Chapter Text
It’s the height of the first heat wave in June, right in the middle of the busiest work week when Huening Kai comes home with divorce papers. He unseals them over dinner, and Yeonjun laughs and feeds him a piece of his steak — medium rare. It’s always been a breeze, everything with Kai, and that might have been the only reason why the marriage worked for as long as it has. Kisses for show, and just soft touches in the bedroom when Kai’s little boyfriends from downtown were too preoccupied with their own lives.
Yeonjun doesn’t mind it, he never has, not even when Kai comes home reeking of alpha pheromones and a dazed look in his eyes, and he has to offer him gentle kisses and long hugs that permeate the air with comfort from just their scents intermingling. It has never been a hassle to deal with; not since Kai had cried in his arms a few months into their marriage, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not what you wanted. Yeonjun had held him, whispering tiny reassurances into his hair, I wouldn’t have it any other way, because it had been as true then as it is now. Most people marry for love, for wealth, for something; it had indeed been all that, some semblance of an attempt at it, but they’d found friendship too.
A year later, Yeonjun had been introduced to Choi Soobin and Kang Taehyun, easy on the eyes, and so insouciant about their arrangement that Yeonjun goes out to brunch with them at times. It’s a good cover, Kai had said, shame burning through him in tight little visible waves, ears crimson with it. Yeonjun had smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Kai’s ear, right where he’d laid next to him in bed, I could never be ashamed of you.
“Do you regret it?” Kai asks now, arms encasing Yeonjun on the creaking swing on their roof.
Yeonjun’s answer also comes like a breath of relief, unfurling from deep within his chest as though the accumulated guilt from over the years had finally retracted their quills from around his heart. “I would do it again if you asked.” Guilt that comes in the form of loving Kai in a way he could never explain to anyone, guilt that stems from never being what Kai needs, from being the one thing barring him from happiness: from being his husband, and never his omega.
Kai cries then, too, because he’s never been good at keeping things bottled, keeping mum to save face, especially when it comes to Yeonjun. “You’re my best friend, hyung, and more. I’m sorry.”
Yeonjun kisses him in lieu of a response, because for whatever they had shared, Kai had never not been wonderful. He’d never not been considerate, never wishing to taint Yeonjun’s name, never wanting his husband to look as though he’d been forced into a loveless marriage. He’d held him and kissed him, taking careful steps in every turn to not be found out, even though Yeonjun doesn’t care and probably never will. He’s always been selfless. Yeonjun can’t take any more of him than he already has.
“I love you. I’ll love you, still, even when we part ways and you only visit for the holidays and everyone asks what is wrong with me, letting my ex-husband come to me after everything. I’ll love you even when you build a new life, and you realize you could’ve had all of that if not for me holding you back.”
Kai presses open-mouthed kisses to his exposed chest then, as if in apology. The drop of his tears feels almost solid, almost endless, and Yeonjun can’t bear to look at him. “You’ll find someone, hyung, someone who will worship the ground you walk on, and they’ll love you in all the ways I couldn’t. You’ll be cherished, and you won’t have to constantly wonder if they’re coming home, and you won’t have to compromise on happiness anymore.”
It’s five years too late, even though Yeonjun doesn’t hold an ounce of resentment. It’s been five years of selfish desires and the incapability of imagining life without the other. It’s been five years of being married off to the youngest son of the Jungs, all because they had dated, and Kai hadn’t been in love with a Choi Soobin and a Kang Taehyun yet. Yeonjun worries, deep down, because finding love at thirty-four has never been anyone’s dream, but he’d been too terrified to look at anyone else all those years.
They fall asleep like this, like all times, in the bed their mothers had picked out together, much more excited at the time than the soon-to-be-weds — holding each other like a lifeline much like they had when Yeonjun had been twenty-nine and Kai, twenty-eight, on the 29th of May five years ago.
Yeonjun wakes up alone, a business card on his bedside table from some law firm he has never heard of.
Doing my friend a favour
Love, Kai
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The drive to C&K Associates feels more like a coffee run than anything else. Kai had explained, over a phone call, how friend meant Choi Soobin and the favour being that he was asking Yeonjun to employ Soobin’s baby cousin as his divorce attorney. It’ll be his first big case; it’d be good for him. Yeonjun supposes it hardly matters in the end, because everything is indeed just for show, for the sake of salvaging what little normalcy out of their relationship they could. It would be respectable, and straightforward — everything in halves, and anything that Yeonjun fought to keep would also be his. If it got to play-fight squabbling for the sake of it too, Kai had promised to let him win. All child’s play, easy as they come.
There’s a click to his footsteps when Yeonjun steps in, the metal tip of his boots clanging against the floor tile. Pristine beige; he grimaces. The receptionist looks and feels out of place, stumbling and stuttering over his words when Yeonjun walks up to him, I’m looking for a Choi Beomgyu. It’s nothing out of the ordinary; once upon a time, Kai had been the same. He’d stuttered over his words and struggled to call Yeonjun beautiful without turning a flush of cherry. Young alphas, the whole bunch of them, tend to have a hive mind reaction to him.
The boy leads him down the hall, third door to the left. Lee Sohee — his nametag reads; Yeonjun eyes him carefully. Two knocks, and he scurries away before Yeonjun can see him turn bright red, stumbling over on his way as though he has two left feet. The faint come in barely resonates through the thick wooden door.
The first step in hits him with cinnamon trails on black tea — warm like it had been sundried for months. Yeonjun has hardly ever been reactive to scents, one of the things about himself he has always been glad for. But this one… this one makes him dizzy. “Oh,” the boy scrambles out of his chair, striding forward in hurried steps, “You’re early.” He’s boyish, terribly so, as though he has yet to learn to polish his words and carry that air of self-assurance the way his colleagues do. An arm extends, and the scent hits him full force in his face. “Nice to meet you. I’m Choi Beomgyu.”
Yeonjun gulps when he meets the handshake, a buzz by his ear and a light-headedness he has not felt in years. “Choi Yeonjun. I assume Soobin briefed you about me.”
“Only that he’s friends with both you and your husband. Please, take a seat,” Beomgyu gestures to the couches, white leather, and the room smells faintly of oak from the diffuser to the far right. “Would you like some tea?”
⟡
Nothing in Choi Beomgyu’s life had ever come easy — not his degree, not his job, and definitely not his first case. Or lack thereof. He’d been assigned petty cases, small disputes, cases where he’d had to be there for the sake of being there. A shadow, an assist, up until this morning.
Choi Yeonjun is thirty-four, Soobin hyung’s friend, and he came in in a Porsche (911 Carrera S Cabriolet in Gentian Blue Metallic; Beomgyu’s seen it in catalogues) — that’s all he knows. Beomgyu had been staring from his window, breath caught in his throat as he’d gawked at the man running a hand through his long strands. It’s hard to miss him, not when he looks like that, and even harder to ignore him.
Here he was, sipping tea almost gracefully, laughing at Beomgyu’s rookie mistakes with practiced poise, and Beomgyu feels faint. He’s criminally beautiful.
In came with the omega the slightest notes of peonies and macadamia; and in his trail, it feels as though his scent blooms and glimmers. Beomgyu’s mouth waters almost, and with it comes the most distinctive feeling of shame. “And the Porsche out back?” He asks, before he can catch himself, a few minutes into the consultation. Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised.
“Mine to keep. Birthday gift,” he explains, curt and simple.
It’s not difficult to pinpoint what kind of case this is, or rather, will be. It’ll be easy, and clean, with both parties presumably sure of what they want already. That’s always the case with rich people, or at least as far as Beomgyu knows. But there are telltale signs, little mannerisms and tones to soon-to-be-divorcees — where they can’t help but hide the disdain, the exhaustion, the greed. Beomgyu doesn’t see any of that in Yeonjun.
“Why do I feel like this isn’t really where you want to be?”
It tumbles out of him with mortification, and he burns hot when Yeonjun giggles, despite the apology dying on his tongue the next second. “Excellent observation, then,” Yeonjun says, breath leaving him in soft sounds, “But it’s not about what I want. It’s been a long time coming is all.”
There’s a glint that crosses Yeonjun’s eyes then, something Beomgyu has never seen once in his budding career — guilt. (He doesn’t ask.)
When Yeonjun crosses his legs and his shorts ride up, a little further up than what Beomgyu would deem lawful, he’s reminded so terribly that he is indeed just an alpha. He wears that title like a sin and takes long sips of water amidst their discussions. Once, just once, Yeonjun catches him staring, and Beomgyu holds his breath for the curses and the scolding, except it never comes — Yeonjun only flushes and refuses to meet his eyes.
The consultation comes to a close with Yeonjun scurrying out of his office, one more session planned the same week, demeanor resembling that of terror. Beomgyu slumps against the door, then, once he’s alone, heart thumping in his chest, blood rushing everywhere it shouldn’t. His attempts at recomposing himself fails so pitifully, when he’s rearranging the couch pillows, and everything reeks of Yeonjun.
To his chagrin, he nose-dives to where Yeonjun had been sitting, and falls back with a scream of horror when he catches himself.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Yeonjun’s favourite thing about summer is lazing by the pool, like a house cat, falling asleep with just enough warmth on his skin that it simmers beneath the flesh too. He’s never quite picked up on how to swim, despite his weak attempts at learning; at most, he enjoys watching Kai’s back flex against the crystal blue of their pool water.
A little over an hour after lunchtime, Yeonjun rouses to flicks of little droplets on his skin. When he blinks awake, Kai is back in the pool. “Don’t you have a date to get to?” He asks, breaking off into a yawn when Kai swims towards him, arms raising to rest on the pool coping, sunny skin on white marble. “Why do you ask? Need me out of the house before your little boyfriend gets here?”
It’s Friday, which means Kai will work his night shift at the hospital, and sleep over at Taehyun’s, and Yeonjun will only see him again on Monday morning. Yeonjun scowls and contemplates throwing his book at him. “He’s not my little boyfriend.” He sits up, pouting indignantly, eyes hazy despite his very short nap.
Kai cackles and dives back down, emerging only to say. “Right, it’s not like I had to drive your car down to the shop to have the seats steam-cleaned of your slick after a ten-hour shift, sure.”
It’s petrifying. “You said you wouldn’t tease me!”
He barely gets his feet into his slip-ons before he’s stomping his way into the house, a gush of water behind him — the sound of Kai climbing out of the pool — followed by wet footsteps. “Hyung,” Kai calls, amusement still bleeding from his voice. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he tries again, a hand enclosing Yeonjun’s wrist once he catches up. When he turns around his husband is still smiling. Yeonjun wrings his hand free despite his annoyance dying at the sight; the show must go on.
Kai scurries after him, dripping all over the floors, “Hyung,” he pleads. Yeonjun glares all through pouring himself sparkling water, from a little tap Kai had gotten fit into their counter, because he loves little gadgets like these, and all while sipping on it. Kai leans over, trying to get him to soften, “It’s just refreshing to see you like that.”
Yeonjun supposes he understands, to an extent, because Kai has indeed never seen him express interest in anyone else at all. There had been one guy before him, but most days Yeonjun can’t even recall his face; and then another one after him, about three years ago, because Yeonjun had mourned the loss of his youth for exactly three days and hooked up with someone in the back of his car — he’d gotten up the next morning and never thought of him again.
Kai cups his face with one hand, smile fond, pressing the pads of his fingers into Yeonjun’s cheek. “I’m just excited for things to change for you. That’s all.”
Being held this way, with eyes that glimmer of newfound hope fixed on him, Yeonjun almost remembers what it felt like when they were younger. He’d met Kai at twenty-seven, at an age when he’d believed himself to be grown, and in love. He’d loved Kai then too, much like he does now — in the only way he knew how. But every once in a while, when Kai holds him this tenderly, he almost remembers how it felt to be on the receiving end of Kai’s affections, back when he believed so strongly that Yeonjun would be the love of his life.
“Thank you,” he says, sincerely, because he knows how Kai loves him too, how he has never failed to show it despite being too particular about not saying it to him anymore. “But he’s a boy. Twenty-seven,” he reminds the man in front of him. “It was just an accident. Pheromones, biology,” he insists. Kai only smiles at him.
The doorbell rings at 2 P.M. sharp, right as Kai is about to leave.
It’s also Kai who lets a confused Beomgyu in, who throws him worried glances once he spots Yeonjun behind the tall man answering the door, despite introducing himself so graciously. Kai is doing it for his amusement alone; Yeonjun can tell from the way he laughs. When Kai opens an arm towards him, his cue to walk up to them, sinking into the hold as his soon-to-be ex-husband presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. Beomgyu stares openly. “Have fun,” Kai tells him, a low whisper by his ear, laughing to himself as he pulls away, and still on his way out.
Yeonjun sighs so heavily, laced with mirth still despite the embarrassment, and invites Beomgyu in. “Sorry, he thinks he’s funny sometimes.”
It’s obvious in the way he carries himself that Beomgyu’s self-control is hanging by a very fragile thread. He’s very transparent, unlike most people Yeonjun knows. It’s a welcome difference. “Do you want to ask?” He offers, and Beomgyu chokes.
“Wouldn’t that be rude?”
Yeonjun’s laughter comes with a mild surprise. Had it been anyone else, maybe it would have been off-putting, but Beomgyu’s sincerity is pleasing. “It’s okay, you must be curious.”
Beomgyu straightens his tie and takes a big gulp of air. Do you guys live together? Isn’t it awkward? Why was he eyeing me like that? Yeonjun had answered them all easily, albeit struggling at the last one. It’s this one question that throws him off: “Will you miss him?”
It’s challenging to respond, especially when Beomgyu’s looking at him as though his answer will tip everything out of balance. Huening Kai had been everything — a friend, a partner, a confidante. “It’d be difficult not to,” he settles, a sad smile on his lips that Beomgyu frowns upon but doesn’t comment on.
Flipping through the pages of their shared assets makes Yeonjun burn a little in embarrassment, because Beomgyu had been so meticulous despite the lack of disputes. It’s endearing, and yet at the same time, they probably look so awfully superficial to him; Yeonjun doesn’t know how to disprove it. It’s becoming to be bit of a task to assist Beomgyu the way he should, when he knows deep down, he could take everything, and Kai would probably let him. For every asset that Beomgyu asks him about, the only response in his mind is I’ll ask Kai when he gets home.
Beomgyu gets through a few on the list before he sighs and slumps back, and Yeonjun curls up and withers when the air tinges so slightly with a sour scent (he smells more than sees Beomgyu’s frustration with him). Nevertheless, the alpha’s smile never drops, eyes as soft as they had been since he came in.
“How about that celadon? Is it antique?” He points to the wall further behind Yeonjun. Ah. Four years ago, he and Kai had attempted a hobby of art collection, except it felt a little more pretentious than fun, so they had let it go save for a few items. “Does it matter?” Yeonjun knows it does; when it comes to divorce every little thing counts. The more he says, the less impressed Beomgyu seems.
“Not really, no. But I’m trying to figure out your angle,” Beomgyu says with an odd grin. “The more we talk, the harder it feels to believe that you want this.”
But Beomgyu shouldn’t know that; Yeonjun can’t afford to tell him that even just the sight of their framed wedding photo hanging above the fireplace destroys him. “It’s just been difficult to process. It’s a pretty big change after all,” he offers instead.
The furrow of his brows pushes his glasses just a smidge down the slope of his nose, and Yeonjun can’t help but stare at the curl of his lashes. Pretty, he thinks, breath hitching when Beomgyu glances up at him, eyes deep and swirling with mirth. Yeonjun doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to compose himself; not when Beomgyu’s eyes are round and big and beautiful and on him. He’s smiling now too, lips curling with just a hint of pearly whites in view, and Yeonjun fixates on the slightest hint of a mole by his lips.
“Then,” Beomgyu begins, eyes still trained on Yeonjun, “If I ask you here, right now, to sign the papers… would you do it?”
It’s a challenge — everything about Beomgyu had been one ever since Yeonjun saw him for the first time a week ago. Last time, Yeonjun had made a pompous request to push back on it as late as he could. To have his name on paper, agreeing to end life as he knows it — it’s terrifying. It’s difficult now too, even more so than before, to say yes, and his tongue feels weighted in place. Beomgyu’s knowing smile does nothing to soothe the ache. “I think you should go,” he settles, and tries his best to mirror Beomgyu’s smile, despite the swirling feeling in his core.
Beomgyu leaves, smiling still, and Yeonjun settles on finding someone else for the job before he’s even out the door.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The lines between love, friendship and devotion are ones Yeonjun toes carefully, despite the fact that in the end they all blur together into one amalgamated mass in his hands. He sees it in Kai sometimes too, in the way he kisses Yeonjun’s cheek every time he leaves the house and the minute he steps back in.
He tells Kai about Beomgyu on Monday evening, over dinner (hotpot and a ginger ale), and Kai’s audible chewing. “He’s too curious,” he says, slices of briskly-cooked meat on his plate, picked apart mindlessly with a loose grip on his chopsticks.
“And that’s bad?” Kai asks with a little chuckle.
Yeonjun can’t explain how that is so, without sounding ridiculous and overly sensitive. Their chef is packing up for the night, and Yeonjun very much prefers to focus on his distant shuffling in the back rooms rather than on the man in front of him. “Is it not?” He deflects. It’s up to Kai to decide now.
“Hyung, are you ashamed of it? This entire thing — not just me?”
He’s quick to refute. “No! Why would you say that?”
Kai peers at him, smile flattening out. “I know you’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’m thankful. But it’s also difficult not to think that you want nothing more than for no one to ever find out. Am I wrong?”
The way Kai phrases it riddles his skin with goosebumps. He hadn’t had time to think about it — the true depth of his own perspective. Anyone would’ve filed for a divorce ages ago. So, why didn’t Yeonjun do it? The easy answer is that he wanted to protect Kai; from the prying eyes, the foul mouths, the onlookers who would spend their entire life following his every movement. It wouldn’t be something they had done together, no, it would simply turn into Huening Kai did this to Choi Yeonjun, and nothing else.
“I’m just trying to protect us,” Yeonjun declares, voice meek.
The hard answer is this — Kai had not been his to protect in a long, long time. And Yeonjun had accepted that years ago, in any way he could; except, when they do go their separate ways, whatever fragile wall he had built around the two of them will be see-through. He’ll be pitied and torn apart by the looks he’ll receive. They’ll call him poor thing, and he won’t have Kai this time to help navigate through that nightmare. It’ll just be him and him alone.
“People will find out, hyung. They’ll see me with Soobin and Taehyun, and they will know. I’ve always been prepared for that, but something tells me you aren’t.” Kai’s eyes are sad; big and beautiful in the way he bows his head, peering up at him through his lashes, almost apologetically so.
Yeonjun doesn’t have an answer to that.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
When they’d gotten married, Yeonjun remembers the both of them being an awkward set of limbs and hands, never knowing where to touch, where to linger. They’d also been terrible at communication; consideration is only a fruitful virtue if you don’t let it cage you. Now, Kai holds a bottle of water to Yeonjun’s lips, hand placed at the bottom so Yeonjun can grab it from the top. It’s sunny today, and Achasan is most beautiful like this.
For their honeymoon, Huening Kai had wanted to go somewhere lively — some city, or somewhere green with lots of adventure, and full of vibrancy. But Yeonjun wanted somewhere quieter; sunny and warm, where culture thrums and thrives but doesn’t force you to partake. They’d gone to Tuscany, stayed for a week, and then they’d come home even more estranged than they had been when they left.
It was when Kai first broke down in front of him, a few months before his… confession. They’d been in bed, kissing, touching each other for the first time, aside from a few sloppy make-outs when they’d still been dating. Yeonjun had been straddling Kai, sitting in a pool of his own slick in his underwear, and Kai hadn’t gotten hard; hadn’t been able to, no matter how much he tried. Yeonjun had climbed off in shame and sat in the bathtub for an hour. Kai had walked in crying, terrified and lost, so Yeonjun had made room and beckoned him to climb in. He hadn’t even gotten to ask the foreboding is it me because Kai had opened his mouth and out spilled it’s me, it’s me hyung, something is wrong with me.
Kai likes mountains, and people, and the green of trees and the blue of the sky and grass fields and animal farms. He’s the type of person who would pay money to pet and stroke someone’s cow (he has). That explains why Soobin and Taehyun would always be able to give him more life than Yeonjun has to offer. Yeonjun knows how dreary he is in comparison. He likes books and gardens and expensive pastries and flowers in sponged vases. He only enjoys a limited amount of company before he grows tired. He likes silk pillowcases and white canopies of the finest embroidered fabrics.
Kai calls him fancy, even though he is too; yet all Yeonjun hears is that he’s peculiar. Too spoilt by his mother’s doting and his father’s adoration. Even in his mid-thirties, his mother calls him my darling and his father says sweetheart over every phone call. Now too, halfway to the top of Achasan, people stare at him oddly as he sits splayed out at the little rest stop, little handkerchief placed on the wooden bench under his bottom. Decked out in a sheer white tank top, white shorts that ride almost a little too high, shin-length baby blue socks and his favourite Prada downtown leather sneakers, with his sunglasses pushing his hair back, and little pearl studs on his ears, he knows what he looks like. He has never not been self-aware.
“We should get going if we want to reach the top before sundown,” Kai suggests, amused at the pitiful sound Yeonjun lets out.
“Can’t you just leave me behind?” He whines. “My legs are going to cramp up if I walk any further.”
Kai stands up, moving to grab Yeonjun by the hands. “You’re the one who suggested this. You can’t give up now.”
Yeonjun smiles and lets himself be dragged, chuckling when Kai grows frustrated with him flopping his weight on him. I won’t get to do this with him again. I didn’t get to do it very much because I always said no, but one last time. Just this once. The back of Kai’s head blocks most of his view, and when the sun rays filter through the canopy of leaves overhead, it almost looks like he has a halo.
Yeonjun trips when he sees him.
Choi Beomgyu. In Achasan. Heading down.
Choi Beomgyu. In a tank top and a cargo. Sweating. Smiling.
Kai shouts when he falls.
⟡
When Yeonjun comes to, he’s lying down, head in Kai’s lap. Choi Beomgyu is peering down at him, wiping his face with a wet hanky. “Hyung?” It’s Kai’s voice, except it sounds muffled.
There’s a sharp pain in his left ankle, and Yeonjun groans when Beomgyu knocks into it a bit. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says, and Yeonjun scowls. His head lolls to the side, brows furrowing at the sight of people bustling around the rest stop a few feet away. Everything feels as though it’s been dialled up to overdrive.
It’s Kai who moves, with gentle motions, placing a backpack in his stead. “I’ll go see if they have first aid, and maybe some ice,” he says, gentle hand running through Yeonjun’s hair. He mourns the feeling for a second, staring at the man’s back in contemplation. “It hurts more than I thought it would,” he admits to no one in particular.
Beomgyu responds anyway. “I’m sure it does. You had a pretty nasty fall.”
Yeonjun can’t bear to look at him. He was supposed to call him, almost a week ago. Instead, he’d left a note with the receptionist when he’d called. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain to Beomgyu in person, that he’d rather find someone else, someone who wasn’t inquisitive and someone who wasn’t so… young. Yeonjun feels most ashamed about that — having to come to terms with the fact that he’d discriminated against the man solely because he was seven or so years younger. It’s unfair, and he knows, but still, he feels his shame grow the more he tries and fails to forget the way Beomgyu had looked at him.
“Why do you smell sad?” Inquisitive. Always, even when he’s not asking. His eyes are telling, and beckoning, and Yeonjun feels too seen. Then, he backtracks. “Sorry. That was… it just came out,” Beomgyu explains. He’d made sure to really layer his scent blockers this morning; he doesn’t quite get how receptive Beomgyu is.
Yeonjun spares him a glance, tired beyond imagination, head throbbing where he’d hit the hardest — right above his left ear. “You’re always so curious,” he states. “Most people won’t appreciate that, Beomgyu.”
Beomgyu crouches, until he’s eye level with Yeonjun and he’s almost breathing too close. “Is that why I was fired?”
Yeonjun keeps mum.
“I don’t mind, you know. Getting fired. I was unprofessional, and I knew you were going to, the minute you kicked me out.” He laughs, airy and bright — just like the rest of him. “But I wish you would’ve at least been honest with me. That was all I wanted.”
There’s that halo he was sure he’d seen on Kai; sunlight through the trees, warm and vibrant and illuminating everything Beomgyu is. Hints of cinnamon and the faintest trails of dried tea leaves. Yeonjun feels safe. “Why do you want to know?”
Peony and macadamia. Blood high on Beomgyu’s cheeks. “I want to say it’s because you’re in your thirties, and you’re married, but you’re unmated. But I also want to say it’s because you always have this weird air of sadness around you.” He pauses for a bit, eyes flitting across Yeonjun’s features as if to gauge his reaction. “I don’t know which one sounds less odd.”
Yeonjun centers his head, eyes slipping shut with sunlight behind his eyelids. “Fine. I’ll humour you." There's a silent resolution in his movements, in his voice, that he's sure Beomgyu will choose to linger on. "My best friend in life is leaving me,” he says, taking a deep breath. “And I’m terrified.”
When Beomgyu doesn’t interject, Yeonjun takes it as his cue to go on. “He has a life, and he has love. I have work, and money, and nothing else. I only had him for so long, and still I yearn to be selfish.”
“Why is that selfish?”
Yeonjun blinks open. Beomgyu is still in the same spot, staring. “Because I feel like I stole his entire life from him. Borrowing his time. Delaying the inevitable because I was ashamed.”
Beomgyu scoots even closer, and Yeonjun can no longer pretend he can’t feel him breathe. “I think you just want to be loved,” he declares, and Yeonjun’s heart flops and trembles in its confines. “You wanted love, and you took what you could. I don’t think that’s selfish at all.”
No one in his life has ever comforted him in the way Beomgyu does; without an ounce of hesitance, like he’s never been surer. Despite his claims, Yeonjun has never been a very honest person, at least not to himself. Stealing Kai’s time is just his godawful way of deflecting on what he truly means — deep down he fears that all these years were wasted, and that he’s a waste now, too.
But Beomgyu doesn’t look at him like he is; he smiles and breathes in his face and pretends he isn’t downright sniffing Yeonjun. “Soobin-hyung told me. About the arrangement,” he admits. “Said he feared I would go insane. I don’t blame him, though, because I came pretty close.”
Yeonjun titters. “Go insane? Over my marriage?”
Beomgyu ponders for a bit, before he mumbles very quietly. “Over you.” The admittance brings everything to a halt.
“What?” Yeonjun’s head whips so abruptly to his side that he gets a tad dizzy.
The boy groans, sheepish and embarrassed. Yeonjun holds his breath, waiting for his answer with his heartbeat in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I wasn’t going to say anything, and I promise I won’t bring it up again. But hyung—,”
“Hyung?” Yeonjun balks.
Beomgyu palms his face. “Hyung,” he repeats, deliberately. “You’re the most beautiful omega I’ve ever seen.” He turns a deeper shade of red the more he speaks. “I’m not even saying this as an alpha, and I swear I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but some people are just beautiful in their existence alone and you’re… I just thought you should know. You’re interesting, and naturally I got curious. That’s why I kept asking so much about you.”
Oh.
That hadn’t been in Yeonjun’s long list of concerns. He’d only assumed Beomgyu was just incredibly nosy as a person and accepted that as is. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been very good at reticence,” he adds — an afterthought that does very little to his case.
Yeonjun doesn’t respond.
Beomgyu’s eyes. The smell of the trees. Peonies and dried tea.
Yeonjun holds his breath; he’s never been good at facing danger on his own.
“I’m sorry,” the boy whispers again, as though he regrets every conversation they’ve ever shared. The kind of regret that washes you pale — grains of white sand and splotches of crimson. The blue of remorse; the sky in his eyes.
Yeonjun doesn’t breathe.
There’s that funny pang of guilt he’s sure some god misplaced in his bones — Yeonjun wishes he could carve it out with his bare hands. Beomgyu looks unsightly, in a way he never has before; unsure, cautious, small. Yeonjun could pluck it out — that part of him — like a fish bone, and he’d bleed from the gape of it.
Kai’s taking too long. The sun dips lower every minute that passes. They’d made such big plans — matching outfits, karaage and a little rice bowl that the chef had packed, reach the peak by sunset. Kai in the baby blue polo Yeonjun had bought for him when they were still dating, and Yeonjun would wear the pearl studs Kai had given him for their first anniversary. They’d reach the peak by sunset, and they’d just sit there and enjoy the first of their many lasts to come.
Except they’d run into Choi Beomgyu, and everything went haywire.
“You’re intrigued, I understand,” Yeonjun says with much difficulty, “And I’m flattered, truly. But don’t mistake your curiosity for something else, Choi Beomgyu. I’m a person — not just a case for you to crack.”
The boy smiles. Except, it’s nothing like the ones Yeonjun has seen him in. This one blurs at the edges. “Do you love him, then? Even now?”
“I love him in a way I will never love anyone else.” The answer has always been right at the tip of his tongue. Waiting. Simmering. No one had ever asked before, no matter how much Yeonjun wished they would; not even Kai himself.
Beomgyu doesn’t get to react. Kai stumbles to them, arms full and worry palpable in his face.
They leave him behind as the sky bleeds with colours. Yeonjun on Kai’s back, pressing his face onto his shoulder, watching the boy behind him sitting on his own, whose eyes seem to be fixed on him, too. His silhouette gets washed out along with the scenery, and Yeonjun’s eyes glaze over, losing sight of him altogether.
“We never did make it to the peak,” he tells Kai, who laughs very quietly.
“I never believed we would,” Kai says.
Teardrops on Egyptian cotton. The smell of pine. Yeonjun closes his eyes.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next time Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, the man looks haggard. Under the blinking lights of the storefront of the small convenience store, he almost looks unsettling — like the days had taken years off of him. “Beomgyu,” Yeonjun calls, gaping a little at the sight of him. A hand in his pocket, smoke swirling around him; Yeonjun wishes he could pull his hood off to see his eyes.
Beomgyu doesn’t do much else to acknowledge him. He takes the hand out of his pocket, gives him a small wave and doesn’t say anything more. His sweatpants seem to have a grease stain on them, and Yeonjun has a hard time integrating him with the young lawyer with a bonsai on his desk. “What are you doing here?” he questions, despite feeling as though it isn’t his place at all, hand on his car door shaking a bit.
The boy takes one final drag of the cigarette before he throws it onto the ground, stepping on it aggressively. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He laughs, ever so softly, both hands in his pocket now. "Fancy seeing you here."
“Just picking up some things. Kai’s going on a trip,” he says, the words leaving him so easily. He takes slow steps towards him. “Do you live around here?”
Beomgyu shakes his head, hand emerging to scratch his forehead. “I wish,” he says, voice low. “I just came here to clear my head.”
When Yeonjun reaches where the boy is standing, something inside him quivers. Beomgyu smells wrong, and awful, and Yeonjun almost chokes on it — burnt cinnamon soaked in stale tea. “Did someone break your heart?” The attempt at playfulness is subdued by the worry in his tone. Beomgyu looks terrible.
“Aside from you? No one else,” the boy laughs. “My family likes to take a swing at it though.”
This is the part where Yeonjun tells him I see, and moves along, and does what he came to do. This is the part where he’s supposed to empathize with the man in front of him but doesn’t let himself linger here. Except… Beomgyu’s shoulders sag, and he looks hopeless in a sense; Yeonjun can almost recall how it felt to be so young and so scared. He can’t imagine how it must feel to be alone on top of it.
“Come on,” he says, simply, taking Beomgyu’s hand in his. “You can tell me about it while you help me shop.”
Beomgyu chuckles, albeit a tiny bit confused. “I don’t remember signing up for that.”
“I’ll buy you candy,” Yeonjun jokes, and Beomgyu’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Let’s go,” he insists, dragging the man a bit. Beomgyu complies.
⟡
Choi Beomgyu is as big a talker outside of work as he is during it. It’s almost scary how much he seems to trust Yeonjun, scurrying after him without missing a beat. You know my mom, right? Lee Yerim. Everyone knows my mom. Yeonjun would like to argue and save him some face but it’s difficult to not know one of the smaller conglomerates of this town. He grew up around them; he should know.
Then, you also know my sister. They’re always teaming up against me. At first, it sounds petulant, and Yeonjun listens to him talk over his own inner monologue. Another spoiled rich kid much like himself, and he’s already met enough of them for a lifetime. “The problem is that noona wants me to work for her, and I’ve spent almost a year turning her down. And every family dinner ends in a bloodbath, somehow with me in the center, and I’m so tired of it.”
Yeonjun takes his eyes off his list for a minute. “And why not? Would that be so bad?” He’s trying his best not to sound disinterested, but Beomgyu’s too sharp.
He stops in his tracks, and over the hum of the visi cooler, he says, “Because I like people. And problems. And solving problems. I don’t want to be handed premade cases and having to look at superficial faces all day.” He huffs ever so slightly, then shakes the hood off his head. “You know what? Forget it. Have a good night.”
Yeonjun drops the packet he’s holding. “Beomgyu,” he calls, but the man is already walking away. He lets go of his little basket and runs after him. The bell on top of the door jingles and echoes in his ears as he takes long strides in trepidation. “Beomgyu?”
“Leave me alone,” he huffs, and picks up his pace.
“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun tries, “Please come back.”
The scruff of his shoes against asphalt. The blinking streetlamp just over his car. Everything else disconnects and Yeonjun can only see the back of Beomgyu’s head. When he catches up to him, Yeonjun pulls, with all his might, trembling hand clasped around his forearm.
Beomgyu sighs and almost drags him along. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I’m so sorry. Yeonjun pulls, hanging off of him almost, until Beomgyu gives up, a good few feet away from his car.
The man sighs, then palms his face aggressively. “Hyung, why are you always doing this to me?” Incredulity and a sliver of hurt. Yeonjun doesn’t know if he wishes more for Beomgyu to turn around and look at him, or for him to never do that at all. “I’d understand if you were a terrible person, but you’re not, and it leaves me so confused because I always feel like it’s my fault.”
Yeonjun loosens his hold. “Do what, Beomgyu?”
A turn of his heels. Eyes rimmed red. Haggard. “This,” he says, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Everything about me.”
There’s a part of Yeonjun that wishes he didn’t understand, that wishes he’d be a wee bit confused and thus, could act oblivious. But he knows, and he understands, and no matter how deliberate it had been, there’s a bigger part of him that wants to argue that it wasn’t. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Honesty, except it’s always weaponized.
⟡
Beomgyu’s palm spasms.
Yeonjun is beautiful even when he’s being so cruel. Beomgyu can’t look away.
He’s blinking and brimming with guilt, oozing sad little whiffs of pheromones that smell nothing like himself, and Beomgyu wants to crumble. “It’s not about what I want you to say, hyung.”
Yeonjun gulps. “What, then? What do you want?”
You.
Beomgyu bites down on his inner cheek. “For you to be honest.” He grabs the hand on his forearm and grasps it gently. Yeonjun’s hands are freezing. “You never are. Not with me, at least.”
The squeeze on his hand travels directly to his chest; everything inside him clenches. The night breeze sways through them, and Yeonjun’s hair falls over his eyes. Beomgyu reaches for it before he has the time to think about it, and when the pad of his fingers touch Yeonjun’s skin, he shivers.
“I’ve never lied to you,” Yeonjun argues.
Beomgyu snickers. “But you’ve never told me the full truth either.”
There’s that dull throb in his core again, heart battered from the force of it knocking against its confines. Yeonjun has never looked at him the way Beomgyu wishes he would, but in his mind he has — and he’s beautiful, and open, and nothing like the people Beomgyu usually has a field day picking apart.
“Do you like night drives?”
The question takes him aback.
“Because I do. And I know you walked here, Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says, smile small but warm. “Otherwise, you’d have constantly jingled your keys in your pockets. You always do that.”
The man drags him again, much like he had a while ago, except this time they’re heading to his car. Beomgyu follows mindlessly, and tries not to feel the dryness in his mouth at the sight of Yeonjun’s hair kissing his nape in the wind.
Once his seatbelt is on, Beomgyu breathes out, “It’s my keychain, it — it jingles.”
Yeonjun laughs, head thrown back a little. His neck stretches and his cheeks curve and, oh, he’s so beautiful. “Yeah, I know. The Eye of Agamotto. I had a phase once.” The car engines hums, and Yeonjun slowly backs out of the lot.
“You? Of all people?” Beomgyu isn’t as surprised as he is skeptical. Yeonjun would have never rubbed him as someone who enjoyed fiction, or rather comics or anything of the sort. He noticed. He saw, and noticed. And he remembers.
“I also really like smashed burgers because they’re easier to eat. I love the smell of varnish. And I hate the smell of chamomile.” Yeonjun squeezes his hand again. “I’m not going to be anything close to who you think I am, Beomgyu. I was probably already writing my first poem by the time you were born.”
It’s unfair. His hands are pretty too. Beomgyu can’t take his eyes off of the steering wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what you think it means, Beomgyu.”
His fingers clench and unclench over the wheel — manicured nails, pale skin on black leather. Beomgyu lifts a hand, all the way up to his lips, teeth clamping down on his thumb. It’s a little unfair, he thinks, how quickly Yeonjun brushes him off every time. Like he’s not worth looking at, like he’s such a kid that Yeonjun would rather feign interest in his ramblings than to say what he means, like he’s something so much pettier than what meets the eye.
“Is this your way of rejecting me?” Beomgyu utters, amusement still hanging off him despite his shame. “Because you’ve already done that plenty, Yeonjun. I think I got the memo.”
“No,” the omega sighs, picking up the speed a bit. “This is my way of telling you why I shouldn’t even have to reject you in the first place.” It’s unfair; he’s cruel and unrelenting and he’s still so beautiful. Still so kind despite the distance he’s made Beomgyu loop through just to get to sit here with him, listen to him talk about life like it’s bigger than they’re ever going to be.
“What do you think I’m asking for, hyung?” Beomgyu muses.
Yeonjun pointedly swerves, sighing like the air in his lungs is heavy. “My time. Life.” His voice gets a tad quieter. “Love. And all things I can’t give you.”
Beomgyu smiles to himself; teeth grinding down on his thumb now, until he takes it out. “I think I just want you to look at me,” he admits, over the loud screech of the tires, jostling the both of them when Yeonjun hits the brakes. Cat on the street; unscathed, safe now. Yeonjun pulls over to the side, a hand clasped tight around his chest, then turns to him.
“Look at me without thinking constantly about the fact that I’m a good few years behind. Look at me and see someone who, for once in his life, is willing to lose. Look at me like you’re actually seeing me, and not through me.”
Beomgyu leans closer, right hand propped on his knee, until he’s too close for comfort and Yeonjun gasps. “And then I want you to look at yourself and see more than an omega who failed at love, because the truth is that you haven’t even tried. You settled, and you made that your end. But it’s not… and I want you to let me prove you wrong.”
Eye to eye, breaths held. Until Yeonjun’s gaze shifts lower, and lower, until they settle on Beomgyu’s lips, and then he swallows. Then, he exhales, breath warm in Beomgyu’s face. It’s Yeonjun who closes the gap, with his scent cloying and curling and bubbling in waves all of a sudden. It settles in the back of Beomgyu’s throat, and the moan rips out of him against his will when Yeonjun kisses him with fervor. It’s dizzying, and the feeling worsens awfully when the omega clambers to hold his face. Zaps of electricity; nerve endings kissing. Yeonjun’s hands are warm now.
The omega pulls off, breathless. “Confident little thing, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Beomgyu reins him back in, almost desperately so. He feels more than sees Yeonjun unbuckling his seatbelt, clambering up. And then, a quiet moment of hesitation as he pulls away, as though he’s suddenly self-aware. “Don’t think,” Beomgyu whispers, soft and wanting still, “Just kiss me.” He undoes his own seatbelt, desperate hands finding purchase on the back of Yeonjun’s thigh, pulling, until Yeonjun is in his lap and panting above him.
“Hyung, you —,” Beomgyu gets cut off.
“Noona.” He says, shy, and burning to the touch when Beomgyu grabs him by the chin. Everything inside the car smells like him — sweet and heady and syrupy.
“Noona?”
Yeonjun kisses him again, with a soft little moan bordering a whimper. Beomgyu feels him swallow, and then he pulls back to say, “Kai calls me that sometimes.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Everything falls quiet, save for the low hum of the car’s engine. Yeonjun is still looking at him so earnestly, and Beomgyu doesn’t understand. Not until the omega laughs, finally putting the pieces together. “Not like that. It’s just — I like it… and I thought… uhm…,” a sharp inhale. Beomgyu pecks him.
“I like it,” he declares. “I like it a lot, noona.”
Yeonjun rewards him with a smile, so pure and unadulterated that it makes him throb. He’s thought of this, dreamt of it, in the confines of his bedroom and sometimes as risky as in his office. He has wanted, and he has yearned, and he’s so close to having what he wants that it makes him burn.
“You smelled like this, too,” Beomgyu says, leaning closer to Yeonjun’s neck, taking deep breaths in a way he’s never been allowed to before. “On the first day. Just like this. Like you were dripping.” Beomgyu leans back a tiny bit, breath caught in his throat when he meets Yeonjun’s gaze full-on. “Are you?”
His eyes cross a little when he catches movement — a tiny peek of tongue licking on lips; Beomgyu’s mouth waters. Teeth on flesh. A spike in his scent. Beomgyu’s eyes threaten to roll back. “Do you wanna find out?” Yeonjun whispers, hot against his skin.
The dizziness returns tenfold when Yeonjun leans down, face pressed into the crook of Beomgyu’s neck, right into his scent gland there. “You always smell so good. Warm. Like nothing else, really.” His voice drops to a whisper again, “Has anyone ever told you that?” They have. Multiple people, actually. But never in the way Yeonjun does, and never in the way it makes Beomgyu’s cock pulsate — he’s so hard in his pants that he’s amazed he hasn’t burst through the linings yet.
Then, Yeonjun grabs his hand, clasps their fingers together, and then he’s guiding him to the back of his pants, right above the hem, and then he lets go. “Go on,” he says, like a challenge. He’s trembling, he realizes with embarrassment, and his fingers tingle when he makes contact with skin. He sinks lower, and lower, and then he gets impatient and dips in, right where Yeonjun is indeed dripping.
“Fuck,” the omega moans, and his rim flutters against Beomgyu’s fingers. A wet stripe right over his scent gland, and then Yeonjun sucks on it, with breathy little whimpers filling the space.
“Noona,” Beomgyu calls, desperation clawing at his seams. “Noona, can I—”
Yeonjun nods furiously, but doesn’t answer, busy as if he could liquefy Beomgyu’s scent and drink it like that. When he slips one finger in, Yeonjun shakes, and out from his lips tumble a drawn-out moan of Beomgyu’s name. He leaves his throat alone, and pulls back to kiss him. “Please,” he says, eyes hazy.
Beomgyu, against his better judgment, bites onto his lips and tells him, “I wanna see something.” Before Yeonjun can answer, he withdraws the first two fingers, all the way until he pulls out, and in the next second, in goes three of them. Yeonjun’s legs shakes against him. “Oh, fuck,” Beomgyu groans, uncontrollably scratchy, toes curling in his shoes at the feeling of Yeonjun’s walls — wet, and warm, and so soft. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he tells the omega, who only responds with a loud moan when Beomgyu presses against the familiar bump in his walls.
“So fucking fast,” Yeonjun grits out, hands finding purchase on Beomgyu’s shoulders. “I can never find it that quick.”
And just like that Beomgyu’s soul leaves his body. “Noona, you can’t just say that,” he whines, trying not to die at the mental image of Yeonjun fingering himself. Spread out, open, desperate, moaning quietly, flushed red from tip to toe. “Fuck, I’m so hard.” Another throb between his legs when Yeonjun drips some more, right onto his hand, trickling down to his elbow.
“Want me to touch you?” When he looks at Yeonjun, his heart stutters at the sight of his parted mouth; he forgets to answer. It’s probably so warm and wet. He pulls on Yeonjun’s shirt with his free hand, dragging him down, until he can lick into the omega’s mouth before he has the chance to complain.
Beomgyu almost cries when Yeonjun sucks on his tongue, all while making quick movements to undo his pants. His whole left leg twitches when he Yeonjun grabs his cock without warning. Beomgyu pulls off to whine. “Noona, noona.” Warms hands on burning flesh; it feels almost torturous when Yeonjun makes the first full stroke. He’s never been so horny in his life.
He builds a slow pace at first, almost in rhythm with Beomgyu’s fingers in him. Then, it picks up, grip unforgiving, until all they can exchange is a chorus of moans and a few shudders from Yeonjun. He can’t help the pathetic little ruts he does, hips canting up despite himself.
There’s no warning, not a single sign when Yeonjun comes. He falls over the edge with a sudden pause, clenching down on Beomgyu’s fingers almost impossibly tight. No moans, no noise at all — eerie quietness, eyes closed, and lips clamped shut, with tears dripping down his face. He’s shaking uncontrollably too, and all Beomgyu can think is oh, he’s beautiful.
It’s the last thought that crosses Beomgyu’s mind before he comes too, with little to nothing to sustain his pleasure except Yeonjun's scent and the sight of him. The omega’s grip on his cock is too loose to drag his orgasm out, no stimulation on his pathetic semi-knot, and Beomgyu would mourn his ruined orgasm if he didn’t have Yeonjun crying from overstimulation in front of him.
The omega chokes, before he makes desperate clawing against Beomgyu’s hand, still moving inside him. “Oh, sorry,” Beomgyu states, without an ounce of remorse. “Sorry, noona,” he repeats, and leans forward to kiss the crying omega in front of him.
“It’s okay,” Yeonjun croaks, so visibly tired, but glowing despite the darkness. Beomgyu noses at his cheek, taking deep inhales of him, until his lungs hurt and his insides clench.
“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu tells him, chuckling a bit. “I should’ve taken you to dinner first.”
Yeonjun joins his laughter, and then he leans back. “I’m free tomorrow,” he says, tentative, like he’s unsure. “I’d also like to sign the papers. The divorce petition, I mean.”
Beomgyu’s shock is far too palpable; he feels it himself. And then his heart soars, bursting against him, until his chest hurts, and the air abandons his lungs. “I’ll call you,” Beomgyu utters. “Tomorrow. We can do tomorrow.”
Yeonjun pecks him again. “Okay.” Then, he sighs and sags against him. “But can you drive? I can’t feel my body.”
Beomgyu laughs and bites his exposed shoulder.
⟡
When he returns home, tiptoeing through the house as though he were a teenager again, Yeonjun burns in shame. He couldn’t stop blushing — not when Beomgyu wiped him with wet wipes and dressed him while he sat boneless, not when he was being driven around the city, mindlessly listening to whatever piece of information the alpha was retelling, and definitely not when Beomgyu kissed him goodnight. His ears are still ringing a little as he climbs the stairs to the master bedroom, praying to every god he knows, and hoping that Kai wouldn’t be awake.
Except he is. He’s sitting with his back propped up against the headboard, reading glasses perched high on his nose, the overhead reading lamp twisted to his side. Kai doesn’t say anything at first, only briefly acknowledging him before he goes back to his book. Yeonjun showers quickly, layering on whatever scent blockers are on the cupboard; hiding the evidence, even though it’s futile.
He's slipping into bed, soft covers against skin when Kai says, “Was he big?”
Yeonjun, flabbergasted, slaps flatly against the other man’s chest. “Huening Kai!” He scolds, cheeks flushing, and ears hot.
“What?” Kai laughs. “I’m curious!” His laughter bellows, and echoes deep into the house. “Can’t a man just be gay and curious?”
Yeonjun swats at him again, moving to fix his pillows as he huffs indignantly. “We didn’t fuck.”
Kai’s lips purse into an annoying little shape, pointed and teasing. “It smells like you did, but also, that’s not what I asked.”
Yeonjun doesn’t answer him at first, turning to his side and switching his bedside lamp off. He closes his eyes very deliberately and pretends Kai isn’t looming above him, still waiting for his answer.
Kai shakes him, whining a bit. “Hyung, answer this at least,” he insists.
Yeonjun sighs and turns to look at him. “What?”
“Was he bigger than me?”
He slaps Kai’s chest again and glares. “I don’t know. It was dark, I was horny, I didn’t check.” He pushes Kai off of him. “Go to sleep. You’re annoying.”
It does nothing to deter Kai, because once he sets his mind on something, he never knows when to call it quits. “So, he wasn’t.” The annoyance rises tumultuously. They’ve been married for too long — Kai knows all his buttons by now.
“Fine!” Yeonjun huffs, embarrassed and on his limit. “He was hung as hell. Now, leave me alone.”
He turns back on his side and folds his pillow over his head, and tries to drown out Kai’s amused cackles.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Signing his divorce papers over dinner with another alpha had not been how Yeonjun imagined it to go. Beomgyu had picked him up, no Kai in sight thankfully, and moaned into Yeonjun's mouth when he kissed him right in front of the door. For a second, Yeonjun had wondered what he’d gotten himself into, but didn’t have much time to linger on it because there had been flowers in his face, and he’d erupted in glee. Kai buys him flowers, sure, but not this kind, and when he does Yeonjun usually finds them in the kitchen, already arranged and set out.
The bouquet had been placed in the backseat, and Yeonjun couldn’t stop staring. Beomgyu had kissed his hands seven times on the way to the restaurant. Yeonjun had forgotten what that felt like — to be wooed off his feet, to have someone beg for his attention so openly.
“It’ll take about a month for the petition to be approved, taken that you don’t have children,” Beomgyu says, packing his files up in haste, almost as though he wishes to stop looking at them altogether. “Speaking of which, did you guys ever consider?”
“What, children? No,” Yeonjun laughs. “Kai and I, we haven’t— I mean we never even…,” he trails off, humiliation burning a hole through his core.
Beomgyu stops everything he’s doing. “What.” Yeonjun shakes and tries to avert his gaze, focusing on taking a sip of his wine instead. “Hyung, please tell me you're not a virgin.”
Yeonjun chokes. It’s the look in Beomgyu’s eyes that drives him up the wall — anticipation, like he’s hoping for something. “No! No, of course not.” Yeonjun all but screeches, albeit quietly — a panicked whisper at best. “But with alphas? No.”
Beomgyu holds onto the edge of the table, eyes wide, one hand clasping over his mouth. “So, you’ve…,” he blinks rapidly, “You’ve never been— oh my god.” Yeonjun twists in his seat, because he hears the question despite Beomgyu’s silence. You’ve never been knotted? It's difficult not to feel it then — the shame he'd been so sure he'd swallowed years ago. The possibility of never having Kai touch him that way had been easy to accept at first. He'd almost been glad for it. And yet, the relief had been so terribly short-lived that Yeonjun still remembers the exact moment he'd thought of himself as inadequate. He'd met his fair share of demons in life, most he still lives with; this one, though, had a bite to it.
The idea of being unlovable hadn't been something he indulged in often, or even enjoyed acknowledging. But he was still an omega, and no matter how sheltered he had grown up, and no matter how kind Kai had been — in a much deeper part of himself lived the discontentment. And right next door was the bitterness with which the self-doubt had been soaked through. Rationally, he'd known (always) that it had nothing to do with him being less-than. Kai was just Kai, and it had little to do with him. Still, the omega in him had mourned it, wallowed over it; had felt unloved. Along the years, the feeling had grown into something else, and eventually he'd deemed himself unworthy, too; of what — he's still deciding.
"Was that too impolite?" Beomgyu looks guilt-stricken. Yeonjun doesn't know what to do with the kindness in his eyes.
He spares him a tight smile. "You're fine. It's just... sometimes it makes me feel...," it's ridiculous how difficult it is to get his words out right. He doesn't know how to talk about it without having Beomgyu pity him for it. "It's not something I'm proud of," he admits, after much contemplation.
Beomgyu's eyes soften. "I want to pretend I don't understand what you mean, because it's not my place," he says, smile curling at the edges. "But I'm an alpha, and with it comes an alpha ego unfortunately," he chuckles, "And I hope you never tell that to any other alpha because they would never leave you alone."
The slight furrow of his brows, the tilt of his head — Yeonjun can't help but feel amused by how serious he looks. "What do you mean?"
Beomgyu's face falls, and his eyes widen. "Hyung, I can't possibly explain that without sounding obnoxious."
"Try me."
A challenge.
Beomgyu takes it begrudgingly. "It means every time I remember the fact that you're essentially a knot-virgin, I'm going to double over and collapse."
Ah, there it is. Honesty. Yeonjun's favourite look on him. He's blushing now too, the curve of his ears rimmed red with the flush of it. The reassurance sits in his core like a weight, an extreme satisfaction bubbling with it. "We should eat. Eating cold fillet mignon on a first date isn't exactly a core memory I desire." Beomgyu softly laughs, albeit with strain. He gestures to Yeonjun's plate as if to say, after you, and Yeonjun has never been so endeared.
⟡
Ears ringing. The sound of his heartbeat. Beomgyu swallows the bloody meat with stiffness to his frame. Yeonjun's asking him something, and he's trying to listen, but...
"Beomgyu?"
It snaps him out of it, even just a little. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
"You dropped your piece," Yeonjun says, pointing to the pathetic piece of meat on the edge of the table. "Messy thing, aren't you," he says, stabs it with his own fork, and lifts it to his lips. Beomgyu's mouth fall open on its own accord; Yeonjun's breath hitches. He bites the meat off and chews, eyes trained on the omega's. "Thank you, noona."
Yeonjun clears his throat and wipes at his temple with the back of his hand. "You're welcome," he squeaks. "By the way, I wonder if you're aware that your sister and I are friends."
"Friends?" Beomgyu pauses.
"Well, acquaintances at least. It's just — I wonder what she'll think of me if she sees me with you." The admittance makes the older man a tad squeamish, demeanor shifting so slightly that Beomgyu almost misses it. Beomgyu's sister is two years younger than Yeonjun, and it hadn't crossed his mind that they would most likely be in closer links than they would ever have been, had the circumstances differed.
Beomgyu wants to say it doesn't matter, that it shouldn't matter, but he knows what this looks like for Yeonjun. He's not selfish enough to dismiss him so quickly. "If it makes you feel better, I've never really listened to her in my life. And if you were friends, you won't be the first friend of hers I've dated."
Were they even dating? Was that what this was? Beomgyu doesn't know what to settle on. Would Yeonjun even consider dating him for real? Wasn't he just here to sound Beomgyu out?
"What, are you exclusively into cougars?"
The question squeezes out the air in his lungs. It's the way Yeonjun says it — it sounds so vulgar when he's almost purring, leaning closer as if to emphasize. Beomgyu's quick to protest, to try and salvage whatever had been left of him, and yet the arguments die on his lips at the sight of Yeonjun laughing so openly. There's something inside him that inflates at it, warmth flowing through his core, almost as though it's dripping; it fills him entirely. "I think I'm just into you," he admits, and Yeonjun's laughter dissolves.
"Beomgyu," Yeonjun mutters, an edge of a whine in it. "You can't just say stuff like that."
"Why not?" He argues.
Yeonjun remains mum, and only stares at him like he's defeated. Beomgyu reaches across to take his hand into his, curling against it on the table. "Hyung, I don't think you understand how much I'm willing to find out where this goes, but I also don't want to waste your time. You can always find someone to give you the world, but I want to be that person. And I can't do that unless you let me." Earnest. Almost pathetically so. He's never been good at casual; it's his biggest sin.
"I'm sorry," Yeonjun says, with a squeeze to his hand. "I'm just not very used to...," he trails off, gesturing between them, "...this whole thing."
Beomgyu raises his hand and presses a chaste kiss to it. "I don't mind. I'll get you used to it," he says with certainty. "I have a question, though." The curiosity sits in the corner of his conscience and kicks at him.
"Mm?" Yeonjun's little head tilt makes his breath hitch. So fucking pretty.
"If you haven't — I mean since you've never— how did you spend your heats?" There's no denying how shy Yeonjun gets about it, and for a split second Beomgyu wonders if he's crossed a line. But the omega smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and picks at his food, eyes trained on his plate.
"Uhm, with— with toys. You know, the ones that knot." Beomgyu knows what they are, has seen them everywhere, has held one in bed because his ex-boyfriend had one. They started really taking off a few years ago, as an alternative to suppressants. Beomgyu wrings his hand out of Yeonjun's hold to cup it over his mouth, eyes screwing shut. The soft groan he lets out has Yeonjun worried. Beomgyu? Beomgyu, are you okay?
When he blinks, the omega has a glass of water pressed to his lips. Beomgyu takes it in mild surprise. "Sorry. I just got a little dizzy." He gulps down the feeling and hopes Yeonjun doesn't comment on it.
"Why are we talking about my heat on a first date?" Beomgyu knows that Yeonjun is joking. He can tell by the curl of his lips and the slight scrunch in his face. Still, he feels the small swirls of guilt lick at his conscience.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't think of it like that."
But Yeonjun's still smiling. Effortlessly so. "You're adorable," he says, and scrunches his nose as though he can't bear it. The sight of it makes Beomgyu flush — full-bodied, no room for second thoughts. "Can I... Would you mind if I did something?"
Beomgyu bites down on his fork. "Like what?"
Yeonjun's eyes glint with something akin to mischief, and yet he's so bashful still. "There's something I always wanted to try," he explains. Beomgyu cannot imagine what it might be. Yeonjun's eyes are glimmering with hope too; he's hopeful in the way he's never been before. And Beomgyu is just a man.
"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but sure, go ahead," he says, a smile suppressed at the way Yeonjun lights up.
Nothing happens for a while. Yeonjun goes back to his food and a few sips of his wine. He's graceful and he's so pretty in the way he chews; it's befuddling how polished he still looks with cheeks stuffed full. Beomgyu doesn't know many people like him (maybe close to none at all).
"How about you, baby," Yeonjun says, mid-chew, eyeing him lazily, "What kind of people did you spend your ruts with? I feel like you get around plenty."
Beomgyu has never been particularly shy about it — he used to have, and still had partners, up until he met Yeonjun. He'd always been known to be extremely picky though, and not many people fit the mark. But that first day, in his office, he'd gotten so strung up about the omega that he'd gone and fucked the first person who offered. Twice. All while imagining being enclosed in Yeonjun's walls instead, slick running down his thighs, panting above or under him. He's not picky in that area.
And then, he'd stopped, because everyone else felt wrong now, and there was this slight tinge of guilt that followed every orgasm. Even though he knew, so awfully well, that there was no way in hell Yeonjun would agree to anything with him. He knows the type, has avoided the type, and yet he'd lamented over getting the traces of the omega out of his cushions. If he had lacked any more decorum, he would have chased Yeonjun down and asked for it — for anything at all; begged at his feet and gave himself away, shame forgotten.
"I had partners," Beomgyu states. "Sometimes friends. Never been much of a relationship guy, I don't know. I did date a few people, but I get overbearing, I think."
Yeonjun inhales sharply at that. "In what way?"
"I get clingy," Beomgyu admits, upper lip dragged down into a bite. "I get super attached, and clingy, and annoying." Sometimes he's too honest for his own good. It's notably worse when he's around Yeonjun — he starts yapping like he's got a second mouth. "Is this just a physical thing for you, then? Fresh start? Sexual pilgrimage?" His attempt to laugh it off is squashed when he feels the slightest of a kick on his inner leg at first, and then it shifts to more of light strokes.
For a second, he thinks of it as an accident, but Yeonjun's looking right at him as he says, "I like clingy, I think. And if I wanted a partner, I wouldn't be sitting here with you now, would I?" He's certain now — Yeonjun's rubbing his foot against his leg. Beomgyu's getting dizzy. Was this what he'd just consented to? "Is knotting awkward? I feel like it might be."
Beomgyu's laughter bellies out. "It is. It really is," he tells the omega, "Especially with strangers. But it also gets emotional fast, so I prefer to spend it alone. I sleep around, sure, but ruts are... sensitive for me."
The foot is climbing further up, and Beomgyu's skin tingles with it. The sensation is vague, barely-there, and yet it lights all his nerve endings on fire. "Go on," Yeonjun says, his foot now on his knees.
The anticipation makes it difficult to breathe; Beomgyu can only breathe shallowly, as he waits to see what Yeonjun does. "I turn into an absolute crybaby then. I get even more clingy because my senses are on overdrive. And no one wants to see that."
"I do," Yeonjun interjects, and Beomgyu parts his knees like an idiot. The foot slips between his thighs, and he has to suppress a moan with a hand clasped over his mouth when the heel of Yeonjun's shoe digs straight down on his dick. "I think you'd be cute like that."
"Hyung," he groans, dropping his fork in lieu of hiding his face behind his hands. His entire body is pulsating, and he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He's not sure how he'd predicted the night to go, but it sure as hell wasn't this. "Why here?"
Yeonjun spares him a low chuckle that makes his insides boil. "Because you're cute," he declares, as though that answers everything. "I've mostly fucked betas, never alphas. Presumably due to the fact that it always felt like I was cheating on Kai, but mostly because I'm not particularly fond of the idea." He presses down and rubs the heel harder against his growing boner. "You're different though. Aside from the obvious accident on the day we met, you've never released pheromones on me. At least, not in the way I'm used to."
If Beomgyu wasn't so busy trying not to moan, he'd have spared some energy to get upset at that. Many alphas tend to do that — lace the air with pheromones even though they themselves already stink with it, and refuse to patch up. Weird domineering thing, just a hair away from being considered sexual assault in most cases. And an omega as beautiful as Yeonjun is bound to receive the treatment too; possibly too much of it.
When the tip of Yeonjun's shoe digs at his balls, Beomgyu shivers. He's never been this sensitive before. "Fuck," he grits out, and Yeonjun giggles across him. When Beomgyu takes his hands off his face, he finds that Yeonjun is not even eating anymore, and is only swirling his wine for show. It's a bad idea — everything about this. They still have dessert. Soon, someone is going to come collect their plates and bring out the Soufflé that Yeonjun had meticulously picked out, and Beomgyu will die of shame when they smell him in passing. He could just grab the omega's ankle or move his chair back, or even ask him to stop, and yet... he doesn't. In fact, he subtly raises his hips and parts his knees further.
Then, comes the most solid press, right over his crotch, and his knees shake with it. "Yeonjun," he whines. "I'm going to die." Still, he doesn't move. He sits and takes it like that's all he was ever meant to do.
"That's noona to you," the omega says, a slight tinge of a warning to his tone.
"Noona," Beomgyu corrects himself. "I'm going to stink up the whole place at this rate. I don't have patches on me." There's two on both sides of his neck, but they've been there almost five hours, worn-down and barely suppressing anything now.
The realization that dawns on Yeonjun is discernible. He shuffles in his seat and takes the foot off, and Beomgyu's dumb alpha brain wants to grab it, and place it back where it had been. He suppresses a soft growl and Yeonjun eyes him, quiet and questioning. "Sorry," he says, pointlessly.
Then, he shakes his head with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm going to go to the washroom." He pushes his chair back and gets up, and Beomgyu catches the faintest smell of him and almost salivates. "And I'm going to give you a minute to follow me. If you don't, we'll finish dinner and resume this another night," he says with finality, and struts his way to the east wing of the restaurant. They're in a secluded booth, reserved just for the two of them, and still Beomgyu wonders if people would move to stare at his raging boner. The thought makes him want to curl up in shame. He's never been good at counting his seconds, always a bit off, but he can't risk having Yeonjun think he's not following him.
He gets up on impulse, and takes long, hurried strikes. The washroom is private too, secluded, and Beomgyu's heart plummets when someone walks out as he's walking in. The thought of someone else smelling Yeonjun in an enclosed space like that makes him upset. He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, because Yeonjun immediately resurfaces from a booth next to the sink counters, and makes quick work to pull Beomgyu in. It's lavish — every part of it; a spacious booth with full walls that extend all the way to the ceiling. Yeonjun kisses him then, all while locking the door behind him.
The hand on his crotch makes him shake, as the omega palms him almost hurriedly, a tongue shoved into his mouth. He pulls back to pant in Beomgyu's face, "I was thinking about you all day." He's breathing and trailing his lips over his face, and Beomgyu forgets how to breathe. Fingernails run down his zipper, funny little tingles right on his dick, and everything inside him clenches. "I'm not usually like this at all," Yeonjun reasons, "But I've never been so horny outside of my heat."
When he undoes his pants and drags his cock out with one smooth stroke, Beomgyu sags against the door. "Yeah?" he challenges. "I jerked off twice today. Pretended it was your hands instead of mine." Yeonjun squeezes him with a soft gasp. "I wanna fuck you so bad, noona," he admits, all sense of shame flying out the window.
"Not tonight," Yeonjun tuts, leaning back slightly to look at him. His spit-slicked lips hang open, red and raw, and Beomgyu drools at the sight of them. "Eyes up here, alpha. Or I won't suck your dick." Beomgyu obediently meets his gaze. He's graceful even as he sinks to his knees, palm flat against the alpha's flexing thighs, nails digging into the smooth fabric of his dress pants.
He almost doubles over at the sight of Yeonjun's tongue lolling out, flat against his lower lip — then he laps right at the head of his cock. Yeonjun hums to himself at the taste; Beomgyu's head spins at everything in his immediate line of sight. The grip at the base of his cock is so tight it makes his toes curl, and everything worsens when Yeonjun wraps his lips around his head — tight, wet, warm, teasing — and pulls off so quickly that Beomgyu's leg kicks at the sensation. "Are you usually this quiet? I didn't peg you the type."
Beomgyu swallows thickly. If he allows himself to make any sounds he's going to start growling, and he doesn't think Yeonjun would like that very much. "I should be quiet," Beomgyu remarks, feigning reason. "Anyone could walk in."
Yeonjun tuts, one full stroke and a thumb circling the underside of his cock head, "Hm. I like the noisy type though." He's smirking ever so slightly, and Beomgyu's entire being vibrates in his hold. It's oddly frightening how wound up he feels. Yeonjun laps at his cock again, and then he sinks down with no warning, almost as though he's making a point. Beomgyu chokes on a grunt, trembling hand moving to hold Yeonjun's free one on his thigh as he crouches with the effort. His knees wobble when the head of his cock gets swirled by Yeonjun's tongue, and the omega pulls off with a soft cough.
Then, he gets up, lithe body fluid in his movements in the most captivating way, and Beomgyu bites back a whimper. Was Yeonjun upset?
"Calm down, baby," Yeonjun says, with a little peck, as he pulls Beomgyu by their entwined hands. "Come here," he says, as he closes the toilet lid and drags the alpha to sit. "Comfy?" He asks, as he kneels in front of Beomgyu again, holding his cock in his palm, while his other hand moves to hold him by his jaw, thumb rubbing the skin softly. "Give noona a kiss?" Beomgyu leans down and kisses him, and pretends his dick didn't just twitch violently in Yeonjun's hold. "You're so big," he says, with light strokes that make Beomgyu's blood boil, "And I don't have that much experience."
Beomgyu shakes his head, words failing him, as if to say it's okay, I don't mind, it has never mattered, not if it's you.
"But I'll try," he says, like a promise. Everything inside Beomgyu's chest swells. Then, he's mouthing at him again, hot breath over the sensitive tip, thumb dragging one perfectly-manicured nail down a particularly sensitive vein. Beomgyu growls in response. "Oh? The alpha can bark?" Yeonjun says, challenging everything Beomgyu is, and yet he doesn't refute. He sits there dumbly, taking the omega's taunt and cries out a drawn-out moan when he closes his lips around his cock and sinks down slowly, much slower than before. When his lips close at the slightly protruding bump at the base, Yeonjun inhales sharply and then he sucks, uncaring of the drool that dribbles down his chin, and Beomgyu full-on whimpers.
"Why are you so good then," Beomgyu mumbles, breathing shakily, "if you don't have much experience?" His toes curl in his shoes as his eyes screw shut when Yeonjun swallows around him, suction sending little tingles up his spine.
Yeonjun pulls off, licking a stripe up the underside, hand swirling the head in the middle of his palm. "I said I didn't have much experience with your size, not that I'm not good at giving head." He sinks down again, palm rubbing up and down Beomgyu thigh, one arm hooked behind his knee. When he gags on him, Beomgyu's vision whitens for a second. "So close," he mutters, knees buckling still despite having sat down, and Yeonjun rubs over it.
The omega then undoes his own pants, all while bobbing his head up and down on the alpha's cock, and when the scent of his slick hits the air, Beomgyu snarls. Yeonjun reaches even further down his pants, back arching, and it's a second too late that Beomgyu realizes what he's doing. By then, he's already rubbing his slick over his own cock, both hands busy as can be, still hanging off of Beomgyu's dick and moaning on it. "No, you smell so good," Beomgyu whines, dizzy with the cloying scent that lingers in the back of his throat. His balls twitch pathetically, so sensitive in a way he's never been before. It's like the omega had pressed all his buttons at once, and his entire system is on overdrive now.
Yeonjun pulls off briefly to catch his breath, "Next time." One filthy suck to his tip as he fondles his twitching balls. He's so close and yet so far, like Yeonjun could play with him for another twenty minutes or one small stroke could tip him over. It's insane; he's never felt like this before. "I'll fuck you next time," Yeonjun promises and doesn't waste anymore time and resumes the torturing pace, and the garbled moans that leak out of him is so insanely hot that Beomgyu finally finds the courage to thread his hands through Yeonjun's hair. He merely lingers there, too timid to tug.
Yeonjun's nails rake a path down his thighs when he comes, gagging on Beomgyu's cock like it's the only thing he knows. The filthy wet squelches of the frantic stroking on his own cock makes Beomgyu salivate; he wishes he could see. What tips him over though, is when Yeonjun opens his eyes, half-lidded, then loosens his lips and lets the thick, frothed mess in his mouth trickle down Beomgyu's length, from the tip to his base. "Shit," and a growl is all he makes out before he nudges at Yeonjun's forehead, attempting to push him back, except he spurts like a fucking fountain and everything lands on the unsuspecting omega's face.
"Fuck, hyung," Beomgyu mumbles, thrashing slightly. "Oh god, I'm so fucking sorry, holy shit," the stream of curses double when Yeonjun just laps at the mess on his lips, slick-covered hand coming up to stroke Beomgyu through his orgasm, and the other hand wiping the rest of the alpha's cum off his face. He's still stroking even as he shoves the coated fingers into his mouth, and Beomgyu convulses with a growl. "Noona," he whines, trying to pry Yeonjun's hand off his dick. It falls on deaf ears. "Noona, please," the plea springs tears to his eyes. He's never felt so humbled before; his cock twitches pathetically like it agrees.
His feet twist against the floor and his knees wobble when Yeonjun squeezes around his semi-knot. "Noona, stop. Otherwise, I'm gonna pop," he warns, worried for himself now, because free knots fucking hurt, and his knots usually lasts longer than most people. They'll never make it back out in time.
Yeonjun finally heeds his pleas, loosening his grip and finally peering at him. "Cute," he says, and leaves a firm kiss at the tip of his cock. Beomgyu whimpers at the sight. "Baby alpha popping a knot over nothing."
"That wasn't nothing," Beomgyu argues, legs fully turning into putty. He's still vibrating with every slight movement.
"Still," Yeonjun says, taunting yet again, "You'd have knotted my mouth if I asked for it. You pop so easily." He's grabbing rows and rows of toilet paper, rubbing where he'd ejaculated, as well as over himself. Then, he zips himself up and moves to wipe Beomgyu as well — careful in the way he touches, soft in the way he smiles. "Messy," he tuts, even though he was the one who made the mess.
"To be fair, I would let you do anything to me if you asked," Beomgyu declares. The omega tucks him back into his briefs, and zips him up, and then he presses a kiss over it too. Beomgyu groans. "Stop doing that. I'll get hard again." When Yeonjun leans down to nip at his thigh, Beomgyu can see a nipple through his wide collar. Shit, he's still horny. Want it in my mouth, he thinks. Fucking hell.
Yeonjun slaps his thigh with a loud smack. "No," he says, firmly. Beomgyu pouts at the scolding. "I didn't even say anything," he argues, lips jutted out. Yeonjun just gets up with a sigh and pecks him. "I know, but I can smell you," he says, and then he unearths scent blockers from his back pocket. He unwraps two of them and applies it to his neck, and Beomgyu takes that chance to snake his arms around Yeonjun's waist. He's soft everywhere.
He refuses to budge when Yeonjun tries to pry him off, let go, Beomgyu, and presses his face to the omega's tummy petulantly. Post-orgasm clarity is just heightened clinginess for him, and not many people have liked it thus far — most think it's uncharacteristic of him. But he can't help it, he's sensitive, and sentimental, and loves physical touch. Yeonjun must have picked up on his dampening scent, because he just laughs quietly at the display of stubbornness, and peels Beomgyu's old patches off of him. His scent glands ache at having worn blockers for so many hours, sore and tender to the touch, and he winces when Yeonjun accidentally grazes it.
"Sorry, sorry," he shushes, "You can take them off in the car. Just until then." He applies the patches for him, soft pads of his fingers massaging the flesh around it gently.
They end up skipping dessert, and Yeonjun, for all his taunting, hides behind Beomgyu, red in the face as the alpha pays the bill upfront. The staff are polite enough to not react to their scents, probably intermingled so scandalously, and bid them warm goodbyes. Yeonjun is holding onto the sleeve of his shirt by the elbow as they exit, so shy despite everything he's just done to him, and Beomgyu almost gets whiplash from it.
The drive home is more muted, and Yeonjun honours his promise by peeling off his scent blockers for him the minute they step into his car. Beomgyu pretends Yeonjun nosing gently at his terribly sore scent glands doesn't make his heart soar. It's too early to rage in with feelings. So, he asks about Yeonjun's work instead, and lets him talk, and talk, and talk — he listens, and he lets Yeonjun's voice linger and echo through every chamber in his heart. And briefly, he recalls how Yeonjun told him, back at the restaurant, about how no one asks, no one ever asks, laughing despite his souring scent, and wonders if this is what he meant.
Then, they bid their goodbyes, with two long kisses and with Yeonjun almost pouting when they part. He waves Beomgyu off like it pains him. And then, Beomgyu goes home, and knots into his rutting fleshlight that he hasn't seen in almost a month, with his tongue curled around Yeonjun's name, choking on tears. Later in the night, he dreams so vividly of being held against Yeonjun's body, the softness of it, and the way he'd called him baby and alpha, as if that has always been his to claim since the get-go, and no one else's.
He wakes up the next morning in cold sweat and with a raging boner, inside him brewing a deep feeling of trepidation at the thought of Yeonjun having done that to someone else. Calling them baby and alpha and choking them down; wonders if he'll do that to someone else, wonders if he's just the opening act. He has half the mind to call Yeonjun and just ask, because hurting from knowing is better than not knowing. Everything turned so serious so fast for him, and something inside him withers at the thought of being only something to Yeonjun. He wants to be everything to him — that is not up for debate. Beomgyu cries himself back to sleep.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Life doesn't change as drastically as Yeonjun had imagined it would. He wakes up in the morning and stares at Kai's face as he sleeps. He replies to Beomgyu's messages as he rolls over, and pretends he won't spend his entire shower thinking about him. Then, he has breakfast, and tells Beomgyu about said breakfast, and giggles to himself at the enthusiasm he's granted even through the screen. Most days he swoons; on other days, he embarrasses himself.
Mid-day is when he gets most productive, and for whatever reason, Beomgyu has already learnt to leave him be. It's been two weeks since the first date, and he's only seen Beomgyu once since then; and that too, just to get one final signature for the divorce papers. Yeonjun supposes it's normal to miss him — he's alone most of the day, with Kai at the hospital more hours of the day than one can keep track of. The house is always empty. Yeonjun has learnt to stop looking at the hollowness of it.
Work is mostly him on his standing desk in the sunroom, trying not to get distracted by the ticking of the vintage pendulum wall clock down the hall. Some days he wonders why they haven't gotten rid of it — it's tolerable at best for him, while Kai absolutely despises it. Then again, they don't have the best track record for that sort of stuff.
Four days a week he works at home, perks of co-owning his own publishing house, and only visits the office at best. Some people still remember him as a writer, Daniel Choi, because he had once been young — much younger than now — and he'd dared to have dreams. His previous job as an interior designer did very little to nourish his creative drive, though he'd enjoyed it somewhat, and getting to work with big names and celebrities was also one of the things he'd mildly enjoyed. But he'd gone home every day and then he'd wonder; he'd kept wondering for two years, unsure what it would mean to scrap all his life plans, and embark on a journey entirely different than the one that had been dutifully drafted by his parents.
There was no argument when he decided to quit his job at twenty-three. He'd told his mother over breakfast and she didn't bat an eye, nor did it ever disrupt her careful chewing. She had gotten him enrolled into an overseas University in less than two weeks — distance mode, and Daniel Choi hit the shelves a few years later with Pieces of You. That had been followed closely by Room Number 13, his own little delve into themes that were a bit more psychological, in the same year he'd met Kai through a friend. Kai had asked for a signed copy of it, with little stars in his eyes, and that flush to his cheeks he still has not lost to this day whenever Yeonjun looks at him.
The collection grew, and soon two turned to three, and all of a sudden three turned to seven. Dating Kai had brought so much light and inspiration to him; it's difficult not to when you have someone sit down with you over coffee and beg you to talk about your latest pieces. Kai was probably the first person who truly asked, and didn't assume, and asked because he was interested and not because he wanted an easier way into his good books. The man still has those signed copies even now.
Nonetheless, the older he grew, the more he had to say. And the more he had to say, the less he wrote. He could no longer let those thoughts and feelings materialize. He'd stopped writing altogether by the time Kai came out to him. He couldn't afford to let his characters carry that burden; he wouldn't be able to do them justice. So, now, he edits, and transcribes for a few acquaintances, and pretends it brings him fulfillment. He reads more than he writes but that distracts him from the characters inside his head, always playing something out but never resolving anything at all. Not a single scene concluded, lingering on every plotline — so much like himself that he'd rather pretend they aren't there.
Today, his routine deviates slightly. Yeonjun had only gotten to a half-third of his protein shake when the doorbell rings. It's not every day that someone disrupts his evening run, so he marches to the door in his spandex shorts and sleeveless compression shirt, completely unaware of the disaster that awaits him. Choi Beomgyu greets him with a pained sound and two wobbly steps backward. Yeonjun laughs to himself. "Hey, you."
Beomgyu makes another weak sound.
"I'm sorry, I only speak two languages," Yeonjun jokes, reaching to grab Beomgyu by the shirt to pull him into a hug. "What are you doing here?"
"First of all," Beomgyu gabbles, "Holy shit." Yeonjun flushes at the way Beomgyu eyes him from head to toe. "Second of all, please don't ever answer the door like this again, or I'll kill myself. What if I were someone else?" The slight hint of a whine to his voice makes Yeonjun's knees weaken.
"But you aren't," he insists, despite inwardly acknowledging how wrong this could've gone, albeit belatedly. Beomgyu chuckles and pulls him closer by the waist. "To what do I owe this pleasure, hm?" Yeonjun teases, staring at the alphas eyes intently.
"Missed you," Beomgyu simply offers, ducking down to bury his face in the crook of his neck. "Long day. Stupid people. I needed to recharge." Like this Yeonjun can see how much of this man is still a boy deep down; he wears his genuineness like a knife to his back.
"Wanna tell me about it over snacks and a movie?" Yeonjun offers, one hand caressing Beomgyu's nape, impossibly endeared.
"Aren't you busy?" Beomgyu reasons, straightening up to stare at the omega.
Yeonjun bears him his most convincing smile. Pulling his hand a little further down, he makes contact with Beomgyu's scent blockers. He wishes he could rip them off and never have them on there again. "Nothing I can't do another day."
Beomgyu lets himself be pulled, and dragged to the lounge upstairs, where Yeonjun lets him sit lifelessly as he hovers over him. Coat off, tie loosened and shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, he settles and lets himself be pulled into Yeonjun's arms as the TV glimmers within its frames. "Would Kai mind?" Beomgyu pipes up, fingers lingering over patches.
Yeonjun giggles at the consideration. "I think you're more his type than I am," he jokes, and helps the alpha pull them off, carefully placing them on the side table to discard later. Beomgyu joins his laughter.
It's an older series they're watching, probably something Beomgyu has not seen much of, or at least be old enough to remember. Kwon Sangwoo still looks like a dream, but Yeonjun keeps the thought to himself.
"Hyung," Beomgyu calls, head raised from where he'd been buried in Yeonjun's chest. "Is it weird if I tell you that I think about you a lot?"
His heart stutters in his chest, and his hands pause, still tangled in Beomgyu's hair. The alpha goes on to say, "All week I wanted to come over, or ask you out again, or just call you for hours and listen to you talk about your projects. But I don't want to seem like such a kid, and I promised myself that the next time I like someone, I wouldn't burden them with my shit again."
Yeonjun hates how small he sounds, hates how he's always invalidating himself despite having had the balls to shoot his shot at him after all. "Is that why you were so quiet this week? I thought you were playing hard-to-get," he says, chuckling softly as he places a kiss on top of Beomgyu's head. "Go on, I wanna hear more."
Beomgyu twists up, pout high on his lips. "Are you teasing? I feel like you are."
"Teasing? Always. Mocking? No." The reassurance settles in the air, and Beomgyu's pout turns into a small frown. "I missed you, too. Does that help?"
The laughter erupts in a gentle wake from deep inside him, when Beomgyu nods so enthusiastically. "Hyung, I was thinking today."
"Mm? About what?"
Beomgyu wriggles upwards, until he's closer to Yeonjun's face and they're somewhat eye-level. "You," he says, cheeky little grin plastered to his face as he says it. "Mostly about how you said you don't do casual." It was in a text message, because Beomgyu had hesitated still, despite how Yeonjun assures him time and again that he hasn't had any sort of interest in someone in a while. It had seemed like there was something he wanted to say, but was going around it in loops. "Is that something—," he blurts, and then backtracks, "Would that change?"
Yeonjun hooks a finger under his chin, trying to read his face and failing. "What are you trying to say, Beomgyu?"
There's nothing he can pick out from his expression aside from the slightly constipated look on him. Yeonjun wonders if he's the reason for it. "Are you trying to ask if I would fuck someone else?"
Beomgyu huffs very softly, frown soft and yet so apparent. "You make it sound weird," he says, the faintest trace of a whine clinging to his voice.
"Beomgyu," Yeonjun calls, lips pursed into a thin line. "You're allowed to ask." That doesn't seem to convince the boy, still. He's antsy and deliberate in all his sighs, and the worry bleeds off of him very oddly. "Something's been bothering you, isn't it? I can tell."
The alpha lets out what sounds like a pained groan, despite it being terribly quiet. "I'm scared," he admits, voice dropping to a whisper. Yeonjun can see it on him now. For possibly the first time since he's known him, Beomgyu's hesitating. "I'm scared it's going to come out wrong, and I'll sound all immature."
Two months ago, Yeonjun would've never imagined he would be lying here with another alpha aside from his husband, TV barely registering as static noise in his mind. He could've predicted the cicadas and the emptiness of the house, but never the thrums of his heart at the way the alpha fiddles with the edge of the thin blanket draped over them. He's nervous, Yeonjun can smell it on him, and somehow it's the most comforting thing he's basked in in years.
Vulnerability is not new to him, but often he has only been plagued by his own. Seeing it on Beomgyu makes him seem more attainable, like Yeonjun could hold him to sleep and Beomgyu would wake up and still look at him with that same disposition akin to a child begging, pleading, and Yeonjun could finally have the magical power he's always wanted — to grant his wishes, to give him everything he yearns for, and more.
⟡
"Last week, after our date... I dreamt about you." A nightmare, really. Beomgyu isn't entirely too sure how to retell it. "And then I woke up sad," and really horny, "Because in my dream, you broke up with me. Then, I thought about it the entire day, because I could not escape the reality of it." There's no other way to sugarcoat it, because the truth remains that they barely have a relationship at all, and there's nothing to break up or apart. "Hyung, you could block me tomorrow, and never speak of me again, and the world won't end."
Yeonjun's staring, and so inquisitively too. Beomgyu hadn't imagined this to be how he would tell him, but it's out in the open now. "And despite how hard I've been contemplating on my words, I still sound so immature," he admits, and cringes at how whiny he sounds. Yeonjun only stares, with his eyes gentle and urging. "Do you hate it when I get like this? Will you?"
There's so much more there to unpack but Beomgyu wishes he could choke on his own tongue instead. It's too early for this. Yeonjun's going to get annoyed. He's going to think Beomgyu's irritating, and clingy, and pathetic, and then he'll never call him again. Beomgyu should have kept his big mouth shut. He should've gone out with grace, and he should've taken what Yeonjun gave him, one thing at a time; anything he's willing to give, anything at all.
Uncharacteristic — Yeonjun will think that, too. He'll look at him in disdain eventually, because despite all his efforts Beomgyu still stormed in here with all his feelings dripping out of his own hands.
"Beomgyu," Yeonjun calls, and everything else pauses. Beomgyu has heard his name a million times, has heard it moaned and groaned and screamed and yelled, and has had it paired with colourful adjectives and curse words. He's heard it in joy, in anger, in sadness, in disgust, and it has never been something that dials his entire system to full attention. It had always been just a name, a random jumble of syllables — a call for his attention in the most mindless form.
But when Yeonjun calls him, it beckons his entire being to be. He's Beomgyu. He has always been. Yet, it feels like it's his first time hearing it. It feels like he finally is.
"Beomgyu," the omega repeats, and his eyes threaten to fall shut. He wishes the call would echo for days in all its softness, and that it would fill every space he finds himself in. "I don't care," he says, and Beomgyu grows puzzled. "I don't care if you sound immature. I don't care if you are. I love spending time with you, and picking at your brain, and hearing you complain about everything that ruins your day. I don't care if you say the wrong things either, because at least you try." The look in his eyes grow far softer, almost impossibly so. "You always try. That matters the most to me."
Beomgyu sags even further when Yeonjun presses his forehead to his own. "Won't you get tired of it?" Of me? Of my petulance? My stubbornness? My impatience? Hyung, will you look at me differently then? "What if I'm too optimistic and I start thinking of a future with you? What if I read into everything you say completely different, and start having hope?"
He's surprised by the soft laughter that erupts as Yeonjun pulls back, eyes turning into little crescents, amusement apparent in the way he shakes his head so slightly. "Beomgyu, I think you misunderstood me, but not in the way you think." Yeonjun grabs him by the jaw and pulls him into a chaste kiss and Beomgyu has to fight every urge to turn into a sopping mess in his hands. The omega's eyes are deep pools of brown when he blinks open.
"I don't do casual. I've never done casual. Maybe a few flings in college, but that was decades ago. I don't commit my time to the temporary. And I'm not saying we should make big plans and draft dreams, but you're not something I'm willing to let pass me by so easily. I wouldn't have kissed you at all if that were the case."
Everything inside him deflates. He'd prepared himself for the shame, the scolding, the too little too fast he's all but heard too often. Yeonjun giggles in his face, and suddenly all is right in the world again. He had stormed in here with his feelings bleeding out of his seams, and Yeonjun hadn't scowled. "I like you too much," he admits into the silence, amidst the sound of their breathing, and still Yeonjun is smiling. I want to matter to you, hyung.
"Would it help if you start calling me your boyfriend? Tell everyone you bagged a cougar?" He's giggling again, and Beomgyu can't help but join in. "You're not some rest-stop for me, sweetheart," he says, mirth dropping to make room for the seriousness. "You're not some option I'm exploring. I genuinely like you, and I'm willing to stick around as long as you let me."
It's the way he says it that bothers Beomgyu more than the words itself. There's some underlying meaning to it that he's not sure Yeonjun is willing to let him read into. But still, he takes what is given to him, and nose-dives into the crook of the omega's neck to hide himself away. "Thank you," he mumbles, unsure if he's been heard; until Yeonjun nuzzles against him.
"We have to get started on dinner. I gave the chef a day off."
Beomgyu resurfaces, gaping slightly at the older man. "I'm staying?" Am I allowed to?
Yeonjun gathers him in his arms, and then he squeezes, almost as though it is on instinct. "You're staying, of course. Do you want me to eat all alone? By myself? You're breaking my heart here."
There's that underlying meaning again. This one Beomgyu can hear even through the lack of words: I'm always alone. It's lonely here. Am I allowed to forbid you from leaving? Would you stay if I were quieter in my yearning? Beomgyu thinks he can see it in his eyes — that slight fear of refusal. He supposes it's always in his own eyes, too.
"Hyung, I wouldn't leave even if you called security to discard me."
Yeonjun exhales in relief. Beomgyu wishes he could breathe it in, instead.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
On the 14th of August, Yeonjun wakes up to an empty bed. It's a quarter past seven, and Kai won't be home until late in the afternoon. Then, they'll have dinner, in their spacious dining hall where Yeonjun sits with his ghosts more days than not. He'll sit and watch and listen to Kai and his boyfriends, and he'll pretend he belongs there.
Kai had invited Beomgyu this year though — for a change, he'd insisted.
That conversation was one Yeonjun had never imagined himself to have in his lifetime, but Beomgyu had been nothing short of sweet. Yeonjun suspects he just enjoys getting to spend time with him, and takes whatever chance he gets; well, it's either that or he really, really likes birthdays. He'd asked for a list of things Kai would like, and then proceeded to get stressed over the two gifts he'd shortlisted, and bought in a whim. Yeonjun had had to choose for him two nights ago.
The first sign of trouble arrives just in time with Beomgyu's message that reads can't wait to see you tonight. It's Kai's mother who pulls up in her car, screeching her tires on the driveway as though she owns it. They have yet to inform her of the divorce that is currently in the works. I have to be the one she hears it from, Kai had insisted.
Kai's mother is beautiful. She doesn't look like she has aged a day over forty, and Yeonjun never knows how to breathe right around her. She is as beautiful as she is mean, though. Her first greeting is a simple, "Where is Kai?" She never actually greets Yeonjun, or asks about him at all. At least, not in the way it matters. Yeonjun smiles despite the nervousness, "He's at work."
Kai's mother is elegant too, even in the way she struts through the house uninvited and fixes herself a glass of sparkling water. Yeonjun can only hover around her awkwardly, pretending to wipe around the kitchen island as though he hasn't done that twice today already. "At work still?" She's inquisitive too, and one wrong words means verbal execution. Yeonjun has never known how to handle her. "Wasn't he supposed to get off a few hours ago?"
Yeonjun bites back a grimace. Kai is thirty-two, turning thirty-three today, yet his mother still keeps tabs on him. He's not completely decided on how he feels about that. "He was, but something came up. He'll be here soon, though, if you'd like to see him."
The woman waves him off rather dismissively. "No worries. I just came by to drop off some gifts. I wasn't truly expecting to see him anyways." Then, she sighs almost deliberately, and leans over the counter, closer to where Yeonjun is standing, and whispers, "The house is rather quiet, isn't it?"
Yeonjun knows what she means. She's never liked the thought of Kai marrying someone older than him, and treats Yeonjun as though he's five minutes away from expiration. In the past, she'd drop off fertility medication, virility supplements, books, call Yeonjun over for surprise check-ups at her clinic, and had even gone as far as giving him unsolicited advice on sex. Omega to omega, she had explained. Yeonjun doesn't know how Kai got her to stop, but he's thankful for it at least.
"We prefer the quiet," Yeonjun insists, and makes sure to emphasize we because she'll later use it against him.
She snickers. "I'm sure you do. But you're not getting any younger, and Kai loves children." Then, she twirls a little strand of hair and eyes Yeonjun up and down. "Five years from now, you'll have to start looking into surrogates," she says, and laughs flatly. "I jest," she adds as an afterthought. Nevertheless, Yeonjun knows she means it — he can see it in her eyes. Still, he doesn't retaliate, because the last time he did, everything almost fell apart. She'd demanded their medical records and implemented a scenting schedule for them to boost fertility. Kai can't hate her, because she is still his mother; Yeonjun hates her enough for the both of them.
"We'll try to bring you good news soon," he makes one more empty promise, for both their sakes.
She spares him a tight-lipped smile, having heard that promise one too many times, but she doesn't comment any further. Before she departs, his mother-in-law waltzes into their bedroom and leaves Kai's presents on their bed. When she leaves, Yeonjun makes a beeline for the guest bathroom and hurls over the toilet. He chokes and gets dizzy, and cries mid-gag, and cries some more at the thought of still being so affected. Once he's done, he fully slumps his upper body against the counter, and then he sobs. He doesn't know how much of the disgust he feels is from her and how much of it is internal.
She hadn't always been this awful. Yeonjun isn't entirely sure awful is the right word exactly, but she sure is something. She'd been so loving at first, and took care of him in the same manner of gentleness only his mother had ever managed to exhibit. But the longer the years ran, and the less Yeonjun fulfilled her criterion, and the more he shielded Kai from her — the crueler she became. He can't remember the last time she'd treated him with the kindness he'd initially been granted so graciously.
Later, he'll tell Kai about it, leaving off minute details (like the fact that she makes him so nauseous still), and he'll ask about Kai's latest surgery in the end to mask it all. And Kai will stare at him oddly, like all other times, and say I'm sorry in that godawful way he does when he feels out of control. Then, Yeonjun will feel terrible, and then they'll talk about the neighbours and their new dog. They'll talk about an old friend's botched boob job, and they'll sip their chamomile tea in intervals, and Yeonjun will learn to live the day down in the only way he knows how — with muted indignation and unspoken requests for Kai to be anything but passive dying on his tongue, because that ship has sailed a long time ago.
Maybe they'll go to bed holding each other, talking about the children they'll never have and the playground they'd planned to make in the far back of the property, with wooden swings and a sandbox much like the one Yeonjun always wished he’s grown up in. Maybe they'll pretend Kai doesn't sleep every night in either Taehyun's or Soobin's t-shirt, and hold him like he doesn't mean it, and Yeonjun will pretend that sleeping every night in a bed with at least one foreign scent around them doesn't bother him.
⟡
To no one's surprise, dinner doesn't go well. It doesn't go terrible either, but between the alphas' posturing and Yeonjun being the only omega in the room, the tension is unlike anything he's ever witnessed before. He doesn't understand why he'd thought so foolishly that Kai's boyfriends and Beomgyu would get along from the get-go. Maybe he'd become too complacent with Kai's passiveness, had grown so used to it that he'd forgotten how other alphas behave. It's not too bad, he thinks; or maybe he's just trying to convince himself.
Kai is talking about some case with an aneurysm, and Yeonjun had never been bothered by Kai talking about work before — not over dinner, not over any meal. But just this once, he is, and he knows Beomgyu can sense his distress from the way he keeps glancing at him, even as he engages in the conversation. The mashed potatoes are dry. The scallops are overcooked. Yeonjun feels nauseous again.
"You okay?" It's Taehyun who asks, sitting across from him, glancing at the way Yeonjun mindlessly digs through his plate with his fork, barely taking any bites at all.
He feigns a bright smile, shaking his head gently. "Yeah, no. Sorry. I'm just tired, I think." He makes the mistake of sparing a glance at Kai, who very obviously averts his gaze, pointedly eating in silence. Yeonjun looks back at his own plate. To his right, Beomgyu shifts in his seat, tight-lipped smile and all as he asks, "Is the food not to your liking?" It's funny, he'll give him that — it would indeed be hilarious if Yeonjun didn't like one bite of the food he helped prepare so diligently the entire day. He laughs, and then laughs some more as though to prove a point, and then he shakes his head.
Except, some part of it holds true. He barely likes the food at all, but Kai does. They're having his favourite wine too, the one Soobin had splurged on because it's Kai; he deserves everything.
It's hilarious to Yeonjun how out of place he feels in his own home. The lights are set in the way Kai likes, the food and the music too. They're seated in the exact way he'd assigned — Yeonjun at the farthest end, so as to not be disturbed by the overwhelming amount of alpha scents that would undoubtedly fill the room. None of it worked out the way he had hoped it would, and by the end of it, he just feels disoriented and out of place. It almost feels as though he'd bargained his way onto the dinner table, had begged and pleaded to be included, just to see that sliver of Kai's life. He should've just let them have a party on their own, maybe at Taehyun's condo or Soobin's apartment; where Yeonjun would be out of sight and out of mind, and Kai would actually have the courage to be himself.
It's when the others are setting up at the lounge upstairs, maybe for karaoke or something else, that Beomgyu sits beside him on the lounge downstairs, pressed real close as he asks, "Did something happen?"
It takes everything inside him not to crumble. It's moments like these when he's reminded how awfully lonely he has been; when no one bothers him or asks him what's wrong, when he lives a life of independence in that way where he only does it because he had nothing to depend on, where Kai has lovers and a fulfilling life despite it all — Yeonjun can stare at himself now, and see it for what it is.
“Not really," he says, struggling to keep his voice leveled as he stares back at the alpha. Beomgyu smiles and holds an arm out, pulling him into a hug sideways.
"That's worse, you know," Beomgyu says, rocking him a bit, as Yeonjun melts into the hold, "When nothing happens, but something feels amiss." He pauses, leaning down to press his nose into the side of Yeonjun's face. "You barely ate," he mumbles.
Yeonjun feels like crying. In fact, his eyes screw shut on their own. He feels like an unwanted guest in his own house, and he probably has for a long time; he doesn't know how to explain that to Beomgyu. He lifts a hand to press against the alpha's face, any part he can reach, just to feel him. "I don't feel well," he admits. Beomgyu pulls back slightly in alarm, and Yeonjun feels worse because the others are still waiting for them to join. The louder the laughter gets, the worse the feeling becomes.
"You don't feel well in the literal sense," Beomgyu probes, "Or you need me to pull you away from here?" Yeonjun can't even answer. He just turns to stare at the man in front of him, tears welling up at the absolute unwillingness he feels inside. To answer means to explain, and to explain means to admit; he's not ready for that conversation just yet.
Beomgyu pecks him and decides, "Okay. I'll tell Kai you're dropping me off, and then we— we can go." The relief that sweeps through him feels almost bittersweet — a breathy pained sound escaping from his mouth as if to signify his gratitude. Beomgyu kisses him again, and gets up to head upstairs.
When he reemerges, Yeonjun stares at him as he shuffles around, grabbing his things. By the door, he puts on Yeonjun's shoes for him, and lets him wear his jacket. Then, he leads him down the driveway, one hand clasped tightly in Yeonjun's, quietly ushering him into the passenger's seat. They take off without so much as a word, and Yeonjun stares at the house as it disappears in the rearview mirror. He doesn't quite understand why that makes him relieved.
They drive for a while, and leaving the estate somewhat unfurls the tension in his spine, he's willing to admit that much. The city comes closer into view, and when they enter the ongoing traffic he doesn't feel as nauseous anymore. Beomgyu's humming a tune to himself, but doesn't make any more sounds than that. So, Yeonjun takes the incentive and disturbs the silence. "Can we grab something to eat?" Beomgyu smiles and agrees, eyes soft and big, almost appreciative in the way he responds to the question.
"What would you like, baby?"
Yeonjun turns to look at him, but the alpha already has his gaze set to the road again. He'll never admit it out loud, let alone to Beomgyu, but something inside him flops and dies whenever the alpha calls him pet names. He's probably to old to still be this giddy, but honest to god, he no longer cares for decorum. "Pizza," he declares. He deserves it after the awful day he's had.
"Pizza?" Beomgyu says, sparing him a quick glance.
"Pizza. With lots of cheese," he repeats. "I want it to be so heavy that I'll feel it for hours." For most of his life, Yeonjun had eaten somewhat a clean diet. It's still heavily ingrained in him some days, how his mother would nag and fuss, how health complications run in the family and how omegas are far more susceptible than everyone else. All those supplements and juices and herbal powders; for immunity, for his figure, for his skin, for fertility — Yeonjun's sick of them all. If he sees another curcumin pill, he's going to flush it down the toilet, he swears. All that effort, just for it to get nullified by one faulty suppressant dosage. It's hilarious, really.
"We'll eat your beautiful, delicious, loaded pizza, hyung," Beomgyu says, chuckling amusedly, "and then we'll talk once we're done with it." It's weird — how Beomgyu always says we. Kai doesn't like pizza. He always says you go ahead, you eat it, you order it, and never pretends to like it. He's never even touched it; not even in Tuscany, on their honeymoon, when Yeonjun had hoped he'd be kind enough to even pretend to grab a slice. So, he'd eaten alone, and pretended that it didn't bother him. Maybe it didn't at the time, for they were both young and naive and learning to exist around each other; but now it does.
They enter and exit the drive-through in a jiffy. Beomgyu carries the pizza and lets Yeonjun lean on him in the elevator. And Yeonjun pretends Beomgyu's penthouse isn't one, because the man doesn't seem like he wants it to be brought up. Sometimes he forgets that Beomgyu had been brought up in money too, because he acts so modest at times; nothing like the people Yeonjun is used to, nothing like the dimwits he used to run in the same circles with.
They set the food up in the living room with cheap beer on the table, after Beomgyu pulls on more casual clothes. And Yeonjun acts as though he'd been here several times before, rummaging through the cabinets for chopsticks and plates. "You're serious?" Beomgyu says, incredulity seeping from him, staring at Yeonjun as he shrugs and grabs a slice onto his plate with his newly acquired chopsticks. The alpha chuckles as he opens his can of beer for him. "I don't like getting my hands greasy. It seeps into your nails," he explains. The other man just laughs and nods amusedly.
It's easy, easier than he'd imagined it to be, and possibly easier than it was with Kai — everything with Beomgyu. It's a hard pill to swallow; Yeonjun swirls his first sip of beer around in his mouth. "Do you think," Yeonjun ponders out loud, munching on his slice. "If I'm having really unfair ideas about Kai," he mumbles ever so lowly, "does that make me a bad person?"
Beomgyu pauses to turn his full attention to him. "Ideas? What kind?"
Yeonjun cringes at himself. A full wince, and a weird weight in his chest. "That I may not have loved him as much as I let myself believe."
"That's... new." Beomgyu takes another bite as they let the silence engulf them. For a while, Yeonjun wonders to himself if this had been the wrong time to bring it up, if he should've just had his food and left and pretended they all aren't in one big mess of relationships.
The longer Beomgyu sits there, every other bite he takes, the less sure Yeonjun feels of himself. "It's awful, isn't it? I had no right to be so pretentious. Now, I just think I barely loved him at all and just used him to fill this space in my life."
Beomgyu's sharp exhale cuts through. "Hyung, you can't say that," he scolds. "You loved him — love him, still. I don't know what happened recently but when I first met you, you were angry. Angrier than anyone I've ever seen. Guiltier, too. You would've done anything to not lose him." When Beomgyu puts it like that, Yeonjun can almost pretend to remember how that felt, how it had been so terrible in the beginning — the thought of living apart, the thought of never seeing Kai at the end of the day in bed with him, the thought of mattering less and less to him over time. It had all been so horrible to think about.
Now, though...
Now, he sees things he had been too terrified to acknowledge for his own sake, clear as day now. Like the fact that Kai had never once taken his side against his mother. Yeonjun understands; a mother will forever be a mother. But it's the fact that Kai has always thrown him into the lion's den to save himself, and Yeonjun had always been too considerate to force him to stare down at reality unfiltered and sliced open. Now, he looks at Kai and sees how he'd used him just as much — a pretty cover for his dirty secret. For so long, Yeonjun believed they'd been a team. Now, though, he's not entirely too sure.
"What do I do, Beomgyu?" Yeonjun sighs, feeling torn up inside. "I don't think we loved each other much at all," he says, choking out a small sob. Arms encircle him before he starts breaking down completely, his entire life crumbling in the back of his mind. It had been easier to pretend they at least cared enough about each other when Kai still came home for dinners and slept in their bed for at least a few hours every night. It had been easier before, back when Soobin and Taehyun didn't keep leaving obvious bite marks atop Kai's scent glands, almost as though they wanted Yeonjun to see them and feel bad. Yeonjun has always been a nuisance to their relationship, unwanted but necessary — knowing this and accepting it are two very different things.
"You love him," Beomgyu reassures, soft strokes to the back of his head. "You loved him so well. You wanted to protect him till the end," he insists, and Yeonjun sobs harder. All of his efforts may have been self-serving too — that's the hardest pill to swallow. He shakes his head in disagreement. It was his decision to put Kai on that pedestal, to see him as someone who cares about Yeonjun deeply — cares about his well-being and happiness. It's not Kai's fault if he doesn't live up to it.
"This whole time," Yeonjun mutters, "This entire time I thought— thought I was helping. That they wanted me there. That I was allowed to go out and sit pretty all those times we'd get brunch or dinner together." Another broken sob. "I feel terrible, Beomgyu. Is this what it feels like to be abandoned?"
Beomgyu groans softly in protest. Yeonjun hates that he's the only one who can comfort him through this. All those years, all those friends — he'd just about managed to get used and discarded by the whole bunch of them. Not one person to hold him down emotionally. Not one person to go to for comfort. Not one person to call at his lowest. Not one person who wouldn't find satisfaction in his misery.
Beomgyu holds him for a while. He holds him in silence, until Yeonjun quiets down, and in the distance he can almost make out the sound of traffic several floors below. Holds him tight, until the weight in his chest dissipates and doesn't feel as pressing. "His mom paid us a visit today," Yeonjun mumbles, worn down as he slumps against the alpha's hold, cheek pressed to his shoulder as Beomgyu rocks them gently. "She said I should look into surrogates soon." The incredulous laughter that erupts from him catches them both by surprise.
"Hyung, that's not okay," he says, a worried lilt to his voice, pulling back to look at him. Yeonjun doesn't dare lift his gaze, zoning out on purpose. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," Yeonjun admits, wincing slightly at the memory. "I just sat there and took it. Because that's what I always did. Because I'm always so scared she'll find out." Everything he did and kept doing was for Kai. That part he's sure. But how much of it is for Kai, and how much of it is for himself — that's a line he can't imagine drawing.
"No…" Beomgyu utters, looking crestfallen and with his mouth agape, once Yeonjun finally looks at him. "That's terrible."
"I know, right?" Yeonjun tries to keep it light. Keyword being tries. "She's truly terrible sometimes, but she's not wrong. Everyone in the family knows there's something wrong with me."
It doesn't help that she comes over a lot. It doesn't help that her incessant need to fuss over Kai has not simmered down the slightest, in fact, it's almost as though it had gotten worse over the years. She's there every holiday, every birthday, maybe even every other Tuesday if Yeonjun is being obnoxious about keeping score. And Kai lets her. That's the most awful part about it — the way Kai lets her get away with it, lets Yeonjun shield him at his own expense, lets things run their course which is merely his godawful way of avoiding conflict.
"There's nothing wrong with you," Beomgyu says, leaning down to nuzzle against Yeonjun's shoulder.
It's funny. Beomgyu hardly knows him at all, and yet he always assumes the best of him. Maybe it comes with being young; the naivety, the optimism. Somehow it's rubbing off on him, too. "You don't know that," Yeonjun says, sighing at the weight of him, and how it brings him such an odd sense of comfort.
Beomgyu smiles against him. It's weird that Yeonjun can tell when he does, can feel it right in his flesh as it happens. Then, he pulls back, eyeing him in that way where he seems so sure of himself, the best kind of look on him. "Tell me, then," he says, grabbing the slice of pizza still cradled between Yeonjun's chopsticks; feeding it to him with that softness in his eyes. Yeonjun's throat tightens up as he takes a bite.
He's still staring earnestly, when Yeonjun says, "It happened when I was in college." Nothing about the alpha's body language changes, despite how ominous it sounds even to him. "During this one particular semester, I asked for an insanely high dosage of suppressants." He'd been young, driven; everything about it, he remembers in agony now. "My normal doctor wouldn't give it to me, so I found one from a friend. A really sketchy one. Fucked me up a bit."
There's something akin to mild shock on the other's face when he says it. Yeonjun expected as much, but Beomgyu doesn't pull away. He remains unmoving, still holding the slice of half-eaten pizza to Yeonjun's mouth. "And? How did you deal with it?" It's Yeonjun's turn to gape now. Everyone had skirted around the topic, his own mother blatantly avoiding the discussion whenever it came up, and none did anything past comforting him in hushed whispers — as though it was something scandalous. No one had even scolded him, or sat him down to see if he was okay.
"My heats are irregular now. In fact, I barely have them lately. The doctor said it would get better once we got more... active, but with Kai... that was out of the picture." He finishes off the slice with a sigh, mouth dry with the effort it took him to get through most of it. "I'm not infertile, if that's what you're thinking. The treatment plan consisted of all things that were far-fetched for me. Scenting, mating, knotting — all things that had to do with kicking my systems back into running normally. And it's been years, so by now everyone believes nothing's working. So, they all assume I'm... yeah."
For the first time tonight, Beomgyu's face twists in the slightest. Almost like he's unsure how to react. "I don't blame Kai. It has nothing to do with him. I didn't even want kids, really, and I barely looked twice at anyone over the years." Except now, he does. He looks at Beomgyu and finally sees what it would mean to have a future with him. He'd never wanted anything badly enough before, had never known how to start wanting, but now that he does, he can't stop. He wants, and he craves, and he yearns. He wants matching pyjamas and those stupid holiday sweaters. He wants to be able to ask for things without being caved to — not like the way Kai had fulfilled his wishes, not like the way he would merely get things over with.
He wants Beomgyu and the way he devotes. He wants Beomgyu and his undying need to provide, to give and give and give, yet never in a way that makes him feel like he's taking. "So, what you're telling me," the alpha says, face splitting into a cheeky grin despite how sullen he'd looked a few minutes ago, "is that I could help?"
Had it been anyone else, Yeonjun would probably not have laughed. He might've felt indignant, and hurt, and he'd most probably leave without so much as an argument. But he's seen enough of Beomgyu to know that his humour has never been aimed at being dismissive. When he looks at him now, earnest in the way he leans closer, eyes round and wide as he stares with that hopeful grin of his, Yeonjun thinks there's a part of him that craved this. Despite everything he had been dealt, he thinks he deserves this tiny sliver of peace and non-malice. Someone that looks at his pain and doesn't see it as monstrous and life-altering, and only ever dreams of lightening that burden.
There's also a small part of him that fears he's putting Beomgyu on that same pedestal he'd sworn up and down to never put Kai on, the one that lingers in the back of his mind, born of his yearning and his own selfish desires. But Beomgyu... he doesn't operate like that. He doesn't treat Yeonjun as some quota to fulfill, as some part to play. "You scare me sometimes," Yeonjun admits, tears gathering rapidly. "You always know what to say."
"I'm just saying," Beomgyu chuckles, and scoots closer into Yeonjun's space, "If I could help, I would."
Yeonjun can't help the laugh the bubbles out of him. "You just want to get in my pants, don't you, sweetheart?"
⟡
It's silence that follows, one that doesn't feel consuming, one that merely feels light and buzzed as Yeonjun stares at him. Beomgyu barely gets the air out of his system before the older man all but leans a bit closer, "I asked you a question." He hates the way that makes him ache. It's almost unfair, how hard he tries to be respectful and level-headed, yet one look from Yeonjun makes him want to throw all his efforts out the window.
"And if I do?" He hopes he sounds even half as brave as he tries to be.
It's insane — Yeonjun entrances him just with the look in his eyes, like the way Beomgyu can see the gears turn in his head, weighing and considering his options. Beomgyu can't help but quiver inside when Yeonjun grabs his collar with a bit of force, pulling him face-to-face. Despite having thought of this scenario a shameful amount of times, it still riddles him with shock when he's pulled into a kiss. And despite having imagined all the ways this could go countless times, he feels embarrassed by how under-prepared he feels.
It's Beomgyu who pulls away in mild shock and disbelief. "Hyung," he calls, unsure how to continue. Yeonjun only stares, mouth agape and spit-slicked in the way it makes his head spin. "Hyung, are you sure? I don't want to do this if you don't want to. I'm perfectly fine with—"
"Beomgyu," Yeonjun cuts him off. "I want this." And as if to drive his point home, "I want you," he adds. It's endearing how the omega flushes, from the apples of his cheek to the tip of his ears, where he's blushing the hardest — a crimson curve to the shell of it. "But if you're unsure, it can wait." It's amusing, how considerate Yeonjun is trying to seem. Even when Beomgyu can smell him, even when he looks dazed and antsy, he's still making sure they're on the same page. It's amusing to Beomgyu because he's hooked up with people for less, and they've already had months under their belt.
Yeonjun's words are one thing, but the look on his face is another. Beomgyu can't wait to see more of it — the way he looks as though he's about three seconds away from begging. So, he offers some grace, and reaches out, hands under flesh, pulling him into his lap. Beomgyu drinks up the soft gasp Yeonjun emits; the filthiest yet of all their kisses, as the omega all but whimpers into it.
There's an eerie sense of familiarity in the way Yeonjun likes to touch him; it's shy, it's soft, but it's everything he'd never imagined would be perfection, not until he had it at least. "How do you want to do this?" It's polite to ask, or at least that's what he convinces himself of. Deep down he knows he has one too many ideas and he'd take anything Yeonjun gives him. When he'd first met him, Beomgyu had imagined Yeonjun's arousal would smell sharper, like all omegas' scents do, with that slight kick of an undernote that signals his alpha instincts — the most primal part of it — a hint of something in the mix that is more dizzying than anything else in the world. There's nothing of the sort with Yeonjun, except very faintly, and Beomgyu almost hates how ripe he smells despite it all.
"I don't know," Yeonjun says, voice heavy with what Beomgyu believes is nervousness, and all of a sudden he's reminded that the man in front of him has never taken a knot in his life. "I want what you want," he says, chasing after Beomgyu's lips almost hastily.
He can't help the instinctual reaction that sparks — hands tightening over the flesh of Yeonjun's waist, in a way he's sure is borderline painful. He's had omegas submit to him before; it's instinct, it's biology, it's nothing special really. But there's something in the way Yeonjun trusts him — body and soul, everything handed to him on a platter and he doesn't even realize he's doing it. "Hyung," he calls, trying and failing to break off from the kisses Yeonjun keeps pulling him into. It takes half a minute and rocking the omega slightly by the hips for Yeonjun to finally gasp and pull off. "I want you to sit on my face."
Yeonjun barely gets to whine out a soft out, "Noooo," before Beomgyu draws a guttural moan out of him when he thrusts up, clothed bulge pressing right against the omega's.
"Please, hyung," Beomgyu says, trying to get Yeonjun to look at him.
"That's too embarrassing," the omega admits, red in the face and sniffling, just a smidge away from crying. When he finally looks at him, Beomgyu melts; Yeonjun responds so beautifully to direct requests, he likes things spelled out and straightforward. But that doesn't mean he responds well to them, at least not in the way it benefits him.
Beomgyu's chest tightens at the sight of him. "Why is that embarrassing, hyung? I really think you'll like it," Beomgyu says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ears. The fact that Yeonjun is burning to the touch and wet in the face is enough proof that he's thoroughly embarrassed by the suggestion. Except it only makes Beomgyu want it even more — to have Yeonjun panting and crying above him, thighs squeezing his head, hands in his hair. "I'd love it, too, hyung." They've barely even started and the omega already looks done-in. Beomgyu wants to see how far he can take it. "I just wanna make you feel good," he says, cradling Yeonjun's face tenderly, trying not to think about how hot his face feels against his palm.
"I don't know how— no one's ever—," Yeonjun's trying his best, one stray hiccup and a hint of a whimper to his voice, and all Beomgyu can think about is being in between his legs.
"Don't think too hard about it," Beomgyu cuts him off with a chaste kiss. "I'll do the work," another kiss, "and we can stop if you decide you don't like it. Do you trust me, hyung?"
Despite everything that has transpired between them, it still comes as a shock to Beomgyu when Yeonjun nods almost too quickly, too certain. He's not sure if it is his heart or his dick that throbs but something clearly did. “I trust you,” he says, voice akin to a whisper, and Beomgyu has to take a moment of silence to rein himself in.
It gets easier after that — easier to ease him in, easier to get him soft in his arms, easier even as Beomgyu strips the both of them, taking his sweet time to look at the man in front of him almost as though it would be the last time he will get to. The curve of his silhouette, the softness that contrasts with all his sharp contours; Beomgyu loves every part of it. In the barely-lit room, Yeonjun glows, in a way he's never seen anyone else do. Soft skin pulled taut, the pudginess of certain parts he can't stop touching. He doesn't know what he did in this lifetime or any of the ones before to deserve getting to hold Yeonjun like this, but everything is worth it — he wouldn't be anywhere else even if he'd been handed the power to decide.
When they're stripped bare, and Yeonjun is fidgety but oh-so-curious as he peers at him longingly, Beomgyu almost forgets how this goes. Almost forgets the motions, the flow of it all, too caught up at the sight of the omega in his arms. "Thank you, hyung," he tells him, too honest for his own good, because even pressed skin to skin like this, it still feels so surreal that he gets to have Yeonjun like this.
It's with careful movements and gentle reassurances that he moves them up the bed, with Yeonjun straddling his chest, meek in the way he stares. Beomgyu had imagined this countless times, a humiliating amount, and yet he'd ever only imagined Yeonjun to know what to do with him, with himself, too. Seeing him so dependent and with that underlying hint of neediness trailing his every movement, Beomgyu swears on his own name that he'll deliver — whatever it is, whatever Yeonjun wants.
"It's okay, hyung," he comforts the other, who is more jittery now than he was a few minutes ago. "I got you. Don't be nervous. There's little to nothing you could do wrong here."
Yeonjun lets out a little huff; a defiant little sound as if to tell him easy for you to say. "How do I do this?"
There's a part of Beomgyu that wants to tease him, ruffle his feathers a bit, you literally just sit on my face, that's it. But there's that silent trust, that absolute submission that looks nothing like he's ever seen; he can't bring himself to jeopardize it. "Let me help," he mumbles, mouth watering at the sight of him, trying his best to be patient in his movements. "Lift your legs, hyung," he says, hands hanging onto the plush of his thighs as he helps Yeonjun get into position.
"You said this wouldn't be embarrassing," the omega whines, legs shaking a bit as he hovers above Beomgyu's face.
The alpha swallows thickly, trying to suppress his impatience. "Only for a bit," he admits, palms caressing his skin gently. "You won't get to think about it once my mouth's on you."
Yeonjun whines, looking skeptical still, even as he follows the instructions obediently. Beomgyu's words die in his throat when Yeonjun lowers himself, the smell of his slick hitting him head-on. He can't brace himself fast enough before he takes the first lap, pulling Yeonjun down impatiently, nails digging into his flesh. He's rewarded with a loud gasp, followed by a soft whimper, as he licks a long stripe over the omega's hole. There's no room for anything else once he has his mouth flushed against Yeonjun, all thoughts leaving him as he moves on auto-pilot.
It's a welcome weight — the feeling of the omega on top of him, the feel of his thighs shaking and caging his head in. Beomgyu barely pulls off to say, "You taste so good, hyung," before he dives back it, unforgiving laps at the twitching hole. He can tell Yeonjun is still shy despite his reassurances, still nervous in the way he timidly holds onto Beomgyu's head with one hand and the other pressed to the headboard. He barely moans too — too quiet for the alpha's liking, that he takes it as a challenge.
Grappling and hooking both arms over his thighs, palms clenched into fists, Beomgyu tugs even harder, making sure Yeonjun fully seats himself over his mouth. The gentle probing makes the omega whimper quietly, and the first spear of his tongue inside earns him the first real moan of the night, with a sharp call of his name. "Beomgyu," he gasps, clearly unsure what it is he wishes to say.
To Beomgyu, his voice sounds somewhat distant, as if muffled or underwater. But the telltale signs of Yeonjun easing into the sensations, the way he relaxes against him — Beomgyu feels it deep in his guts. It's a few short experimental probing, and then he dives straight in, drinking up the slick as it drips on his tongue. It's odd to Beomgyu how he's done this quite a number of times before, and yet, with Yeonjun, it almost feels completely new. As though he's experiencing the sensations for the first time again — the clench of his hole, the wetness, the softness of his walls, and the way Yeonjun is all but failing to conceal his moans, growing louder by the second. It all seems so new, even though it isn't, and Beomgyu loves every second of it.
His favourite part of eating someone out is the helplessness that comes with it, especially when they sit on his face; dizzying, as he's rendered breathless, forced in place. He hadn't planned on getting this far with Yeonjun, honestly, even though he'd hoped for the best. Most people find it embarrassing — to bare yourself open and onto someone this way. But he'd had a feeling it might be something Yeonjun would like, even though he can't pinpoint exactly why. It's just that he feels very strongly that Yeonjun is the type of omega that deserves to be serviced, and worshipped, endlessly so.
Usually, he takes his time, slow languid strokes of his tongue against the rim, a few nips maybe. But the louder Yeonjun grows, the more impatient he finds himself to get him absolutely wrecked. The first suck against his rim, loud and obscene, results in the loudest moan he's heard all night, something akin to a wail as Yeonjun clenches his thighs against Beomgyu's head. Dizzying. Beomgyu almost loses himself.
"Feels— Feels good," the omega whispers, as though it was something so scandalous to admit. "Feels so good, alpha." Beomgyu can't help the growl that rips itself from deep within his chest, moaning open-mouthed against the omega who slicks up even more. He spears his tongue in multiple time again, the omega shaking in response, "I'm going crazy."
He'd never imagined Yeonjun to be so verbal, not in the hundred scenarios he'd imagined. He's shy, and timid; Beomgyu had sworn to take a vow on celibacy if that had been what Yeonjun wanted. But the longer he eats him out, the filthier his moans get, and by the time he pulls off to take a breather, Beomgyu swears he can feel his own precum pooling on his belly. "Hyung," he calls, catching his breath, pushing Yeonjun gently while still hooking onto him to make sure he doesn't get up. "I could do this forever," he says, cock twitching when Yeonjun smiles down at him sheepishly, so visibly embarrassed. "You have to let me eat you out again, or I'll die."
The giggle that he earns makes his nerve endings throb. It's unfair; he's never felt so strung up like this before. "I'm so close," Yeonjun says, and Beomgyu gets dizzy from how needy he sounds. "Please, Beomgyu," he begs so softly, so gracefully, "I wanna come."
And who is Beomgyu to deny his request?
He gets straight back into it, a dull throb at the base of his neck from the strain that he pays no mind to, as he finally pays some attention to Yeonjun's abandoned cock, weeping and hanging pitifully. He presses a little kiss to the head first, making Yeonjun whine, and then he takes it into his mouth gently. He's never particularly enjoyed blowjobs, always one to offer to eat someone out instead, but with Yeonjun, he wants everything, wants his mouth everywhere on him. It's an odd angle, almost uncomfortable, but with Yeonjun gasping and thrashing subtly above him, it's difficult to care. The harsh sucks make him wail, and the long, careful suck and swallow makes him groan.
Usually, Yeonjun is soft spoken, careful with his words and tone. But with Beomgyu's mouth on him, his voice reaches depths he's never heard before. Beomgyu pulls off to mouth at his balls, as they twitch against his lips almost violently. "No," Yeonjun gasps, hands finally grabbing Beomgyu's hair in the way he'd been to scared to ask, fingers tugging harshly at the strands. "Wanna come with your mouth on me," he insists, breathy and awfully needy, so unlike himself to make such bold demands. "With you inside," he adds, to emphasize what he means.
Beomgyu whimpers outrightly, shifting however Yeonjun maneuvers him. "Tongue...," Yeonjun says, positioning him right where he wants him, "In me, alpha. Inside." Beomgyu hates how fucked out he sounds, hates how it makes his toes curl and his vision blurry, ears ringing with how much he wants, and craves.
"Please," he adds, sounding awfully small.
He doesn't get to react to it, and the groan dies in his throat, and Yeonjun lowers himself right on him, and Beomgyu wastes no time to fuck his tongue back into him, probing and curling against his walls, legs kicking against the mattress as Yeonjun straight up rides his tongue. The moans make him dizzier, vision blurring even more with the lack of air. Then, he chokes, embarrassingly so, trying to drink as much of the slick — as though he can't get enough of it, as if depraved. There's a faint call of his name, worried, are you okay, but Beomgyu can't bring himself to care, choking through it still; determined and too turned on to focus on anything else.
Then, he snakes one hand down, against his sides, and up towards the omega's hole. It opens against the intrusion with little resistance, warm and soft as he pushes the digit in. Yeonjun gasps when Beomgyu finds his prostate, rubbing gentle circles around it, in the way he knows is making zaps of electricity run its course through the omega's body.
The omega clenches sharply, once, twice, before he full on shivers and cries. "Oh god," he moans, hand tugging against Beomgyu's hair full force. It's a chorus of whimpers that follow, as Yeonjun ruts down, Beomgyu spearing his tongue for him to thrust against. "Oh fuck, Beomgyu. So good," the babbles, like he's crying. "So fucking good, alpha."
The thing that destroys Beomgyu is the way Yeonjun keeps riding his orgasm out, not stopping despite the fact that he's surely starting to get sensitive. Except he just keeps rutting down, as though he can't get enough. It takes all his willpower to not bust like a prepubescent alpha, untouched, swallowing down every bit of slick that he can get his mouth on, cock twitching pathetically.
When Yeonjun finally calms down, he pulls off with a soft whimper, clearly having exhausted himself with his little fit. Beomgyu barely gets to gasp for a few seconds before the omega slides off on wobbly legs to kiss him, body pressed flat against the alpha's. It's pathetic how the skin on skin contact makes him throb so furiously; he's sure the omega can feel it. Yeonjun pulls off to say, "I can taste myself on your tongue." And Beomgyu's heart falls to his ass; another throb of his cock, pressed tight against the omega's thigh.
"Hyung, I'm literally gonna cum on you," he admits, still breathless. It's the wrong thing to say because Yeonjun stares at him in silence for a moment, before he rubs his thigh harder against Beomgyu's cock. "What's stopping you?"
"That's unfair," Beomgyu whines, even though he can't help but rub against him. "I wanna fuck you. Wanna have you cry on my cock," he insists, and Yeonjun chuckles in his face, a hand coming up to clutch his cheeks harshly.
"What? Baby alpha can't go a second round? Is his big, dumb cock so useless it can't get hard again?"
Beomgyu knows he shouldn't lose his mind over Yeonjun's condescending tone, should have some shame and try to regain his footing, but his pathetic cock weeps and spurts more precum against Yeonjun's thigh. There's nothing left to lose, not when Yeonjun smiles at him like this — like he's so awfully endeared he can't help himself, like Beomgyu is the only thing that matters in the world. He's probably not even aware he's looking at him like this right now, but Beomgyu can see it, gets to bask in it, and all sense of shame abandons him as he ruts a few times and comes with a high-pitched whine.
He's immediately chasing Yeonjun's mouth, too overwhelmed, and despite being pressed so close, it doesn't feel close enough. Yeonjun kisses him gently at first, then with more fervor, taking in Beomgyu's soft whines as he grants him some mercy — he grabs the alpha's cock in one hand, gently stroking him through his intense orgasm, as the alpha's vision almost whites out. "Baby," Yeonjun calls as he pulls off, almost sounding worried. "Did you just pop a semi?"
Oh. How embarrassing.
The alpha briefly sneaks a glance at his own cock before looking back up hurriedly, staring at Yeonjun in alarm as though the omega could save him. "Hyung," he whines, "Don't look." Clumsy hands, and a failed attempt at trying to turn Yeonjun's head to him. Except the omega is still staring in awe, squeezing around the semi-knot like it's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.
"Hyung, please," he begs, whispering, too mortified to even look at the omega properly.
Yeonjun laughs softly, kissing him. "It's fine, Beomgyu," he says, still stroking him gently, rubbing over the semi-knot with care. "It's cute. I like how you get about me." Beomgyu doesn't get to retaliate when Yeonjun puts it like that. "No one's ever been this genuine with me," he admits, pressing several kisses across his face, "I love it. It makes me feel good about myself."
It's still embarrassing, and the feeling burns in his core, despite what the omega tells him. But when Yeonjun looks at him this openly, when he's being this vulnerable and honest, Beomgyu thinks it's worth it. What is his ten seconds of embarrassment worth to him, if it makes Yeonjun feel better about himself? Yeonjun — Yeonjun who holds him so gently, who tells him that Beomgyu makes him happy, who tells him of all his worst fears and trusts him with them. Beomgyu thinks everything is worth it for his happiness.
"Hyung," Beomgyu calls, suddenly so somber.
"Mm?"
It's clear as day to him now. He's never going to swallow this feeling down, not for the rest of his life. "I'm going to fall in love with you," he says, like a promise. "I'm going to want you, and keep wanting you, and then I'm going to fall in love with you."
There's a small moment in which the realization sets in for Yeonjun, a small moment where he can tell that he hears what Beomgyu means. He's blinking at him, face set into absolute passiveness, but not in the way that makes Beomgyu want to retract his statement. He just stares, and takes it all in, before he says, "Okay." He leans in to press his forehead against Beomgyu, heated skin and all, before he whispers so softly against the alpha's lips, "You can."
Then, he pulls Beomgyu into a kiss, the gentlest he's ever had, one where he's almost unsure they're even pressed against each other. A phantom of a kiss; so soft it makes him feel as though he's floating. "You should," Yeonjun adds, as he pulls away to look at Beomgyu.
"I'm going to fall in love with you, too."
⟡
Maybe it's the sudden confession, the carefully phrased promise with limbs tangled and skin pressed against skin, but second round comes sooner than Yeonjun expects. It turns out it doesn't take a lot to get Beomgyu going; in fact, all it took was light scenting, and a few heated kisses and cocks rubbing against each other a few times on accident.
Beomgyu doesn't waste much time, impatience bleeding into his movements now, all his cautiousness from before gone entirely. He'd hooked Yeonjun's leg over his waist; still making out with him as he fingers him open languidly. It's almost humiliating how wet he sounds, and it doesn't help that Beomgyu likes sudden sharp thrusts against his prostate, albeit the actual contact being so gentle. "You can fuck me now," Yeonjun insists for the third time in a row, "I won't get any wetter than this."
The other man doesn't grace him with an answer, seemingly too content with running and dragging his fingers down Yeonjun's walls. His wrapped-up cock twitches against Yeonjun time and again, and the feeling of latex against his skin somehow turns him on even more. "Beomgyu," he whines, starting to ache with arousal, walls starting to spasm with the lack of actual stimulation.
"Sorry, I was having fun," Beomgyu says, pulling out with a cheeky little grin, pecking Yeonjun as he lines himself up. "It's starting to hurt, though." With that, he pushes himself in slowly, so careful too, despite the fact that Yeonjun is absolutely leaking.
"Be gentle, baby. I haven't had a dick in me in a while," Yeonjun drawls, a mischievous attempt at riling the alpha up, whose response is several curses, and accidentally slipping the whole way in, in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck," he grits, brows furrowed as he glares at Yeonjun. "Warn a guy."
His next response though, is to rub a palm down Yeonjun's lower back, splayed flat against it, and immediately thrusting deeper, drawing a moan out the both of them. Yeonjun chokes on the feeling, so familiar yet so new to him now.
"So full," he says, moreso to himself, "Almost forgot what it felt like." Beomgyu immediately pistons in, successfully riled up. The sudden thrust makes Yeonjun mewl, hand grappling onto Beomgyu's bicep, nails digging into it. "Fuck, you're in so deep," he mumbles, lips pursed, with Beomgyu groaning in response.
"That filthy mouth on you," he says, gasping in between his thrusts, "will be the death of me."
Yeonjun's not entirely too sure what he's expected out of sex with Beomgyu. He knew it'd be good, had imagined it would scratch the itch he gets sometimes, when very faint trails of his heat hits but never turning into a full-blown one — so deep inside him, one he'd never been able to reach despite all the different methods and toys he's tried. Beomgyu's hitting it now though, jackrabbiting, hips smacking against Yeonjun's ass and the back of his thighs. It makes his toes curl, and somehow it feels like being sated so deeply, with Beomgyu panting against him, looking at him with something so heavy, so distinct.
He's not going to last. Beomgyu's making sure he won't, with the way he's staring and how desperate for release he seems, too.
Then, he slows down a bit, catching his breath, kissing him briefly. Asking, almost pleadingly, "You ever been fucked like this, hyung?"
Yeonjun's answer is easy. Straightforward. Never this intimate, and not this lovingly. But it's too weighted; he'd never be able to get it out of himself in a single undeformed piece. "Only you," he tells him instead, with a little shake of the head, goosebumps trailing a path down his back. He breathes, and breathes in Beomgyu — toasted cinnamon on black tea, engulfing him almost like a warm embrace. It's always so deep, so pungent yet muted. Yeonjun doesn't think he's ever picked up a scent this calming.
When Beomgyu's palm trails up his back — the pads of his fingers dancing on his skin, careful movements, until he cradles his head with a firm hand — Yeonjun's heartbeat stutters. The added weight, the firmness of it, and the way it makes his spine tingle; it feels so right that it almost scares him. He feels it burn a hole in his core, slick pouring out in another copious amount, so much that he's sure Beomgyu feels it drip on him. "Sorry," he says, breaking off into a whimper when Beomgyu tugs at his nape gently. He's not sure why he's apologizing.
Beomgyu leans down, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, until he's pressed dangerously close to Yeonjun's scent gland. Then, he's nosing at it, like a desperate little thing, and Yeonjun can almost pick up hints of his own pheromones in the mix — a flowery, damp scent that almost seems foreign to him now. He's not been properly scented in a long while, probably months.
"Is this okay?" The alpha's voice is muffled, lips pressed tight to his skin. It's so characteristic of him to ask, despite diving headfirst into it, but Yeonjun's entire being shakes. If anyone is allowed to scent him, it's Beomgyu. Not Kai, not anyone else. And yet, he sounds so unsure, so terrified of being denied, still; Yeonjun hates how clearly he can hear it on him. It breaks his heart more than anything else.
"Please," he tells him, "Anything you want, Beomgyu. It's all okay." He can't fight the urge to pat down his mussed hair then, tangled and ruffled, hoping it soothes the alpha even just a little. "I'm yours, aren't I?"
It's too heavy, too loud — the smack of their slick-laden skin, the sound of their breathing, and Beomgyu. Him. In all his entirety. Yeonjun doesn't think two hands are enough to hold him. It will never be enough. He deserves the kind of gentleness he exhibits at all times, except mirrored tenfold. His consideration. His thoughtfulness. And the way he succumbs. "I like the feel of your skin. And this one vein down your neck," Yeonjun says, peering down, tracing said vein with the ghost of a touch. "I like when you kiss me and I can feel you try to breathe, like you don't want to pull away."
Beomgyu's thrusts are slower now, but deeper, and Yeonjun feels every one of them in his throat. "I like how you like to leave hickeys on my shoulder. No one can see it, but I always know it's there."
It gets harder to speak, veins thrumming with satisfaction and intense pleasure, his omega sated like it hasn't been in ages. He's teetering dangerously close to the edge now, and every thrust feels like it's going to be the one to push him over, except it never is. Like being pushed and then pulled, dangling over the edge; the most delicious kind of anticipation simmering inside him. "And I like being scented. Love it that it's you," Yeonjun says, voice strained with neediness.
It's his turn to tug Beomgyu away from his neck now, as the alpha whines loudly in protest, sounding absolutely pitiful. "I think at this rate I'm going to smell like you for days," he grits out, "But if you don't fuck me into the mattress and make me come in the next minute, I'm going to cry."
It takes a minute for the alpha to reorient himself, the daze in his eyes dispersing with every blink. "I wish I could knot you," he says, slight hint of a whine to it, as he stares at Yeonjun almost forlornly. "You'd love it so much," he muses, lips pulling into a pout. Yeonjun cracks a smile despite the situation. Nothing is allowed to harm you. It's a scary thought — the last person he felt this way about had been Kai, and that hadn't ended very well.
There's a split second where he's thinking about it, the thought of never getting to see things through with Beomgyu, except it's the alpha that cuts it off with a wet whimper. "I'm gonna come," he says, thrust picking up pace again, hands roaming over Yeonjun's body, almost like he can't decide where he wants to touch.
"Hyung," he calls, whiny and broken. He barely has the time to respond, before the alpha is probing at his hole, trying to insert his fingers alongside his cock. Yeonjun thrashes slightly, thinking it's too much of a stretch for a moment, until Beomgyu finally sheaths them in. It feels like three. Yeonjun's toes curl as his thighs squeeze. Then, Beomgyu's spreading them outward, right at the base, closer to his rim. "This is how a knot is going to feel like," he says, letting out a whimper immediately, as though he's just registered what he said himself.
It's the last thing he hears before his body pulls itself taut, like a tight string, vision whitening out, scratching lines down the alpha's back. It's undecided if it's Beomgyu's words that does it, or the actual sensation, or that he's been celibate long enough to trick his body into believing it's similar to a knot — Yeonjun wails as he orgasms; broken and guttural, with his cock spurting almost a worrying amount of cum. Beomgyu follows with a choked out little sound, legs kicking against the mattress in his desperation, almost like he's trying to sheath himself even deeper.
Beomgyu's voice is what brings him back down, littering trails of kisses on his skin, small whispers of so good, so perfect, hyung you're amazing and Yeonjun chokes on his tears. It's an overwhelming feeling — he'd forgotten how good sex can be, how fulfilling, how gratifying. The alpha fucks him through it, with nonstop praise, pulling out only when Yeonjun starts wincing. None of them speak for a while, catching their breaths with gazes locked, too wound up to say anything tangible. Yeonjun lifts a hand, placing his palm flat against the side of Beomgyu's face. There's no need for words like this, as he gently caresses the alpha's face, who stares at him with the kind of longing he's never seen before.
Yeonjun had always imagined himself to be someone clingy, if given the chance. He'd always believe he would, for no real reason except the fact that he's never felt safe enough to even try. It's a welcome realization that settles in him, when he finds himself protesting the minute Beomgyu moves to get up. "No," he whines, grappling to pull the alpha back into his hold. "Why are you leaving?" The alpha barely gets to discard his condom before he's dragged back, an upset Yeonjun tugging at his arm.
An amused chuckle resonates from the alpha. "We can't stay like this the entire night," he reasons, but Yeonjun doesn't want to hear it. He has to feel warmth, skin on skin, and he needs to touch; cleaning up can wait, he just wants Beomgyu right now.
"Just let me hold you for a sec," Yeonjun insists, petulant as ever. Beomgyu sighs, smiling still, but he resumes his position in Yeonjun's arms. It's gross — everything feels wet and sloppy. Yet, the alpha still sags against him, unminding of the drying cum on the both of them. "Better," he mumbles, squeezing the man in his arms a bit, for good measure.
It's deeply invigorating to feel both the alpha's erratic heartbeat, as well as the gradual softening of it, melting down to a mellow rhythm, like he's at peace. "Hyung," he mumbles, sounding sleepy, "is it weird to thank someone for sex?"
It makes Yeonjun laugh. He wouldn't know, really — he's not done enough, and no one has stuck around long enough for him to decide. He has half the mind to joke around a little, that good?, with a bit of teasing, but Beomgyu looks too sincere for it. He's too easy to read; Yeonjun wonders if that's a privilege listed only for him. "Thank you for taking care of me," he says instead, wiggling closer to press a kiss to Beomgyu's cheek.
That makes the alpha preen, seemingly having decided on it, too. "Thank you, hyung, for trusting me," he whispers, curling up tighter into his hold. "You might just be the best thing to ever happen to me."
For a moment, Yeonjun thinks about his life, and how it had felt when he'd first come to terms with acceptance. He hadn't loved it, but he'd been at peace mostly — with Kai, with himself, with what could've been but will now never be. He'd long since come to terms with the fact that he'd never find love, the kind he'd unknowingly yearned for for so long; he'd accepted that too, begrudgingly so, except he'd eventually abstained from all things casual by his mid-twenties.
So, he'd learned to lie with himself and the fact that he will never have what his friends have. Big deal. At least, he had Kai. Except, he'd never really had him either. That was mostly just wishful thinking on his part; he can think of it that way now. Beomgyu on the other hand...
Beomgyu is his... in the best possible denotation the word brings.
For the first time in a long time, he gets to look at someone and think this is my person, this one is for me. He hadn't realized how badly he'd deprived himself of the feeling. It took him a good few years to get to this point, but now he realizes: what good is a husband who can barely be your friend, when your boyfriend looks at you like you're his salvation? Boyfriend. He doesn't think he's ever called Beomgyu that before. He's always been just Beomgyu.
"You're my boyfriend," Yeonjun gasps in awe. He hasn't felt this giddy in years. "My boyfriend," he repeats, giggling to himself.
Beomgyu blinks up at him, mild confusion lacing his features. "Yeah?"
He shakes his head, feeling silly. His boyfriend. Skin and bones. Blood in his veins. Warmth in his arms. Beomgyu exists, and chooses to exist beside him. He's smiling tiredly, unaware of all the thoughts he's having about him.
Yeonjun's life and the exodus it entails, a tale he's never told before; some names forbidden now, enclosed in glass chambers that he only revisits when he's decided on self mutilation of the emotional kind. He'd hoped it would make better sense at twenty-five, when he'd deemed himself to be old enough and his cognitive abilities at its prime. It didn't happen, though. So, he'd tried again at thirty — to look at Kai, at himself, and the men he'd refused to bet his life on early in life; everyone had ended up with a life better than his.
God's biggest comedy — Choi Yeonjun and his yearning, Choi Yeonjun and his desolation, Choi Yeonjun and his arrogance that no one ever holds him accountable for. He'd settled for his worst fate, closed the lid on his own coffin, and paraded around like he was doing them all a favour. What hubris, what vanity.
"I'm so happy," he admits, tears welling up despite his efforts to keep it at bay. "I don't have to be lonely anymore." He wants to say more, has so many more confessions hanging on the back of his throat. I've always been lonely, Beomgyu. An only child raised in isolation, to the strictest standards. I just wanted someone, anyone, so I clung onto Kai like my life depends on it. I still feel like it does some days. I just wanted a friend. I wasn't asking for much at all. But still, I was lonely, regardless of everything I did to lessen it.
Beomgyu presses a small kiss to his neck, but doesn't respond.
"My Beomgyu," Yeonjun says, and the boy in his arms whines softly, refusing to emerge from his spot. There was a time when he was so lonely he'd gone home and asked for his mother's old DVDs, and even some VCRs. Old shows, documentaries, and home videos of himself, preserved on several copies, courtesy of his parents who loved filming everything he did. To go from being so, so loved, to being merely held to pass the night — Yeonjun can't believe he hadn't realized that has always been his worst nightmare.
But with Beomgyu in his arms, shifting and sighing like he can't get close enough, even though they're pressed together naked, everything else feels farther than he'd ever imagined they could be. With Beomgyu next to him, he can hardly remember the loneliness; it sits in the back of his mind like an old friend does, except it's more similar now to a docile pet than the gangly beast he remembers that used to claw at his heart. With Beomgyu, he gets to live again.
His Beomgyu. His boyfriend. Yeonjun loves the sound of that.