’d visited once before, and he was admittedly thinking of Seonghwa as he dozed off, but he’d had no other significant encounters in the cozy store.
He rings the bell once more, because why not, and places it back on the counter. It rings this time, but the sound resonates, getting louder and faster. He looks at the bell, alarmed. It sits on the counter, still as death, but still the echoing peals bounce off the walls of the shops.
And then it stops. It’s so abrupt it sends San wheeling around, a little panic surging in his veins.
The once-unmoving air of the apothecary is now buzzing with an energy that vibrates in every cell of San’s body. He can feel it in his bones, the tips of his fingers, even the soles of his bare feet against the floor.
But nothing is different, nothing amiss. Every bottle and vial, every powder and herb is untouched, still standing in their designated places. San even looks up, inspecting the beams stretching across the ceiling but not a speck of dust has moved.
Then, from the corner of his eye, San sees the door open, the resounding creak booming in the otherwise silent room.
He smells the witch before he sees him, the lavender and vanilla, now with a hint of cinnamon. It drowns him, making his lungs and mind heavy with pure want. His alpha rattles its cage.
Seonghwa steps in, dresses in a silky set of navy blue pajamas with bright white trim. His hair is down, falling over his forehead in soft, subtle waves.
Their eyes lock, and all of San’s breath leaves him with a whoosh . The image of Seonghwa that his mind has conjured in this dream is impeccable. Each detail looks so impossibly real. As the figment of his imagination walks closer, he can see each dark hair on his head shift, the subtle quirk of his eyebrow.
It’s funny- when San had first met Seonghwa, he’d been wearing makeup. A light swipe of pink gloss and a smokey eye that offset the lovely hue of his witch’s mark. Here, in his dream, Seonghwa is bare-faced, but still just as beautiful.
“Good evening,” the image speaks, voice deep with sleep. “Or rather, good morning. I believe the sun has already risen,” Dream-Seonghwa chuckles.
San has to unstick his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth before he can reply. “I- good morning.” He can think of nothing else to say, slouching back against the counter behind him. The edge of it digs into his back painfully.
The haze he’d felt before, when he was so frantically trying to fight back his rut, is back with a vengeance. His body is hot beyond belief, and he’s sure he’s going to wake up with his sheets clinging to his sweat-slick body come morning time.
“You are confused.” It sounds like it should be a question, but it leaves Seonghwa’s lips as a statement, so true it may as well be carved in stone. San can do nothing but nod dumbly, his entire body leaden as the heat infiltrates his blood and sears his insides. His rut is coming, and it’s coming now , he realizes with panic. His eyes widen with shock and he grips the counter with an iron grip to ground himself, fighting it with all his might.
This isn’t supposed to happen, especially not now of all times. Why did the potion stop working the day before his most important exam?! There’s no way he’ll be able to sit for the entire three hours.
“Calm down,” Seonghwa says, and a soothing wave rolls over San unexpectedly. It becomes a little easier to breathe, and the heat is bearable, if only for a moment.
He eyes Seonghwa closely, biting back a visceral growl when he notices the unmarked expanse of his neck and collarbone. His alpha surges, battering his will, threatening escape. It makes his head pound and his belly roil in want. Want for Seonghwa.
“You’ll be okay,” Seonghwa continues to speak, moving closer but still maintaining a safe distance. It seems like he’s wary, careful about San’s condition. Odd, for a dream.
“How do you know that?” San bites out, panting. It’s taking every ounce of strength to hold back, and his body is about ready to give up.
“This is a dream,” Seonghwa says. “What happens here will stay here.”
San starts. He’s heard of lucid dreaming before, but is there a term for when figments of your imagination become aware that they’re in a dream? San is sure it’s impossible.
“I’m going crazy,” he whispers under his breath, disbelieving. Seonghwa must hear it because he replies with an amused, “No, you’re not.”
“And how would you know that?” San can’t fathom that he’s now arguing with an invention of his sleeping mind. “You’re just a dream.” His body finally collapses, only his grasp on the hard edge of the counter stopping him from slamming into the hard, wooden floorboards.
San trembles, unable to take the pain and discomfort any longer. His insides are twisting and turning, sending wave after wave of agony through him as he battles against the very nature of his being. Just barely, he can hear Seonghwa shuffle closer.
“I am not a dream,” Seonghwa whispers, crouching down and running a gentle hand through San’s sweat-soaked hair. San flinches but then leans into the touch, drawn to the heady scent of the witch.
“What do you mean you’re not a dream?” San asks tiredly. The situation is bizarre, but he’s too exhausted to muster an appropriate response.
“Tell me, how many sticks of cinnamon did you use in the potion?”
“Two,” San answers, confused at the random question.
“Ah, that explains it,” Seonghwa mutters thoughtfully.
“Explains what?” San lurches as a particularly agonizing surge wracks his body, his vision going black around the edges. The wolf within yips in excitement, tasting the victory that is so, so close.
“How you were able to summon me, of course.”
“Summon you?” The question hangs in the air for a moment too long before Seonghwa decides to answer.
“A side-effect of the rut-suppressant is insomnia. The cinnamon I gave you was magic- I cast a spell to help you sleep because you would need it to sit your exams,” Seonghwa pauses, considering. “You used more than was called for in the instructions I gave you, so I suppose it altered the spell when it was added to the potion.”
San blinks, confused. “You gave me cinnamon with sleep magic?”
Seonghwa nods and smiles, the crooked, close-lipped grin sending a warm flush over San’s body.
“I study oneirology- dreams, specifically. I figured sleep magic would be easy enough. I didn’t foresee this, though.”
Panic begins to well in San’s body. Seonghwa is a witch, and Seonghwa is here, in his dreams, for real . If he gives in to his base instincts, there’s no telling what he would do to the man. He needs to wake up now .
With the last bit of his strength, San surges to his feet, leaning against the smooth countertop for support. Seonghwa follows, eyebrows raised at his urgency.
“Is everything okay?” he questions, curious.
“No, you need to wake me up right now,” San chokes out against the pain.
“Why would I do that?” Seonghwa asks quizzically.
“So I don’t hurt you,” San pants, desperate. He’s about to lose, to fall victim to nature’s whims. The alpha is howling in victory, ready to be let out and take, take, take. San could not let Seonghwa be collateral damage to his body’s carnal desires.
“My rut- I can feel it coming,” San pleads. “You need to wake me up so I don’t hurt you.”
Seonghwa’s eyes widen as San doubles over, arms clutching his belly as the pain becomes unbearable. His nerves are shot, tired of the abuse as he denies his alpha release.
And then, Seonghwa laughs. In any other situation, the sweet, melodic sound would have been music to San’s ears. It’s high and lilting, and Seonghwa lifts a hand to cover his mouth as his grin splits his face. It angers San.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims with as much energy as he can muster. “I need to leave. You’re in danger, Seonghwa!”
“You forget,” Seonghwa giggles, dropping his hand back to his side. “This is a dream.”
San raises an eyebrow, questioning, and that small motion alone sends a flare of discomfort across his forehead, pinching at his temples.
“I may be real, but I’m not actually here ,” Seonghwa explains. “My body is in my home, sleeping in my bed, just like yours.”
So Seonghwa is real, but not really.
Not confusing in the slightest.
San cannot answer anymore, the ache in his bones and the throbbing in his muscles too much to bear. His jaw can only hang slack as he heaves for breath.
Seonghwa’s eyes soften, alight with pity- and something else. San can almost swear it’s hunger he spies in Seonghwa’s gaze.
“As I said before, what happens here will stay here.” Seonghwa’s hand brushes aside the hair sticking to San’s forehead. “You can let go, give into your desires. You can’t hurt anyone here.”
San whines. The offer is tempting and he is inclined to take it, but Seonghwa remains stock-still beside him, fingers shifting through San’s hair. His eyes flicker up to Seonghwa’s- and he’s blown away.
The witch’s purple iris glows, the hunger and desire as evident as the grass is green. His mouth is twisted into an enticing smirk and San wants so badly to kiss it from his lips.
“You can’t hurt me here, I promise. Use me as you will,” Seonghwa invites, tone becoming heavy with lust. “All I ask is one thing.”
San groans lowly, teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard it almost draws blood. His legs are shaking with effort and his neck aches as he looks at Seonghwa, asking the question with his eyes: 'What is it that you want?'
Seonghwa obliges. “What is your name?”
San wants to laugh. What a simple question. A question that takes the last of his strength to answer.
“My name… is San.”
With that, San allows his rut to take its full effect, bowling him over until he’s heaving on his hands and legs at Seonghwa’s feet. It’s red hot and pulsing, taking over each of his senses and amplifying them tenfold. The lust quickly follows, hardening his cock in his sweatpants with no preamble. San’s strength returns as he hands his body over to instinct, every muscle in his body trembling as the desperate need to sink deep into Seonghwa’s slick hole overcomes him.
When he rises to his feet, Seonghwa is standing there, waiting. His silky pajama shirt is unbuttoned all the way, revealing a toned chest with defined abs, a light smattering of hair trailing from his navel to beyond the waistband of his pants.
A growl tears itself from San’s throat, and he can see each bump rise on Seonghwa skin as he shivers in delight. The witch’s nipples harden with arousal, the dark skin around them pulled taut with desire.
San looks again at Seonghwa’s face, and he sees submission. A man waiting to be taken, to be ravished. To be used and be bred. To be his .
He pounces.
Seonghwa falls apart under his grasp so wonderfully. His back bends as San’s hands paw at his waist, scratching at the skin with blunt nails. San’s lips capture his in a messy kiss that’s more tongue and teeth than anything. The smirk adorning Seonghwa’s face falls away as his mouth falls open, panting as San tugs his plump bottom lip none too gently, sharpened canines digging in slightly.
San feels so alive . He can smell every bit of Seonghwa- the lavender and vanilla, the sweat beginning to bead the witch’s forehead, the heady scent of slick beginning to slide between his cheeks.
At the base of Seonghwa’s neck, his pulse flutters, and San pulls away from his mouth to dig his teeth in there, sucking hard. A wanton moan escapes Seonghwa, its reverberations vibrating in his chest. San licks and bites at the skin until a dark purple mark blossoms, marring the golden tan skin and marking Seonghwa as his.
A hand tangles itself in San’s hair and roughly tugs. Seonghwa crashes his mouth against San’s, addicted to the taste of him already. San is no better off, curling his tongue with Seonghwa’s own, desperate to taste every last bit of him.
Seonghwa shudders beneath San as he manhandles the witch until he’s pressed back against the hard edge of the counter. Hands explore, roving over bare, sweat-slick skin, learning and memorizing. San all but tears the silky shirt from Seonghwa’s shoulders, leaving his upper half bare.
The purple iris glints, beckoning San to take him, do with him what he chose. San cranes his neck down and sucks a single, pebbled nipple into his hot mouth. Seonghwa whines, high and needy, his back bowing in a desperate attempt to press more of himself into San. San’s arms encircle him and hold him tight, stilling his movements while the witch continues to writhe and moan, clutching at his biceps and crying out for more.
Seonghwa tastes heavenly , and San ravishes him with abandon, wanting to hear more and more of the witch’s breathy keens. When he finishes with both of Seonghwa’s hard, swollen nipples, the witch is slumped in his hold, panting hard and fast.
San preens, satisfied to see Seonghwa’s pliable state. But he isn’t finished. Not quite yet.
Faster than Seonghwa can register, San lets him go and pushes the witch to his knees, until he’s eye to eye with the hard, throbbing cock still encased in the material of his sweatpants.
Seonghwa looks up at him through long lashes as San rips off his shirt, the clothing becoming too stuffy as his body heats up. He can feel Seonghwa’s eyes inspect him- the hard lines of his torso and the deep vee of his hips.
“What are you waiting for?” San asks roughly, grasping a handful of Seonghwa’s hair and tugging him closer.
Seonghwa responds wonderfully, pretty pink lips opening up and letting his long tongue slip out, kissing and licking up and down his cock through his pants. It is a sight, but it isn’t enough. San tugs again, eliciting a helpless yelp from Seonghwa, and uses his free hand to tug his waistband down.
His hard length springs free, precum already leaking copiously from the swollen head. A hunger ignites in Seonghwa eyes, renewed, and within moments he’s suckling on the tip, messy and wet. San sighs as the warmth encases him.
Seonghwa sucks him off in earnest, working his jaw open and running his tongue over every ridge and vein of San’s cock. It’s quite big in this state, and Seonghwa wraps a loose fist around the portion that he can’t reach with his mouth.
A slick sound fills the air as Seonghwa bobs his head, moving his fist in tandem. It feels so fucking good . The warmth of it coils in a white-hot simmer in the depths of San’s belly. When he looks down, he sees Seonghwa looking back up at him. His lips are stretched over the girth of his length and there’s spit glistening on his chin, a ferocious blush colouring his beautiful face. He looks almost completely ruined. San wants to fix that.
A growl bubbles up in his throat as he grabs Seonghwa’s wrist mid-stroke and tears it away. Then, with no warning, he pushes deeper into Seonghwa’s mouth, throat fluttering furiously as Seonghwa's gag reflex is triggered and he chokes around him. The tightness of his throat is divine, clenching around San’s cock like a vice.
San pulls out all the way and Seonghwa coughs, more saliva falling over his lips and dripping down his chin. His eyes are teary with pure desire, his chest heaving as he opens his mouth again and invites San in.
San gladly accepts the invitation, thrusting his hips forward until he hears Seonghwa gag around him. The witch’s head moves back until it’s pressed against the side of the counter, nowhere to go. All he can do is take it as San fucks his throat over and over, relishing in the slick heat and sweet sounds. All the while, his wonderfully strange eyes look up and San, spilling over with tears as he lets the man- the alpha- use him as he pleases.
When he’s satisfied that he’s fucked Seonghwa's throat thoroughly, he tugs him to his feet with a rough hand under his chin. Seonghwa’s face is red and streaked with tears, but his gaze is still heavy with lust. San captures his lips again, kissing him frantically, passionately, rewarding the man for taking his cock so, so well.
He tears his lips away and whirls the witch around quickly, pressing him forward until he’s bent at a right angle, his bare upper half resting against the countertop. San makes quick work of his pants, all but ripping them from his body.
Seonghwa’s thighs are quivering in anticipation, calves tense as he waits for San to do something, anything . He spreads his leg, enticing him. The sweet, heady smell of his slick is intoxicating. San can see it shining between his cheeks, beckoning him closer. Seonghwa raises his head and arches his back, wiggling his hips ever so slightly, teasing.
“Please.” The plea is rough and broken, falling from kiss-bitten lips. Who is San to deny him?
He drops to his knees between the witch’s spread legs. His thighs are more muscular than San realized, the hard muscle flexing as San digs his fingers into them. He nips and bites with abandon, high whines leaving Seonghwa as he relishes in the splendid mixture of pleasure and pain.
San grabs Seonghwa’s cheeks and spreads them, revealing his winking, slick entrance. Seonghwa preens and pushes his hips back when San swipes his tongue over him, savouring the taste. It’s musky and addicting, and San can’t stop himself, suddenly ravenous. His tongue works over Seonghwa’s hole in broad, slow strokes and quick messy ones, occasionally wriggling his tongue into the tight ring of muscle. Seonghwa groans in unadulterated pleasure, throwing his head back and allowing breathy sounds to escape him unbidden.
Seonhwa nearly falls apart when San replaces his tongue with his fingers, working two digits into him quickly. He’s sucked in by Seonghwa's wet, warm tunnel, the muscles fluttering around his fingers as he prepares the witch to take his cock. San can already tell it’s going to be a deliciously tight fit.
He doesn’t warn Seonghwa before he adds a third finger, and then a fourth, the man splayed on the counter crying out in pleasure and pain. His back tenses for a moment before relaxing, San’s nails running red trails up and down the expanse of it.
San can’t wait any longer and he rips his fingers from Seonghwa’s entrance, the digits dripping with Seonghwa’s sweet slick. Seonghwa whines in protest, but it quickly turns to a low whimper when he feels San’s engorged cockhead press insistently against his hole.
The witch circles his hip, allowing San’s thick length to rub against him, the glide of his slick allowing San to slip between his cheeks with no resistance. San sighs, relishing in the feeling before grabbing Seonghwa’s hips, lining himself up and slamming home.
Seonghwa all but screams, clawing at the smooth countertop, voice raw and hoarse. San finally feels relief wash over him, his throbbing shaft encased in Seonghwa’s glorious, tight heat.
The tunnel of muscle contracts and adjusts, resisting the girth of him, and Seonghwa sobs, unable to do much more.
He feels so full . He’s never felt so full in his life. San’s cock reaches parts inside of him that have remained untouched by any lover he’s taken before. The thick length of him is pulsating, and he swears he can feel every ridge, every dip, and every vein of it as San holds his hips in place against his.
San allows Seonghwa a moment to adjust, the haze of his rut clearing enough to grant the witch a chance to get used to his size and girth. Seonghwa is panting in effort, cheeks flushed a rosy red and hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and when he looks back at San, the unbridled lust in them prompts San to slide out until only the tip of him remains in the witch before roughly sliding back in, the sharp sound of skin against skin resonant in the quiet room.
Seonghwa wails, eyes screwing shut and mouth dropping open. It’s as if his body has given up, has handed itself over to be molded and pleasured by San.
San grabs Seonghwa’s hand from where they grapple for purchase on the counters and pulls them back. Seonghwa’s back arches as San holds him, using Seonghwa’s own body weight to drive himself deeper and deeper into the witch at a furious pace.
Seonghwa can do nothing but take it, whimpering and whining as his body is jolted with each powerful thrust. He can feel a sweet ache start low in his back, but he continues to bend, threatening to break.
San feels sweat bead on his forehead and slide down his face with his efforts, rutting into Seonghwa so fast he can barely catch a glimpse of where the two are connected between thrusts. Seonghwa’s slick squelches obscenely, the copious amount of it from his arousal warmly pulling San in each time.
Then San lets go of his hands, whirling Seonghwa around before he can register the movement. The loss of San inside him is profound; Seonghwa has never felt so empty. He whimpers soft and sweet, wordlessly begging San to fill him up.
In a flash of motion too fast to register, San crouches and picks him up by the backs of his thighs before tossing him up in the air for a moment. It’s enough for him to adjust so that the angle of the back of Seonghwa’s knees nestle in the crooks of San’s elbows.
Seonghwa is folded in half, arms swinging wildly until he finds purchase on San’s broad shoulders. This position is beyond intimate, Seonghwa vulnerable to San’s every whim. The wolf has total control over the witch, and it makes San’s cock throb with satisfaction and anticipation. The tip of it catches on Seonghwa’s rim before slipping inside again, easy and smooth. Seonghwa sees the moment San loses all sense of control, lucidity tossed to the wind when his pupils blow out to a pitch black and his thrusts take on a feral pace.
Seonghwa’s slim body is jolted and jostled in San’s strong arms as he’s brought down over and over in tandem with San’s forceful thrusts. San can feel his length being squeezed in a vice when Seonghwa moans and arches his back, the witch’s body teasing him, coaxing his orgasm from the depths of his belly.
Seonghwa only gets a low, guttural growl as a warning, and then San is biting him and it hurts . It hurts but the pain is like ambrosia in his veins, lighting each nerve with a fire that makes him gyrate his hips down now, fitting San deeper than he’s ever been.
The tip of San’s thick cock brushes something deep within him and he cries out, unrestrained. San growls from where he’s latched against the witch’s neck and aims, ramming himself into that one spot time after time. Seonghwa claws at his skin but his body is rendered immobile by San’s grip and bite, reducing to him a sobbing mess in San’s arms as his sweet spot is assaulted with unrestrained force.
San pulls away when Seonghwa’s fingers come up to tangle in his hair, tugging roughly. He licks at the bite mark, lapping up the blood gently, the wounds already beginning to heal. When he looks up, Seonghwa is wrecked and looking back down at him with pure lust in his gaze. Tears streak his beautiful, flushed face and his lips are open in a perpetual moan as San takes him just the way he needs.
The witch cums first, thick spurts of iridescent, pearly cum landing on their chests. Seonghwa sighs in relief as San fucks him through his orgasms, never failing to hit the spot that makes him see stars.
At the ever-tightening grip of the witch’s warm, wet hole around his cock, San loses any grip on himself. His knot begins to form, swelling at the base and catching on Seonghwa’s rim with each stroke.
Seonghwa’s satisfied sighs devolve into overwhelmed sobs as his body is used beyond its capacity, stretching to fit the full girth of the alpha lodged firmly inside. Wave after wave of San’s orgasm rolls over him, his cum shooting into Seonghwa, surely painting his walls white.
Seonghwa’s fingers tighten in his hair.
“I can feel it,” he mewls, voice rough and broken. And he can.
Each pulse of San’s shaft sends a new shock of pleasure through Seonghwa, the very tip nudging against his prostate when San circles his hips, knot holding him tightly in place. Each rotation sends a slick sound from between Seonghwa’s legs, the swollen knot holding all of San’s seed inside the witch, filling him up.
They pant into the space between their lips, separated only by mere inches. Seonghwa pulls him close first, watching as the haze of San’s rut melts from his eyes and leaves behind a sated man, sweaty and content.
“Fuck, are you okay?” San’s question is muffled against Seonghwa’s mouth as he presses kiss after kiss against his lips.
“I’m wonderful,” Seonghwa breathes, rolling his hips when San doesn’t look convinced. San’s load shifts inside him, running along his walls and Seonghwa can’t help his moan as it rushes out.
San moves them to sit on the floor, settling Seonghwa in his lap as his knot stubbornly refuses to subside. They continue to kiss, a slow tangle of tongues. San holds him close, and Seonghwa holds him closer, slick bodies pressed together and chests rising and falling in unison.
The shop is once again quiet, the thrum of magic and the heat of rut gone and replaced with low groans and satisfied sighs. Light wanes through the window of the apothecary, glancing off of glass bottles and scattering a dozen rainbows around them.
And they lie there, basking in the afterglow, the contented haze, not caring as the time in this perfect dream passes.
It doesn’t matter here.
They have all night.