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“Bring anyone from that… group of his,” was what Baekjin instructed Dongha and Seongmok. And also, “Not him, though. Baku,” because he was a dramatic bitch when he was doing his typical indirect threats. It was a new evil plan every day when it came to Baku.
Strolling through the streets outside of Eunjang gave Dongha some sort of nostalgia—the same feeling he had when he and Seongmok, ages 10, would catch rats in the sewers near their school. It had that specific shit scent, those weird stains on the asphalt, and all the other things Dongha loved so much about the dirtier parts of Yeongdeungpo-gu.
The rats would often outrun them, so they would always catch the one most unfortunate. The slowest, weakest.
Seo Juntae.
Juntae had always been the visible edge in Baku's group because of his habit of doing fuck all but shiver when his friends were getting beat up in front of him. The losers would then shout at him to run, get away, and don't get himself hurt; it was the typical melodrama Dongha was physically sick of hearing.
But having him sit here, on the floor of a corner of the bowling alley, Dongha supposed he could understand why. Juntae was cute, soft, small—tiny, even! The only thing that was relatively big about him was his jacket on top of his uniform and that sandy-colored bag that was covered in pins and keychains and small plushies. The sounds were annoying.
“What's in your bag?” Dongha tilted his head and grinned; he and Seongmok were hovering over Juntae. A sign, Seongmok bent and grabbed the bag from Juntae's grip. “Some advice for you, kid: don't bother thinking you're safe with a bag like this.”
“N-no, don't—”
“Man, do you really carry this shit everywhere?” Dongha squinted at the comic book he took from the bag, a thing named Boys Over Flowers. Trash, thrown to the ground. Dongha rummaged and found his hands touching several things: school books, a pencil case, more plushies?, paper, and then a ton of meds: vitamins, strepsils, antibiotics, and one that Dongha held up to the light of the bowling alley and read twice to be sure.
“What?” Seongmok whispered at him. Dongha’s eyes were widened.
"Stay there," Dongha spat at Juntae, and went to find the Boss.
“Boss, he has fucking— rut suppressants!” Dongha exclaimed, a particulary distasteful look on his face. Baekjin looked unamused at the pill bottle he was holding, but this was serious. Dongha didn't even know they existed, he usually dealt with his own rut by fucking random girls at the club. Or with help from Seongmok. But, well.
Baekjin turned the bottle in his hand and leaned back against his seat. He looked contained, bored, and slightly ahead of wherever the conversation currently was. “So?”
“Dude— he's an alpha!” Dongha said scandalously. “How is that loser a fucking alpha? Seongmok, did you know this?”
“No.”
“And he's in rut, man!”
“He might not be,” Seongmok suggested. “They could be emergency stock. Or… the suppressants could be for someone else.”
“What kind of crazy fuck carries someone else's—”
Baekjin banged his hand on the table and Dongha nearly jumped. He looked down at the floor instead.
“One putty alpha in rut,” Baekjin asked. “You think I can't handle that?”
“I—”
“Because I'm an omega?” He angled his chin upward and threw the bottle at his desk, rolling until it stopped at the lamp. The word omega, he emphasized with mockery; Boss has always been unashamed of his status. Not proud, exactly. He didn't flaunt it. He was just uncaring. Baekjin took more pride in being beyond such dynamics—like how fucking god is beyond gender. Which, yes, Dongha believed in - he did! - it's not like Juntae could actually do anything to the Na Baekjin.
He was just… worried.
“Out.” Baekjin said, and set the bottle down next to the lamp.
They left.
Oh, no.
Juntae was kidnapped. He was currently sitting on the dingy floor of the Union’s bowling alley, covered in the dark purple-blue— indigo-colored lighting, with around five to seven guys sitting a few meters away from him, watching and laughing. Some sang along to the muffled disco music. The humiliation was not unfamiliar, but what was not was the manga and the fallen bookmark he did not pick back up. The glasses were probably broken and he did not bother to find.
The suppressants he had not taken since yesterday morning.
He had meant to. But he woke up late today and when he thought he could just take it at school (in the bathroom, hidden), he was bothered by his classmates, and then Sieun had defended him, and then there was the thing with Gotak, and then none of it had mattered because someone grabbed him outside the arcade on the way to the bowling alley and now he was here.
His head hurt. This has never happened before. Juntae had taken the suppressants ever since he was old enough to take it, because his mother had deep beliefs in love; the idea that the body's natural urgency was something you held in reserve, something you only released when the person was right and the time was right and you were certain. He had never been against it, no, he liked it, in fact; the patience of it—he dreamt of the day he found his soulmate.
But that also meant the practical consequence of the plan was that Juntae, at seventeen, had never gone a full day and a half without one, and didn't fully know what his body did when it was left to its own interpretations. He did not know himself.
Before the thought escalated, Juntae was suddenly handled up.
It was Seongmok, walking him to what Juntae assumed was their boss’ office. Dongha was moving behind him, and at one point, kicked the lower part of his back and yelled, “Walk faster!”
When Juntae reached the office, door shut, and it was just him and the boy on the office chair, the first thing Juntae acknowledged was how poignant it smelled. Floral, slightly sour - akin to mandarins or peaches - but mostly sweet, like roses with its exact thorns, with their roses-and-rot combination.
So, so, nauseatingly sweet, and the source seemed to come straight from Na Baekjin, who gazed at him with arrogance in his poise. Illuminated pale skin, brows that were fractionally raised, and eyes that saw right through him. He was unsettling, but the immediate attention showed a shape of interest, but to Juntae felt like acceptance, so to speak.
Juntae needed him.
“Come.” The boy instructed, eyes flickering to the space across his desk. And there, Juntae noticed the bottle. His suppressants.
He walked there, slowly, though he tried to rush. His arm still ached from being grabbed in the hallway. His waist was bruised where he'd been shoved into a corner earlier, or possibly that was earlier this week, it was hard to place. But most importantly, his rut instincts were probably about to catch up sooner or later.
He did not take the suppressants immediately—Juntae learnt to stay low. He focused instead on the drastic change of lighting from the bowling alley to this room, purple to a sickening dark teal.
Everything about Na Baekjin was sickening.
But the scent was much more intense up close. Baekjin's eyes, now wider as he looked up at him from his seat, the light in it was somewhat darkened by Juntae's shadow.
“Tell me, Seo Juntae,” His voice was soft. “when you took that page, did you think you and your friend had actual power over the Union?”
Juntae did not answer, but his eyes moved, without his permission, from Baekjin's own to the subtle vein that trailed down from his throat and disappeared into his turtleneck. This turtleneck was thin, a dull black, and was not accompanied by a jacket. He pulled back when Baekjin spoke.
“You’re all remarkably optimistic,” Baekjin muttered. Their eye contact broke at that moment. Baekjin favored the pen he was holding between his fingers as he settled back in his chair and sighed. He looked back at Juntae, and it didn't feel hostile. “However many Eunjang students you will undoubtedly call, it won't change anything.”
Baekjin was nothing but a threat to him and nearly everyone he knew. He'd injured him, injured Baku, Sieun, and a thousand other people Juntae could have never imagined, and the simplest command can lead to even worse as long as it came from Baekjin's lips. And he certainly did take this to his advantage, the way his name was brought up quietly, in a whisper, like Baekjin was a heavily infectious curse; repulsive and disgusting. The way every conflict happening within the area that had no business being related to a highschooler still had some sort of connection with him anyway. The way he felt intimidatingly separate from the rest of the students or humanity in general— you would think he wasn't even human.
And yet. Baekjin was here— a person, real, sitting at his desk, and he looked and smelled appetizing.
Juntae thought an alpha’s scent wouldn't affect him this much, right?
“The plan is set. Eunjang will eventually be one of the many under the Union's control, so,”
The skin on Baekjin's hand, soft-looking despite the old scars on his knuckles along with the faded blue-green of his veins; his fingertips whiten in awareness of the pen. Baekjin looked… so soft, almost fragile, Juntae wondered why Baekjin was ever considered evil, and the situation wouldn't present him to Juntae with as much appeal as a food’s to a starving man, unless.
“It’s better if you just give up now, honestly, Juntae-ssi.”
Baekjin was an omega. And Juntae was so, so hungry.
He had never been like this. Shame crawled up into Juntae's everywhere rapidly, like an army of ants upon sugar.
Baekjin looked back up at him, and there was a flash of annoyance in his glance and the twitch of his eyebrows. That little move had somehow landed in Juntae's chest like a physical thing, and he, by that point, was realizing just how much control he was losing. His breath had sped up and he could feel every beat his heart goes through, and— maybe Juntae didn't even need the suppressants anymore because he felt like he was reaching something, and the adrenaline of it made him want it, whatever it is, immediately.
Juntae needed to control himself.
“What?” Baekjin snapped, and turned to the suppressants. “You need this?”
Juntae needed help. “Y- yes,” he stuttered, nodding frantically. “Please.”
“Mm,” Baekjin stood, moved around the desk and stayed in the space right beside Juntae. He towered him by well past fifteen centimeters; he was close enough that Juntae had to look up and the smell at this distance was different, not a persistent background anymore but rude and immediate.
“Is it tough?” Baekjin asked him. The bottle was still in his right hand. “That omegas are the ones handed half a pharmacy to manage heat, when alphas are the ones who become…” he paused. “...baleful without a single pill.” He said. “Do something for me. If you want these pills.”
“What?” Juntae whispered. He was close; Baekjin was so fucking near and he felt intoxicated.
Baekjin leaned closer. There were only a few inches between his nose and Juntae's cheek. He knew Baekjin was provoking him. “Leave Baku alone. Abandon him.” He murmured. “My Baku, he…” Baekjin looked down, and Juntae could feel his exhale on his shoulder. Could see the thick lashes that decorously covered his eyes. “...should've never belonged with you.”
Baku, again. The root of it all, and Juntae could understand why. Baku was a man; a true man, a model alpha, one that he admittedly had been envious of. Gotak was strong, Sieun was resistant, but Baku was everything. If anyone could handle Baekjin, the others might be able to, halfway, but he would do it fully. He would be able to handle Baekjin, grab him by the arm or neck, move him however he pleases. He would be able to shift Baekjin into whatever position he wants, bend his composed limbs, shape it into something uncomposed, and he would be able to— to hit him, or kill him, or fuck him. However he needs.
Where did that leave Juntae?
“What do you think?” Baekjin asked. Juntae was the one they came for when they wanted an easy way out.
Juntae had looked at their shoes - loafers and sneakers - intimately close, and shook his head. “No.”
Baekjin looked unsurprised; he moved an inch away and inclined his head, stared at Juntae like he was more of a bug under a microscope. “Should I offer you something else?”
“Will you—” It came out before Juntae even realized he was saying it. He was delirious, though Juntae half-knew that - he was more so trying to slow down his heart. “Are you willing to do… anything?”
Baekjin was still. “To an extent.”
“Baekjin,” Juntae whispered, and gosh, didn't the name taste good. He hesitated, in the particular indignity of biological urgency in which he had no experience managing, but he said it plainly because there was no more ways to phrase it:
“Can I fuck you?” He asked, politely. His eyes were dazed but they were open at Baekjin. “...please?”
To that, Baekjin didn't freeze, exactly. He recalibrated, which in his particular way was a very small internal adjustment that produced the same outer surface. But Juntae was close enough that he saw the small adjustment happen.
“You've always been different. From your friends, I mean.” Baekjin said. “They're… active. And violent. But, really, if all you can do is fight, then when does the respect come in? What impact do you really make, aside from injuries that'll heal anyway?” Baekjin huffed. “Change comes through language, through connections, psychologically,” He turned back to Juntae. “Something only some people prefer and can do,” Emphasized, “people like you and I.”
It was almost certainly manipulation. Juntae was aware of this, too, vaguely.
“Yes,” Was all Juntae said - panted, really - and he grabbed Baekjin by the collar and slammed their lips together in a moment of desperation.
A betrayal of the point Baekjin had just made, because the kiss could only really be described as violent. Baekjin did not fight it. He remained slow; his hand came up to the back of Juntae's neck through his jacket and their tongues slid against each other sloppishly when he pushed through Baekjin’s teeth. It almost burned, the heat, the pleasure of covering the source of so much with his spit; so much that Juntae would greedily lean in when Baekjin shifted slightly backwards and Juntae realized his eyes were open almost the entire time.
When they broke apart, Juntae's eyes widened and his mind cleared slightly.
“I’m—” Juntae started, but Baekjin was looking back at him, quiet, with shiny reddened lips, a thin flush on his cheeks, strands falling off his slicked back hair, and his scent was sweet but it was by then mixed with something else - something spicy. He looked surprised, maybe, or more like unsettled. “I’m sorry,” Juntae whispered, so low he doubted Baekjin could hear him. His throat felt heavy.
“Don't apologize,” Baekjin whispered, a small smile growing on his face, and before Juntae knew it, the hand on the back of his neck moved and pushed Juntae, through the collar, towards the leather sofa behind him.
It felt natural; Juntae had given up on sitting up and instead laid down and placed his hands on Baekjin's hips when Baekjin came close and straddled his thighs - and all of a sudden, the scent that was terrorizing Juntae felt comfortable. Sweet, warm, comparable to laundry detergent, maybe, or something freshly baked.
“It feels strange, doesn't it?” Baekjin panted. “How it shifts when you stop fighting it,” Baekjin panted. He was lax, letting Juntae fumble with his belt, and then zipper.
“You’re brave, Juntae,” he continued, and Juntae believed it. For some outrageous reason, he did, because it was Na Baekjin who was surrendering, letting Juntae overpower him. Juntae wanted nothing more than to document this experience forever and shove it to the people who undermined him. The guys at school, Dongha and Seongmok, his father—
“Doing what no one else could manage—”
“Baekjin,” Juntae said, tasted the name like it was also something he'd been given, “please,” Juntae groaned, yanking him closer by the ass until he relented, until Baekjin was sat above his face; Juntae's head caged between his thighs and his lips met Baekjin’s pussy.
Baekjin was getting into it too, because he was wet when Juntae left kisses on his pubes and travelled down to the lower parts of Baekjin's cunt that was consistently oozing out pre-come between his folds.
Juntae was not at all experienced. When his classmates had had sex, or on the minimal had kissed, he had nothing. No kiss, no hand-holding, not even a hug with anyone that wasn't friend or family. He wasn't a very envious person, but at that state - surrounded by his friend who had recently gotten a girlfriend, Baku who had both Baekjin and Gotak, even Sieun who had someone, he said - he thought anyone would be jealous. So he resorted to fiction— manga or manhwa or comics that might tell him of experiences he'll never have or will take a long time to have, and it gave him knowledge.
Knowledge Juntae was currently practicing, which came faster than he'd ever expected.
Juntae's hands were gripping both of Baekjin's thighs, and Baekjin, above him, was breathing heavily, hands holding onto the sofa. He ran his tongue back until it touched the clit, rubbing on it teasingly until Baekjin's hips jerked and the mixed liquid of pre-come and saliva spilled down Juntae's cheek. His own cock was straining against his uniform pants, almost painfully hard, moving in tiny thrusts against the air.
Braver now, Juntae swiped his tongue up and down against Baekjin's cunt until he flinched and heard a high-pitched gasp— discomfort.
“I'm—” sorry, Juntae was supposed to murmur, but Baekjin had suddenly dropped his weight entirely onto his face, no longer holding himself up. Juntae was buried in Baekjin's curls; he couldn't even breathe - could only reach and lick and lap into his pussy.
Baekjin was, at that moment, weak. He was quiet, and could essentially be defeated with just a slightly aggressive movement of Juntae's tongue on his thin, sensitive skin. And he would still be there anyway, moaning and riding his face - short strings of spit between them as Baekjin moved up and down - while his scent sweetened and filled Juntae's nose further like toxic fumes, if that was even possible.
“Jun,” Baekjin slurred, so smoothly it was graceful. “oh, Juntae, fuck—” Juntae could tell he was close; Baekjin was clamping around his head, back arching, hips snapping and vibrating violently with each suck on his clit; he could not stop moving.
But Juntae had been wanting to fuck Baekjin, whether he realized so or not. So he shoved him backward until he fell onto his ass on the couch - Baekjin was confused, almost endearingly so, with widening eyes that were rounder than usual, wet hair strands that stuck to his forehead, and bleeding lips he was biting on the whole time.
“Sorry,” Juntae breathed, pressing Baekjin’s back on the leather. He was the one sitting on his knees now, impatiently opening his belt as fast as possible while Baekjin's spasming, expectant cunt was on display and his thighs were between Juntae's own, his boxers hanging off of one ankle.
“How, just…” Juntae whispered into the leather beside Baekjin - he had pushed his pants down, roughly, and his cock was hard, twitching and begging against the skin of Baekjin's slightly gaping entrance. The light skin of Baekjin's chest was flushed pink and so were his lips, and Juntae wondered just why and how could Baekjin, Na Baekjin, make himself like this. For him.
“Juntae,” Baekjin stressed. “Do something.”
How could he?
Juntae's hand caressed his thigh, feeling the soft skin from knee to the bone between thigh and mound. Baekjin was beautiful, and Juntae, for all his life-long beliefs against violence, wanted to wreck him - and by god, he felt sick, but Baekjin was looking up at him like he'd trusted him. Because he'd somehow believed Juntae, of all people, was brave.
Baekjin's breathing was fast when Juntae dragged his shirt upwards, showing the angular juts of bones in his chest that transitioned discerningly into the hip bones and thighs, flushed, and shiny with sweat. Baekjin was something opulent - like an expensive statue. Juntae was in turn entirely clothed aside from his cock that was already trickling thick pre-come that he spread along Baekjin's folds, brushing on the warm walls inside them.
What filled Juntae's thoughts, as he sunk into him and immediately felt Baekjin tighten around him, that Baekjin was someone slightly inhumane and Juntae was slowly becoming like that too - an animal. Baekjin's body revealed nothing but sharp and rough, but he was soft to Juntae, because he was supposed to. He felt an overwhelming sense of aggression, because he was supposed to, as an alpha.
It was never a problem. Juntae was, again, safe enough in his masculinity that he was rarely ever pressured by expectations. He enjoyed whatever cute things he was interested in at the time. Though this kind of aggression was an alpha instinct, and maybe it was the rut, Juntae could not help but need it and be repulsed by it simultaneously. He could not bear the thought of now, fucking Baekjin like this or even hurting him, no matter how evil he really was; but Juntae was still gripping him by the thighs anyway, nails digging into the soft skin until it broke and bled. There was nothing in his mind besides the need to thrust into Baekjin, back and forth, and the over-consuming guilt that squeezed his heart with heat.
“Oh, god,” Juntae whimpered and buried his face into Baekjin's neck until all he could hear was Baekjin's moans and felt his hand, half covered by his sleeve, moving to grip onto his jacket that was threatening to get off. Baekjin's body was moving along each rough slam, he couldn't avoid so with his thighs wrapped tight around Juntae's waist. His cunt was so wet, warm, clinging around his cock, and even when Juntae felt almost homesick, he was so, so desperate.
“I'm sorry,”
“Fuck!”
“I'm sorry, I c- can't really help it—”
Baekjin slapped a palm on Juntae's mouth, mumbling something close to a shut up, if he was correct. He wasn't looking at Juntae anymore, face thrown to side while his neck displayed the same vein Juntae noticed earlier. Juntae craved to rip open the turtleneck that covered it, so he could— what? He couldn't mark him, and he was also ramming into Baekjin as fast as he could, like someone with a determined goal, which he was.
With an arch and the abrupt twitches of Baekjin's hips that Juntae noticed became his habit, he was close. Baekjin fluttered rapidly and came around him, with a loud moan that Juntae swore echoed slightly in the room. Juntae squeezed out fast, maybe too aggressively, and jerked himself off above Baekjin until his come spurted onto his belly.
Juntae collapsed on top of Baekjin - he'll have to change his clothes soon, fast - and the intensity of it all lingered with the way Baekjin's arm was still wrapped around his neck and Juntae was still holding him by the waist. They were both completely limp, and Juntae thought, guiltily, that this was the best and most exciting thing he'd ever done in many years.
His lips were still brushing against Baekjin's neck and his breathing was slowly becoming normal when Baekjin spoke.
“I suppose,” Baekjin sighed. “It's settled.”
“Huh?”
“The deal, Juntae.”
The deal. That Juntae had completely forgotten while he was influenced by his rut.
Fuck.
