In Your Jaws, All the Way Home

by genovivas

Summary:

"You’re allowed to want this, he repeats to himself, it’s okay to let him in. Every inch of his skin is crawling in torturous self-disgust and desire, and the conflicting emotions and sensations make him feel like he’s going to explode. His stomach is doing concerning things, and he can’t tell if it’s butterflies or nausea; he feels like crying, but can’t decide if it’s from fear, or the sheer tenderness in Dohyeon’s hazy eyes when he straightens up and looks down at him."

Or, Peanut has feelings, and he's very normal about it.

Notes:

this was supposed to be like 5000 words lol

All things considered, Wangho has had very good luck with alpha teammates.

No one’s ever gotten pushy or aggressive with him. He’s never been relentlessly pursued. He’s never had one get possessive of him, or God forbid, try to square off with another alpha over him. He’s never felt unsafe when a teammate was rutting. Even when Jihoon had first presented, he had hardly blinked at Wangho and Siwoo before returning to the solo queue grind (“but he’s a weird kid”, Siwoo had said, “it hardly counts”).

Hanwha Life’s 2025 roster is much the same. Geonwoo’s alpha tendencies extend to ensuring that Wooje is happy and fed—which one could reasonably chalk up to him taking care of their youngest member, though Wangho has some suspicions—and occasionally silently dumping some of his sheets onto Wangho’s bed when his scent starts to get a little more sweet than usual. Honestly, Wangho wouldn’t have even known Geonwoo was an alpha if it weren’t for his scent—a dark cherry and oud—when he’s just returned to the dorms from the gym.

Dohyeon is slightly more traditional, in the sense that he goes out of his way to pay for Wangho’s meals when they go out to eat together, and always seems to have a big hand on Wangho’s shoulder. And honestly, if Dohyeon wants to spend his money on Wangho, then who is he to complain about it? No shame in taking advantage of a willing alpha, in Wangho’s opinion. Besides, Dohyeon is good company. He’s funny, and laidback, and happily listens to Wangho talk his ear off at disgustingly early hours of the morning.

So, it makes sense that even given their dynamics, they work pretty well as roommates.

A couple months through Wangho’s first year (back, he supposes) on HLE, Dohyeon walks into his room with a laundry basket of his clothes and a couple miscellaneous items stacked on top, and proceeds to make himself right at home. In retrospect, maybe Wangho should have been more bothered by this, but he genuinely likes Dohyeon, likes their conversations, likes the way he smells like anise and clove and incense. So, he says “okay”, and together they manage to drag Dohyeon’s bed out of his old room into their (newly) shared room. That night, Dohyeon nails a Fizz impression so well that Wangho gets dizzy laughing, and they bicker for a solid fifteen minutes about the temperature of the room. Eventually, Dohyeon accepts just stripping one of the blankets off his bed, Wangho not commenting when he dumps it unceremoniously onto Wangho’s bed, and Dohyeon not commenting when Wangho tucks the blanket up under his pillow. It’s easy, but it always is with Dohyeon.

But the thing is, Wangho gets a little too complacent. He gets a little too used to Dohyeon’s smell, and the sound of Dohyeon’s voice first thing in the morning, and having someone to talk to at 3 AM when he can’t settle himself down after a stream. Wangho’s better than this, he knows. He smiles for his team when they’re running it down; he tries to play something reliable when Geonwoo and Wooje want to play whatever deranged pick they’ve cooked up that day, and he claps his hands and says “but here’s where we’ve improved” after every bad scrim block. Wangho has handled his heats on his own for the past seven or eight years, dealt with the mess, the fevers, the twisting of his insides without a complaint, because he’s just fine on his own, thanks. Wangho will gladly spend the rest of his career being HLE’s reliable big brother, because he was ROX’s beloved youngest brother, and he’s totally okay doing it on his own.

So it doesn’t make sense that his room in the new dorms feels way too big. It doesn’t make sense that his new room doesn’t smell like warm spices. It doesn’t make sense that the walls don’t “mhm” and “is that right?” when Wangho complains to them about his solo queue teammates at 3 AM. It should be a good thing; he’s gone from having a roommate for almost a whole year, someone almost constantly in his space (“I’ll crash with Hwanjoong for a few days when your heat comes, no worries!”), to having the biggest room in the house to himself. He even has his own ensuite bathroom. Instead of, like, enjoying it like any normal human would, Wangho is instead laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and he feels itchy. He rolls over and stares at the wall for a change of scenery. Fiddles with his cross necklace. Tries complaining to the wall about Gen.G stomping them at their season opener. Predictably, the wall says nothing, and Wangho takes this as his cue to roll his way out of bed and get a glass of water.

It’s partially his fault; he’d gotten so sick of his teammates (Dohyeon, really) letting themselves into his room to use his bathroom that he'd started locking his door at night. The con to this is that Dohyeon is no longer able to hang around and listen to Wangho talk himself to sleep afterwards, but Wangho is more stubborn than he is a human being, so he has yet to start leaving his door unlocked at night again. It’s a matter of pride now; that’s his bathroom, thank you very much.

(Wangho is well aware he’s being a bit immature. Dohyeon brings out the worst in him.)

Wangho could (very, very, reasonably) go to his bathroom for a drink, but he instead opts to walk to the kitchen, rubbing his arms in vain effort to stave off the chill of being in only boxers and a worn, soft t-shirt. He’s reaching up towards the cabinet shelves (he’s really not that short; it’s not his fault his teammates are giants) when he smells Dohyeon, all warm clove and anise. When Wangho turns around, Dohyeon is standing in the entryway of the kitchen, blinking blearily at him, still half-asleep. Wangho steps out of the way of the cabinet, wordlessly, and Dohyeon yawns and moves towards the cabinet, passing him a glass before turning to the sink.

“Why are you still up? We have a match tomorrow, y’know,” Wangho asks, sidling up to Dohyeon’s side to fill his own glass. Dohyeon is sleep-warm, and Wangho’s cold, so he doesn’t complain when Dohyeon drapes an arm across his shoulders to pull him closer, and he takes a deeper breath in through his nose of Dohyeon’s familiar scent.

“I could ask you the same,” Dohyeon says, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb against the point of Wangho’s shoulder.

Wangho hasn’t really acknowledged this… thing that Dohyeon has for him. Hasn’t really felt the need to, given that Dohyeon seems perfectly content to just sit and watch him, invite him out to eat every other day, and pay for it all too. Perfectly content to call Wangho “babe” on stream, and perfectly content for Wangho to ignore it. Wangho doesn’t really mind; he finds it a bit flattering, if anything. He can acknowledge that Dohyeon is really attractive, objectively speaking—tall, broad shouldered, with a sharp jaw, and dark, intelligent eyes—and Wangho will take it as a compliment that an alpha as attractive and sought-after as Dohyeon would show interest in him. He only feels mildly guilty that he hasn’t acknowledged Dohyeon’s feelings, if only because Dohyeon seems happy with simply being in Wangho’s orbit.

“My room’s too quiet. No one complaining about jungle metas to bore me to sleep,” Doheyon says, voice barely above a whisper. Wangho huffs out a laugh.

“That’s funny, my room doesn’t listen to me complain about jungle metas,” Wangho whispers back.

Dohyeon tsks softly. “How rude. No one likes a bad listener.”

The kitchen is dark and still, enveloped in a comforting silence, broken up only by the soft sound of their collective breaths. Easy and soft. Wangho could fall asleep like this, standing up, warm, tucked into Dohyeon’s side, his scent lulling him into unconsciousness. Instead, he pulls away, stretching his arms above his head, and doesn’t miss the way Dohyeon’s eyes quickly flicker to the little sliver of his belly that gets exposed. Wangho shivers from the sudden loss of Dohyeon’s body warmth, cold air shocking his exposed skin.

“We should get some sleep,” Wangho murmurs. Dohyeon nods at him, and follows him out of the kitchen, out of the dreamy soft silence, and into the hall. He pauses in front of Dohyeon’s door. “Goodnight, Dohyeonie.”

“Goodnight, hyung,” Dohyeon says, already half-asleep, and Wangho nods, ignoring the little twist of guilt in his gut.

 

Wangho wakes up in waves of soft murmuring and softer touching, stoking glowing coals in his pelvis. He can’t remember the dreams themselves, lost in the space between sleep and reality, but he feels uncomfortably empty, with wet thighs, and there’s so much pressure behind his eyes and cheeks that he genuinely considers shooting himself in the face.

Which, okay, dramatic, but he thinks waking up horny and sick as a dog warrants some drama. But it doesn’t matter, because HLE has a match against Nongshim today that Captain-and-Jungler-of-HLE Peanut can’t miss. So he rolls himself out of bed, checks to see if he needs to change his sheets (no, thankfully, though maybe if he still roomed with—), and takes as hot of a shower as he can tolerate, trying futilely to clear out his sinuses and relieve the ache in his shoulders. The shower does little to chase away his sudden head cold, but at least he can wash the slick from his thighs, and he feels marginally warmer. Unfortunately, this makes the idea of getting out of the shower completely miserable, and he spends way too much time spaced out, staring at the ceramic wall.

Eventually, Wangho does manage to get himself out of the shower, and gets himself dried off and dressed in record time. He keeps the bathroom door closed even though he doesn’t really need to, not when his bathroom is literally in his room, but he’s vainly hoping that trapping the steam in with him will loosen some of the mucous in his lungs. He trudges through his morning routine—does his skincare, blow-dries his hair, brushes his teeth—though it ultimately does little to change the pallor of his skin, the feverish flush to his cheeks, and the dark circles under his eyes.

Regardless, he smiles reassuringly at his teammates when they send him concerned glances over breakfast and all throughout the ride to LoL Park, playing absent-mindedly with his cross necklace, and insists he’s fine to play when Jaeha pulls him aside to ask if he’s feeling alright. Wangho’s shoulders and back ache, and his face feels uncomfortably hot, but he just takes two Tylenol, chases it with as much water as he can manage in one go, and declares he’s going for a walk (alone, Dohyeon), if just to avoid the worry in his teammates' gazes. At the very least, Wangho can appreciate HLE’s social media team avoiding having him on camera, but he’s not looking forward to seeing what he looks like on the player cameras once they do get on stage.

 

Wangho’s found a quiet place to sit and rest with his eyes closed in one of the emptier hallways of LoL Park’s backstage, an alarm set on his phone in the off-chance he really does fall asleep, when he’s jolted by a touch to his shoulder. He’s half-expecting to open his eyes to Dohyeon, or maybe Jaeha, concerned enough to have followed him, but he’s instead greeted by Jaehyuk crouched next to him, face marred with worry.

“Sorry, didn’t think you were actually asleep. Are you okay? You look like shit,” Jaehyuk asks, shuffling to sit next to Wangho on the ground. Between whatever scent blockers Jaehyuk has on, and the cotton in Wangho’s sinuses, he can’t smell Jaehyuk’s scent, a hazy sage and lavender, but his presence is comfortable and familiar all the same, so he lets Jaehyuk lean into his side, happy to steal the alpha’s body heat.

“You’re so rude to me for no reason,” Wangho sighs at him. “I just have a bit of a cold, that’s all. I’m fine. And I wasn’t asleep. Why are you here? You guys are the first match, shouldn’t you be with your team?”

Jaehyuk snorts at him. “Right yeah, just resting your eyes.” He fiddles with the cuff of his jacket. For an alpha, Jaehyuk’s mannerisms always struck Wangho as… cutesy, and he internally giggles to himself. “I was just going for a walk,” Jaehyuk continues. “My team will be fine for fifteen minutes. Minkyu can handle them.”

Wangho laughs right back at him, trying to imagine the harried young support wrangling whatever chaos Jihoon is almost-definitely currently cooking up in his one-man mission to annoy Kiin to death. He doesn’t ask how Jaehyuk’s doing; he’s watched all of Gen.G’s matches, and if Jaehyuk feels like moping about it to Wangho, then he’s perfectly capable of saying so himself. Instead, he leans his head on Jaehyuk’s shoulder, Jaehyuk automatically bending to rest his own head on Wangho’s. Jaehyuk’s always been a clingy alpha, and Wangho has always gotten the sense he appreciates this kind of comfort more than any words could provide. They sit together in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, before Jaehyuk’s phone chimes with a text summoning him back to Gen.G’s waiting room. He sighs and staggers to his feet, offering a hand to Wangho so he can effortlessly haul him to his feet.

They walk back to Gen G’s waiting room in comfortable silence. Wangho briefly considers accepting Jaehyuk’s invitation to visit for a moment, but his head is still aching, and he suspects having Jihoon hanging off him and chattering his ear off may just make him a little bit miserable, as much as he likes the younger alpha. So, the two of them exchange goodbyes, and Wangho slowly starts on his way back to HLE’s room, already mentally preparing himself for his teammates' concern.

 

Exactly as expected, pretty much every human in HLE’s waiting room turns to look at him the moment he steps in the door. He smiles in greeting, ignores the way his head is pounding (so much for the Tylenol, he thinks bitterly), and placates Geonwoo and Wooje as he takes a seat on the couch next to Dohyeon. Geonwoo and Wooje immediately lean their heads together, getting right back into whatever giggly, soft conversation they were having previously, and God, Wangho has to figure out what’s going on there soon. Right now, though, his skin is crawling, and the pressure behind his eyes is making him a bit homicidal, so he leans his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes, focusing on not murdering anyone. He touches his cross, looping his fingers in the chain.

“Are you sure you’re okay to play?” Dohyeon asks quietly. It’s completely innocent, almost definitely driven by genuine care for a friend over any sort of alpha instinct, but Wangho’s head is so full of snot it’s about to explode, and he’s already frustrated with himself for getting sick again, and Dohyeon of all people should know by now that Wangho does not want the pity. “I was saying Jaeha-hyung could always sub in.”

“I’m fine, Dohyeon, stop asking.” It comes out harsher than Wangho had intended, but Dohyeon keeps his face carefully neutral. Wangho sighs. “Seriously. I’ve played through much worse.”

“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to play through this,” Dohyeon answers. “We’d all understand if you just want to rest today.”

“Dohyeon,” Wangho warns. He feels a little bad, getting snappish with Dohyeon like this, but he’s tired and sore and the room is too loud, so he doesn’t feel that bad.

“...Alright, hyung.” Dohyeon raises both hands in surrender. Wangho looks to him from the corner of his eye, Dohyeon meeting his gaze steadily, all dark eyed and tender. Wangho sighs, and closes his eyes again, his cross between his fingers.

 

The match against NS is quick and clean, and review goes by fast enough that Geonwoo is suggesting Haidilao before they’ve even left the room. Wangho would honestly rather die than go eat hotpot at a restaurant right now, but his team played well, and he knows they’re all going to have conveniently “forgotten” their wallets, so he just sighs to himself, takes some more Tylenol, and mentally prepares himself for another three hours of misery before he can collapse into bed.

“Actually, I think I’m just going to go back to the dorms. I’m pretty tired.” It’s Wooje, astonishingly, who pipes up. He glances over at Wangho when he says it, and Wangho smiles at him. Cute kid.

“Who are you and what have you done with Wooje?” Hwanjoong demands, and he’s kind of right. Wooje never passes up on food, especially if it’s free.

Wooje just shrugs. “I slept pretty terribly last night. I found a spider in my room and I couldn’t stop thinking about another one crawling on me in my sleep!”

“Why didn’t you come get me? I could’ve gotten rid of it for you,” Geonwoo butts in, and Wangho has to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. Puppy love. So gross.

“Geonwoo, aren’t you also afraid of spiders?” Dohyeon asks dryly, apparently reading Wangho’s mind. Wangho snickers when Geonwoo blushes.

“Are you sure Wooje? We can go somewhere else if you’d like something a bit quicker,” Jaeha asks, but Wooje nods.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired too,” Geonwoo blurts out. “I’ll go back with him.”

Wangho turns his head away, mostly to keep himself from giggling again, but he makes eye contact with Dohyeon instead, who raises his eyebrows at him, face thoroughly unimpressed, and he has to clasp his hands over his mouth to cover up his smile.

“Honestly, I could go to bed right away too,” Dohyeon says, looking directly at Wangho. “Maybe we should plan a team dinner for another night?”

Inkyu nods, and laughs. “Yeah, I suppose you’ve all been working very hard lately. Let's just get you all into bed.”

 

Wangho was already fever-cold in LoL Park, so when he steps outside, he’s almost immediately shivering. He wraps his arms around himself, vainly trying to keep the chilly spring night from soaking into his already-aching shoulders and back, and internally curses, walking as fast as his stiff hips will let him. The rush ends up being useless, as the bus is just as cold as outside, and really, who the hell is blasting the AC at this time of year, at this time of night? So Wangho just takes his seat, and immediately starts bouncing his legs, trying to get some blood flowing, ignoring the way the muscles of his thighs protest. Dohyeon slides into the seat next to him, because of course he does.

“Want my jacket?” he asks lowly, already moving to pull it off.

“You’ll be just as cold as I am. It’s fine.” Wangho would actually really appreciate another jacket, but Dohyeon only has his jersey underneath, and he’d rather the alpha didn’t also freeze to death on the team bus.

Dohyean shrugs at him. “I’m not the one with the fever.”

Wangho stares at him for a long moment. Dohyeon stares back.

“...Fine. But I don’t want to hear you complaining when you get cold,” Wangho mutters, ignoring the way Dohyeon’s face lights up, smiling as he pulls off his jacket. Stupid. So stupid.

Wangho shrugs the jacket on, wincing when his shoulders twinge in protest, and leans his head back against the seat. The two of them sit in unusual silence, but Wangho is too tired to talk, his head too full of fluff, and he knows Dohyeon doesn’t mind some quiet. Despite his stuffy nose, Dohyeon’s jacket smells strongly enough of him that Wangho can bask in the soothing smokey clove, and he lets his eyes close shut as the bus starts moving.

“...Your neck will be sore if you sleep like that, hyung,” Dohyeon murmurs, winding an arm around Wangho’s shoulders to pull him so his head is resting on Dohyeon’s shoulder. Wangho just hums in response, too exhausted and miserable to tease, and lets himself slip into unconsciousness.

 

Wangho hardly remembers getting back to the dorms and into his room, his eyes bleary and brain swathed in cobwebs, feeling like he’s choking back razorblades every time he swallows. He vaguely remembers being roused awake, and Dohyeon’s large hand between his shoulder blades, but the next thing he knows, he’s crawling into bed. His mind feels fuzzy and blank, cloaked in the fog of a head cold and the smell of anise. He’s only somewhat aware that he’s clutching Dohyeon’s jacket when his head hits his pillow, but he’s asleep before he acknowledges its presence, lulled by Dohyeon’s familiar, comforting smell.

And then, all Wangho can smell is spicy, sweet clove, his mind pleasantly blank. His muscles and bones still feel feverish and achy, but his skin feels like one giant, exposed nerve, tingling with arousal, static electricity racing around his ribs. He’s aware of how wet it is between his legs, and that he should maybe feel more uncomfortable with how his pajama bottoms are sticking to his thighs, but there’s a large, cool hand cupping his cheek, and a glimpse of familiar, dark eyes, and Wangho just sighs contentedly, rolling his head to expose his neck. He feels a hand brush against the side of his throat, trailing delicately to the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he whines, loud, and maybe it should be embarrassing, but he feels so weightless and relaxed that he can’t bring himself to give a fuck.

The room—his old shared room—seems to bend around the edges, flexing with the scent of burning incense and licorice, melding with the cinnamon and cream that Wangho recognizes as his own scent. A hand skates down his chest, down his stomach, between his legs, and Wangho’s hips buck violently at the light touch across his clit, legs spreading in offering. He’s whining again, and there’s lips on his neck, teeth grazing across his Adam's apple, and Dohyeon is hushing him gently. Wangho blinks in momentary confusion, but his mind is syrupy and slow, the hand between his thighs is rubbing at his clit, and his eyes are rolling back in his head, so he decides instead to just run his hands over Dohyeon’s broad shoulders, digging his fingers into his back. This seems to be the right move, because Dohyeon sighs and slides a knee between Wangho’s thighs, pressing them further apart, and bites down gently on Wangho’s collarbone.

Wangho rolls his hips again Dohyeon’s thigh, whimpering at the feeling of Dohyeon’s teeth in his skin and his thigh between his legs. He runs his hands down Dohyeon’s sides so he can grip his hips, tries to drag them between his thighs, to encourage him to fill the ache sitting low in his pelvis, but Dohyeon is pulling away instead. Wangho starts to whine in protest, but Dohyeon is hushing him softly again, calling him sweetheart and baby, and pressing his lips to Wangho’s slim stomach, biting at his hip bones, and Wangho’s brain turns itself back off, content to just lay back and run his hands through Dohyeon’s hair and accept whatever tenderness he offers.

The room spins, and there’s suddenly wet, hot heat on his clit, and Dohyeon’s big hands on the back of his thighs, holding them open when he tries to slam them shut in response to the sudden burning pressure of Dohyeon’s mouth on his pussy. He gasps out and the room spins and bulges, and he’s thrusting his hips down to meet Dohyeon’s, so full it almost hurts, and Dohyeon’s calling him so beautiful, all mine, and filling him over and over, and suddenly he’s cumming so hard there’s tears in his eyes, slick gushing out of him and—

 

Wangho’s staring at his ceiling, gasping for breath, boxers soaked through, and he’s certain his sheets will need to be washed this time. His head is pounding with the pressure behind his eyes, and his skin feels damp and fever-hot, and he’s still clutching Dohyeon’s stupid fucking jacket.

Jesus Christ.

He gingerly shucks his boxers, shuffling into his bathroom (thank God for ensuites, he thinks bitterly) so he can wipe the slick off of himself. It’s everywhere, down his ass and thighs, nearly to his knees. Ugh. Between the towel he just ruined and the sheets he’s about to pull off his mattress—and Dohyeon’s fucking jacket, goddamnit—he’s going to have to sneakily do a load of laundry in the morning. His first instinct is to blame the whole thing on being in heat, but he’s spent his entire adult life being blessedly regular, almost down to the hour, and he’s not due until after Spring Split, so instead, he robotically strips the sheets off his bed (and says a quick thank you to the Wangho that learned long ago to invest in a waterproof mattress protector) and opts to just not think about it at all. Absolutely nothing just happened, and if he did have the most intense wet-dream of his life, it certainly wasn’t about his attractive alpha teammate that is definitely into him.

Shit, he thinks to himself, collapsing face first into his pillow, fresh sheets a problem for Wangho in the morning. Unfortunately, he quickly finds that laying face-down in a pillow with a stuffy nose is dangerous to his continued existence, so he turns his head, and the fucking jacket is still there. Wangho would scream if he wasn’t certain that doing so would shred his already-painful throat, so he opts instead to violently throw the jacket in a random direction, and go back the fuck to sleep.

 

Sunlight filtering through the blinds of his room onto his face rouses him from feverish, fitful sleep. Wangho rolls over, trying to will himself back to sleep, at least to escape his sore throat and stiff back, but he’s too preoccupied with how terrible he feels to settle back into unconsciousness. There are scrims today, and he should probably check the time since he’s not sure he set his alarm last night, but Wangho’s brain feels like it’s been rolled up in a scratchy wool blanket, muffled and tangled up in his fever. He stares at the wall instead.

There’s a knock on his door, but before he can answer, it clicks open, and Wangho forces himself to sit up, dragging his blankets around his shoulders. He must have forgotten to lock it before he passed out last night. Dohyeon peeks his head in, and startles, clearly not expecting Wangho to be awake. Awesome. Exactly who he wanted to see (yes, the part of his brain that is a feverish hormone monster says, we want Dohyeonnie). Wangho violently shoves the afterimages of his dream into a locker in a very empty corner of his mind, puts, like, four padlocks on it, and blinks blearily at Dohyeon.

“Sorry hyung, we’re just leaving for scrims soon, and were wondering if you were okay…” Dohyeon trails off, eyes skittering around the room.

Wangho is forgetting something, but he’s struggling to fight through the slime in his brain and sinuses, and can’t quite verbalize what that something is. He flops back down his bed, pulling his blankets up as far as possible, and shivers.

“I just need to get some more sleep, don’t worry. I’ll text Inkyu-hyung,” he murmurs to Dohyeon softly, hesitant to raise his voice for the razors lining his throat. Dohyeon nods, and slips out of his room.

He closes his eyes, embarrassment fluttering through his intestines. Pathetic, really. Everything hurts, his muscles and joints stiff, and the chill of his fever blankets him in a achey, flushed chill. Wangho sighs heavily, and grasps blindly for his phone, squinting through bleary eyes to quickly shoot off a text to the team chat. He doesn’t bother plugging his phone back, just drops it into his blankets, and slings his wrist over his eyes. The door clicks open again.

“Hyung.” It’s Dohyeon again. Wangho removes his wrist to see Dohyeon standing over his bed, a glass of water in one hand, and a bottle of Tylenol in the other. “Here.”

Wangho doesn’t complain. Everything hurts, and the more Dohyeon tries to spoil him or whatever, the harder Wangho is finding it to resist, at least not with the smothering heat of his fever clouding his judgement. So, he sits up, takes the stupid painkillers from Dohyeon, downs the glass of water, and flops back onto his pillow, entirely silent, entirely miserable.

“I think I’m sick,” he says, after a moment, raspy. “My head really hurts.”

Dohyeon gives him a dry stare, and sits on the edge of his bed. “Are you only noticing now?”

“Are you getting smart with me? When I’m sick?” Wangho scolds, because even with the fluff currently making residence in his sinuses, the razorblades in his throat, and the sheer emotional distress of his whole situation earlier in the morning, teasing Dohyeon comes as naturally to him as breathing. He hates it, that regardless of how much he resists, Dohyeon still manages to melt down all of Wangho’s defences.

“I would never,” Dohyeon defends himself, but his gaze is so tender that Wangho has to look away. “Hey, when I get back, we should probably talk about Wooje and Geonwoo.”

“Since when was it a ‘we’ issue?” Wangho mutters, pulling his blankets up to his eyes.

Dohyeon laughs. There’s a faintly pink tinge to his cheeks, and Wangho desperately hopes he isn’t also getting sick. “Since I heard Wooje refer to us as ‘mom and dad.’”

“Ugh. You’re ‘mom’ then,” Wangho mutters. Disrespectful kids.

“No way, you’re the one who’s always mother-henning them,” Dohyeon snorts. “I’m sure you’d make a good mom, though.”

It’s said innocently, intended to annoy Wangho, but there’s a gross twisting sensation in his pelvis, right where his womb is. He shifts uncomfortably, and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that it just comes across as him being sick and miserable, rather than sick and miserable and a little bit aroused. Wangho twists his chain around his fingers, and hopes to all things holy that he’s not turned-on enough to smell like he is.

“I should get going, and you—” Dohyeon says suddenly, cupping a hand to Wangho’s cheek. It’s doing terrible things to Wangho’s current state, but he leans into the touch regardless, Dohyeon’s hand blessedly cool to the touch. “—should get some more sleep. You’ve still got a temperature.”

Wangho hums in acknowledgement, simultaneously eager for Dohyeon to get out of his room and stop touching him so he can hopefully calm the fuck down, and reluctant to part with Dohyeon’s cool touch. He opens his eyes as Dohyeon stands and bids him goodbye, stopping to pick his jacket up off the ground as he leaves.

Oh shit, Wangho thinks, chilly dread flooding his stomach, because he completely forgot about the pile of dirty sheets and towels sitting on the floor at the end of his bed, and about Dohyeon’s fucking jacket. He hears the front door of the dorm slam, and tries to take a desperate breath against the sudden crushing pressure that’s settled on his chest. He knows, he knows, the little nervous voice of Wangho’s subconscious chitters at him, he knows how you wanted him. Wangho tries madly to silence it, scratching at the suddenly-itchy skin of his forearms, sitting up suddenly, but he can’t, because his nervous system has kicked itself into overdrive and he can’t find the brakes through the haze of his fever.

And God, he tries, hanging his head between his raised knees, trying to remember the way he used to have Jaehyuk breathe years ago, when the alpha would get overwhelmed by the expectations in everyone’s eyes. But it’s futile when Wangho’s shoulders are shuddering, hands shaking, tears welling over his cheeks, struck down by the sheer size of his desire for Dohyeon, by the notion that Dohyeon knows how Wangho wants him. It’s looming and shameful, and Wangho is trying to swim in an ocean that’s only getting more and more restless and choppy, swallowing another lungful of sea water whenever Dohyeon smiles softly at him.

He panics, completely loses control of the car, feet unable to find the brakes, because he realizes with abrupt despair that he’s probably a bit in love with Dohyeon. He panics, because he knows how easy it could be, to love Dohyeon and to be loved by him; he knows it's mutual, knows it in the disgustingly tender way Dohyeon looks at him, his hand between Wangho’s shoulder blades. But he’s stuck, his sweater snagged on a nail that he can’t get loose from, too afraid of the way Dohyeon knows him, nurtured in hundreds of 3 AM conversations, nurtured in the soft darkness of their old shared room. Too afraid to let himself stand on anything but his own two feet.

He sits on his bed, head hung between his knees, and sobs and shivers like a child who’s fallen off his bike, fingers twisted in the chain of his necklace. Wangho’s not even sure it’s anxiety possessing him like this—even if his body is treating it as such—so much as it is just shame: shame for the way he seeks Dohyeon out, for letting him in over and over, for feeling need. He’s supposed to be better than this. Wangho doesn’t need anyone, hasn’t in seven years, and his legs are perfectly capable of keeping him walking on his own. But it doesn’t even matter, because his subconsciousness keeps reaching for Dohyeon, to rest Wangho’s body against his, solid and warm, and it disgusts Wangho.

 

Eventually, Wangho’s tears dry up, and his body stops shivering enough that he falls back onto his pillow and promptly passes out in exhaustion. When he wakes again, it’s dark outside, and his phone reads 01:45 AM. Wangho sighs. He’s not sure if he feels any physically better or worse than before; less flushed and cold, but his face is tight and puffy, and his shoulders still ache. But his stomach is panging sharply, and he needs to do his laundry and put sheets on his bed, and probably shower, so he drags himself out of his blankets, into the cool night air.

He’s shoving his dirty sheets into the washing machine, hair still wet from his shower, when he hears the front door open, and Dohyeon’s scent breezes into the dorm. Wangho scowls, irrationally irritated, and it must make his scent sour, because Dohyeon is poking his head into the laundry room within seconds.

“Hyung,” Dohyeon starts, and Wangho slams the washing machine door shut. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Thanks for the Tylenol earlier, it really helped,” Wangho mutters, not turning to look at him, feigning intense interest in deciding what setting to wash his sheets on.

“...Right. Have you eaten? I’m going to the convenience store, if you want to come,” Dohyeon asks, and Wangho’s stomach betrays him by growling.

“Give me like fifteen minutes to dry my hair, and then yeah, I’ll come,” Wangho says, against his better judgement.

Their walk to and from the convenience store is as normal as any other time. Dohyeon fills Wangho in on what he missed at scrims, and tells him all the funny moments from his stream that evening. They walk so close that their arms brush, and Dohyeon pays for Wangho’s food, as always. Wangho feels even stupider for freaking out earlier, with how easy it is for him to just fall back into step with Dohyeon, acting as if nothing is wrong. The kitchen is dark and quiet when they get in, and neither of them move to turn on the lights, content in the familiar shadows.

“Where’s Geonwoo?” Wangho asks, flicking on the electric kettle to make some tea.

“Watching a movie with Wooje,” Dohyeon answers from where he’s sorting through their plastic bag of snacks. “Date night, I suspect.”

Wangho wrinkles his nose, and leans against the counter, fingers reaching to fiddle with his cross. “I think I should talk to them. Or at least Wooje.”

“Omega to omega? Give him ‘the Talk’?” Dohyeon teases. “I think it’s fine to leave them to it. Can’t get in the way of young love.”

“You say that as if you’re so much older than them,” Wangho rolls his eyes, and ignores the way his heart jumps into his throat. “I just don’t want them to rush into something they’ll regret.”

“Hyung, you’re so unromantic! What made you so bitter?” There’s a mischievous glint in Dohyeon’s eyes when he turns to face Wangho, holding out a chocolate bar. “Besides, if it goes to shit, one of them can just sign somewhere else at the end of the year.”

Wangho freezes, chest tight, unsure what part of Dohyeon’s words gets to him: the idea of his little family splitting up again, or being asked what made him so bitter.

(His entire general career path? Being the designated eldest brother for so many years when that miserable, exhausted part of him still misses being the spoiled youngest? 2017, the scent of rainwater, frost, and the way Sanghy—)

It doesn’t really matter what exactly it is, because he’s already feeling particularly emotionally fragile, ugh, and the next thing Wangho knows is that he’s bent over the sink, fighting back rising saliva, with Dohyeon’s hand rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. He’s struggling to keep tears from spilling over his cheeks, shoulders shaking with every gasping breath, inhaling more and more saltwater and smokey anise. Dohyeon is hushing him gently, and Wangho can hear him talking distantly, but his head is under the waves and everything sounds muffled except for the way his ears ring. He gags into the sink, but nothing comes up, and his heart is pounding so hard, he worries nonsensically it may burst out and run away. He furiously scrubs his eyes with his sleeve, willing himself futilely to not let his tears spill over, but he can’t stop them, rolling wet and hot down his cheeks.

Then, Dohyeon is pulling him away from the sink and against his chest, one hand tucking Wangho’s face into his neck where his scent is strongest, his other arm wrapping around his shoulders. Wangho wants to cry and scream, to bang his fists against Dohyeon’s chest, and to yell, can’t you see? This is your fault, and you’re only making it worse! But nothing comes up other than his own muffled sobs, his body betraying him in the way it relaxes into Dohyeon’s familiar smell. Dohyeon rubs his shoulders, murmuring soothing, gentle words into the crown of Wangho’s head, and Wangho takes a shuddering, fragile breath. He wants so badly to resist and pull away, to tell Dohyeon off for pitying him, but the part of Wangho’s nervous system ruled by pheromones and bone-deep exhaustion is holding the rest of him by gunpoint, and he can feel his breathing start to slow, his shoulders relaxing.

“Hyung? What’s going on? Did I say something?” Dohyeon asks softly, voice nearly whispering.

“I don’t— I can’t,” is all Wangho can manage to choke out past the crushing grip of anxiety and shame around his throat. His hands are twisted into Dohyeon’s hoodie, exhaustion weighing his body down. He swallows. “I think I just want to go to bed.”

Dohyeon nods, lips pressed against Wangho’s hair, and walks Wangho to his room, his hand between Wangho’s shoulder blades.

Wangho doesn’t complain, or even really consciously register it when Dohyeon walks into his room, dressed for sleep, his laptop tucked under one arm. Wangho was the one who left his door unlocked, after all. He just silently moves over in his bed, and pulls back his blankets so Dohyeon can join him. Wangho doesn’t bother trying to stay awake for the anime Dohyeon has turned on at low volume, just lays down on his side, stares at the wall while Dohyeon cards a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, and lets the warm smell of clove lull him to sleep.

 

Wangho wakes unbearably warm, his eyes fuzzy, and his brain even fuzzier. The room smells smoky and spicy, dark and warm, but the early-morning sun is starting to peek through his blinds. Dohyeon’s arm is looped over his waist, a hand resting on Wangho’s stomach, his back pressed tight to Dohyeon’s front. Dohyeon has his forehead resting on the back of Wangho’s neck, and he is very, very hard where his lap is pressed to Wangho’s ass. Wangho jolts slightly, but Dohyeon grumbles sleepily, and winds his arm tighter around Wangho’s waist. He slaps a hand over his mouth when Dohyeon shifts his hips, rubbing his hard-on against Wangho’s ass.

He’s so wet. He’s so fucked. God, I hope so, a tiny, unhelpful voice at the back of his head supplies. Wangho envisions cathartically beating it with a stick. He reaches down, to try to detach Dohyeon’s arm from his hips, but Dohyeon grumbles again, rubbing his face against Wangho’s neck, and slides his hand further down Wangho’s stomach, so it’s resting right over his womb. Wangho freezes, feels slick begin to leak out from between his thighs, and shuts his eyes tightly. He fiddles with his cross, and tries not to breathe deeply, just to avoid the overpowering scent of incense. He’s so, so fucked.

Sleep doesn’t find him again, not really, just a state of fervent shame keeping his mind awake, while his body tries so valiantly to just relax into Dohyeon’s presence. Eventually though, Dohyeon must wake up, because his hold on Wangho’s waist suddenly disappears. He can feel the alpha sit up behind him, cursing to himself softly. Wangho ignores the way it makes his thighs clench, and continues to pretend to be asleep, until Dohyeon shifts and stands. He can feel dark, hot eyes on the back of his neck, but Dohyeon just pulls the covers back up over Wangho’s shoulders, and pads softly out of the room. Wangho waits until the door clicks shut, and then an extra few minutes to be sure, before he’s frantically rolling over and shoving his face into the pillow Dohyeon had been sleeping on, inhaling desperately.

Wangho grinds his hips down onto his mattress, but finds little relief. All he can think about is Dohyeon’s smell, his large hand on Wangho’s stomach, and how fucking big his dick was, hard against Wangho’s ass. He grasps blindly, shoving his other pillow between his legs, and gasps at the first firm drag of his clit against the seam of his pants. He feels like a stupid, horny teenager again, bucking his hips desperately against the pillow clenched between his thighs, his whining muffled in Dohyeon’s pillow, inhaling intoxicating spice with every gasp. A four-year dry spell will make any man desperate—alpha, beta, or omega—but Wangho doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this outside of a heat, every inch of his skin charged and hypersensitive, so achingly empty.

Worming a hand down his sweats and shoving three fingers into himself does little to relieve the ache, the stretch and sting of his fingers only a facsimile of what he so badly wants. His hands are so much bigger, his fingers longer, and Wangho whimpers pathetically, helpless to the idea of Dohyeon finger-fucking him ‘til he’s cumming all over himself. It’s disgusting how badly he wants it, thrusting his fingers in harshly, trying and failing to reach that spot inside that makes his vision white out. He can hear himself begging like a dog, powerless to stop the way he’s babbling, the guilty heat in his stomach melding with white-hot arousal and pure, repulsive desire, a complete loss of control.

He cums like that, grinding pathetically against a pillow with three of his own fingers shoved in his pussy, thinking about Dohyeon’s teeth in his shoulder and his dick bruising Wangho’s cervix. It’s a shitty orgasm, terribly unsatisfying, that does little to quell the empty ache between his legs, nor does it feel worth the barbell of shame sitting in his belly. The only positive is, while he’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling in “post-nut clarity”, as Jaehyuk calls it, is that he decides that he should really fucking talk to someone about this.

 

Generally, Wangho expects Sanghyeok to take an average of five business days to respond to a text. He’s long-since stopped taking it personally; he doesn’t think there’s a single person on earth as busy as Sanghyeok, and Wangho doesn’t fault him in the slightest for wanting to avoid his phone in his very precious downtime. That said, Wangho also knows how to make Sanghyeok respond to a text, like, as soon as possible—knowledge he weaponizes when he texts Sanghyeok a simple “Sanghyeokie-hyung, I could really use someone to talk to right now.”

So, he’s sitting at Sanghyeok’s kitchen table—at his actual house, not the T1 dorms—his head buried in his arms, while Sanghyeok looks on in mild concern and major confusion.

“So, the whole problem is that you… have mutual feelings for each other?” Sanghyeok asks, and yeah, it sounds pretty ridiculous when Wangho hears it like that.

“Ugh, okay, I know it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, but you have no idea how badly I’ve been freaking out about this!” Wangho exclaims, raising his head to look at Sanghyeok.

“I can see that,” he says, giving Wangho a sympathetic look, and reaches out to pat his head. “But I think you’re just making a problem for yourself over nothing.”

“You’re not helping,” Wangho grumbles, leaning his head into Sanghyeok’s delicate hand.

“I’m not sure what you expected me to do,” Sanghyeok laughs. “It’s not like I have much experience with this stuff to share.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m just—” Wangho chokes up, and then sighs, laying his head back down on one of his arms.

“...Scared?” Sanghyeok asks, gently. Wangho nods pathetically. “Of what?”

“Everything. I want him so badly, it makes me sick,” Wangho answers, too defeated to feign dignity, not to Sanghyeok of all people, who’s seen every inch of him—literally, at one time. “Of letting someone back in.”

There’s a long moment of weighted silence, and Wangho watches Sanghyeok’s face twist contemplatively.

“...Did I do this to you?” Sanghyeok finally asks, unusually subdued. Wangho whips his head up to look at him properly.

“Hyung,” Wangho says sharply, “it’s been seven years.”

“I was… very unkind to you,” Sanghyeok answers simply.

“Yeah, maybe, but that was seven years ago,” Wangho argues. “At some point, you can’t blame yourself for issues I should’ve gotten over ages ago.” Besides, I was equally unkind to you, Wangho thinks, but he knows it’s not something he has to say out loud.

Ultimately, it’s why he chose to go to Sanghyeok, despite, or perhaps because of, their mutual history. Their time together was brief and messy, but there’s parts of Wangho that only Sanghyeok has seen or understood, and even if they’re only friends now, the bond they had, the way they knew each other, hasn’t disappeared just because they don’t share a bed anymore.

Sanghyeok looks contemplatively at his hands. “But if it hadn’t happened, then you wouldn’t be hurting like this.”

“Sanghyeok.” Wangho drops any formalities, and Sanghyeok looks up at him. “You can’t blame yourself for a decision I made. It’s not like you lied to me; you told me from the very start you’d always prioritize your career, and I chose to try anyways, and I chose to expect more from you than what I knew you were willing to give.”

“You were young.”

“So were you,” Wangho says pointedly. He scrubs his face. “Look, we both fucked up, we were young and stupid, and sitting here arguing over who’s fault a seven-year-old breakup was isn’t really helping my current situation. I don’t regret you for a second, not anymore.”

“...Look at you. When did you get so mature?” Sanghyeok sighs, giving him a wobbly smile.

“Ugh, you sound like my ROX hyungs. I’m twenty-seven,” Wangho reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the pack of unopened cigarettes he’d stopped for, before coming over. “Here. Peace offering. Are we all good now?”

Sanghyeok bursts out laughing, and reaches for the cigarettes as he stands. “Wangho-yah, you’re bad for my health. We’ve been good for a while, don’t you think? Are you coming?”

Wangho smiles, and stands to follow Sanghyeok to his backdoor.

The early evening air is a bit chilly, just before sunset, so Wangho lets Sanghyeok cling to him, happy to share body heat with the skinny alpha. Every time he’s close enough to smell Sanghyeok, Wangho can’t help but be overcome with fond nostalgia, the scent of rain and cold, fresh air familiar and comforting. Maybe, at one point in time, this smell would hurt, would smell too much like a thunderstorm, and arguing, and losing, but those days are long gone, and Wangho will always be thankful they fell back into each other's orbit, even if their bond has changed since their SKT days. Sanghyeok offers Wangho a cigarette, and Wangho takes it, if only for nostalgia’s sake.

“Okay,” Sanghyeok says, once he’s lit both their cigarettes and taken a drag off his. “Go over this again with me?”

“I like Dohyeon. I hate that I like Dohyeon, and it’s so much worse knowing he likes me back. I don’t want him to take care of me, but also, I kinda do, ‘cause I’m really tired in general and it'd be nice to have someone else do the thinking for me. I’m scared of how well he knows me. It’s like he can read my mind sometimes,” Wangho rambles, “also, like, I can’t stop thinking about him fucking me, and it’s driving me kinda insane.” He pauses to take a drag, and glances at Sanghyeok. “Stop blushing like that, you’ve heard me say much filthier shit. Freak.”

Sanghyeok nearly doubles over laughing at that, pale skin flushed a luminous pink. “Sure, yeah, but not about someone else!” He pauses to catch his breath, takes another long drag off his cigarette, held loose in his slim fingers. “What makes you so certain he likes you back?”

It’s Wangho’s turn to blush. “He’s just… like, when I was sick after our match against Nongshim the other day, he gave me his jacket, even though he only had a jersey on underneath and it was fucking freezing out. He always pays for my food or whatever when we go out together. Actually, he’s always asking me to go out with him. Like, just everything he does around me. Talking to him is so easy. Being around him is so easy. He’s… really tender.” Wangho looks at his hands, and pointedly ignores how flushed his face feels, how sweet he probably smells.

Sanghyeok leans his face into Wangho’s neck, and Wangho rolls his eyes, but turns his head away to let him scent him properly, long since used to Sanghyeok’s desire to mark his people. When Sanghyeok pulls away, he’s smiling softly.

“To me, it sounds like he’s already taking care of you,” Sanghyeok says. He’s right, of course, and Wangho was aware of that on some level, but he had been trying really hard not to consciously acknowledge it. Fuck you, Sanghyeok, he thinks, for saying the quiet part out loud. “He sounds to me like a good man, Wangho, and that’s not just coming from you. And, if this is his version of caring for you, then I think that you’ve already decided you’re okay with that, haven’t you?”

Wangho sighs, and scratches his head. Takes another long drag off his cigarette, and fiddles with his cross. Stupid Sanghyeok.

“...You’re really annoying, do you know that?” Wangho grumbles.

“Yes, you tell me that regularly, and have been for as long as we’ve known each other. Don’t avoid the question,” Sanghyeok answers, still smiling mischievously at him.

“Yes. Fine. I’ve already been letting him take care of me, and I’ve been enjoying it.” Wangho stares at the lit end of his cigarette, face burning.

“You’re allowed to want things, Wangho. You’re allowed to want people. Don’t let yourself miss out on something that might be good for you,” Sanghyeok says softly. He wraps an arm around Wangho’s shoulders.

“...I’m scared I’ll let him in, and he’ll see all the gross parts of me, and decide he doesn’t want me anymore,” Wangho confesses, his voice just a whisper.

“You were just talking about how well he knows you, Wangho-yah.” Sanghyeok takes another lungful of smoke. “Don’t you think he’s already seen them, and wants those parts too?”

Wangho says nothing, just leans into Sanghyeok’s side as he stubs his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. Sanghyeok smells soft and content like this, ozone melding with cigarette smoke.

“I gotta ask, though,” he starts, an amused glint in his eyes, “why did you come to me of all people with this?”

There’s a lot of reasons, and he suspects Sanghyeok already knows why Wangho chose him over anyone else, but he’s had enough much emotional vulnerability today to last him the rest of the year, so he snorts and says, “well, my list was you, my ROX hyungs—who still think I’m sixteen—and Jaehyuk or Siwoo, who are probably, like, the worst people you could go to for this kinda stuff.”

“Yeah, okay, fair enough,” Sanghyeok says, giggling. He smiles at Wangho, eyes soft. “I’m really glad you have someone like Dohyeon in your life, Wangho-yah.”

“Ew. Stop being sentimental, you’re freaking me out,” Wangho says, because it’s easier than acknowledging the softness in Sanghyeok’s eyes. “What the hell is going on with you guys’ roster this year?”

Sanghyeok groans.

 

Wangho ends up spending way too long catching up with Sanghyeok, and by the time he’s letting himself back into the dorms, it’s just about 2 AM. The dorms are completely silent, so he suspects his teammates are out, or maybe on the other side of the house where Hwanjoong and Wooje’s rooms are. The silence doesn’t last long, though, and he’s in the kitchen, washing his hands, when the front door slams open, the sound of his teammates chattering away immediately filling the halls.

“Hey Wangho-hyung!” greets Wooje, leading the charge into the kitchen, carrying a bag from the convenience store in one hand and stripping off a scent patch with the other. His brow twists in confusion. “Did you go see Sanghyeok-hyung?”

“Oh, is that who that smell is?” Hwanjoong asks.

“Mhm. It’s been awhile since we’ve caught up, so we had dinner together,” Wangho answers, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Wait, and you didn’t invite me?” Wooje whines.

“I couldn’t, I was giving him a report on your behavior. Parent-teacher interview,” Wangho teases.

Wooje whines louder, turning so he can complain to a laughing Hwanjoong and a concerned-looking Geonwoo, but the three of them quickly resume their previous conversation. Dohyeon pulls up a chair next to Wangho’s, and they sit and watch the three youngest members bicker in silence for a moment. Wangho shuffles his chair closer to Dohyeon’s, and leans his head onto his shoulder, Dohyeon immediately moving to press their sides together, warm and familiar.

“How was dinner?” Dohyeon asks, breaking their comfortable silence.

Wangho shrugs. “We got take out, actually. It was kind of a spontaneous get-together, so he didn’t have anything to cook with.”

“Was it actually to have a conversation about Wooje? I didn’t think you were that worried about him…” Dohyeon trails off, brows furrowed as he watches Wooje blush at something Geonwoo murmurs in his ear.

Wangho laughs. “No, I was just teasing him. Sanghyeok-hyung did ask about him, but only to make sure he was doing well. I wanted to pick his brain about some other stuff.”

“About your… panic attack last night?” Dohyeon asks, tentatively.

“Related to that, yeah,” Wangho admits, sighing, “but I promise talking with Sanghyeokie-hyung really helped.”

“Okay, that’s good. I’m glad it helped,” Dohyeon says, carefully neutral.

“You’re being weird, Dohyeonnie,” Wangho replies, turning to give him a cheeky smile, the familiar urge to tease too strong to resist. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Dohyeon blushes almost instantly, and he averts his eyes. Interesting, Wangho thinks. He’s never seen Dohyeon get jealous over him; it’s not the first time he’s gone to see Sanghyeok, or any other alpha. It’s… not as scary to Wangho as he was expecting. Shit. He really is losing this fight.

“It’s none of my business. You just,” Dohyeon pauses, “you really smell like him.”

“Hey, we’re gonna go watch a movie, you guys coming?” Geonwoo interrupts, gesturing to Wooje and Hwanjoong.

Wangho shakes his head. “I’m still feeling a bit sick, so I’d like to get to bed.”

“I’m also gonna go to bed, I think,” Dohyeon says, yawning. “Haven’t been sleeping well.” He gives a pointed glance to Wangho.

“Mom and dad need alone time,” Hwanjoong snickers. “We get it, don’t worry!”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Wangho scowls, standing. Their three youngest members burst out laughing, practically running to the other half of the dorms, Wangho playfully chasing after them. He shuts the door behind them, and pads back to the kitchen, where Dohyeon is leaning on the kitchen table. He turns the lights off as he walks back in. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he turns to lean on the counter opposite of Dohyeon.

“Dohyeonnie,” Wangho starts, rolling his head to the side, exposing the side of his neck, not missing the way Dohyeon tracks the movement. Wangho is playing with fire here, and he knows it, but he’s in an indulgent mood, and Dohyeon’s put up with a lot of bullshit from him in the last few days. Wangho can at least give him this. “You were saying I smelt like Sanghyeok-hyung?”

Dohyeon is moving in front of him before he even finishes his sentence, face earnest and eyes wide and questioning. His hands are on the counter on either side of Wangho’s hips, caging him in. Wangho violently beats down his immediate urge to slip away, resolutely ignoring the fearful prey part of his brain screeching and whining about getting trapped. Instead, he puts a hand on the back of Dohyeon’s neck, and tugs him down to let him scent him.

It’s not the first time he’s let Dohyeon scent him. However, the other handful of times when Dohyeon’s scented him have always been done as quick-fix: after they lost at Worlds last year and Dohyeon was on the verge of frustrated tears before media duties, for example. Always done to quickly calm him down, almost clinical in nature.

This is the first time he’s let it happen out of possession. It’s intimate, especially with one of Dohyeon’s arms winding around his hips, his other hand linking up with Wangho’s. It makes Wangho’s knees a bit weak, and he fights back nausea. You’re allowed to want this, he repeats to himself, it’s okay to let him in. Every inch of his skin is crawling in torturous self-disgust and desire, and the conflicting emotions and sensations make him feel like he’s going to explode. His stomach is doing concerning things, and he can’t tell if it’s butterflies or nausea; he feels like crying, but can’t decide if it’s from fear, or the sheer tenderness in Dohyeon’s hazy eyes when he straightens up and looks down at him.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, tugging Wangho away from the counter and further into his arms, walking them back into the middle of the kitchen. “Is it me?”

“It’s not you,” Wangho murmurs, turning his head to rest his cheek against Dohyeon’s chest, his face hot and flushed. He twists his fingers into Dohyeon’s shirt, pressing himself closer, takes a shivery breath of anise, smoke, and clove. It’s hypnotic, and his head spins.

“Then of what?” Dohyeon asks, his lips brushing the crown of Wangho’s head. He’s swaying them back and forth, spinning them in a slow circle.

This. Letting you in. Letting you see me. How much I want you. Wangho doesn’t answer, choking up on his words, on the enormity of the love he feels for the man slowly dancing them around in a dark kitchen. It’s quiet for a long, painful moment, the only sounds being the quiet hum of the fridge, and of Dohyeon’s slow, steady breathing.

“...I love you, you know?” Dohyeon asks. Wangho's heart seizes painfully, but he’s able to stop himself before he wails out loud. His stomach is roiling, and it’s suddenly very, very hard to breathe through the iron-grip of guilt tightening around his lungs. He turns his head to hide his face in Dohyeon’s chest, tears quickly welling in his eyes and over his cheeks, soaking the front of Dohyeon’s shirt.

“Hey, shhh. Don’t cry sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Dohyeon raises their interlocked hands up, and kisses his knuckles, soft and tender. Wangho, hysterically, momentarily marvels through his tears at how much bigger Dohyeon’s hands are, enveloping his.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Wangho chokes out. “I’m sorry, I’m scared. I’m so scared.” He’s pathetic, tears streaming down his face, like a tantruming child, crying because he has no other way to express all the emotion broiling inside of him.

Dohyeon hushes him, kissing his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m choosing this. You,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Let me take care of you. I’ll take care of you.”

Wangho would say he knows he’s lost in that moment, but in retrospect, he doesn’t think there was a fight to lose to start with; just a tender inevitability. He’s giving up, a deer baring its throat for Dohyeon to sink his fangs in, accepting death from a gentle-hearted predator. If Sanghyeok was a train, barrelling towards him, Wangho knowing fully well he could’ve stepped off the tracks at any time, but letting himself get hit anyways, then Dohyeon is a wolf, an endurance predator, patient in his relentless pursuit of the fearful and fragile deer Wangho has become, sick with love and desire and the horrible urge to be cared for. Always a few steps behind Wangho, always a warm hand on his shoulder, walking him down to his inevitable desolation in Dohyeon’s jaws.

So, he relents, and lets Dohyeon close his teeth around his throat.

He lets himself sob against Dohyeon’s chest, lets him wipe his tears from his cheeks, lets him kiss his hands, his hair, his forehead. Lets Dohyeon guide him back into Wangho’s room and shuffle him into his bed, tucking the covers over his shoulders, kissing his forehead with a promise that he’ll be right back, just gonna change. He lets himself cling to Dohyeon when he comes back and slips under the covers next to him, lets Dohyeon pull him close so he can tuck Wangho’s head under his chin, lets himself breathe in the warm, comforting smell of incense and spices, lets Dohyeon scratch circles on his back until his breathing evens out and he’s fading out, into the soft, familiar dark.

 

Consciousness finds Wangho in waves, gently washing up around him, higher and higher, until he’s blinking his eyes open. He has his face pressed against Dohyeon’s throat, who has one arm over Wangho’s waist, and the other under his neck. Wangho takes a deep breath, the pleasant smell of clove soothing him before any anxiety can take hold of him. His eyes are itchy and dry, he’s just slightly too hot, and his entire face feels flushed and puffy. Dohyeon’s breathing is slow and even, and Wangho runs a palm up to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, his other hand fiddling with his necklace.

“I love you,” he whispers to himself, testing the shape of the words on his tongue. They’re sharp-edged and foreign, cutting at his tongue, but they don’t scare Wangho the way he expected them to, not when he’s wrapped up in Dohyeon’s arms, safe in his body heat. “I love you. I love you.”

Dohyeon’s arms wind tighter around him, one of his warm hands running up Wangho’s back. “Mm. You don’t have to force yourself to say it back,” Dohyeon whispers back, his voice raspy and syrupy with sleep.

“...I wanted to say it. For a while, I think. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize,” Wangho murmurs, tilting his face up to press his forehead to Dohyeon’s throat. Dohyeon rubs his back gently.

“It’s okay. I would’ve waited as long as you needed,” Dohyeon says. He kisses Wangho’s hair. “I love you, too.”

It’s warm and soft, hidden in Dohyeon’s arms, their breathing matched. Wangho’s eyes are sliding shut, and he reaches a hand out of the blankets so he can tangle his fingers in Dohyeon’s hair, scratching along his scalp. Dohyeon leans his head into the touch, and sighs contentedly.

“Feels good,” Dohyeon hums appreciatively, sliding a hand up the back of Wangho’s shirt, scratching his back gently. Wangho’s spine tingles with energy, but his body is too exhausted, too warm and boneless for anything beyond that, so they lay there and run their hands over each other's skin, through each other's hair, only semi-conscious.

Wangho must fall back asleep at one point, because suddenly he’s being jolted awake by the blaring of an alarm. Dohyeon sighs in annoyance, before he’s pulling away to reach blindly behind himself, snatching his phone off the bedside table, and hitting the snooze button with entirely too much animosity. He rolls back towards Wangho, eyes blinking blearily.

“How do you feel?” Dohyeon asks quietly. Wangho takes inventory of himself; his head is hurting a bit, but he probably just needs water, and his face and eyes feel puffy and itchy. His shoulders are sore, but they always are. He doesn’t necessarily feel sick anymore, but he still feels kinda fragile and achy, maybe the lingering cold, maybe the after-effects of crying his eyes out the night previous.

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus,” Wangho grumbles. “Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. Like I’ve been hit by a car. And like I really need to shower and brush my teeth.”

“Are you still sick?” Dohyeon asks, suddenly pulling away for he can press the back of his hand to Wangho’s forehead.

“If I’m warm, it’s because sleeping with you is like sleeping with a space-heater,” Wangho snorts. “I think it’s just ‘cause I was crying so much. I’ll be fine with a shower and some water.”

Dohyeon nods at him, but he’s still clearly concerned. “What happened there? I thought maybe I… overstepped and made you upset, but you said it wasn’t me?”

“...I really was just scared. I still am, I think, at least a little bit.” It’s hard to speak around the cotton in his mouth and the vice grip around his throat, but Wangho forces the words out anyways. “Not of you, but, just… I was overwhelmed. Letting you in—or anyone, I guess, but mostly you—really scares me. It’s not your fault just… something I’m working on, I guess.”

Dohyeon nods, cupping one of Wangho’s cheeks in his hands, his thumb brushing circles below his eye. “I understand, I think,” Dohyeon is silent for a moment, watching Wangho carefully. “...You won’t kick me back out, though, right?”

Wangho’s heart throbs painfully, but he forces down the bile in his throat and puts on his brave face. There’s still a part of him telling him he needs to run, to fight back, but Wangho resolves to ignore it, to beat it into quiet submission. He owes Dohyeon that.

He owes himself that.

“Sorry, you’re in for life,” Wangho murmurs, shuffling up in bed so he can rest his forehead against Dohyeon’s. “You’re stuck with me, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Dohyeon smiles at him, and slides his hand down from Wangho’s cheek to under his chin. “You can stop me, if you need,” Dohyeon whispers, their noses brushing, but Wangho is beating him to the finish line, already tilting his face to press their lips together.

It’s very chaste as far as kisses go, just warm and soft, but Wangho wraps his arms around the back of Dohyeon’s neck, and Dohyeon pulls him closer by the waist, so that the lines of their bodies are pressed together. Dohyeon smiles into the kiss, and rubs circles on Wangho’s hip.

“What’s so funny? Can’t you tell we’re having a moment?” Wangho teases, their lips brushing as he talks.

“Nothing. You’re really beautiful,” Dohyeon laughs against his lips.

“I cried like a baby for like, three hours last night. Flattery will get you nowhere,” Wangho chides back.

Dohyeon hums, and then suddenly he’s tugging Wangho on top of him, settling Wangho onto his lap, his thighs on either side of Dohyeon’s hips. Dohyeon slides his hands up his thighs, finding a resting spot on Wangho’s waist. “Mm, but I’m not just saying that. You really are beautiful,” he stretches his fingers out, touching his thumbs together across Wangho’s belly. “So tiny, too.”

Dohyeon’s eyes are hazy, focused on his hands circling Wangho’s waist. Wangho’s face heats up embarrassingly fast, and he can feel warm coals in his pelvis quickly getting stoked to life. Dohyeon drags his hands to rub up and down Wangho’s thighs, and his eyes flick up to catch Wangho’s gaze, dark and glinting, pupils blown. Wangho is about to lean in to kiss Dohyeon, when they’re both jolted out of the haze by the sound of Dohyeon’s alarm. Wangho reaches over to the offending alarm, fully intending on just shutting it off entirely, but Dohyeon sighs and sits up.

“We have scrims today, hyung, we’d be getting into a lot of trouble if you turn that alarm off.” Dohyeon says, gently pulling his phone out of Wangho’s hands.

“Ugh. Fuck scrims. I’m still sick right? And I gave you my cold,” Wangho grumbles. He’s so sexually frustrated he might explode and die, the heat between his legs positively intolerable.

Dohyeon hums. “As good as you look and smell right now, you’re also kind of the captain. Bad look if we dodge scrims so we can fuck.”

Wangho scowls at him, but he clambers off his lap anyways, standing and stretching. “Fine, but you can shower on your own. You take forever anyways.”

Dohyeon laughs at him, and follows him out of bed.

Scrims are fine. VOD review is fine. Wangho is definitely feeling better, at least physically; he still feels a little fragile and sensitive, but it’s fine. He has Dohyeon, and that’s fine. He’s allowed to rely on him, Wangho reminds himself stubbornly. Dohyeon, however, seems to get progressively more twitchy and harried-looking throughout the day, and Wangho can feel his eyes tracking him at every moment. They go and get dinner together, the whole team, and Dohyeon has a hand on Wangho at every turn; pressing up against him as they walk to and from the restaurant, a hand on his thigh under the table. It’s driving Wangho a little crazy, though not really in a bad way. He just wants Dohyeon in his guts. It’s fine.

They’re all walking back to the dorms when Dohyeon peels himself away from Wangho’s side, which, rude, he was enjoying the extra body heat, and slows down so he can fall in stride with Geonwoo. Wangho rolls his eyes at them, their heads bent together, and tunes himself into Wooje and Hwanjoong’s argument over the movie they had watched last night. Dohyeon’s conversation with Geonwoo doesn’t last long though, and suddenly he’s reattaching himself to Wangho’s side, wrapping an arm around Wangho’s narrow shoulders. Wangho can smell him through his scent blockers, unusually spicy, and it's making his brain a little bit fuzzy, but he shakes it off as they part ways with Wooje and Hwanjoong, and walk into their dorm.

“Hey, I’m gonna go hang out with Wooje and Hwanjoong,” Geonwoo calls from the doorway of his room. Wangho nods at him, and continues into the kitchen to wash his hands. He can feel Dohyeon’s eyes on him from the entryway, gaze prickling the back of his neck.

Only minutes later, Geonwoo is calling out a rushed farewell, and the door is slamming before Wangho can even answer. Kids these days. He rolls his eyes, and Wangho is about to turn and ask Dohyeon what he needs, but then Dohyeon is draping himself over Wangho, and peeling off his scent blocker. Wangho shivers, and reaches back to pull off Dohyeon’s. Instantly, the kitchen is filled with the heavy scent of incense, overpowering any of the clove and anise he would normally expect from Dohyeon, and Dohyeon is shoving his face against the junction of his neck and shoulder, his hands gripping Wangho’s slim waist.

“Actually, though, what’s your problem? You’ve been weird all day,” Wangho asks, though really, Wangho can already warrant a guess. He’s twenty-seven, and an omega; he knows what an alpha about to go into rut acts like.

“Maybe, probably, going into a rut. It’s a bit early but...” comes Dohyeon’s muffled response.

Wangho snorts a laugh, but Dohyeon’s hands are rubbing up and down his hips, and he’s fighting very, very hard against the urge to spread his legs and bend over the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I probably should’ve guessed. How early?”

Dohyeon pauses, and Wangho twists around to look at him. He’s very clearly using all his quickly diminishing brainpower to do the mental math, and Wangho covers his mouth with hand so he doesn’t laugh. He knows how annoying hormones are, and he probably wouldn’t want to be laughed at if his heat came early.

“Like, a week? A week and a half. Was supposed to be after our next match against Nongshim,” Dohyeon answers, finally, staring at the ceiling. “You really don’t have to stay, I totally understand.”

Wangho actually does laugh at that. “Is that why you kicked out Geonwoo? So you could kick me out too?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to. I’m completely capable of handling a rut on my own,” Dohyeon grumbles, still staring at the ceiling. He sighs, “I kicked Geonwoo out because I felt like punching him everytime he looked at you.”

Wangho’s definitely getting a little bit wet, and he subtly tries to adjust how he’s standing, underwear starting to stick. Dohyeon’s hands are burning Wangho’s skin where they’re situated on his hips, and his cheeks are flushed red. He reaches up, presses his hand to Dohyeon’s cheek.

“You’re burning up. Do they normally come on this quickly?” Wangho asks quietly. Dohyeon nods.

“They’re pretty quick compared to some other alphas, just not usually this early,” Dohyeon complains, and then he’s shoving his face back down against Wangho’s neck. Wangho shivers.

“Is it ‘cause of me?” Wangho asks, feigning concern to mask the sick little glee he feels over having this kind of effect on Dohyeon.

“...You’ve been driving me crazy the last couple days,” Dohyeon mutters, sliding a hand up the front of Wangho’s sweater to rest against his belly. “I could smell you, you know. Yesterday morning. And my fucking jacket, what did you do to that? It smelt like you got off wearing it.” The kitchen is so, so hot, air heavy and heady with the smell of incense. Wangho spreads his legs the tiniest bit, and Dohyeon’s hips hitch forward, one arm coming to wrap around his waist.

“That’s not far from the truth,” Wangho admits, fog threatening the periphery of his vision. All he can smell is Dohyeon, dark and hypnotic. “I slept in it. Had a dream about you.”

Dohyeon finally tugs Wangho back far enough to grind up against his ass, hot and hard, Wangho’s hands slamming down on the kitchen counter to steady himself. Wangho gasps, and Dohyeon mouths along the side of his neck, pressing him harder into the counter with a filthy roll of his hips. Wangho twists so he can drag Dohyeon into a kiss, frantic and wet, quickly getting overpowered by Dohyeon aggressively licking into his mouth.

“Dohyeon,” Wangho gasps against his mouth, “Dohyeon, bed. Please.”

“Right here, let's do it right here,” Dohyeon mumbles, diving back into Wangho’s mouth. “Wanna fuck you so bad, wanna put a baby in you, you’d make such a good mom, please.”

Wangho whimpers embarrassingly loud at that, thighs unconsciously spreading further apart. “C’mon, please, you can’t knot me here. Bed,” he pleads. Dohyeon stills, pulling away to stare at him.

“You’re sure?” he asks. His eyes are hazy, and his brow is furrowed, visibly trying to fight his way through his hormones. Wangho’s heart squeezes, and he nods.

“I’m sure.” The words are barely out of Wangho’s mouth before he’s being pulled away from the counter, practically dragged out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Despite himself, Wangho laughs at Dohyeon’s eagerness, and lets him push Wangho back onto his bed, reaching up to pull his glasses from his face and set them on his bedside. Dohyeon is on him immediately, grabbing his chin to join them in a searing kiss and forcing Wangho’s thighs apart so he can resume grinding against him.

“You have, no idea,” Dohyeon mutters between kissing him, “what you’ve been doing to me. How fucking badly I’ve wanted this.”

Wangho gasps into his mouth, threading his hands into Dohyeon’s hair and tugging, getting a choked-off moan as his reward. Dohyeon’s hands are everywhere, shoving his sweater up, running over his hips, his thighs, his belly, burning hot and relentless. Wangho reaches down for the hem of Dohyeon’s shirt, and the two of them wrestle it off, Dohyeon tossing it haphazardly behind himself. Wangho uses the very brief respite to strip his sweater the rest of the way off, before Dohyeon is on him again, licking into Wangho’s mouth again, and pulling him by the hips into another harsh grind. Wangho whimpers when Dohyeon shifts their angle and grinds his dick right against Wangho’s clit, and Dohyeon immediately repeats the motion with more pressure, forcing a louder whine out of Wangho, his legs jumping to wrap around Dohyeon’s hips.

He’s so fucking hot, every inch of his skin burning like an exposed nerve, frayed, fragile, and sensitive. Dohyeon pulls away from Wangho’s mouth, ducking his head to kiss his throat, teeth latching onto Wangho’s Adam’s apple. Wangho moans out loud, hips bucking violently, and Dohyeon runs a hand over his stomach again, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Wangho’s track pants.

“So pretty, so so pretty,” Dohyeon murmurs against Wangho’s throat, “gonna treat you so good, take care of you, get you so full, so full.” He pulls at Wangho’s pants, tugging them down to his knees, and immediately resumes grinding against Wangho’s pussy.

Wangho’s head is spinning, and he’s so, so empty, a burning ache in his pelvis. He can’t spread his thighs any wider, not with his pants in the way, and the wetness in his underwear is starting to seep down his ass, so he shoves lightly at Dohyeon’s chest. Dohyeon sits back, looking momentarily confused, until Wangho peels his track pants the rest of the way off. His gaze flickers between Wangho’s lap and his face, eyes with a predatorial gleam, and then Wangho is being shoved back onto the bed, and Dohyeon is pulling his boxers down too, licking and biting his stomach and hips as he goes. Wangho’s hands find themself back in Dohyeon’s hair, knotting locks around his fingers, and Dohyeon wraps a hand around one of his thighs, tugging them apart so he can fit himself in between.

He’s distantly aware that he’s probably making a fucking mess of his fresh, clean sheets, but his brain short circuits when Dohyeon shoves his face between his thighs, and immediately sets about abusing Wangho’s clit with his tongue, licking and sucking like he’s a feral dog having its first meal in days, his own hips rutting down against the mattress. The heat in Wangho’s pelvis is almost unbearable, burning white-hot, goaded on by Dohyeon’s tongue licking into him. He slaps a hand over his mouth, not wanting to be heard through the dorm’s thin walls, but Dohyeon pauses and looks up at him, before reaching up to peel Wangho’s hand off his mouth, lacing their fingers together, and immediately diving back in.

“Dohyeonnie, please,” Wangho gasps, hips bucking against Dohyeon’s mouth, the emptiness between his legs getting painful, “in me, want you in me.”

Then, Dohyeon is pushing two fingers into his pussy, made easy by the slick leaking out of Wangho. Holy shit, Wangho thinks, a little hysterical, I was so right about his hands. He whines, high and loud, and Dohyeon pumps his fingers in, trying to find the right angle. Dohyeon twists his hand at just the right angle to brush against Wangho’s cervix, and Wangho yelps, tightening his grip in Dohyeon’s hair and shoving his hips down. Dohyeon repeats the motion, and slick gushes out, so he hums happily around Wangho’s clit, and repeats the motion harder and quicker, quickly building an abusive rhythm that has Wangho gasping for air. There’s so much tension and heat building in his hips that Wangho is vaguely worried something might, like, rupture, and there’s tears welling in his eyes, but Dohyeon is relentless, abusing that spot over and over again.

It’s almost unbearable, the relentless pumping of Dohyeon’s fingers, and Wangho’s head spins. Wangho can’t help the pathetic whines he’s making, or the way his hips are rolling down to meet Dohyeon’s mouth on his clit. Dohyeon’s arm across his stomach, his free hand still laced with Wangho’s hand, his thumb rubbing circles against Wangho’s knuckles, does very little to stop the desperate grind of Wangho’s hips. He twists his hips at a particularly cruel thrust, Dohyeon’s teeth grazing his clit, and Wangho is suddenly cumming, thighs shaking and slick pouring out of him, his head rolling back into his pillow. Dohyeon makes another happy noise, continuing to finger-fuck Wangho through the aftershocks, still relentlessly sucking at his clit, not stopping until Wangho shoves him off, overly-sensitive.

“So pretty,” Dohyeon murmurs, smiling as he sits up to look at Wangho, eyes fogged over, “so fucking pretty. Wanna put a baby in you. You’d be so pretty, full and bred.”

It’s fucking filthy. It makes Wangho’s stomach and thighs clench, makes his womb twist and his face burn. He can feel more slick slide out at Dohyeon’s words, his body expecting him to make good on his words. Dohyeon leans forward, an elbow next to Wangho’s head, rubbing his nose to Wangho’s flushed cheek, eyes fluttering shut in contentment. It’s blisteringly tender, ignoring the wetness on Dohyeon’s face, and Wangho squeezes his eyes shut, blinking away his tears and wrapping his arms around Dohyeon’s neck. He hums happily, tilting his face to press his lips to Wangho’s, and Wangho opens so easily, licking into Dohyeon’s mouth sloppily.

“Dohyeonnie.” Wangho breaks away from the kiss with a gasp, a strand of saliva connecting them. Filthy, he thinks, filthy, both their lips shiny with spit, and Dohyeon’s face hazy with want. “Dohyeonnie, please, please fuck me?”

Dohyeon shivers, his hands gripping Wangho’s hips so he can drag him up into a torturous roll of his hips, dick hot and hard through his sweats. He seems to get lost in the motion, face foggy and gaze single-mindedly focused on Wangho’s slim stomach and narrow waist. Wangho runs his hands down from his broad shoulders, down his sides, and snags his fingers in Dohyeon’s waistband, tugging his sweats and boxers down together. This seems to shake Dohyeon from his haze slightly, and his hands meet Wangho’s to pull his pants down, shucking them to the floor. He looks uncomfortably hard, tip leaking, and Wangho’s breath catches in his throat, a painful twist of need in his hips. Dohyeon leans back down, resting their foreheads together, pupils so blown the brown of his eyes is no longer visible.

His grip on Wangho’s waist is nearly painful, and he pulls Wangho closer to grind his dick onto his pussy, the movement easy and smooth with how wet Wangho is. He’s burning against Wangho, white-hot, and Wangho wraps his legs over Dohyeon’s hips, pulling him in. He lifts his hips in offering, Dohyeon’s gaze fixated on his, and only jumps a little bit when his blunt tip finds Wangho’s hole, teasing at his entrance. Big. Wangho tightens his grip around Dohyeon’s waist in encouragement, and Dohyeon pushes in, inch by intolerable inch, the stretch arresting Wangho’s breathing, pain shooting up his spine as Dohyeon continues to press forward, relentless.

“Big,” Wangho gasps against Dohyeon’s lips, taking a deep, shuddery breath as he tries to force himself to relax and accommodate Dohyeon splitting him open. “I can’t, ah—”

“Mm, you can, so good for me, so good,” Dohyeon hums, dazedly, sitting upright, face dreamy and distant. He tugs Wangho closer so that their hips meet and he bottoms out, punching a needy sound from both of them. He looks down to where they’re connected, and Wangho jerks at the feeling of Dohyeon’s fingers circling Wangho’s stretched hole. “So pretty, you take me so pretty.”

It’s too much. There’s tears welling back up in Wangho’s eyes, and it’s getting hard to breathe around the pressure between his legs and the weight of the tenderness in Dohyeon’s eyes. Dohyeon shifts again, Wangho yelping at the sudden change in angle forcing him impossibly further onto his dick, and Dohyeon is wrapping his arms around Wangho’s middle, nuzzling his face into Wangho’s neck. He takes a shuddery breath, his shoulders shaking, and oh, Wangho thinks, he’s trying so hard. His heart aches with the softness of it all, Dohyeon’s mouth finding his pulse and closing gently around it, fighting back against whatever primitive drive he’s suffering under, just for Wangho’s sake. Wangho takes a deep breath, and tangles his fingers in Dohyeon’s hair.

“...Move,” he whispers, “Please, move.”

Dohyeon pauses, raising his head to look at Wangho, his brow furrowed. Then, his mouth is finding Wangho’s again, and he’s pulling back slow and steady, before snapping his hips forward hard, punching all the air from Wangho’s lungs, forcing an embarrassing squeak out of him. Wangho can’t even bring himself to care about the sounds he’s making, not when Dohyeon’s pace is quickly becoming borderline abusive, not when he shifts his hips and shoves against Wangho’s cervix. Wangho moans into Dohyeon’s mouth, and Dohyeon, ever the pleaser, repeats the motion harder, forcing another spill of slick out of Wangho. It’s kinda disgusting, how wet the whole affair is, slick smearing all down Wangho’s ass and the front of Dohyeon’s thighs, tears rolling down Wangho’s cheeks, and they’re both drooling into whatever poor attempt they’re trying to pass off as a kiss.

He doesn’t even care. Dohyeon’s so far up inside him, he can feel him in his throat. The snap of Dohyeon’s hips against Wangho’s is downright vicious, and he’s pulling away from their kiss to bite at his cheeks, along his jaw, and down his throat, before biting down on Wangho’s collarbone. Wangho’s distantly concerned enough about ripping out Dohyeon’s hair that he’s able to wrench his fingers loose, instead settling his hands on Dohyeon’s broad shoulders.

“So good, you’re taking me so good, so good for me,” Dohyeon’s whines against Wangho’s throat. He runs his hands from Wangho’s hips to the underside of his thighs, shoving them up against his chest, driving himself even deeper. He can feel the start of Dohyeon’s knot forming, catching at his rim. “Pretty boy, gonna breed you so good, I love you, so good at taking me.”

“I can’t, it’s too much, too big,” Wangho sobs, the warm pressure in his pelvis making his spine arch off the mattress.

“You can, sweetheart, you can, you do it so good,” Dohyeon is just babbling, one hand reaching up to pet Wangho’s hair. “You’re doing so good, love, gonna fill you so nice, you can take it, you—”

Dohyeon’s hips stutter, and he harshly snaps them forward, shoving his knot into Wangho all in one violent movement. Wangho’s whole body seizes up and then convulses as he cums on Dohyeon’s knot, eyes briefly rolling back into his head, and another wave of slick gushing out. Dohyeon fucks him through it, as much as he can with his knot inside, tugging on every pull-back, Wangho thrashing at the overstimulation. It’s so, so much, the stinging stretch of Dohyeon’s knot, his hands carding through Wangho’s hair, the rambling and praise against his throat.

“Too much Dohyeonnie, please, it’s so much,” Wangho whines at him, digging his fingertips into Dohyeon’s shoulders, but he’s pinned in place by Dohyeon’s hands on his thighs, and the hypnotic smell of spices and smoke.

“Please, little more baby, please, I love you, gonna fill you so, so good,” Dohyeon begs. His pace is rapidly becoming more and more erratic with every clench of Wangho’s body, trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm. “I love you so much, gonna be such a good mom, so pretty taking me.”

Wangho just whimpers, wrapping his arms around Dohyeon’s neck to tug him into another sloppy kiss. Dohyeon’s hands find a bruising grip on Wangho’s waist again, and shoves his hips forward harshly, once, twice, before dragging Wangho down to meet him on the third. Wangho is strangely hyper-aware of the way Dohyeon’s dick twitches as he fills him with cum, white-hot. He moans into Wangho’s mouth, his hips twitching violently, and Wangho breathes in harshly, unconsciously tilting his hips to meet Dohyeon’s.

Wangho pants, and flops back dramatically, letting his head bounce on his pillow, trying to catch his breath. He absent-mindedly touches his cross, glancing up when he feels Dohyeon’s fingers touching his. Dohyeon’s eyes are still glassy, and there’s still a luminous flush high on his cheeks, and he’s panting even harder than Wangho. He reaches out, and tugs Dohyeon forward to lay on top of him, wrapping his legs around Dohyeon’s waist, ignoring the way the position makes his hips ache and residual electricity shoot up his spine, content to just let Dohyeon cover him up, breathing in his familiar spice and smoke. Dohyeon sighs, and they lay like that for several long heartbeats, Wangho skating his fingers up and down Dohyeon’s back, Dohyeon running a hand through Wangho’s sweaty hair.

“...This can’t be comfortable for you,” Dohyeon murmurs, face hidden in Wangho’s neck.

“No, it really isn’t,” Wangho huffs a quiet laugh.

Dohyeon sighs again, and winds his arms under Wangho’s middle, before quickly and abruptly rolling them, swapping their positions. The movement tugs uncomfortably where they’re still connected, and Wangho scrunches his face up.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dohyeon soothes, rubbing a hand between Wangho’s shoulders.

“It’s fine, Dohyeonnie, really,” Wangho answers, slurred from where his cheek is pressed to Dohyeon’s collarbone. “I wanted this.”

“...I really do love you, you know?” Dohyeon says, after a long moment of silence.

“I’d ask if hormones usually make you this sappy, but honestly, you’re always this sappy,” Wangho teases gently. “I know, Dohyeon. I love you too.” Even when it scares me, he thinks. He owes it to himself, to say it outright, and to mean it too. Dohyeon hums, and they lay in comfortable silence for another long moment. Wangho’s hips ache, and he’d really love a shower, but he feels utterly and completely relaxed like this, boneless, his head on Dohyeon’s chest, one hand laced with his.

“Sorry for wrecking your clean sheets, and maybe your mattress, by the way.” Dohyeon says sheepishly.

Wangho fully bursts out laughing, even if it makes both of them wince, before reaching past Dohyeon’s head to tug the fitted sheet of his bed loose from one corner, revealing the mattress protector underneath. “Why are you the one apologizing? I’m the one who was making the mess. Besides, mattress protector.” He grins at Dohyeon. “A shower might be nice, though. Is that gonna be worth it? I don’t really know how ruts usually go for you.”

Dohyeon yawns. His eyes are slightly less glassy, but he still looks like he has to use every wrinkle of his brain to formulate an answer. “That’s probably the worst of it, at least. I’ll be done by tomorrow evening. Or today-evening, I don’t know what time it is. And you can probably get off now, if that’s more comfortable.”

Wangho nods, smiling, and they go about trying to coordinate detangling themselves from each other without making even more of a mess. Wangho sends Dohyeon for a towel, citing his ‘poor, sore hips, don’t you know I’m too old to get treated like this?’ Dohyeon laughing at him the whole way into Wangho’s ensuite. He returns with a wet, cold towel, and the glass off Wangho’s bathroom counter full of water, and Wangho lets him help clean up, even if his face burns the whole time.

Notes:

ughfdjkghfdkj this was such a monster to write, it literally took over my brain its like i was possessed by the yaoi devil. also you can really tell i went to catholic school lol.

these two are so deranged its actually insane. what do you mean they had dinner together on christmas. what do you mean viper straight up said "i like you" and called him babe on stream. what do you mean he wears a bracelet peanut gave him nearly 24/7. i hate it here.

anyways, huge huge thanks to my beta reader, fish, and to ami, tenten, and phel for the encouragement (and letting me crashout in their dms about pernut lmao).

i have an onelk fic in the works, so if u enjoyed this, keep ur eyes peeled for that on my twitter, @genovivasgg. thanks for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of a/b/o fics