Work Text:
Weirdly enough, it was never the question of if he wanted to fuck Jaehyun or not. On some level, subconscious, fully conscious but he’d stop thinking about it within a second if it came up, physiologically or whatever, he knew that he wanted to fuck Jaehyun. It was basic biology — oversimplified, incorrectly conflated, but it let him sleep better at night, swallow it down easier — Sanghyuk was an alpha, Jaehyun was an omega, there would be knots and slick involved, probably someone’s heat. It would be nicer, infinitely less complicated, peaceful even, if the occasion never came up — but, if Sanghyuk had to, he would fuck Jaehyun, no questions asked.
Not that anyone asked. He’d consider the thought on his own, sometimes. If he’d been disarmed by a sudden and heavy lapful of Jaehyun, slumping over him in a waiting room, or the backseat of a bus at a rest stop; just in the dorms, if he was waiting for someone to come start a game. Fluffy hair, his cheeks, a cupful of baby fat, Jaehyun mumbling, voice croaky, the weight of him static against Sanghyuk’s limbs, You just smell so nice. Like, he didn’t smell like a bakery and warm desserts, an empty house, and sunlight, all at once. It was the most disarming thing about him. Immediate and overwhelming, there was no way to prepare or defend against it. Jaehyun would turn the corner, and smile, and before Sanghyuk could think he looked like an idiot, or tell him he was about to trip on something, Woonhak’s shoes, a dustpan someone left lying around, unprompted, the thought would be: I really want to fuck him. Sometimes, his hair would be brushed out, and his head would look like a chocolate drop, or his mouth would be pursed, and his cheeks would puff out, and the thought would be: I really want to eat him. Sanghyuk was under the impression these were perfectly normal thoughts to have, if only because he would never do anything about them. That’s how innate urges worked, he was pretty sure.
Whatever it was, you didn’t get anywhere in their line of work without very good self-control. So, when their manager tells them that it would probably be for the best if one of them accompanied Jaehyun through his heat — unexpected and unplanned for because Myung Jaehyun was an idiot and a clumsy person and stupidly cute, but also just stupid — Sanghyuk doesn’t immediately say, “Yes,” or “I’ll do it,” or anything at all. He keeps his face very straight, and nods at the information like it’s somewhat of a baffling and shocking pill to swallow and he hasn’t really thought about it, but he’s considering it now, out of a moral duty to his bandmate and the overall success of the group. When he looks over at Sungho, he’s doing some of the same things with his face.
“Oh,” Han Dongmin says, always trusted to be indelicate about these things, “I already offered. He said no.”
/
Sungho liked omegas just fine. This seemed to be somewhat of a tepid position to hold, and even Sanghyuk, who was good at withholding judgment and similarly disinclined to the topic — who did he like to fuck, who has he fucked, who did he want to fuck — had raised an eyebrow when he’d said it like that, point-blank, somewhat disaffected. “Are you sure about that?” and Sungho had wondered, whether it was his face or some other thing, if it was on his face sometimes, despite how he tried not to think about it too often. Once or twice, he’d looked at the narrow slant of Sanghyuk’s shoulders, his spine sticking out through a thin t-shirt, a faint line of bumps down his back, a small mountain ridge. He wondered if he’d been caught, the question on his face.
Jaehyun was the one who said something then, he cut in, looking up at Sungho’s face, saying, “No, he does,” like it was a universal fact, or widely acknowledged truth, and Sungho had made a noise then, a half-laugh, edged on the side of hysterical, the way his voice used to get around Jaehyun, and Jaehyun had shrugged, said, again, like it was nothing surprising, shocking or mildly or majorly incriminating, “You get all prickly when I get near you. Y’know, in that way, like —” and he’d made a gesture. Sungho really hadn’t known what that way was, but Sanghyuk had raised his eyebrows again — less dubious now, just the requisite amount of bafflement you had when you were dealing with Jaehyun — so, clearly, he knew. Anyway, it was at that point, that day, that afternoon, that practice room, number six, when Sungho realised that Jaehyun was very experienced with alphas.
Sanghyuk was very clear about it. He had two girlfriends when they were trainees, both of them long gone by the time Jaehyun signed his contract. The first one had been a classmate, Eunji, she wore a lot of blush and was a year younger than them. Hyejung, who’d come a couple months after Eunji had left, was a Belift trainee, and they’d lasted until graduation. She had a very delicate face, a really sharp gaze, a long mass of hair dyed a pretty shade of brown that made her look almost, if vaguely, foreign. They’d both been tinier than him. Omegas with very small hands and very gentle demeanours, flowery scents, the way he and Sanghyuk both smelled beachy; Eunji had been an economics student, Hyejung was a classically trained dancer. They both bruised easily, which was something Sungho found out entirely by accident.
/
Jaehyun had felt like shit on the plane, and then he’d felt like shit in the car, and then he felt — sick, genuinely sick, by the time they were in the hotel lobby and everyone was huddled on one couch, and he could smell his own sweat, the way Dongmin’s cologne was wearing off and mixing unpleasantly with the stale coffee scent of the drink Woonhak had gotten; Sungho smelled too sharp, so did Sanghyuk, Donghyun was nicer, if neutral, all of their managers needed a shower, Jaehyun needed a shower, Jaehyun actually — twisting his head away from Donghyun’s shoulder, elbowing Moonsung-hyung in the process — “Is that the bathroom? Can you watch my stuff?” — needed to throw up.
He looked like shit, also. It was the lighting, too white, casting an unflattering shadow, but he hadn’t slept on the plane, he hadn’t brushed his hair, he hadn’t brushed his teeth — he had just thrown up everything he ate in the last ten hours, which was making him feel better, but the entire time he’d been bent over the sink — gross as it was — he’d been thinking about he wasn’t pregnant, because he was on birth control, and because he hadn’t fucked anyone in months. It was just the thing he thought every time he threw up, since it was always within the realm of possibility without ever being probable. He could be — and this seemed suspiciously true, which made him want to strangle himself, the stupid app on the phone had been going off, Sungho had reminded him like three different times, to the point where Jaehyun was about to start a fight about it, and even Moonsung-hyung had asked about it, and Jaehyun remembered saying: Yes, Yeah, I packed them, and I know, I don’t even think it’s supposed to happen this week, and then, in a nicer way because he felt guilty, But yeah, I got it. He’d forgotten to pack them, in the end, he’s pretty sure.
“Nayoung-noona,” he said when she answered, “What? Did you get lost on your way to the washroom?” he rubbed at his eyes, “Noona,” he said, though said implied dignity, and Jaehyun was whining into the phone, “Noona,” he didn’t want to say it, he wanted her to come over and fix everything, and somehow, miraculously, say that she knew this was going to happen, and someone had remembered to pack his fucking suppressants, and Jaehyun wasn’t going to feel like shit the entire week and fuck up their entire schedule. She does not say this when he tells her he might be in pre-heat, she says, “Jaehyun-ah, are you an idiot?” He nods, says, yeah, he is.
It wasn’t even that he liked Nayoung the best out of their managers, it was just that she knew four languages, and if you were abroad, like say, in America, and you had a problem, like say, a medical emergency, and you needed someone to solve it for you by, say, helping you muddle your way through the English language at the nearest doctor’s office, and then, muddle your way through the English language some more, at the nearest pharmacy, and then, muddle your way through no language, because the look for: Sorry, no is pretty fucking universal. As is the look for: You’re fucked.
Anyway, Jaehyun deals with it the way he deals with all his problems: He cries in the car about it.
/
By the fourth time Sanghyuk follows Jaehyun’s scent down a hall or something, only to find Woonhak, he feels a little like strangling the kid.
He knows, on rational level that Jaehyun isn’t going to be wandering down to the staircase or waiting around the hotel gym or whatever, he’s locked up, somewhere on the fourteenth floor, miserable and on his sixth course of fever-reducers or something, he’d seen Nayoung-noona with a plastic bag get into the elevator — it’s just, a weird instinctual thing that makes him chase after the scent anyway. He’ll turn the corner, and it’ll be Woonhak, stupidly tall, smile gummy, wide, far too happy to see him and trying not to laugh about it. That also pisses Sanghyuk off. Sure, Woonhak smells like Jaehyun most of the time, that nothing short of surgical intervention could get Jaehyun to stop strangling Woonhak out of love, with love?, but — Woonhak also tends to smell like himself, and Dongmin, and Donghyun, because they take turns throwing him around like a chewtoy. Right now, Sanghyuk can’t smell anything but Jaehyun.
Without clenching his teeth, he says, in a reasonable tone, “It’s that bad, huh?” and Woonhak nods, bobblehead-like. If Jaehyun is normally, without hormones fucking things up, excessively clingy — and Woonhak mostly only hates it in front of the cameras — in pre-heat, he’s worse in every possible way, somehow. Usually, Sanghyuk is his other most favoured victim. Usually, Jaehyun is petting his hair incessantly, or dragging his nails, lightly, over his nape in a way that’s oddly relaxing; sleeping in his bed, or waking him up with a sharp point of pressure on his chest, where his chin is digging into the space between his ribs, hand splayed over his stomach, under his shirt, no conception of private space, handsy to the point where Sanghyuk should be doing something about it; peeling off his zip-up to drape it over Sanghyuk’s back, or huddling so close, pressed to his back like they were a set of spoons, that Sanghyuk had a hard time telling him to get off, somehow convinced it’d be impossible, slowly and surely convinced he would die of hyperthermia. Something like that, was how it went usually.
“Oh, well, y’know,” Woonhak says, “He smells nice, it’s really not bad,” there’s an undertone there, where it’s almost placating. He wouldn’t talk badly about Jaehyun, not to anyone, even if the extreme possessiveness was hard to deal with — to the point where Woonhak was maintaining a respectable fan distance of three feet between them, even as they walked back to the rooms together — but, he had to be mindful of Sanghyuk and whatever alpha sensibilities he could be setting off. Not that there were any, Sanghyuk thought, but Woonhak, despite everything and how badly Sanghyuk wanted to bust his kneecaps, was a good kid. Anyway, what was happening this time was Jaehyun didn’t want anyone but Woonhak, or Donghyun, but mostly Woonhak, near him.
They were all handling this well, obviously. Jaehyun being bitchy and sensitive wasn’t really out of character; he had a short fuse and he’d get mad at anything, the same way he’d feel guilty about everything and would forgive anything, within minutes of any incident. The entire crux of Jaehyun’s character really, was that he was annoying, and then he was immediately endearing enough to make up for it. It was the exact thing you got used to around him; the oddly sweet aftertaste after an unpleasant bite. Cold water applied to a mild burn. The first bite of a buttery croissant after you paid an unconscionable amount for it.
What it was — at breakfast, Sanghyuk went to refill Jaehyun’s glass for him, and he made Woonhak trade cups with him. The other day, Sanghyuk had seen him sitting on a bench by the pool, and he’d started heading towards him, and Jaehyun had grimaced, really obviously, and then glared him off. Sanghyuk had stepped back with his hands up, and he hadn’t even gotten an apologetic smile for it. While they’d been packing for LA, Jaehyun had watched him pick through his earrings, and in the middle of pointing out which ones he liked, said, offhandedly, ‘You’d probably fuck me to help me out through my heat, right? I mean, I’d want you to, but it’s not like you have to,’ like it was nothing, and Sanghyuk hadn’t said anything, but there had been a smug lick of satisfaction going through him. He’d been pleased by it, for the rest of the night, and ended up packing all the things Jaehyun suggested.
So, it was possible that Sanghyuk’s alpha sensibilities, or just his normal sensibilities, were being set off. He was used to having Jaehyun’s attention without ever asking for it; he was used to Jaehyun just wanting to be around him without needing a reason or any encouragement otherwise; it was bothering him, just a little bit, that he was being rebuffed for trying — though that was understandable. It was bothering him, quite a bit, that he needed to try for it. He’d been under the impression that this wasn’t how things worked.
It was possibly the first time he’d ever been the subject of Jaehyun’s ire, and that was bruising his ego, just a little bit. Han Dongmin had scoffed at him at the breakfast table because Sanghyuk had been making a face. Han Dongmin. That had pissed him off. Then, realising that, he’d said, trying to be nice and mostly sounding condescending, “You get used to it.” Like, what the fuck? Fuck no.
/
They get asked quite often, what each member smells like. Usually, for Jaehyun, Sungho tends to write down cookies, sometimes he’ll specify that he means the rest-stop walnut kind, sometimes he’ll say castella cake or something, if their manager tells him to change up his answer. But really, the first thought that comes to mind is: Yummy. Most of the time, Myung Jaehyun is weirdly edible. Sungho, unlike Dongmin, has never done anything with this knowledge. So, it’s really weird to have full official permission to do something about it. Like, Moonsung-hyung had handed them the keycard to his room and everything. Offered to buy them condoms and then remembered he was dealing with two alphas and an omega in heat.
Sungho had wanted to point out, that in most other situations, he would be using them, and does in fact know how they work, and has used them before. But he’s not actually sure he’s mentioned that he’s not a virgin to anyone, and had, for some reason, wanted to leave that assumption uncontested. That somehow, it’d look better to management and on his contract if the only time he’d fucked an omega was out of sheer necessity or something. Again, this was not strictly true.
He looked at Sanghyuk who raised his brows, face still cast in that vaguely blank polite expression, and knocked, just to warn Jaehyun they were coming in. There was a mumble from behind the door, acknowledgment, agreement, so Sungho waved the card, and pushed the lock open.
Entirely unsurprisingly, the room looked like a disaster. That wasn’t even a heat thing, Jaehyun just had an innate ability to make a hotel room look like someone had been living there for weeks within half a day; most of the blankets were on the floor, his chargers were a mess of wires by the bedside table, his suitcase had been unpacked onto every possible surface. A jacket on the chair, t-shirts by the windowsill, a small pile of sweatpants that could’ve been carpet, his shoes were all over the place, like his socks, like his bracelets, and his medicine bag, which was gutted, and spilling out, pill sheaths and baby wipes and muscle relaxant patches on the seat and floor. Jaehyun, also unsurprisingly, seemed miserable.
He was cross-legged on the bed, mostly naked except for an oversized plain tee. He looked a little like he’d been crying, his eyes were puffy, and red at the ends. His entire face actually, was quite splotchy, pink all over. Fever-flushed.
“Why are both of you here?” The thing about Jaehyun was that, absently, Sungho knew he had a baby-face, it was one of those things that faded into the background, but sometimes he’d make a face like now, frowning, mouth pursed childishly, and his tone would be weak and annoyed and petulant, and Sungho, with no input from the rest of his brain, would be really, really overcome with an urge to eat him. His cheeks were doing that thing.
Sanghyuk said, “Well,” and then didn’t say anything else, actually, he slid his gaze over to Sungho, who was trying to stop himself from clenching his hands, because he didn’t want to give off the wrong impression, his mouth was dry, so when he said, “Oh,” it came out scratchy, a little hoarse. Kind-of virginal, if he was being honest, the exact type of loser who’d never been in a room with an omega in heat before. It just wasn’t the kind-of thing you got used to. “Ah.”
Jaehyun looked between the both of them, “What? Are you both going to fuck me? What is this?”
“Um,” Sungho said, as elegantly as he could manage. He wasn’t sure how to explain that neither of them managed to come to a decision about who wanted to be here most, or least, that it was a really vague discussion, and both of them had agreed that they would go, and that they wouldn’t not go, that they were both using a lot of double negatives and trying to be nice and opaque about it. There was a general consensus, that both of them were okay with it, because they were alphas and it was a truth universally acknowledged that heat sex was a high-ranking fantasy, and since Dongmin had already offered and been rejected, it was probably safer to have Jaehyun choose? Again, he didn’t know how to say any of this.
“Yeah,” Sanghyuk said, finally speaking up, “We thought we’d take turns for efficiency,” which was a comment that made Sungho stare, very hard, at the carpet and a sweatshirt he was pretty sure belonged to Donghyun. Anyway, Jaehyun didn’t laugh. Which is how Sungho knew this was going awful, or going to go awful, or heat really did make Jaehyun awful, because, usually he’d laugh at anything. Right now, he looked a little like he was going to cry.
“Ah no,” Sungho said, trying for damage control, “Uh, I can leave if you want. Or, Sanghyuk can leave. Or we can both — go?”
“And send who? Han Dongmin?” Jaehyun said, voice leaning towards the dubious. He was less upset with them, Sungho realised, than he was with their lack of foresight. “I already said no to him.”
This was when Sungho realised, mostly by the way Sanghyuk blinked and looked over at him, that Jaehyun was under the impression it would be less complicated if either of them fucked him through his heat, because there were going to do this because heat sex was really hot and not that much of a sacrifice, rather than, say, attraction of any kind. Like, Dongmin, despite whatever tender, delicate fragile feelings he had, wasn’t heartless and way better at compartmentalising shit than the rest of them, and possibly was the only one of them offering out a real sense of selflessness. Sungho couldn’t tell him that sometimes, or, most of the time, his stress-induced wet dreams starred Jaehyun and very little clothing and a lot of sex, so he didn’t say anything.
The thing about Jaehyun is that he is a very nice person, and he can’t be bitchy about something for more than four minutes, and more than any of them, he had the strongest sense of responsibility. Despite the fact that anybody, genuinely anybody could’ve forgotten their suppressants, or that the body was widely uncontrollable, and it wasn’t his fault that there was no way to get his prescription here, or that no doctor was going to sign-off on him staring a different brand of suppressants because he was on the necessary evil of birth control — which weirdly, couldn’t do much about heats anyway — and on a diet, and travelling, and he’d been on a non-stop high-octane schedule for months now, so understandably, his system was very fragile and the overall recommendation was not to fuck with it by introducing any new drugs; he thought it was his fault and his problem and he was going to deal with it.
So, despite thinking that they were playing hot potato with who was going to fuck him, he said, really nicely, voice gentle and coaxing, and a little tired, a faint line of frustration somewhere in there, “Whatever, you can both stay.”
/
Months ago, around their second comeback, one of the miraculous free half-days they had when their schedules ended early and nothing was planned until the next afternoon — four of them had gone out for dinner. Dongmin had said no because he was a picky eater, and he didn’t want barbeque and he wasn’t in the mood to drink, characteristically rude about the whole thing; Woonhak wasn’t coming because he was going to study for the CSAT, for real, he promised, though none of them thought it was going to make a difference; Jaehyun, surprisingly or unsurprisingly, said yes because it was a group activity and it was worth whatever studio time he was going to lose, and whatever calorie deficit, for the brotherhood and bonding of it all. Or, just the way one of them would let him slump into their side by his fourth shot and not say anything when he snuck a hand into their pockets.
The dinner was fine, it was just — they weren’t all that sober for the car ride back, though Sungho kept checking the driver’s profile, he seemed middle-aged, he was an alpha, he had decent reviews; Donghyun was in the front, and he kept twisting back to talk to them, face faintly pink from the alcohol. though He remembers the conversation, or part of it. He was cramped in the middle seat, between Sanghyuk and Sungho, leaning forward, because he was the only one that wouldn’t mind the lack of personal space or being squished between two guys, or whatever it was. Sanghyuk had a hand on the small of his back, just in case, which Jaehyun remembers thinking was a really sweet gesture, so he didn’t take that much offense when — Sanghyuk said “That’s a little much,” a little waspishly, after Donghyun had mentioned an ex-girlfriend who wanted to spend her heat with him, a few months into the relationship. He wasn’t going to say anything, and then Sungho hummed an agreement, and Donghyun said something like, “Really? I didn’t think it was that serious,” and one of them said something like, “Yeah, but it’s like, you wouldn’t spend your rut,” a pause that Jaehyun was dreading, they made a gesture at him that he pretended not to see, “Or your heat, with any casual partner,” and he had to say something at that point. The way Donghyun was smiling at him, like he could read the objection on his face, “I mean,” Jaehyun remembers saying, and then he remembers not saying anything else at all, the protest remained vague, the driver had flicked a look at the rearview mirror, Jaehyun remembers catching that. He’d understood, almost immediately, just based on the looks Sungho and Sanghyuk gave him, that he shouldn’t have said that, or anything at all. He remembered thinking, right, it was a stupid alpha thing, and that he wasn’t going to be mad about it.
It was just, later, when Jaehyun had ducked his head back into the car to say thanks to the driver, just before he drove off —, the guy, his dad’s age or so, had said, Disgusting. Started lecturing him on morals and bad behaviour and proper upbringings, loud enough that everyone else heard, and Donghyun said, louder, “Ah, hyung we should go,” and tugged him back, and Jaehyun had turned to Sungho and Sanghyuk, expecting some kind-of defense or offense or something, but mostly — Sungho had looked uncomfortable. And, he remembers this part well, Sanghyuk was offering him a pinched smile, like he thought the situation was awkward and couldn’t really — “What?” Jaehyun said, and he’d said, voice a little quieter than usual, “Well, you know,” and Jaehyun had probably made it worse, because he’d acted pretty aggressive, and he’d been glaring; it was the wrong person, wrong target, and he’d been hoping, mistakenly under the assumption that Sanghyuk would be nice and forgiving about it, because he usually was. Sanghyuk had said, not very nicely at all in the end, “You probably shouldn’t advertise things like that.”
Which set Jaehyun off again, newly, “Like what?” he said, “Did I say I was fucking my boyfriend during my heats? I didn’t say anything like that at all. Why does he get to talk to me like that?” and neither of them had said anything, and it just ended up being the kind-of Jaehyun remembered, whenever he felt guilty or wronged.
It was what he was remembering right now, still lucid, skin oversensitive, limbs feeling all wrong, really, really wanting his guts rearranged, watching Sanghyuk perch on the edge of his bed, listening as Sungho said, “You — you’ve done this before, right?” not hiding his flinch all that well when Jaehyun nodded.
They were more polite about it than other alphas — they were just more polite in general, Jaehyun knew, because they’d both had good upbringings and parents who cared a lot about manners. He came off rougher around the edges, compared to them; but also, compared to them, he didn’t really have stupid expectations about relative virginities or rites of passage or whatever. It was — the one of those things — the whole reason they were talking, negotiating or whatever this was, instead of just fucking — like there was a proper and respectable way to go about fucking your bandmate through his heat. Like, they needed to justify that they were doing this for good reasons, or reasonable ones, approaching with logic and ethos, or whatever, instead of just being horny.
“You’ve had heatsex before, haven’t you?” Jaehyun asked, just to get things going faster. It was weird, he’d been wet before they got here, while he was waiting — out of anticipation or something, and now it wasn’t like he wasn’t — it was just, the fucking talking of it all.
Sanghyuk nodded, a small, sharp movement. Sungho said, a little painfully, “Uh, yes,” his chin tilted prettily.
“So?” Jaehyun said, “Do we need to go over the steps? It’s not that hard, is it?”
The worst part was, Jaehyun thought, that they both looked really cute. Stiff from all the awkwardness, the way neither of them knew what to do with their hands or shoulders or anything, so Sungho was standing ramrod straight, unslouched, uncharacteristically; Sanghyuk was making himself smaller, which was what he did when he was uncomfortable, narrow and closed-off, and neither of them were doing that good of a job of hiding their expressions. Jaehyun had figured, it was pretty obvious that he wouldn’t mind fucking either of them. He was pretty sure he’d said it point-blank before, to Sanghyuk at least. For mileage or whatever; just to make it clear. It wasn’t the kind-of thing you could say to Sungho, at least not so bluntly — he was weirdly delicate about this kind-of stuff. Still — usually, he liked flirting with them, he did it with Sanghyuk more, sure, but that was just because he was more receptive, or less flustered about it; anyway, it was obvious, he didn’t really care.
Jaehyun thought, they never had a problem with it, mostly because they expected it — omegas were supposed to act like that, alphas were supposed to act cool and accept it. They both thought he smelled nice, and that was pretty much as open of an offer as it was ever going to get. The fucking —
“It’s just,” Sungho said, and then he bit his mouth, and Sanghyuk stared at the bedsheets for a moment, already messy because, Jaehyun’s neck was prickling with heat, irritation, and he really, really was going to start squirming soon, it was bad enough to be stuck with two alphas in a closed room, and they weren’t even — “It’s not like we’ve had rut sex though,” Sanghyuk said, “Isn’t this kind-of personal — ? Shouldn’t you be more — I don’t know, apprehensive?”
“I really don’t have a problem with this,” Jaehyun said, because he didn’t want to point out that both of them have had heat sex before, and that meant they had both fucked an omega in heat before, so whatever hang-ups they were having with this, weren’t really about him at all. He knew they didn’t have a problem with fucking him, they knew he didn’t have a problem with fucking them, he just didn’t know how to get them to admit to themselves, or him, or each other, that they didn’t have a problem with fucking him. He, really, honestly, was a lot more concerned with getting fucked any time now, and it really didn’t seem like it was going to happen any time now. Which was fine, you got used to alphas being assholes. It was like they hated not being above really wanting to fuck something.
/
Once, back when they used to share a room in the trainee dorms, Sanghyuk had figured Sungho was home for the weekend and brought someone over. That ended about as well as it could: he’d walked in on them, she’d gone home, they’d snuck a six-pack of beer from the older trainees and went up to the roof to smoke. Han Dongmin had been there, somehow catching them in the act and following them up, unobtrusive and silent, while Sungho tried to make conversation with two of the quietest people he knew. Oddly well-behaved too, he hadn’t tried to grab a can of beer or take a drag or anything. There was a weird moment, where was Sungho flicking the ash with a forefinger so gently the cigarette barely moved, asking, awkwardly, his sentences short, cut-off, like he couldn’t really figure out how to say it, “Does she — did — are — your girlfriend? — that — Minjeong,” he said, settling finally on her name, “Does she bruise easily?” and Sanghyuk had immediately known what that was about.
“Oh,” Dongmin had said then, reading whatever it was on their faces. “Sorry, is that normal?”
Somehow, they started talking about sex after that. Or, actually, it was Han Dongmin saying things like, “I think I want to have sex with Jaehyun-hyung, is that normal?” in that point-blank blunt way of his, while Sanghyuk was trying to pretend he hadn’t heard a single thing at all, and Sungho was staring at him, baffled, and Dongmin saying, “I didn’t want to ask my dad about it, and you guys are — you know about this stuff, don’t you?” soullessly, and still, somehow, Sanghyuk felt oddly touched for a moment, and Sungho saying, “Oh, that’s nice of you,” having a little moment, and Dongmin saying, “I’m okay with not doing anything about it, it’s just making sharing a dorm with him awkward,” which made Sanghyuk share a look with Sungho then, a two-second glance where they both acknowledged that Dongmin had none of the charm or innocence of a high schooler going through his first love, and then, whatever, nothing, they told him whatever bullshit they could think of. Mostly, Dongmin looked unimpressed, vaguely dubious, and at best, mildly grateful. He left not even a minute later, and then Sungho turned to him, and they both lost it.
“Well,” Sanghyuk had said, “Who do you want to secretly fuck?”
Sungho’s face had gone pinched, pink under the moonlight and Sanghyuk was saying, “Oh, no fucking way,” and Sungho was saying, “No, no, no, it’s not that, it’s not like that,” and then, “I don’t even — I mean, they’re fine, I like omegas, I’m just not —” and Sanghyuk said, “Are you sure? Cause it looks like you want to — what? Push him over? Bully him a little?” and Sungho had looked scandalised, face scrunched in a way Sanghyuk hadn’t seen before, a miraculous new expression. He was saying, “Yah! I’m not some kind-of beast like you,” and Sanghyuk had said, “Ah,” laugh helpless, he couldn’t really say anything to that.
“I just,” and he hadn’t finished the sentence, but Sanghyuk understood. It was an alpha thing, or something, Jaehyun was taller than both of them, he was really eager to please, he smelled good. He’d tilt his head, and listen carefully, then nod, whenever Sungho asked him to do something. Sungho was neurotic, more impulsive than he looked, and was bad at hiding how much of a control freak he was. It was a little of a pressure-cooker situation.
“Oh my god,” Sungho said, hiding behind his hands. He’d been looking at Sanghyuk through his fingers, eyes wide and dark and practically luminous, “You have to tell me something incriminating now, or else it’s not fair.”
“Uh,” Sanghyuk said, coming up blank on every single thing he’d ever done in his life. He’d said the first true thing he could think of. “Um, my girlfriend would always initiate everything.”
The way Sungho blinked at that. Well, Sanghyuk had decided it wasn’t really any of his business.
/
“Well,” Sanghyuk said. He was cross-legged on the bed, quiet and cutting through the uneasy air of the room, all the same. It was terrible, Jaehyun was kneeling now, legs bare, a stray bruise, faded and greyish, on his shin. The thin bones of Sanghyuk’s shoulders blades were sticking out from his shirt, his posture was hunched that badly. “How would you like to start?”
“I dunno,” Jaehyun said. His palms were flat on his thighs, his hands are tanner than his legs, Sungho felt something similar to nausea. Jaehyun tilted his head, “Do you want oral?”
Funnily enough, though Sungho doesn’t really feel like anything is funny right now, he knows this story. They’d been in the hall outside the practice room, in Japan, he was pretty sure, sitting across from a vending machine with four coke zeros, Donghyun had been asking about — something, Sungho remembers having a mild headache and pressing the cold can against his ankle. Jaehyun saying his ex-boyfriend liked starting by getting head, that it set the mood, that mostly, it was ‘cause he’d last longer when they fucked. Sungho had mostly been shocked by how casually he mentioned it, and Jaehyun had patted him, sort-of absently, on the knee. Had pulled Sungho’s hand and the can away, and pressed his palm to his ankle bone.
Anyway, moral of the story: Everyone likes getting head, it’s a foolproof plan.
Sanghyuk raised his brows, said, “If you’re offering,” which was almost all it was, except Jaehyun looked over to Sungho, another tilt of his head, like he wanted permission, Sungho, feeling baffled and a little insane, nodded. They all shuffled into different places, Sungho perched on the corner of the bed now, Sanghyuk with his hands gripped onto the edge of the mattress, legs on the carpet, Jaehyun kneeling between them, looking up at him; head close to, but not quite touching, the side of his knee. His movements syrupy now, slower, face flushed, still that light pink. Sungho reached out, and Jaehyun moved his head forward, forehead slightly damp under his palm, skin hot. “Ah,” Sungho said. He didn’t want to say the obvious so he was quiet for a moment, then, “Do you want me to do anything?”
Sanghyuk turned to look at him, but Sungho couldn’t look at his face, so he held eye contact with Jaehyun, who blinked up at him, and said, sweetly, “Anything you want.”
Which was a broad and frightening prospect, so Sungho took it as an invitation to stay where he was, smoothing his hands over his knees, a nervous tic, he just wasn’t sure what else to do. Jaehyun didn’t say anything then, turning back to Sanghyuk, who was looking down at him again, patient, focused, watching him pull his sweats down with his boxers, Jaehyun’s fingers hooked onto the waistband, looking oddly, like they never usually did, delicate.
After that, Sungho wasn’t sure where to look: the column of Sanghyuk’s neck, throat bobbing slowly, the circle of Jaehyun’s head, dark brown hair with a pale hand carded through, making obscene sounds — wet, noisy swallows, Sanghyuk’s little breaths, the rustle of their clothes, a small moan muffled by a full mouth, when Sanghyuk sways forward. The line of his forearm, his mole disappearing when he scrunches his face. The smell of the entire room, Jaehyun on the floor, legs spread apart, shifting like he was very wet, very fast. Sanghyuk said, “Ah — I might,” Sungho wasn’t sure if it happened fast or slow, time wasn’t passing normally, Jaehyun moved further forward. Sungho placed a hand on Sanghyuk’s shoulder, pulling him back, just a little. His lashes fluttering, the colour high on his cheeks. The back of his neck, almost a peach.
“Up, up,” Sungho said, reaching down. Jaehyun’s face was dazed, blinking slowly, mouth slick with spit, pre-cum, red all the way to the edges, he was whining softly, “Ah, could you — I want you to —” It was weirdly comforting almost, the familiarity of the tone despite the alien situation. “Yeah, sure,” Sungho said, he knew what he was being asked, though he wasn’t sure, at all, what he was doing. Dragging Jaehyun back up to the bed, his limbs like putty, going wherever Sungho decided. Sagnhyuk’s hand splayed over his neck, scratching at his nape, the curls forming there. Sungho pushing his legs open, sliding a hand up, his skin very, very warm, saying, “Is this,” Jaehyun moaned even before he could finish, right, heat sex, the inside of his thighs sticky, his slick had leaked all the way down.
Sungho fingered him open like that. There wasn’t — he really didn’t need the help, there was no resistance, he took two fingers almost immediately, and started keening for more, and Sungho had looked up, Sanghyuk was petting his hair, shimmying out his jeans, saying, “He can take another,” a finger tracing around Jaehyun’s mouth, pushing in, playing with his teeth. Sungho pushed Jaehyun’s shirt up, above his ass, looking at the curve of his back, the way he pushed back on Sungho’s fingers, the sweat collecting in the dip of his spine. He looked at Sanghyuk, nodded.
There was another shuffle; Sanghyuk saying softly, “Can you,” tapping Jaehyun’s waist, “On your knees,” Jaehyun complying, somehow, face to face with Sungho, the collar of his shirt hanging low, everything showing through the gap. He was brown everywhere, soft, unsurprisingly sweaty, just a little red.
“Oh,” Jaehyun said, frowning at Sungho, a hand bunched into his shirt, tugging, “You should — can you,” Sungho raised his brows, but complied. Jaehyun’s hands again, clumsy, warm, on his bare shoulders, his bicep, squeezing at the muscle there, pulling him down, “Can you,” he wasn’t finishing any of his sentences, but it wasn’t hard to tell what he wanted, Sungho was looking at Sanghyuk, who was watching him tilt his head down, watching as Jaehyun kissed him, open-mouthed and wanting. Sungho's eyes fluttered closed as he kissed back, the back of his neck burning. Jaehyun’s palm there, damp, another point of heat.
Jaehyun jolting, moaning into his mouth as Sanghyuk pushed in. It was a lot messier from there. Jaehyun kept biting at his mouth, or gasping, head jerking away, down his neck, forehead pressed to his shoulder, a muted bite there, a spit-slick kiss. Sungho, not feeling very brave about it, but under the impression it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded, touched his back, his sides, grazing along his ribs, past a nipple, Jaehyun whining at that. He kept swaying, rocked by the pace Sanghyuk set, something measured and even, despite the way his hands were digging into Jaehyun’s hips, sometimes moving down, squeezing his thigh, before fixing his position. Moving down, between his legs, to stroke at Jaehyun’s cock, loosely fisting it, once, twice, Jaehyun coming as a boneless pile of limbs, slumping into Sungho’s chest, shuddering. Sungho, unable to ignore it any longer, was suddenly very aware of how uncomfortably tight his pants were.
Watched, as Jaehyun’s hands, scrabbling at his stomach, came to rest at his lap, very close to his crotch, his breath against Sungho’s collar, lashes dark, wet, eyes red again, regaining lucidity as Sanghyuk said, “I’m going to knot you now,” voice tight, on the edge of something, shoulders hunched when Sungho looks up at him, distracted for a second by the sight. Jaehyun, whispering into his skin, “Sungho,” pressing against his cock, scratching at his stomach, in his haste, trying to unbutton Sungho’s jeans. Sungho’s own breath then, a low, long note. Pushing his hands away, off, “Later,” Jaehyun’s eyes wide, blown-out.
Another shift in positions, Sanghyuk turning Jaehyun over, Jaehyun half-upright, back pressed to Sungho’s chest, his shirt was still on, the thin cotton felt like a necessary buffer, somehow. Sanghyuk’s hands pressed into the divot where Jaehyun’s thighs met his waist, knees bunched up by his sides, Sanghyuk raking his eyes over Jaehyun, the wet stain on his shirt. Sungho thought, briefly, about grabbing a towel, and then didn’t. Sanghyuk asked if Jaehyun felt better, and Jaehyun nodded, let Sungho press a hand to his forehead, to check his temperature, a soft moan falling from his mouth, as Sanghyuk started to fuck into him again. Almost gently, this time.
The thing about Jaehyun, that made him easy to get along with and also, sometimes, made Sungho feel insane, was that he could talk through anything, and about anything. Now that he was more lucid, shifting here and there, his weight against Sungho realer somehow, Sungho thought about pressing a hand over his mouth. Just in case, he would say something like he said now, looking at Sanghyuk, who was doing his best not to look at either of them, ears red, Jaehyun’s voice awful, slurred at the edges, still somehow, conversational, “D’you wanna knock me up?”
“Hm,” Sanghyuk said, and then he didn’t have to say anything at all. He pressed a palm against Jaehyun’s stomach, right where it would swell with his knot, laid flat now, if soft and warm, and curved soon, Jaehyun shuddered. Sungho said, “Oh,” and then thought of how it was really the thing you said during heat sex, thought about their careers, and then, said, “You know, we really shouldn’t do that,” and he was about to ask about — birth control, or morning after pills, and, Jaehyun moaned again, but less sexy this time, and said he was ruining it, “Stop,” he said, whining, “C’mon,” reaching out, twisting to grab Sungho’s wrist and drag it over his torso, pushing his own shirt up, just so he could rub against his chest first, a rosy brown nipple that Sungho pinched, just to get a whine from Jaehyun. Then, Jaehyun pushed his hand down again, down to the tender surface of his stomach, raised, bulging slightly now, where Sanghyuk’s knot was stuffed in him.
“Right,” Sungho said, his next breath very sharp. Sanghyuk caught his eye then, the shape of his mouth was crooked. He was being laughed at.
/
They did end up taking turns, after all. Jaehyun was pretty sure he should’ve protested more, or at least, pretend to — but by the time Sungho had fucked him, he’d been desperate — every part of his body had felt overheated, oversensitive, wrung-out, except for where Sungho was touching him. He was pretty sure, he came when Sanghyuk scoffed, a faint, mean edge to his voice, “Wow, you’re really,” Jaehyun knew he cut himself off before saying something worse, had settled for saying, “You really want it, huh?” and even that was enough.
There was a moment, there, just before they started again, where Sungho had looked down at him, laid back on the sheets, naked for real, his shirt had been a goner by his third orgasm — Sanghyuk had pulled his own sweats back on when he went to dump it in the bathroom, and now he was leaned back against the headboard, just watching them — and Jaehyun had thought, looking between the two of them, the obvious evidence of what it looked like when someone worked out and someone didn’t, the difference in stature, the thin, flat plane of Sanghyuk’s waist, Sungho obviously very broad, Jaehyun being really, really horny and a little more than sore, had thought about asking them to fuck. He kind-of, really wanted to see. He was pretty sure they would, he just — probably needed to cry some more, maybe after another round, he’d look pathetic enough.
Anyway, Sungho looked down at him, and did something with his face — he’d been very nice the first time, polite, restrained, asked once, twice, the entire time, both times Jaehyun came, if it was okay — right now, with his mouth pressed into a line, he asked, “What do you like?” and Jaehyun said, “Um,” then didn’t think too hard about it, and said, “Anything you like.”
Sungho nodded at that, and looked at him again, just his face, and Jaehyun wasn’t really sure what he figured out. All of it, probably, that Jaehyun really would like anything he did, that Jaehyun liked everything anyone did, that he was in heat, and he really, really, wanted to be fucked, that, probably, even if he wasn’t in heat, he’d be the same way. He could touch anywhere, he could do anything. Jaehyun was submissive, eager to please, wanting, willing, would let him, them, both of them get away with anything — he was pretty traditional when it came down to it. He was that type of omega, after all.
“Okay,” Sungho said. Jaehyun tilted his chin up, and he acquiesced, a very light press of his mouth before drawing back, so Jaehyun turned over to Sanghyuk, still watching them, who said, “Hm? Me?” and then came over anyway.
Sungho’s pace this time, was quick and snappy, unforgiving, just because of the way he had Jaehyun’s ankles hooked behind his neck, the way he was leaned over, and bending him in half, going deep, deeper, deeper, impossibly so, every single time. Jaehyun wasn’t really cognisant of any of the noises he was making, or that he was drooling, though he knew Sanghyuk gave up on kissing him at one point, and just started to press little bites down his neck, scratching at his sides, a tug at his cock, before Sungho told him not so, and he stopped, he knows he whined at that, and Sungho told him to be quiet, and Jaehyun mumbled that he couldn’t, it wasn’t — and Sanghyuk pressed his fingers into his mouth, to help. It was very fuzzy after that. Mostly, it felt good, and brutal, and really, really sexy, afterwards, when Sungho pressed down on his stomach, his knot swelling inside, and Sanghyuk mirrored the movement. A slight pressure that he could feel down to his spine, something that sparked straight to his head, already out of it, cock-dumb, really really wanting a baby. Either of theirs. Jaehyun saw their fingers touch, and was oddly pleased by that, and then passed out, pretty much.
Now, hours later, he was looking at the way both of them had fallen asleep. Very politely, by all means. Sanghyuk was curled on the desk chair, the mess cleared away from the area, using a sweatshirt as a pillow. Sungho was stretched out on the floor, with a different sweatshirt under his head. One of them had folded up most of his clothes, and one of them had wiped him down, and one of them had left him of water, Tylenol, and a morning after pill, on the bedside table where his phone was, plugged in and almost fully charged.
Mostly unbidden, Jaehyun ends up thinking about how Han Dongmin would never do any of this.