Work Text:
Shang Qinghua opened the door with a low creak, trembling fingers on the doorknob while his other hand held the door frame for balance. His cheeks were burning, chest heaving with ragged breaths, clothes wrinkled, collar undone to reveal too-warm, flushed skin. He hadn’t even finished buttoning up his robe when the loud knock had dragged him out of bed.
The air that escaped the room was heavy. Dense.
On the other side of the door, Mobei-Jun’s sharp gaze struck him like a blade. The Northern Prince looked like a harbinger of war—his hair too neat for someone who’d rushed over, posture rigid, tone lethal. He looked angrier than Shang Qinghua had seen him in years.
“Why can’t I teleport into the room?” he growled, words hurled like stones at Shang’s face. Mobei-Jun never teleported into the main room. Shang Qinghua’s house was surrounded by talismans that allowed him to appear in any room through the shadows without anyone from the outside noticing. This was the first time he had been kept out of the bedroom, and when he tried to teleport directly inside, he was blocked. Shang Qinghua dared to keep him out of his room—whatever the reason.
Qinghua blinked, confused.
“Huh?”
But Mobei-Jun didn’t wait for an answer. His eyes rolled automatically toward the room.
The scent hit him like a wall. Shang Qinghua’s room—his personal sanctuary, which usually smelled of paper, ink, and tea—now reeked of an unmistakable heat. Not the sweet, enticing scent of an omega in heat meant to lure. But the bitter, musky, cutting scent of a rut.
An alpha rut.
From Shang Qinghua.
Mobei-Jun froze, his face draining of color, nostrils flaring. Shang’s scent, usually light, subtle, comforting, now tugged at him like a noose around the throat. He nearly groaned from the strength of instinct, body reacting before his mind could catch up.
But then… there was another scent.
Mixed in.
Present.
That of an omega.
Disgust rose like bile.
Shang Qinghua wouldn’t dare…
“Who’s with you?”
The question sliced through the silence like a sword.
The voice was a king’s, but the gaze… the gaze was that of a betrayed man. Dark eyes blown wide, teeth clenched. The wood of the door creaked under his fingers as he gripped it, as if barely holding himself—or his rage, together.
“I… what?” Shang Qinghua blinked, perplexed, face red from the heat of the rut, not embarrassment. His mind foggy, body conflicted, not understanding why Mobei was there, or why he looked ready to break something. Or someone.
But Mobei didn’t wait.
He stormed into the room with determined steps, as if reclaiming the space. His eyes scanned for the invisible threat, the lover, the warm body, the rival who had dared touch what was his and left their scent like they belonged in Shang Qinghua’s home. And the more he found nothing… the more his frustration grew.
The scent didn’t lie.
But the room was empty.
Only Shang. Breathless and absurdly flushed.
And completely alone.
Shang Qinghua stepped back as Mobei-Jun entered like a storm, eyes burning with rage, his icy scent flooding the room. He followed him inside, shutting the door behind them and hoping his silencing talismans were doing their job.
“Wait, wait, wait! There’s no one here!” Shang raised his hands in peace, voice trembling between urgency and exhaustion. “I’m just going through a rut, okay? That’s all!”
“Alone?”
Shang Qinghua’s voice faltered, cheeks burning even more because—damn it—he couldn’t explain that it didn’t feel right to have company unless it was Mobei. That some of his martial brothers had offered to stay with him, in solidarity as they always did, but he refused again. Instead of accepting someone, he’d gone to the lower district of a nearby village and found alternatives.
“I bought—”
“Bought?”
The word dropped like thunder, begging Shang to finish the sentence with something sensible and not his usual nonsense.
“Aromatherapy candles,” Shang blurted, pointing at the small holders scattered around the room. “Omega-scented! They said it would help... calm things down, or trick the instincts or something. I thought if my body believed an omega was nearby, it’d be easier. It worked last time! But now—”
He didn’t finish.
Because Mobei-Jun was already staring at him, wide-eyed with sheer outrage.
“You used candles.”
The tone was deadly.
“Y-yeah? So what?!”
“From a brothel.”
“T-they’re good!”
Mobei-Jun’s expression tightened further.
“With the scent of some random market omega,” he repeated, voice trembling, watching Shang Qinghua flinch as Mobei released his own pheromones, trying to overpower the candles and the urge to tackle Shang. “To calm yourself.”
He stepped forward, barely holding back from shaking Shang by the shoulders.
“And you thought that was acceptable?! You’d rather surround yourself with the cheap scent of some generic black market omega than call this lord?!”
Shang Qinghua blinked, a bit dizzy from the sudden change in scent. His skin felt too warm, his teeth beginning to ache, his breath catching.
“Call you for what?” he asked, tilting his head, genuinely confused. Mobei-Jun smelled so much better than the candles—more natural, less artificial, more pleasurable. It was a strong scent for an omega, but divine. A mix of florals and flavors that Shang Qinghua desperately wanted to taste. He fiddled with his loose robes, cheeks red, heat rising as reason slipped again. “But why? You're the prince. And... this lord knows you helped me through a rut before when we were younger, that was a huge favor, but this one couldn't just—”
“You spent my last heat with me.” Mobei’s voice trembled, low. It had been months since that time—his heat wasn’t natural, provoked by one of his brothers trying to take him out of the competition for the throne. Shang Qinghua had been incredibly gentle with him, helping him from start to finish, making promises Mobei never forgot. He’d promised him the throne, vowed to help him defeat his last two brothers so he could rise, and even offered children. Children. Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun had been too consumed by Mobei’s heat at the time to remember clearly, but Mobei hadn’t forgotten the lips on his, whispering those promises. “And now you replace me with... candles”
“It’s not a replacement!” Shang tried to argue. “It’s just... a practical way to—”
“Practical?!” Mobei-Jun snapped, voice sharp like ice cracking under pressure. He was dangerously close now, eyes glowing with an intensity that made Shang retreat to the nearest wall, the heat in the room becoming suffocating. “You swore loyalty to me. You said you’d follow me to the end, Shang Qinghua.”
His name left Mobei’s lips like a royal decree. His chest rose and fell as he tried to contain something deeper than anger, there was hurt, a raw wound Shang had unknowingly touched with those cursed candle scents.
Shang Qinghua swallowed hard, eyes wide as his mind stumbled over the fogged memories of that heat they had shared. They were completely consumed in the moment but... Mobei remembered.
Every word, every touch, every moan.
And Shang... maybe he had just been fooling himself, thinking he could move on like it had no consequences.
He thought of that night often, more often than he’d admit. Not even when he was still a disciple, touching Mobei-Jun for the first time, had he felt so marked, so deeply moved.
During that heat, Mobei had been out of his mind, lost to fever and instinct, and Shang had thought he wouldn’t remember anything. Still, he tried to restrain himself, tried not to give in completely... but it was hard.
Mobei had seemed so content, so surrendered, almost... enchanted. For the first time, he didn’t look at him with disdain.
He didn’t despise him.
And it was so wonderful to have him like that, vulnerable, under his hands, like he belonged to him.
“I... I didn’t think you’d want... again...” he murmured, hesitant. “I thought it was just... a need. Something from the heat. Nothing real.”
Mobei-Jun paused. Silence dropped like a thick curtain. Even his pheromones withdrew, like the room itself was holding its breath.
“Shang Qinghua...”
“And the candles... they’re not that bad,” Shang tried, glancing away. “This lord... got used to them.”
“You dare replace me, Mobei-Jun, with scented wax?!”
With a swift, indignant gesture, Mobei summoned a gust of icy wind. The candles flickered, crackled, and one by one, went out with sharp snaps.
Blown out by the cold, they scattered around the room, leaving behind only the scent of frost and the pulsing tension in the air.
“Hey! Those were expensive!” Shang protested, more startled than upset, stumbling after one that nearly burned the curtain.
“Too cheap compared to me,” Mobei growled, fury still burning in his eyes, now mixed with something wounded. “You are my servant. If your body cries out, I should be the first to know. You should want me here.”
Shang stopped. Standing in the middle of the messy room, candles extinguished, scents fading, and frost lingering in the air. His eyes met Mobei’s, and for the first time, he realized that the fury wasn’t just jealousy.
It was sadness.
Hurt.
Shang swallowed thickly.
“You... you’re upset because of this?”
Mobei clenched his fists.
“It’s good there’s no omega here, because that would mean I’d have to fight him to prove whom you belong to. And kill him.”
The room grew thick with tension, like fog before a storm. The frost cracking at the window edges pulsed with the cold radiating from Mobei-Jun, but even that cold couldn’t hide the growing heat between them—dense, heavy with words left unspoken.
Shang Qinghua took a deep breath, trying to understand. His legs trembled slightly, the rut still tangled in his senses, but nothing was more overwhelming than the weight of those words.
“Belong?” he echoed, voice nearly inaudible. “Mobei-Jun... I’m nothing but a regular alpha. I’m human. Weak. And you’re... you’re—”
“Yours,” Mobei interrupted, firm and direct, like a decree.
Shang blinked, stunned.
“You spent my heat with me. That wasn’t the first time,” Mobei continued, stepping closer. “And now you lock yourself away to deal with your rut alone? As if I’m... disposable? Replaceable?”
“That’s not—” Shang began, but Mobei raised his hand, firm, and silence fell once more.
“You want me when you’re in danger. When you’re scared. When you need saving.” Mobei’s eyes burned with fury, his scent intensifying. “But when your body craves, when you feel vulnerable, needing something you can’t control, why then do you hide me?”
Shang Qinghua felt his heart squeeze in his chest, shame tightening around it like a fist. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Mobei—it was that he thought he couldn’t. Not the way his body, and now he realized, his heart, wanted.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I... I thought I’d be a burden.”
Mobei stepped in, only a hand’s breadth between them now. The cold scent of frost mixed with Shang’s heated rut, intoxicating, and his dark eyes made clear the effort it took to restrain his own instincts.
“You were the first to stand by me. To fight with me. To comfort me...” his voice was firm, full of restrained emotion. “My alpha.”
The words stole Shang Qinghua’s breath.
“You will never be a burden,” Mobei went on, eyes unwavering. “Since the moment we crossed that line in our youth, you became my responsibility. And I became yours—even if you’ve denied me again and again.”
Shang’s face burned, the heat rising with every word.
He didn’t remember denying his prince.
But he didn’t remember being invited, either.
“Then let me care for you,” Mobei said at last, his voice now smooth like a vow. “Let this prince show you who you belong to. Who’s the only one who can satisfy you.”
Shang Qinghua nodded slowly, eyes locked—not on Mobei’s face, but on his every movement, as if already bracing to yield.
The omega prince was shedding his outer robe. With a sharp roll of his shoulders, he let the heavy teal cloak fall to the floor. The fabric dropped like water, revealing a firm, sculpted chest—an imposing warrior’s body, now at the mercy of an equally brutal desire.
Shang stood frozen, breath uneven, pupils dilated.
His whole body responded.
Mobei-Jun’s scent was irresistible. No longer the filtered, controlled one from before. Now it was raw, deep, enveloping. An invitation wrapped in ice, but burning with overwhelming heat. Shang Qinghua staggered a step, like he was being drawn in.
Mobei moaned, low and deep.
It vibrated through the air, and Shang felt it pulse straight into his core.
“Alpha,” Mobei called, voice thick, intoxicated. There was no sarcasm, no pride, only desire.
Desire...
Shang gasped. His own body no longer felt like it belonged to him. He was in rut, and nothing, absolutely nothing, made sense except the man in front of him.
He was human, weak compared to many others, but in that moment, with his blood boiling and senses ablaze, he only wanted… Mobei.
His prince.
His omega.
Delicious.
Perfect.
Shang’s mind tried to protest, tried to say this was wrong, that he couldn’t, that he shouldn’t—but his body was already leaning forward, hands trembling, Mobei’s scent clinging to his skin, to his bones, as if calling him home.
"Mobei…” he whispered, almost like a prayer, unsure if he was asking for permission or forgiveness.
Mobei-Jun’s eyes softened, but his voice remained hungry:
“Come.”
And Shang Qinghua did.