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Late springtime was always the time to press your advantage with the Poyyam. That’s what the traditional Doksuri combat precepts taught, anyway. Over a century of war, very little stayed the same, but there were a few noticeable patterns in the unending conflict. One such pattern was that every year in late spring, Poyyam royalty were conspicuously absent from the battlefield for a week or so, indicating either a fortuitous time to strike or an opportunity to regroup, whatever the need may be. Doksuri wisdom never went so far as to comprehend what, exactly, the royal family’s absence meant, although avian imaginations combined with burning hatred resulted in some rather gruesome hypotheses. But the reality is something far less sinister than any of the more common Doksuri imaginings.
Jisung didn't participate in Jaemin’s first breeding week of their marriage, because Jaemin had insisted that he handle things alone. Jisung actually didn’t see him at all until the grand festival signifying the end of the beonsiggi, and by then, Jaemin was once again neatly tucked away behind the sleek sheen of his scales and into his ruling persona. They’d both been walking a razor’s edge as Jaemin tried to shelter Jisung’s dignity from the prying eyes and sneering whispers of the court, all the while working to convince his people that the two of them were a pair of star-crossed lovebirds. The Doksuri understood and even lauded the idea of marrying for duty, but to the Poyyam, it was unthinkable to marry for anything other than love. The pair of them had been so unsure, trying to sell a strong, loving union and all the while thinking that the other couldn’t possibly be open to the affection growing between them due to the circumstances of their marriage.
Not now, though. Now, Jisung gets to see Jaemin in all his virile glory. He’s truly something to behold—heavy-lidded eyes and slow, graceful limbs. He’s always graceful, to be fair, but breeding week slows his movements into something sensual and sticky. Something indulgent, but no less deadly because of it.
Jisung never would have expected it, because in his mating season, he’s borderline hyperactive. His instincts push him to prove his worth as a provider, so he’s unable to sit still for too long. Jaemin had lovingly indulged him this year, and it had been the sort of season Jisung wouldn’t have dared to dream he could have before Jaemin—the sound of Jaemin laughing, bundled under thick winter robes and nose red from the cold while a shifted Jisung flew high into the sky, dropping the stones clutched in his talons only to dive after them at the last possible moment, swooping to catch the falling rocks before they hit the ground. Jaemin’s gentle hands, patiently helping Jisung sort through the entirety of their closet, earnestly considering Jisung’s suggestions and answering him thoughtfully until Jisung had selected the exact things he wanted for their nest. The ink and bronze of Jaemin’s scales shining in the low candlelight of their room as Jisung mounted him for the first time as his mate and not just his husband, in the nest they built together, a once-in-a-lifetime commitment for eagles like Jisung.
Jaemin in beonsiggi, it turns out, could not be more different. He sleeps often, and he’s loath to leave their bed at all unless it’s to eat or to bathe (and only then if Jisung joins him, perched in Jaemin’s lap as Jaemin hand-feeds him or leaned back against Jaemin’s chest in the steam of the tub). They take all their meals in their chambers, because Jaemin is insatiable, but not for food—Jaemin wants constant skin-on-skin contact, and when he feels like being active, Jisung can’t escape him. Without warning, Jaemin will tumble Jisung down to their mattress as he murmurs lecherously about the warmth of Jisung’s body, scraping his fangs all over Jisung’s chest and abdomen, his forked tongue dancing over Jisung’s skin. He touches Jisung incessantly in those times, bringing him again and again to the point of release and pushing Jisung’s body past its limits in ways Jisung never thought possible.
Frustratingly, Jaemin never lets Jisung return the favor. He insists that he’s waiting until it’s “time,” whatever that means. Usually by the point Jisung recovers enough to ask Jaemin to explain, Jaemin is either asleep or his tongue is in Jisung’s mouth again, and the question dissolves under the pressure of Jaemin’s kisses. It’s only while Jaemin sleeps that Jisung’s instinct fully presses in, unsettled that he’s not providing pleasure for his mate in a reciprocal fashion.
That discomfited instinct just gets louder and louder as the days pass, until eventually Jisung begs off when Jaemin wants to leave for the day’s bath. Jisung placates Jaemin by saying he needs to stretch his wings for a moment after days in bed with a horny pit viper, but in reality, he needs to find someone who might let Jisung ask his questions, rather than kissing them out of his head.
“It’s just his nature,” Donghyuck explains, leaning back against the wall outside his door and crossing his arms over his chest. Jisung is pointedly ignoring the large, blooming love bite darkened against his collarbones, currently visible due to the untidy cinch of his robes. He’s also pretending he didn’t see a brief flash of Jeno’s naked ass when Donghyuck slid the door open—neither of them would ever be able to survive the embarrassment of that conversation, were Jisung to confront Jeno about it. “He’s conserving energy for the main event, so to speak,” Donghyuck continues. “Jaemin, being of the royal lineage, has it harder than most this week.”
“And what about this week is so exhausting for him, exactly?” Jisung asks, exasperated. “I’m the one who . . .” Jisung trails off, flushing when he realizes what he was about to admit to Donghyuck.
“You’re the one who’s come so much that he’s dehydrated and his dick is sore?” Donghyuck smiles, fangs glinting. “Oh little hawk,” he laughs, as Jisung flushes deeper. “There’s no need to be shy. That used to be me, remember?”
“Eagle,” Jisung snarls around a surge of irrational jealousy, although he stopped taking offense to the nickname a while ago. It started off as disrespect, but like many things with Donghyuck, Jisung has come to understand the true nature of the affection underneath the teasing. “Can you give me a straight answer please?”
Donghyuck grins even wider than before, forked tongue flickering cheekily between his teeth as he does so, and Jisung should have known better than to expect a snake to be direct when he could be maddening instead.
“Why on earth would I ruin the surprise?” Donghyuck drawls. “Besides, today is the sixth day of his breeding laze, is it not? I think you’ll find that if you head back to your chambers, Jaemin will be more than ready to answer your questions himself when he returns.”
Donghyuck, infuriatingly, is right. Jisung has barely slid the door to their room shut behind him before he’s blindsided by a naked Jaemin.
“Hi, Birdie,” Jaemin rumbles, trailing kisses up the strong line of Jisung’s neck. “I missed you.” He’s feverishly hot under Jisung’s hands as he winds his arms around Jisung’s neck, his bare skin leaching heat into Jisung’s body. Jaemin’s hair is wild and unbound, soft and slightly damp where it presses against Jisung’s chest, and Jaemin practically purrs when Jisung runs one hand up to lightly scratch at the scales near Jaemin’s jaw.
“Are you sure you’re a snake, and not one of the Horangi?” Jisung teases, but Jaemin must not think the joke is funny. His kisses turn sharper as he scrapes his teeth over Jisung’s collarbones, tugging Jisung’s outer robe down over his shoulders and off before attacking his undergarments.
“Why do you Doksuri wear so many fucking layers?” he complains petulantly into the curve of Jisung’s neck as he rids him of what’s left of his clothing. “I need to be in you, baby. Help me get you ready, yeah?”
Jaemin walks them backwards and pushes Jisung down onto their low bed before immediately stretching out over him. He shallowly pricks the swell of Jisung’s pectoral with his fangs when he begins to kiss his way down Jisung’s chest, and Jisung’s cock jerks where it’s hardening against his thigh. It's a dry bite, of course, but blood flushes through Jisung regardless, making him dizzy.
Jaemin could stop Jisung’s heart in under a minute, if he ever intended to. Jisung used to have nightmares about it when they were first married—he would tense up every time Jaemin leaned over to whisper to him at dinner or chastely kiss his cheek in the market. It was the thing Jisung was raised to fear the most, having a serpent’s fangs so close to his face. Now, Jisung knows Jaemin would never bite him with malice, but Jaemin is still a possessive bastard. Jisung knows Jaemin prefers it when all of the Poyyam can tell from the marks he’s left behind that Jisung is well-loved.
“You’re always so pretty,” Jaemin mutters, drawing away only long enough to retrieve the oil from underneath their bed. He wastes no time sinking one and then two slick fingers into Jisung, but Jisung eagerly takes the stretch, reveling in the slight burn. Jaemin had used his largest glass toy on Jisung last night, patiently, tortuously pressing the whorls and bumps inside him over and over until Jisung’s legs had been shaking. It felt like Jaemin had edged him for hours before he finally began to flick the points of his tongue sinuously across Jisung’s chest, pressing into Jisung’s prostate with each thrust of the dildo until Jisung came so hard he’d seen stars.
Jisung tosses his head back against the pillow on a gasp when Jaemin crooks his fingers up, bringing Jisung back to the present. He’s sensitive after days of Jaemin’s ceaseless ministrations, but Jaemin only coos down at him as Jisung squirms, his fangs glinting in the low light of their bedroom.
“You sound so pretty too, Birdie,” Jaemin murmurs, leaning down to give Jisung a soft kiss as he continues to work Jisung open. “Pretty noises from that plush little mouth, made for kissing,” he mumbles against Jisung’s lips, and the vibrations of his words make Jisung’s mouth tingle. “You know what else it was made for?” Jaemin pulls his fingers out of Jisung as Jisung whines his displeasure at the turn of events, his pride be damned. Any new protests die in his mouth, though, when Jaemin adjusts to swing a leg over Jisung’s chest, the hard, heavy length of his cock bobbing just above Jisung’s face. “It was made for sucking cock,” Jaemin says, kissing down the span of Jisung’s abdomen until he reaches the downy feathers covering his groin, nuzzling against the softness there. “Made for sucking my cock,” he clarifies, leveling a gaze of molten bronze at Jisung over one shoulder as he runs a teasing finger down Jisung’s perineum. He skims lightly over Jisung’s hole, and the gentle sensation after days of intensity has Jisung moaning as he jolts against the bed. “So why don’t you get it nice and wet for you, baby, while I finish opening you up.”
Jaemin shifts his hips back as he presses three fingers into Jisung, and Jisung needs no further incentive to lean up to take the head of Jaemin’s cock into his mouth. Jaemin is leaking more than usual, and his taste is strangely heady on Jisung’s tongue. His precum is . . . thicker, Jisung can’t help but notice, as he tries to accommodate more of Jaemin’s length despite being at a much different angle than usual. He reaches one hand up to fondle the heft of Jaemin’s balls and digs the other into the meat of Jaemin’s thigh, holding Jaemin in place. He’s rewarded with another thick spit of precum onto his tongue as Jaemin firmly works his fingers inside of him in retaliation, licking teasingly along the length of Jisung’s own dick.
The stretch of Jaemin’s fingers in Jisung’s hole is a glorious sort of strain, but it’s dulled by Jisung’s preoccupation, because Jaemin’s taste in breeding season is different; it’s less bitter, and strangely almost . . . sweet. Perhaps it's because Jaemin is Jisung’s mate and his body is responding to that, or perhaps it’s just a perk of beonsiggi, but Jisung can’t deny that there’s something compelling about the slow drip of Jaemin’s precum onto his tongue. Something addictive, and Jisung chases after more of Jaemin’s release, drawing his lips down to suck firmly on the tip of Jaemin’s cock as he ghosts a knuckle over Jaemin’s taint.
“Ah, wait, wait Birdie,” Jaemin cautions, pressing his face to Jisung’s hip as he tries to steady his breathing; Jisung hadn’t even noticed he’d become so affected, distracted by the taste of his mate thick in his mouth. Jaemin shifts over and off of Jisung, leaving Jisung empty once again, and Jisung can’t help but pout until Jaemin lays back down over him and kisses him. “You were wonderful, baby,” Jaemin apologizes, “but I don’t want to come on your face.”
“Then hurry up and fuck me, Jaemin,” Jisung says, his patience fraying. “I’ve been waiting days to make you come, please—”
Jaemin’s eyes seem to glitter in the candlelight at Jisung’s admission, and Jisung can hardly believe what he’s just said; there was a time when it was nearly unimaginable for him to be so brazen with Jaemin.
“Have you now?“ Jaemin croons, and where Jisung once might have felt embarrassment at having announced his desire so readily, now he only feels the deep-seated burn of want. “That’s thoughtful, but don’t you worry.” Jaemin presses his groin down against Jisung, the weight of his turgid length dragging over Jisung’s abdomen, his balls heavy and full against the shaft of Jisung’s cock. Jisung feels lightheaded at the possibilities of what’s coming next, and Jaemin’s intentions are confirmed when he scrapes one fang over Jisung’s earlobe and whispers, “I’ve been saving all of it for you.”
Jaemin sits back on his heels in order to roll Jisung’s knees towards his chest, firm hands on the backs of Jisung’s thighs until he’s suitably presented to Jaemin, and then, finally, finally, he pushes inside. Jisung wants to shout his satisfaction to the skies, because Jaemin is so warm and thick within him, pressing slowly up against every sensitive inch of Jisung’s inner walls. Jaemin drops down over Jisung on his forearms once he’s sunk in to the hilt, and Jisung revels in the weight of him, at the feeling of finally being taken by his mate after so much waiting.
“You’ve been so patient,” Jaemin praises him, petting reverently through Jisung’s bangs and stilling his hips so Jisung can adjust. The fall of Jaemin’s dark hair blocks the edges of Jisung’s field of vision, until the only thing in Jisung’s sight is Jaemin. “You’ve taken everything I wanted to give you, and you never once complained when I still needed more. I only have one last thing to give, if you’re ready.”
Jisung nods wordlessly, struck silent in the face of Jaemin’s attentiveness. After a week of self-denial, Jisung had somewhat expected Jaemin to rush once he was finally inside him, to fuck him hard and fast until Jisung had no choice but to yield to the fervor of his pace. The reality is much different though. At Jisung’s agreement, Jaemin starts working his hips in a deep, rolling grind, the sensuous curves of his movements belying the animal lurking beneath his skin. It’s just enough movement to drive Jisung crazy, but not enough to satisfy the itch that’s been building beneath his skin for days.
“Faster,” Jisung pleads, fisting his own cock and trying to rock his hips back to meet Jaemin, but Jaemin refuses to let Jisung dictate his pace.
“Ah, ah, baby,” Jaemin chides. “Where did all that patience go?”
“I can’t wait anymore, please.” Jisung doesn’t know how to explain how much he needs Jaemin to find release inside him—for him to shudder and moan from between Jisung’s thighs as he finally comes undone and loses himself in the sort of pleasure only Jisung’s body can give him.
“Don’t get greedy now, Jisung,” Jaemin teases him, still rolling his hips oh so slowly. “I think you can wait for me this one last time.”
“You’re a menace,” Jisung groans, letting go of his erection to rake his nails down Jaemin’s back in retribution.
“What did you expect, darling, falling into bed with a serpent?” Jaemin’s voice is slick as oil as he begins to pick up his pace a little, his movements transitioning into something more like thrusting instead of just a slow grind. “They say the heavens saw fit to give our animal forms two cocks for a reason, you know.”
“You’re impossible enough with just the one, thanks,” Jisung snaps back, impatient hands reaching for Jaemin’s biceps, his ass, his thighs, whatever part of him Jisung can get his hands on in order to make him go faster.
It has the opposite effect.
“You can’t be patient, chickadee?” Jaemin tsks down at him as he sits back on his heels and pulls out of Jisung completely. Jisung can’t hold back his wail of frustration as he grabs aimlessly at his own hair—how did he end up married to the only creature on earth who doesn’t want to come in his partner in his breeding week, why couldn’t Jisung have married a rabbit—and Jisung’s reaction only makes the glint of Jaemin’s growing smile more lethal. “No? Then I’m just going to have to help you.”
Jaemin catches Jisung off guard when he hefts Jisung’s ass into the air and slips a pillow beneath him. He then bends Jisung’s legs around his hips as Jisung tries to catch his breath—Jisung’s not used to being quite this exposed during sex, legs butterflied and laid out fully before Jaemin. It’s clearly not new for Jaemin, though, because it’s only a heartbeat before he’s bottoming out inside Jisung once again, grunting softly. The angle makes everything feel tighter, creating a delicious burn of sensitivity at Jisung’s rim and within his hole, and Jisung desperately reaches out for some part of Jaemin to hold on to.
The new position, however, means Jaemin can shift his thighs up under Jisung’s and lean away from him as he fucks him, supporting himself from behind and leaving very little within Jisung’s easy reach. Jisung quickly realizes this is probably the point—Jaemin hammers into him harshly before slowing his pace all the way back down, changing speeds and intensity over and over, and Jisung has no choice but to let him. Jaemin’s eyes burn like embers as he watches Jisung take whatever he decides to give him, whenever he decides to give it. Jisung is so vulnerable like this, entirely at Jaemin’s mercy, and he finally understands that this is what it looks like for Jisung to provide for his mate in the throes of his beonsiggi. It’s not about anything that Jisung can do for Jaemin; it’s about allowing Jaemin to give of himself, knowing that those gifts will in turn be accepted and treasured by the one he loves.
It’s only after Jisung reaches that acceptance, only when Jisung stills his searching hands against his own chest and rolls his head sideways to expose the length of his neck to Jaemin’s fangs, that Jaemin finally touches him. He wraps a warm, firm hand around Jisung’s dripping, swollen cock, and Jisung hisses like he’s the snake when Jaemin begins to stroke him in time with the now-steady rhythm of his hips. Every bit of Jisung feels raw, unveiled, and it only takes a dozen more well-angled thrusts and a few flicks of Jaemin’s wrist before Jisung is coming all over his stomach, near-painful in its intensity, tears in his eyes from a week of overstimulation.
“Jaemin,” Jisung cries, and Jaemin comes up onto his knees, rolling Jisung’s shaky legs back by the thighs until he’s able to lean down and kiss any sounds straight from Jisung’s lips. Jaemin hisses for real as Jisung clenches down around him, the soreness of his hole throbbing around Jaemin’s length as Jisung whines into his husband's mouth. But Jisung is rewarded with a final stutter of Jaemin’s hips as Jaemin dips his head to bite shallowly into the skin just above Jisung’s left nipple, over Jisung’s heart, and starts to fill him up. He keeps pressing in, in, in, his balls grinding against Jisung’s ass as if he’s trying to push his cum as deep inside as possible, until he slowly, achingly begins to withdraw. He’s a stunning sight, his hips twitching and abs flexing as he slowly, methodically pulls back from Jisung’s body. Jisung watches the rapture on Jaemin’s face, and he’s swamped by smug satisfaction knowing he’s the cause.
That’s why it takes a moment for Jisung to register that the cum inside of him feels—different. It’s more substantial, firming up inside Jisung and holding him somewhat open as Jaemin . . . continues to come? By the time Jisung fully realizes that this is not normal for their sex life, Jaemin has only just pulled out. He reaches down to smear the head of his still-dripping cock against the outside of Jisung’s hole for a beat, until with a loud groan, he finally runs dry.
Jaemin gazes down at Jisung with drooping lids and a smarmy grin, licking the last pinpricks of Jisung’s blood from the points of his fangs before he smacks his lips satisfactorily. He flops listlessly down next to Jisung and begins to pet over Jisung’s lower belly. Jisung can’t quite tell if there’s actually a slight swell there, or if he’s just imagining it, given that his husband just came . . . for an unbelievable amount of time. Jaemin was clearly very pent up.
Jaemin kisses him sloppily, mostly catching his cheek. He murmurs a slurred “love you” against Jisung’s skin, and then he’s out like a light on Jisung’s shoulder. Which is unfortunate for Jisung, because he hadn’t been imagining the change in the viscosity of Jaemin’s cum. It’s fully solidified now, which he feels intimately when he tries to slip out from underneath Jaemin to clean them up. Jisung gasps at the sensation, and when he reaches down between his legs he feels a slim, strange mass fitted into the curve between his asscheeks, with a texture similar to—well, a rice cake is all Jisung can really think to compare it to, although it’s certainly firmer, and it feels far more slippery. Jaemin is snoring softly now next to Jisung, but Jisung is still trying to come to terms with the fact that he has some sort of plug in his ass, and that it somehow came out of his husband’s dick.
Jisung tries to get up to retrieve a cloth and the wash basin. He manages to stand up without jostling the plug too much, but at his first step the plug shifts again inside him, nudging against his prostate and forcing him to cling to the bedpost to stay upright. The bed frame shakes with Jisung’s effort to recover, but within it, Jaemin doesn’t stir. Jisung’s not even sure he can walk, what with the way the plug is pressed against all his sore, most intimately sensitive places, and yet Jaemin is totally unphased, deeply asleep.
Jisung is going to clean them up as best he can, because he’s a good spouse, and then after he’s done plotting the most perfect sort of revenge on the demon known as Donghyuck, he’s going to wait patiently until his husband wakes up.
Then he’s going to kill him for not telling Jisung about this. To hell with the peace treaty, really.
Jisung stumbles back into bed a few minutes later, dirty linens and a half-empty basin somewhere on the floor nearby from where Jisung gave up on trying to make it back to the table where he found them. It’s then, as he tries his best to smother a moan when his ass hits the bed as he sits, that Jisung decides that Jaemin doesn’t deserve to sleep until he wakes on his own. He shakes Jaemin, one hand firm on Jaemin’s chest, but Jaemin doesn’t stir. When Jisung upgrades to twisting at a nipple, Jaemin only rumbles deep in his throat, still out cold.
“Jaemin!” Jisung finally yells, smacking his hand firmly against the swell of Jaemin’s right pectoral.
Jaemin blinks his burnished golden eyes open at Jisung, before a lazy, satisfied smile stretches across his face.
“You need something, Birdie?” Jaemin rasps, before his lovely, reddened mouth stretches around a yawn. “I would have hoped I’d finally tired you out.” Jisung tries to focus on the matter at hand rather than feel self-satisfied at being responsible for Jaemin’s bruised lips.
“Mine,” Jisung murmurs, losing his senses for a moment as Jaemin rubs a warm hand over Jisung’s pubic down, barely brushing against the base of Jisung’s dick as he pets over the softness there, a post-coital habit that always makes Jisung shiver. “I mean, wait,” he says, trying to regain the plot from before Jaemin distracted him. “Yes? I mean—yes, I do, I need you to tell me what you just put inside me.”
Jaemin slowly turns his head towards Jisung with a slight frown, but whatever he sees in Jisung’s face softens his expression.
“Oh baby,” Jaemin laughs softly as he sits up next to Jisung. “I’m so sorry, did you not know?”
“Why on earth would I have known?” Jisung cries, but he can’t stay angry too long after Jaemin begins to press tender kisses across the curve of Jisung’s shoulder. “I knew something was up with you, but I never would have imagined this.”
“Something was up with me?” Jaemin asks in confusion, catching Jisung’s eyes.
“You wouldn’t let me touch you back,” Jisung quietly admits, and Jaemin’s face falls. He picks up Jisung’s hand, kissing Jisung’s fingertips with a whispered apology. “I tried to ask Donghyuck about it,” Jisung mumbles. That brings some amusement back to Jaemin’s countenance, and he huffs against where he’s moved down to kissing Jisung’s palm. “But he was predictably obtuse. He said it was a royal thing, though, so I figured I couldn’t go to Chenle. Kun would have bitten my head off if I’d woken him, as would have Renjun. And if he was awake, well. Knowing the company Chenle keeps, there are some things I’d rather not see.”
“If any of them had so much as touched one feather on your beautiful head,” Jaemin grouses, laying down to rest his head on Jisung’s thigh. “Old friends or not, I’d have them shedding skin in the training pits by sunrise.”
“Yes, and that would play well before the court, wouldn’t it?” Jisung laughs, scratching gently at the scales on Jaemin’s jaw as he turns his face more firmly into Jisung’s stomach. “Married nigh on two years, the future king has been corrupted to the point of challenging his closest friends over perceived slights to his husband’s plumage, his mind no doubt poisoned by his treacherous avian usurper of a mate.”
“I’m hurt that you seem to think I’ve forgotten how to act the royal showman,” Jaemin complains into Jisung’s belly. “One good monologue about how the softness of your feathers is comparable only to the pillowed comfort of a cloud, and how it drove me mad with passion to see them soiled by someone else’s fingertips—that would do it,” he vows, punctuating each phrase with a kiss to Jisung’s navel. “Chenle would contribute a hearty back-and-forth before the court, until finally he apologized for his bedmates acting above their station—”
“Oh, yes, because Renjun in particular would love that,” Jisung interrupts, untangling the long, midnight strands of Jaemin’s hair with loving fingers.
“Well he shouldn’t have tried to bite your head off, then,” Jaemin continues haughtily, mirth dancing in the eye he cracks open at Jisung, right before he bites lightly at the skin of Jisung’s stomach. “A song and a dance, a decent enough show where passions flare and love triumphs and our people have something to gossip about in the market afterwards. That’s all it would take to make it go away, my love, I promise you.”
Jisung hums contentedly, tracing the delicate whorls of Jaemin’s ear with one finger. “You’ve really changed your mind about my feathers, haven’t you, to take it so far?”
You have nothing to fear from me by way of unwanted affections, Jaemin had once dispassionately declared across a negotiation table. I could never want a man with feathers in his hair.
Jaemin, as if he knows where Jisung’s mind has gone, extricates himself from Jisung’s lap and sits up to kiss him reverently. “I love every part of you, Jisung,” he promises. “But you should never be in that silly hypothetical in the first place. You shouldn’t have had to ask anyone else about my breeding week. You were so open to me, and in turn I neglected your feelings.”
“Jaemin, you didn’t neglect me,” Jisung protests, framing the curve of Jaemin’s jaw between his hands. “I certainly didn’t feel uncared for, or used, but it’s our first beonsiggi together. I was just worried you weren't getting what you needed from me.”
“Jisung,” Jaemin murmurs, leaning forward to kiss him once, twice, three delicate times. “You are the only thing I needed this week,” he whispers, tucking his face into Jisung’s hair as he moves to sit across Jisung’s lap. Whatever Jaemin’s intentions had been, they’re scattered to the wind when Jisung loudly groans as Jaemin’s movement jostles the mass still lodged inside of him.
Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding down against Jisung’s lower belly just to hear him moan again. “That’s my breeding plug, baby. It’ll dissolve in a day or two. I can stretch you and take it out, if you don’t like it.” Jaemin slinks his way down the length of Jaemin’s body, his serpentine grace on full display. “But it’s molded to you, Birdie,” he coos, tapping over the base of the plug as Jisung squirms. “It’s a custom fit to keep all of my cum inside.” Jaemin flicks the tips of his tongue over the head of Jisung’s cock, pushing more firmly on the plug until the mass of it nudges up against Jisung’s poor, abused prostate. “And if you keep it in for me, there’s a lot of fun we can have in the meantime.”
Jisung is sore, and tired, but he’s also a sucker for the man he’s married to, hopelessly gone. There’s little else for him to do but acquiesce, really, as he gives himself over to his husband’s talented mouth and insistent hands.
Jisung doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to the Poyyam’s frankness regarding marital affairs. When Donghyuck comes bursting in the next day at noon to inform them that the rest of the royal line have concluded breeding and that they are all expected at the grand festival that evening, Jisung practically squawks in his haste to cover up their naked bodies, even if it’s nothing Donghyuck hasn't seen before. Jaemin unhelpfully continues to snooze next to him, dead to the world as his body recovers from expending the energy it took him to plug Jisung up.
“How are you feeling, Jisungie?” Donghyuck smirks, and heavens, he’s so smug Jisung can hardly stand it.
“I think you know perfectly well how I’m feeling,” Jisung hisses, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake Jaemin. Although Donghyuck certainly hadn’t cared to extend that same courtesy, and Jaemin hadn’t so much as flinched. “You could have told me!”
“See you at dinner, my prince,” is Donghyuck’s only reply, leering at Jisung as he exits with an affected bow.
The walk to the festival that evening is unbearable. In bed, Jisung had mostly been asleep, and when he wasn’t, he had plenty of spare linens and Jaemin’s devious ministrations to distract him. Upright, however, there’s nothing to distract Jisung from the way that what’s left of the plug, no thicker than two fingers now, rubs against him. There’s nothing to distract from the way Jisung is leaking both down his thighs and from the head of his cock every time it shifts within him, Jaemin’s previously trapped cum and the thick, slow drip of the melting plug soaking him under his robes.
Jisung hardly tastes the first bits of dinner he manages to swallow, until Jaemin offers him a bite from his own plate. It’s clearly meant to break Jisung out of the mess in his head, but something about the way Jaemin is looking at Jisung’s mouth as he holds a raspberry out between two fingers pushes Jisung to lean forward and wrap his lips fully around the offering instead, licking at the pads of Jaemin’s fingers after he draws the berry into his mouth. Jisung flushes as he withdraws and chews, but the heat in Jaemin’s eyes as he studies Jisung’s face could melt through even the iciest winter storm back home in the Keep. Jisung can hear Chenle’s high cackle from somewhere to their right, and Jisung can’t even imagine what Jeno’s face looks like right now, but he can’t bring himself to regret what he’s done.
The night around them devolves into inebriation after the feast, as Poyyam celebrations are wont to do. The tables are cleared away as bodies migrate to the alcoves or lounge on low pillows strewn about the back half of the dining hall floor. The music and dance of the evening shifts to something more heated; the Poyyam are natural dancers, masters of sensuality. As Jisung looks out over the hedonistic writhe of bodies below him, he remembers his fear and apprehension in witnessing such a scene for the first time—his internal sense of avian propriety shrieking that everything around him was wrong.
“Do you want to retire for the evening?” Jaemin asks, running affectionate fingers through Jisung’s hair, taking care around the base of his semiplume feathers. “They witnessed our union just last year,” he adds, cutting his eyes briefly in the direction of the court. “In no universe could they require us to stay, after that.”
Jisung brushes Jaemin’s bangs softly away from his face, taking in the wine-flush of his cheeks and the devotion in his eyes. He remembers how affected Jaemin had been earlier when Jisung had taken the fruit from his fingers, and from that memory, he makes a decision.
Jisung fists his robes over his thighs to shorten them and swings one leg over Jaemin, straddling him.
The last time Jisung had climbed into Jaemin’s lap up on this dais, Jisung hadn’t been brave enough to even look at him. They’d had sex that night, but it hadn’t been an act of love—it had been a production, a show, albeit one with a crucial purpose. They’d been shrouded from the others in a tent that Jaemin had ordered to be constructed around the dais as a concession to his new Doksuri spouse, a risky political move that Jaemin had insisted on anyway. It was a gesture that showed Jisung just how much Jaemin cared about their marriage, even if they’d only been newly-minted friends at the time. It also would have allowed them to fake their public consummation entirely, had Jisung been so inclined.
Jisung, in the end, hadn’t been willing to risk their fragile peace for his virginity. They would be killed by an assassin in a coup far sooner than they’d ever get divorced, and they couldn’t fake intimacy forever. He remembers the steadying grip of Jaemin’s hands, strong on his hips as he guided Jisung. Jisung had ridden him facing away from him, gripping at Jaemin’s legs and desperately trying to show Jaemin with his body what he couldn’t say with words—that he was committed to him, and to the sacrifices the two of them had made. That Jisung wanted this to work, that Jisung wanted Jaemin, and that maybe they could be more to each other one day.
The tension and emotional dissonance that followed their first time fractured their friendship so badly that it nearly broke them entirely apart, but that was then, and this year is a chance to set things right. To build good memories over the bad, and to enjoy their coupling the way it always should have been enjoyed.
“Jisung,” Jaemin says quietly, searching Jisung’s face as he continues to pet through Jisung’s hair. “You don’t have anything to prove to them.”
“It’s not for them,” Jisung promises him, settling more firmly over the bulge of Jaemin’s cock where it rests under his robes. “It’s for me. These are my people, and I want them to know how much I love you, and that I’m not going anywhere.” Jisung reaches up for one of Jaemin’s hands, bringing it down to rest over the tie of his robes. “And I want you to know it, too.”
“I do, Jisung.” Jaemin’s voice is breathy, and he’s clearly panicking about whether or not he should go along with this, searching Jisung’s eyes with urgency. “Are you sure? You’re sore, I’ve asked so much of you this week, and I didn’t bring any oil, because I don’t expect—I would never expect—”
“I’m sure,” Jisung reassures him, pecking Jaemin’s nose just to see him blush a little in his ears. It’s always the simple things that seem to reach Jaemin’s heart the quickest. “And I’m so wet, you already know that intimately. So please.”
Jaemin chuckles quietly at Jisung’s earnest plea, before he presses their foreheads together, just sharing Jisung’s air for a moment as he thinks through the situation. “Okay,” Jaemin eventually whispers against his mouth in acquiescence. “Whatever you want tonight, Birdie. Just tell me, and it’s yours.”
Jisung takes a steadying breath, fighting through the lingering shame telling him that it’s wrong to ask for this, and in public no less—telling him that it’s wrong to want someone this much, and this openly. But Jisung silences all those whispers from ghosts of the Keep’s council, because the truth is this: loving Jaemin is the most upright, correct thing Jisung has ever done. Their commitment to each other saved two peoples, and the love that grew from their mutual sacrifice is greater than Jisung could have ever hoped for.
“What I want,” he starts, grinding slow figure eights in Jaemin’s lap just to watch the way Jaemin’s pupils blow out with lust, “is for you to take what's left of this damnable plug out of me. And then I want you to love me so well that even our most amorous subjects will stop what they’re doing to watch.”
Jaemin immediately complies, helping Jisung up onto his knees as he winds careful hands beneath the fabric of Jisung’s robes. Jisung can’t help but gasp when Jaemin grips at the base of what’s left of his breeding plug; he is sore, and so sensitive, but Jisung wouldn’t change it. Nothing has ever made him feel quite as alive as being loved by Jaemin does.
“I love you, Jisung,” Jaemin says, leaning back to meet Jisung’s eyes as he slowly begins to remove his plug from the clutch of Jisung’s ass.
“For life?” Jisung asks, breath hitching at the stretch of his rim.
“Forever,” Jaemin promises back, kissing Jisung firmly as the last of his breeding plug slips free, and Jisung knows in his soul it’s the truth.