Work Text:
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we'll have a pleasant collaboration."
“Likewise.”
They say your life flashes before your eyes on the brink of death, but Ivan sure hopes he is not dying right upon meeting the love of his life, even if it feels like it.
He forces the word through his windpipe, letting it gently indulge on his tongue to prevent it from looking as rushed and breathless as he fears he looks. Gray hair sway softly as his sunbae nods, a distinct omegan fragrance of flowers and sin wafting to Ivan's nose, and then they are ushered away from their spot, into a room with more people, and it gets chaotic from there on.
For Ivan, it’s the eyes before the heavenly smell.
As an alpha and a famous idol, he has had his fair share of meeting omegas with enticing fragrances, even cheating their bodies to smell of that particular nuance between chemical and sweet that artificially inducted heats give out. Alphas are easily swayed, so it is imperative for artists like him to be careful of relationship-related scandals. The entertainment industry can be ruthless with dirty deeds once they come to light, which is why Ivan learned to carry himself with strict discipline on the job, building a mask of politeness for the public that became a part of his image as an actor.
The moment he and Till start their first table read for Alien Stage, Ivan feels the self-control he cultivated through the years slip, overwhelmed by the sheer talent of his colleagues, outstripped by the masterful demeanour switch Till offered at the first performance of his assigned character.
His character is as challenging as the description of the role promised, but at this experience sunbae’s side, an unsettling feeling gnaws at Ivan’s stomach that is hard to describe with words. A sense of inferiority that does not ask to be extinguished, a glimpse of admiration that borders into a craving Ivan has no qualms of encouraging, not for a near stranger, no matter how devastatingly enticing is the gaze he lays on Ivan while he acts.
In character or not, Till’s eyes are devastating. Watching him from afar is enough until it isn’t, Till easily sensitive to his abrasive gaze, beckoning Ivan closer with wary, curious teal.
“Do you have anything to ask?”
“Nothing related to the project.”
Till nods in apparent understanding, but the answer is not what the newbie actor expects. “Then I guess you can redirect your questioning gaze to anyone else in this room. No need to watch me from behind the wall like that.” The glint in his sunbae’s eyes is gone as quickly as he knows it appeared, but there is no bite in his tone, his expression placating and serene.
Ivan blinks. His alpha sneers.
“What if I do have questions about our characters?”
“Consider me at your disposal, but within reason.”
That’s the worst thing Till could say. Ivan takes a step back, smile courteous and beaming, but his alpha embraces it as a declaration of courtship, vibrating perilously in Ivan’s iron grip.
“Does Sunbae like sweets?”
“I don’t dislike them.”
It doesn’t take a genius to notice that the question comes as a surprise, though Ivan hopes not an unpleasant one. Till indulges him anyway, patient in a way his jaded, guarded appearance contradicts. Each interaction is a new, precious discovery, and Ivan yearns to learn more, to open an unblemished notebook and fill it with information on him.
His guardian used to tell him that whenever he wishes to acquire new pieces of knowledge, it is only a matter of asking the right questions at the right time, and no one would deny him what he needs to know – because that’s how he brought Ivan up to be, a magnet for things they wanted, usually money and fame, Ivan too focused on his career to also question himself on his own desires.
He does it now, and the answer comes in the form of a grumble from the alpha in his blood, specks of red against black background staring at the only flaming figure lighting up the world around him.
The interaction translates into delicious-looking slices of chocolate and strawberry cakes Ivan buys and bring on set for Till’s eyes and mouth only. The older man is visibly confused – why, though, since Ivan has asked about it? This barely counts as a surprise – but accepts the gift anyway, teal eyes sparklingly in wonder at the dark chocolate sprinkled on top of the first slice, possibly in appreciation of its sourer tints. Ivan figured that would be the winner by the way Till didn’t outright reply in affirmation to his questions, a hint that he likes sweets but not the overly saccharine ones.
He ends up eating the strawberry cake, head tilted sideway to better observe the older man enjoying his breakfast.
Ivan understands. This wild, uncouth part of him so fascinated with Till stems from both logic and instinct to the point that asking why feels like a waste of brain energy, like taunting an arrogant soul to perform or throwing fuel to the fire – the result is obvious. He lets the feeling stew, wary, fascinated, orbiting around Till like his centre of gravity really incurred into some life-changing inversion of polarity.
With no surprise, he learns that the members of the staff who did not meet him there for the first time deeply respects him and his work ethics, labelling him as one of the least problematic artists to work with. He has no scandals as an omega under his name, which is a miracle for a veteran of his league.
And he is talented. The evident ease granted by the years he owns in the industry and brimming passion coming against from every ounce of his body is an experience of itself, especially like this, on set, with no filter and an entire space plumbed in silence, each bystander eager to observe and cooperate. Ivan does not feel as smooth and enchanting, his eyes always straining back to Till, always drawn to his side or farther, always searching around their stage, questioning, prodding, anxiously waiting.
At times, there are hands on his forearm, a shoulder grazing his chest, teal snapping up at him when Ivan’s earthly, citrus-like scent beckons for those notes of lavender and dark vanilla he smelled the first time they met, and their eyes lock like that, lost in a competition with no rules and goal in sight.
The sensation is new – it may be Ivan’s character brushing his crush off on him, with the way he is so immersed in his role and sometimes struggles to let go. But the point is that, whether as Till or as an imaginary person living within a script, his sunbae is too vivid, too mesmerizing.
Ivan hears him say, “actors are the sum of what remains of all the characters they played when they get back in their own skin”, and he can catch glimpses of the people Till has been and let go in the bags under glinting eyes, the wariness in his gaze melting away when he drops his eyelids and murmurs his lines, the words of advice he offers to all of them, the ease with which he lets Ivan linger in his space, like he supposes a co-star is supposed to do, to encourage building a chemistry worth of the cameras.
He wishes the way sometimes Till’s gaze calls him asks for more than that. He is not sure – feels strangely uncertain, frustrated at the lack of knowledge, even when it thrills him.
Till has been so many people, while Ivan only knows how to be the mask he carefully weaved on his face day after day, to the point that he wonders how genuine his genuine acts are. And now that he has to paint the mask of a new role, he finds himself following the lead of an expert, impossibly entranced, and losing his mind little by little.
He goes slow, gives himself permission to explore. Romanticism has rules, and the theory is crystal clear in Ivan’s mind, but he fumbles and stumbles over suave and less graceful attempts to draw Till’s attention, when it dawns on him that the only things that would keep Till’s eyes on him for now is work.
He and Till meet alone for coffee with the intention of discussing their roles. It’s hard for Ivan to repress the nervous energy stemming right from his blood, cursing into his veins, making his otherwise smooth tone crack a bit when Till’s eyes linger on him in that unsettling, focused way that Ivan has come to understand in their brief time together. In such instances, Till is not exactly acting, but sounding out both their feeling of the characters, so that he can easily swap back to himself and advice on how to go about some of the scenes.
The older man gives a small cough. “We’ll have to observe the kid actors to choose what approach to take on this, but I think we have time.”
Ivan nods, nail tapping against his own empty cup in thought. “Then let’s ask during the next read. Are you thirsty, Sunbae? Let me offer you another drink.”
“Are you that eager to spend money on me?” It comes out like a huff, a small frown marring his sunbae’s forehead, but much like the first time, there is no heat real in his gaze. A hazardous implication – that Till enjoys being spoiled, that he has figured out his intentions and is playing along – is lost and found in a heartbeat, suspended and ignored. For now. Ivan diverts his eyes quickly, teeth digging on his lower lip disappearing in an earnest, teasing smile.
“I want to make sure that Till-sunbae has a pleasant time while working with me.”
It’s a careful dance, one Ivan has expertly moved through many times in the past, but never like this, never with such fears of failing. His mind feels strangely hollow, like a starless night sky in a city full of noises and lights, and he can’t concentrate with all the stimuli this one person provides with his presence alone.
Till looks elsewhere, grumbling that another Americano will suffice, but Ivan isn’t lost to the pleased whiffs of vanilla that swirl right up to him, making his toes curl. After all, being a slave to Till deep, green-blue eyes does not mean that Ivan is immune to the siren-call of the most mouthwatering scent that ever graced his nose.
He sniffs Till’s clothes when he is alone in the changing room the two of them share with Luka, and once, he even catches himself breathing deeply on set with Till close to him during a photoshoot.
There is no pacing around it – the fatal descent has a multifaceted speed, slow and inevitable when he wraps his thoughts around it but impossible to curb when Till is near, taunting him with the simplest acts, bewitching him with his talent. He could watch the older man drink from a bottle and wipe water and saliva form his chin on repeat, throat dry, dreaming of licking it clean for him and retake some of the fluids his own mouth lost because of sunbae.
It's a fair trade, given how the thief was Till in the first place.
Ivan is miserable, but exhilarated, and it’s only a matter of time before it becomes noticeable.
“What are you looking at?”
“Till left his socks on the couch,” Ivan candidly answers, eyes lazily trailed on the spot where the two pieces of fabric lay snugly on the cushion. “I’m wondering whether I’d get away with it if I hid them now and came back to take them later.”
“You have a witness.”
Ivan cradles his head on his face, looking as unbothered as he can. “You would never betray me,” he says with his voice. The rest, I know how to buy your silence, passes between them with the practices telepathy of years of working together and constantly threatening each other.
“I may do that for the pleasure of seeing you lose face before sunbae.”
“I may tell Hyuna what an unloyal friend you are.”
There is no pretending with Luka. The two of them can’t pretend their way around something the other has already noticed. Their complicity brought them to the highs of being a renowned singing duo up until their agency decided that it was time to delve into acting, and it was far from a painless process, but this is what they have turned into.
“Hide them in the last drawer, under the old tunics left there from the previous crew. No one will look there.”
“It’s nice to know you have got my back.”
Luka doesn’t reply verbally. He pats him on the back and makes his escape, far from the room where Ivan will surely press the socks to his face before following his suggestion.
Scents are not a big problem in this work environments, if everyone remembers to wear patches and control themselves, even prior to heats and ruts. But there are occasions, especially between newly formed couple or intense courtship, where no matter how much a scent is hidden, either one or the other will notice if something is wrong through their scent, even when concealed.
After almost four months of intense work, Till walks on set looking exhausted and terribly cranky.
Which is not far from usual, anyone on set would say, but seems especially true in this occasion. Generally, Till is incredibly cool and has a calm demeanour. If anything, he is a bit distant and private, but it adds some mysterious vibe that only grooms his charm. Ivan respects that, likes that Till does not let people in easily – there is something near magical in getting more than his standard expressions out of him, especially when they are alone.
The day Ivan played with the kid actors for the first time, he let them plaster hairpins and hair ties and even a bonnet all over his head as they chattered about their favourite scenes. Ivan shared a bit of his own impressions so far, and they were all eager to listen, sitting on his lap or fake-applying makeup on his face.
Somehow, none of them noticed that they were being spied on until Till cleared his throat, but Ivan’s head snapped quickly enough to intercept the fond gaze snuggled in his eyes before he could scowl it away. Unfortunately for his serious sunbae, there had been no suppressing his laugh when the bonnet had come off, and Ivan will forever hold in his most fervid fantasies the sound of it – rich and hearty, dispersing quickly into something lighter – making it his life ambition to have Till laugh for him at least once more.
Today, though, Till seems easily irritated and tired, the bags under his eyes more prominent that usual, and he nails the scenes where he grits his teeth against the aliens and swats Ivan away with a precision that is a fruit of his talent and experience just as much as an ideal predisposition due to his current mood.
The other actors tiptoe around him as the crew staff invites him to rest, but Ivan wants more, feels the guilt of approaching his sunbae in a moment of weakness clash with his determination and selfish desire.
In the end, armed with a cup of sunbae’s favourite coffee, he knocks on the door and takes the mumble coming from behind it as permission to enter.
“Sunbae? Are you not feeling well?”
“Ivan.” The answer is uttered in a low breath – not barked out, more like impatiently muttered, followed by a moment of silence. It warms its way up Ivan’s spine, making his body shiver. “No, I’m alright. I just didn’t sleep well yesterday.”
Sleepless nights are far from encouraged in their industry, when they are avoidable, but by now Ivan knows about Till’s insomnia, so he figures it was not an intended mistake. Not that he’d ever doubt his professionalism, of course.
“Are you having troubles with anything? Can I help?”
“It’s fine,” he repeats, less forcefully, diverting his gaze from Ivan as he sits up from the couch, head heavy, chin tucked against his sternum with half-closed eyelids.
Ivan nods, closing the door and leaving the cup of coffee on the table. “I brought you coffee, but seeing how tired you are, maybe you should try to sleep a bit.”
When no response comes, Ivan moves, knee digging into the couch behind Till, a palm grazing the side of his face. Till jumps a bit, tilts his head back and his met with Ivan’s unwavering black pools upside-down. “Lay back. I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.”
Till goes, docile. His nape presses against Ivan’s tight before any of them can make a conscious decision on how to settle. The older is not looking at him anymore, which is fine, because Ivan is not sure what expression he is making, and his mind lost its way in the contemplation of the perfect being using him as a pillow to even try to scowl his appearance back to something less crazed than what he must have on his face right now.
Teal disappears behind droopy eyelids, and Ivan breaths out, slowly, the pads of his fingers brushing his temples in a rhythmic caress. He presses with intent, heart pulsing in his wrists at the contact, possibly reverberating against nerves and cells in patch of Till’s skin – his sunbae must be able perceive it, he tells himself, he must. There is no keeping his cool as Ivan senses Till relax with a hum, lips parting with an inviting shin of wetness.
This is a bad idea, but regret has no business with Ivan when the older’s nape grazes the fabric of his pants, puffs of breath mocking Ivan for being closer to Till’s mouth than he will ever be outside of their characters – if he’ll keep stalling and wavering, if his sunbae guarded nature won’t relent. Delicious curls of lavender tickle his nose, the dark vanilla settling on his tongue, heavy, richer than any other time in the past weeks, as if Till’s scent wasn’t enough of an aphrodisiac for him already. Nonetheless, this moment crystallizes into perfection, folds into itself, cuts his way into Ivan’s ribcage with a violence that he welcomes openly, obsessively, relishing into it with his full being.
His alpha is appeased, rumbles quietly at the ease with which Till succumbs to relaxation in his presence, regular breaths an indication that somehow, between an inhale and the other, Till has fallen asleep. Ivan’s scent curls, twists in the air, and he spreads it on the side of Till’s face, under his jaw, as close to his neck as he can without unashamedly pressing his wrist on his glands, making himself a target of his sunbae’s disappointment when he wakes.
It takes him five more minutes to understand that the satisfied growls in his chest and the tent in his pants are not just the natural, usual reaction his body succumbs to every time he basks in his sunbae’s light, but the even more natural, instinctual response of an alpha’s body to an omega’s heat.
Ivan’s fingers stop, his brain halts, time itself fumbles on itself and stumbles on his perception of everything that surrounds him in a big-bang sort of realization.
Till must be close to his heat.
In the last months of uninterrupted work, spending every day together on set, Ivan’s very being soaked in Till’s essence, the flow of his entire day dependant on the disposition of a single human. He came to care so fast, so quickly, so thoroughly that no amount of logic could regulate anymore the pull dragging him closer, making his heart stumble inelegantly out of the grasp of his own control.
But Ivan can make a fool of himself, if it means snatching a laugh from this man – if it helps conquering his trust and render him defenceless with his heat close to the surface of his skin, scent begging Ivan to touch and take. He knows he can’t, of course, is no brute, has learned his way through conventions and societal laws and etiquette. It’s hard to remember why all those things are important, with Till resting on his legs, but he doesn’t let his fingers wander.
The thought of Till’s scent in his pre-heat lingers on every fibre of Ivan’s body, especially while his sunbae takes a couple of days off to take care of himself. Ivan consumes his absence burning in need, gripping himself roughly and in solitude when he comes home and finds out a bit of Till’s scent remained on his hands and wrists and the cuffs of his shirt. He touches the evidence of his desire roughly, groaning against the pillow a word like an obsessive litany, crushing in the silence of his still, lifeless apartment.
Afterwards, he feels cold – the only warmth being the echo of a name uttered in his own voice and the last whiffs of a smell that does not belong to Ivan.
The blatant consequence of Till’s temporary leave devolves in a scene that comes right out of some comedy show – Ivan sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, gaze far and dramatically subdued, Luka, Hyuna and Mizi watching him from various strategic points all around him, entertained by the loneliness oozing off of him in wafts of sharp, lemon-like citrus.
“He’ll come back in, like, two days. What’s with this farce?”
“Maybe he is heart-broken.”
Hyuna frowns. “I don’t think Till-sunbae rejected him, Mizi. Doesn’t look like they were doing badly.”
Ivan’s ears perk up. Did him and Till look like anything to them?
Mizi acquiesces enthusiastically, words tumbling out of her mouth with a teasing undertone. “True. Till-sunbae looked particularly skittish on his last day, when he went away with that extra hoodie. I thought something bad had happened on set, but I guess he was only feeling under the weather.”
Luka blinks at her with renowned interest, eyes flitting to Ivan’s unmoving form before going back to her. “Are you mentioning the extra hoodie for a particular reason?”
“I’m just saying that he had a new hoodie that didn’t look new. Black, quite simple, similar to the coordinated ones we received a while back from the directors.”
“Oh, I see!” Hyuna exclaims, fist hitting the palm of her hand. “Black is Ivan’s colour, right? Maybe Till-sunbae took his by mistake.”
Mizi nods, batting her eyelashes toward Luka before meeting Ivan’s zealous, yearning gaze. “Till-sunbae…”
“Stole your hoodie,” Luka completes helpfully.
Ivan frowns, eyes narrowing at the knowing tone used by the blond. “Stole?”
“Yes. It was before his heat, he was probably–”
“Stole. Sunbae does not steal, Luka. Not from me. Everything I have, he can have it. He… borrowed it.”
“Borrowed.”
“Yes. If anyone heard you say Till-sunbae stole something, I would have to end any friendship we have going on.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Ivan stares. His eyes move to Hyuna, who smiles innocently, wobbling at their nonsensical dialogue.
Luka nods eagerly. “I guess it is. I guess Till-sunbae borrowed it. He has been quite tired lately, it’s normal to make mistakes.”
The black-haired boy tilts his head back, closing his eyes to his colleagues’ bickering.
“What just happened?” Hyuna asks, looking at Mizi for answers.
“I’m not sure, and I have a feeling it’s better if we don’t find out. I’ll tell Sua-noona, just to be sure.”
Till returns and goes back to work as if Ivan’s world has not been turned upside down by the knowledge that his sunbae borrowed his hoodies and probably took it home with him, in his nest, during his heat.
Questions burn him on the tip of his tongue, but whenever Till turns to him and indicates something on the script perched up on their brushing knees, his tongue curls and retracts and he plays to Till’s tune, saying what he is asked.
Nothing he can do about it. There is something magnetic in being at the receiving end of that man’s gaze when he acts – spellbound, he can only digest the sheer volume of Till’s presence in a corner of his mind and behave as if his world does not threaten to be upturned in puffs of his flowery scent.
It doesn’t help that this revelation comes with the communication of the filming date of their round – the round. The one with the kiss scene Ivan has been carefully avoiding mentioning or thinking about.
It’s Till who brings it up first.
“Have you even kissed anyone in front of the cameras?”
He shakes his head. “I only got simple roles before this one, but I guess we have to pay attention to angles and lights and the right timing.”
Till leans in, flips the pages on Ivan’s script, shoulder brushing Ivan’s arm again. Ivan licks his lips, eyes dangling from the side of his sunbae’s face to the words on the sheet.
“That too, but if it gets too much, just focus on the feeling. For a rookie it’s better to nail the feeling of the scene than the technicalities.”
If it gets too much.
“So I should focus on the… kiss?” He clears his throat, diverting his gaze. “What happens if it doesn’t turn up good for the cameras?”
“You mean, what happens if you mess up?” There is a playful smirk, something like a teasing foreboding in his tone that Ivan wants to dissect. Questions, questions. He can ask, should ask, but it feels like doing so would open a dam he is not sure he’ll be able to control.
He nods, hand casually weaving through his hair, drop of expectations blending in his smell.
“Don’t think about that. Retakes are not a bad thing. You have already a good grasp of your role, and the directors will be there to guide you through your doubts.”
“Sunbae’s advice is already precious enough,” he smoothly says.
“Then let me give you another.” For a second, Till’s side leans on him, their scents mingling, their gazes meeting. “It’ll be your character’s first time kissing mine. Preserve that feeling, make it yours. We are not them, but some sensations are so human that we inevitably understand each other.”
And isn’t there something in those words? Something he should understand, some information he should perceive? For his acting?
But no. He forgets it all. Everything flies out of the proverbial window, and there is only a small, reserved grin tilted his way before Till’s face whirls, his warmth gone, the pressure of his body slipping away.
Ivan breathes.
He is in love.
When he goes back to the changing room, everyone else has already gone home. Behind his backpack, snuggled under the shoulder straps, he finds a paper bag which he does not remember having when he came this morning. It takes him five seconds to grab it, three to open it, one to feel his legs shake and a moan slip out of his mouth.
He is lucky that no one is close by to hear him lose his mind and fall to his knees, head hazy. His palm presses against his crotch with a painful groan, the other hand scrambling around the handle of the bag in a desperate attempt to close it. Ivan grits his teeth, exhales quickly, a deceived alpha calling for an omega who is not there.
Logic tells him that the deed is intentional – Till left Ivan’s hoodie there for him to find, soaked in his essence, traces of his heat sharp like a knife stubbing his gut. The small, vulnerable part of Ivan wonders if he is allowed to read this as a manifestation of interest.
At home, he showers, enters his bedroom, were his pajama bottom and the hoodie and loses himself to the ghost of Till’s fleeting touches during the day, hand in his pants. Crazy, totally crazy, how Till is not even there and abrades his self-control like that.
The following day, he smells like himself and a bit of Till, and there is a flush, pink and tentative, on his sunbae’s cheeks when his nostrils flares and he takes a whiff of that.
He must know. He knows. Yet, he says nothing, so Ivan keeps silent, watching him always.
They grow closer, spending so much time together that no hoodie is needed to leave fragrant trails of Till on him.
Sua loos at him funnily, then he overhears her ask Till why he smells like Ivan. “We are studying our parts,” he answers, but he does not loo at her and the glint in his noona’s irises tells him she has no trust in those words. Neither does Ivan’s alpha.
Sometimes, his hands wander, like moved from a force that is not made of muscles and nerves connected to his brain. No matter how he confines that clumsiness in his mind, his fingers still play with the cuffs of Till’s sleeves when he goofily calls for his attention, his chest still brushes his back when he leans over Till from behind to read a note on his script, Till’s breath puff on the inner, naked side of his arm when they start wearing lighter clothes and he closes in on him, whispering some advice on set, bumping playfully against his shoulder as he retracts.
It's a type on insanity that goes beyond any possible definition.
Ivan realizes stupidly, the day they are meant to film their round, that the only one who can put an end to his yearning is the object of his desire. No matter how secretly he and Till scent each other, how they divert their eyes a tad later than they should while they rehearse, if sometimes Till’s presence lingers longer in the space of Ivan’s arms while they are meant to do something that is not stare and talk in hushed whispers.
“Is that lip balm, Ivan?”
“I don’t want sunbae to notice my lips are chapped. It might affect the shooting.”
Hyuna makes a sound, like repressing a laugh, and Mizi swats her on the arm.
Their antics are a nice distraction, but then Till emerges from the changing room where the stylist called him to apply to finishing touches, and for the first time Ivan gets a clear idea of the impending his character must have felt before his round.
Ivan is nervous.
It’s not just the years of experience and the many partners he had on set that suggest Till what is probably passing in his co-star’s mind – it stems just as much from the conspiratorial intimacy they built in the five, almost six months they spent in close quarters.
Till is not praised as a good partner in the filming industry for nothing, and having had his fair share of unsensitive senior colleagues, he likes to think is his better than that. He especially looks out to Ivan, for sense of duty and work ethics, but it all backfires when he peels the layers of indifference and crafty coolness out of his piercing eyes and finds an intensity that stokes his ego and calls out to his core in ways he finds hard to resist.
Backing away is impossible. Not to mention his adult charm, Ivan possesses a naïve sort of energy that he wields like a weapon, carefully, but that is not fake like Till initially thought.
Ivan is eager to work, drinks in his advice, points out his doubts and requests with the expertise of someone who knows the public and how to play with it, but as mischievous as he is with his retorts and natural appeal, there is no hiding the perturbed tenseness of his body when Till gets too close, nor the closed off, awestruck look slipping through his idol mask when Till ends his lines and turns to meet his eyes, waiting for Ivan to act.
In this, he is so similar to his character – both repressed in the way they express their not so immediate emotions, hesitant, wearing something like a stupid, half-wide-eyed expression that anyone else would find hard to replicate, but that Ivan already owns. He has talent and is not obtrusive in his company, respectful in his eagerness to stay by Till’s side, and somehow, Till finds nowhere in himself the desire to keep him at a distance.
And then there are the moments that make his head swim, the omega in his blood purring at the small drops of care Ivan started displaying every day – like learning his taste in food and beverage, or offering him his clean towel because Luka mistakenly used Till’s instead of teasing him for how picky he is, like Sua often does.
“Till, they are ready for you.”
He shifts his eyes from where the stylist is grooming Ivan’s hair, eyes heavy over her smiling face and Ivan’s friendly demeanour, and nods at the staff member pointing him his spot on the stage.
Ivan appears relaxed when Till encourages him to finish this in one take, but before the cameras, his body is stiff and his fingers scrape his face like tree branches, mouths clashing awkwardly and a bit too forcefully.
Till’s fingers are still clammy, his heart still beats loudly, and there is no fooling himself that this is only performance related.
Hesitance creeps in when he beckons Ivan off the stage and lets the crew prepare the stage for them again. He wants to offer some word of advice, but his brain yells at him that the more he does so, the thinner the barrier he still keeps up between them will grow. Till is just a fool battling against a body that is already heating up, a heart that melts under the black, reddish pressure of fakely tamed eyes, his mind the last, stubbornly standing resistance.
He shivers, huddling under the cover the staff gave him to fend off the cold. A few moments later, a steaming cup of coffee coming from the vending machine appears under his nose, Till’s red nose lifting up to meet Ivan’s embarrassed, slightly dejected gaze.
The words spill out on their own, and Till finds himself sharing a it of his past as an actor again, icy fingers warming up around the beverage.
"Haven't you come this far because you are doing good?"
They lock eyes and Till sees it all – the growing sparkle, the slight flutter of his eyelashes as Ivan eyelids lift mildly, not widely, in that way that makes him look a bit silly. His arm hoovers on Ivan’s shoulder for a second, then his wrist presses over the scent gland on the younger man’s neck, and Till feels the hitch against his tendons and bones, hears the sharp inhalation that follows.
He focuses on the spot under the jaw, ignoring the scorching flair of Ivan’s gaze on him, and grazes his skin with growing strength, lips tight as his own cheeks grow warm. The gesture is meant for comfort, but the implications between them are so heavy, have grown so out of Till’s poorly maintained control, that there is no way of misinterpreting what is happening.
However, Ivan does not move. He is like a statue, hard and taut as Till scents him on both sides of his neck. It’s not Till’s first time scenting someone, but it feels to him like it has never been so intense, dilatating minutes into entire hours with no desire to stop. He does not focus on the way forest and citrus mingle with his own flowery odour, embarrassedly honey-like in how it drips heavily on Ivan.
Everyone would totally think they almost had sex with how much Ivan smells of Till if it wasn’t for the rain washing the dees away. Besides, as long as they can proceed without causing further delays, Till can tolerate some innocent gossip – especially since consensual scenting is often used between co-stars to get around chemistry problems.
“Sunbae…”
“Let’s get going,” he easily interrupts, quickly licking his lips at how hoarse Ivan’s voice sound. “I need to redo my hair.”
He does not meet Ivan’s eyes until they are on stage again and he sees his co-star stalk toward him, heat carefully tucked under a blank surface of false detachment as he surges in and grabs Till, then pulls him in for the kiss.
Till envies the desperation Ivan can let slip as he drags him closer, resisting to Till’s weakening shoves, because for him, it takes all he has not to melt onto his lips. A feeble gasp parts their mouth and then there is only the feverish fire of fingers around his neck, the stroking of wet flesh that keeps burning and boiling and devouring even under the fake rain, even as Till shivers, defeated in all the ways that count.
Ivan’s scent spikes. He leans in, his mouth his on him again, and Till’s eyelids twitch, surprised. He goes with the flow, keeps still, hears the gunshots and tenses with his breath stuck in his throat. Till doesn’t want this to end, grief gripping his neck than Ivan ever could, and his fingers tremble against his skin when the heat goes away, when he opens his eyes, when Ivan’s smile and gentle gaze flickers to him before crumbling, falling, the thump heavier than Till thought he would be.
It's over in a minute, seconds spreading in astonished silence as everyone breathes and remembers what needs to be done. The actors are ushered inside to warm up once the scene is deemed good enough, but they are asked to hold on for a while more to film extra angles that may need adjustments.
The stylist from before comes back, bows with congratulations and shiny eyes, and while they both smile in thanks, Till feels himself flare when she reaches for Ivan’s hair. The rain made a mess, she is only doing her job, but his stomach churns, gritting at the view of someone else’s hands hovering around the younger man.
Once she finishes, the stylist shily approaches Till, but Ivan stops her immediately with something urgent and polite in his tone as he murmurs, “It’s fine, let me do it. His hair is less messed than mine.” He sounds convincing enough that the girl acquiesces, glancing at them for a moment before excusing herself.
“That wasn’t suspicious at all.”
Ivan hums, fingers tight around the brush the stylist left for him, and he closes in on Till.
They remain silent as the crew bustles around them, Till’s view occluded by the wide expanse of Ivan’s shoulders. He ventures, moving toward Ivan. A hand immediately appears under his chin, tilting his head back as fingers push his wet bangs out of his eyes. None of them shifts away, none of them looks away. They simply stay like that, even after Till’s hair are styled back to what’s needed for the extra filming, even when people start to giggle around them.
When Till goes home, back against the door as he closes the world outside of his apartment with his weight, there is no sense of impending doom, no regret, no walls waiting to be raised again against an enemy threatening to make him vulnerable.
Till bared himself slowly and Ivan respected his pace with a gaze that makes him heat up even now that he is alone. For the first time in a while, Till wants another person close with a violence that he barely recognizes. Today, he moved the first step, and by the looks of it, Ivan’s interest is unvaried, still sparkling in the way his gaze does not falter from Till.
What would it take for someone with such strict self-control to give in?
From that moment on, orbiting around Till is like feeling perpetually tipsy – on the brink of drunken stupor with no hope of turning sober. Perhaps the inevitability of this sensation emanates from the impending rut pulsing under his skin, fomented by the still vivid scenting session with Till during filming.
Ivan can’t suppress this one, having already skipped a couple to focus on work, and with his character out of the picture, it shouldn’t be a problem to keep away from the set for a week.
He dons his patches under his costume, on his neck, as far from the edge of the shirt as he can, and completes the last shooting of the week, muscles protesting and jaw rigid under the brush for the makeup.
The patches prevent his scent from getting too strong, and for the better part of the day no one mentioned anything. Then he smells it – lavender and dark vanilla – and Till appears, stopping peripherally in Ivan’s visual range. The black-haired boy feels flames down his arms and legs, and he swallows uselessly.
When he steps out from under the lights and the photographer ushers him away, Ivan finds Till waiting for him beside the mirror where the staff left the makeup remover for him to use. His skin feels itchy, and he cannot wait to clean himself up and go home.
"Here. Let me."
Pressure on his temple had Ivan turn into marble, eyes following the movements of Till’s reflection. He stays still, stares, and Till seems content when he does not oppose him.
“You look tired.”
“My rut is coming up.”
“I can tell.”
The sensation is soft - not delicious as when it's Till's skin against his bare flesh, but still good, still making his legs tense and face lean up, half nuzzling the fingers under the cotton pad.
Till hums softly, notes scattering randomly in Ivan’s brain as his sunbae sneaks between him and the dressing table, grazing the bridge of his nose and the other side of his face. Cotton brushes under his lower lip. When a knee wriggles through his slightly parted legs, Ivan makes space, back thumping against the chair as Till leans in, bracing his weight on the leg between Ivan’s.
“There. All clean.”
"Thank you, Sunbae."
The older man twists his torso and throws the cotton pad on the dressing table, before going back to Ivan. He stays perched up, nodding, Ivan pliant and obedient under his questing, wandering fingers. When a thumb stops on the seam of Ivan’s lips, teal eyes meet the quivering black of Ivan’s, irises and pupils undistinguishable, the hypnotizing specks of red the only colour nature gave to his captivating gaze.
Till tilts in, enchanted by how the thick eyelashes framing those eyes flutter. “You’d let me do whatever I want, wouldn’t you?”
“Sunbae could kill me right now and I’d thank him.”
The chuckle leaving Till’s throat stokes the violent flames of his rut to the surface. Hainds fly around his waist, keeping Till against him with a frenzy that he desperately tries to keep at bay.
“Ivan?”
His eyes snap to Till again.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” he exhales, nose assaulted by their blending scents.
“Can I spend your rut with you?”
Ivan’s breath hitches. Then, grey hair weave through thick fingers as Ivan tightens and pulls him in, hard, clashing their mouths together.
It’s different from the kiss the exchanged in front of the cameras – this is not for the eyes of other people, Ivan biting Till’s lips and the older man licking into his mouth with wild abandon.
“The door?” Ivan asks hoarsely, palms under Till’s shirt pressing on his lower back to make Till sit on his lap.
“I locked it.”
Till is gentle, prudent where Ivan feels his control slip, voracious in the way he keeps pulling his sunbae in, fingers digging, hips sapping, head hazy.
“Better to get out of here,” Till pants against his lips, nuzzling his nose tenderly and waiting for Ivan to come down to.
It takes a while, but eventually, Ivan’s hands clench Till’s tights around his waist and he gets up with his sunbae plastered against before slowly letting him touch the floor.
Not everyone notices them sneaking away, which makes their escape easier and almost painless. Ivan is glad for his tendency to always overstock his kitchen when his mandatory rut nears, because now that Till offered to spend it with him, he can cook for both of them without worrying he’ll run out of food.
Once the arrive, Ivan shows him the place and Till sneers at how it is exactly what he had imagined. “It’s quite impersonal and tidy, like an hotel room. Even your side of the changing room is like this.”
“Does Sunbae pay so much attention to me?”
“It’s just obvious,” he grunts, rolling his eyes as he asks for the bathroom and announces he’ll take a shower.
Later, Till clad in his clothes and sheets freshly changed, Ivan smiles openly at how visibly embarrassed his sunbae is even as he casually sneaks into the bed and hides under the cover.
“Are you shy?”
“Do you want to die?”
“I want everything Sunbae wants.”
Till twists, eyes peaking out and narrowing at him. “Then shut up and go to sleep while you can.”
Ivan obeys, and he immediately scoots closer, tentative palm sliding against the older man’s side as he snuggles up. “Sunbae?”
“Drop it.”
“Uh?”
“The sunbae, I mean,” he mumbles, relaxing against Ivan’s naked chest. The black-haired man wonders, not for the first time, if the other can hear his heart sing for him, trapped in his ribcage – an organ Ivan would gladly dig out and gift to him as proof of his devoted loyalty.
“I can do that.”
“You’d really do anything I say?”
“Yes.”
“Freak.”
Ivan’s lips graze against his nape and he feels Till shiver against him.
“Till.”
“Yes?”
A smile, genuine and unbridled, splits his face awkwardly as Ivan hides his face in his hair and tastes his name on his tongue.
“Till. Are you sure?” The question is important, he knows, even when the warmth of their bodies on his bed and the heat of the rut throbbing painfully within him clouds his judgment.
“Would I be here if I wasn’t?”
He wouldn’t. But… “You are here to stay, right? I want you to stay. With me.”
A hand wanders toward him, grab the hand on his waist up and drags it to his face. Till cradles it, kisses his wrist, a hint of tongue against his pulse point, and every doubt dies in Ivan’s throat, swallowed to nothingness.
So, Ivan slots his arm around him and presses them close, Till snorting as Ivan nuzzles his nose in his neck. They drift off for a bunch of hours, weariness and the knowledge of what awaits them luring them in a restful slumber, but with Till in his arms, his alpha does not settle for long.
Soon, lips impatiently mouth at the side of Till’s neck, growling when the find the exact spot where the omega glands hide, and he laps eagerly, drinking his scent with his tongue, waiting for him to wake up. His hips grind once, slowly, against Till’s perky butt, but then Ivan grits his teeth and still, painting.
“Till.”
There is a groan, then rustling, then lips find his and Ivan pushes, pressing Till on the mattress, devouring him as both drag and twist and pull the other closer, tugging impatiently at the clothes separating them.
Ivan hisses when teeth graze his jaw, hands tugging both his and Till’s bottoms out of the way, taking their pants with them. Till’s hands are under his own shirt, and he drops heavily on the bed while Ivan raises a bit to help him out of it.
There are fingers in his hair, and then their mouth slot together again, the pace slowing for a while as they explore, hands heavy and aching to sear their shape of the other’s body. Ivan’s palms are full of Till’s naked flesh, and even if his rut makes him daze with want he can barely keep under control, he wants to savour the way his sunbae’s body moves against him, how he searches for him frantically when Ivan slows and how he pushes the younger man away when he needs to breath, eyes half-mast, pupils blown.
“Sunbae,” Ivan moans, desperate, neck straining to scent Till properly, skin grazing painfully over Till’s glands as he remembers the way Till claimed him during the filming of their round. “Sunbae, you smell so good.”
Till huffs, the pad of his fingers painfully light on the aching flesh of Ivan’s shoulders. “I told you to drop the sunbae!” Not that he would insist with an alpha in the throes of his rut, the chance of him being in his right mind painfully low.
But Ivan laughs, the sound guttural and shaking on Till’s collarbone, and it’s already a wonder that he is neither rutting against him nor mounting him without a hunch of self-control. “I like the sound of it.”
“It feels like we are still on the filming site.”
“I could set up a camera, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“You are serious.”
“For the love of Sunbae’s relief.”
“You are an absolute freak,” Till sighs, then gasps as teeth and then lips close on his left nipple.
It’s a blur, even when the pace is slow, respectful, and for that all the more maddening. Ivan knows how to treat a lover and Till relishes in it, body alight with lust. One moment he is thrashing is head on the pillow, teeth digging on his lips as Ivan maws at his chest. The next, he is ass up and legs folded, and he wails at the tongue prodding his entrance.
“Ivan,” he can only say, hands crawling at the sheets as the alpha pushes in, tongue wriggling forcefully in the clenching heat and mouth suckling at the rim until it yields. Palms kneads at his round flesh, keeping him open, and Till drops his forehead, grazes the pillow with restless energy, hips pushing toward Ivan’s face as he fucks himself on his tongue. It’s rare for an omega to slick outside of his heat, but he feels his hole respond to the ministrations, eager for what an alpha like Ivan can give it.
He did not think it would be like this – more about him than Ivan, hands keeping him balanced but otherwise giving Till all the freedom to keep going or stop him. But this is good, better, infinitely so, and he trembles, body taut, fingers weaving through Ivan’s hair as he tugs him up.
The moan Ivan lets go reverberates inside him, knees trembling in effort as the younger man bites down lightly.
“Wait,” Ivan protest, lapping at the clear liquid oozing out. “You are slicking. I want more. I want to make you come while I eat your ass.”
“No,” Till moans, even though there is almost nothing he wants more than that. “Later. Not now. Come up,” he calls, fingers gripping and tugging again, and Ivan wheezes, sucks his hole once more before he follows the arm yanking him up.
“Quick,” Till gasps, feeling too heavy to turn around elegantly. Ivan chuckles at his attempts, hands bracing his weight as he hovers over Till without helping him. He indulges a second or four more, than reaches for his drawer to fish out lube and condoms.
There are fingers in his ass where his tongue has been, the intrusion quick but welcome, warmth pliable, but Till wants none of that. He wiggles away, digs an ankle on the small of Ivan’s back, then whispers, “I’m ready. Don’t worry.”
There is not much Ivan can do to resist that. Besides, they have days of rut to fill, time to explore each other, to have more. For now, Ivan rolls the condom on, lines himself up and pushes, slow, maddeningly so, mouth parted in silence as he watches Till’s eyes widen, back arching, lips closing around a drawn-out moan, hole clenching to the point that Ivan has to stop, slip back a bit and thrust in again, hard.
“I won’t last,” Ivan warns, sinking in a bit more, close to his breaking point. “Can you take my knot?”
“Yes,” Till accepts, breathless, and none of them speaks anymore as Ivan rut into him, finally letting go, lips landing of Till’s face, on his mouth, chin, jaw, the hills of his collarbone and the meat of his pecs. Till groans again, more liquid, like a sob, when Ivan finds his prostate and drives his cock straight on it as he feels himself tensing, so close his eyes lock on Till as an anchor.
When his knot expands and catches the rim of Till’s ass, the omega cries out and Ivan slams in, squeezed without mercy as everything whites out with the force of his orgasm. Frantically, he bites Till’s neck, hard, not quite in the spot where mating is sealed but close, as close as he can, with the promise that in the future he'll be the one to permanently mark him.
Neither of them moves, shaken to the bone, huddling tight as they come back to their bodies and move, blindly, petting and gripping each other so that they don’t strain the point where they’ll stay joined for a while.
“You promised.”
“Mh?”
Ivan brushes his lips against his forehead as his fingers prod between Till’s hole and his cock. “You promised you’d let me eat you out properly later.”
“Whatever, sure, I have no reason to complain.”
His naivety comes bite him in the ass not even thirty minutes later, when Ivan keeps him on his tongue for an hour straight, sweaty and overstimulated, and works him through two orgasms before fucking him again. For now, Till snuggle up to him and Ivan sighs, content, planning a trip to the jewellery shop to look for the perfect ring.
“Ivan is not here?”
Luka shakes his head, joining Hyuna in the corridor. “He is in rut, he should be up and about by next week.”
“What a timing. Till-sunbae is down with a fever, can’t believe our luck!”
Luka tilts his head, the pads of his fingers massaging his chin as he gets lost in thought. Then, Hyuna sees him smile, a glint in his pale eyes.
“Would you look at that...”