Work Text:
Sohee’s used to it by now. The double takes, the hushed whispers, the lingering stares— they used to bother him at first, unnerve him to the point of wanting to run and hide, but he’s desensitized now, really.
After all, all of the staring and whispering is just a package deal that comes with being marked by two alphas.
Shotaro, perceptive as ever, is the first one to notice. He leans around the divider separating their workspaces, his eyes narrowed, before he sniffs the air almost obnoxiously. “Sohee, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
“Yes?” Sohee replies, turning to face Shotaro.
Shotaro asks, in a tone he probably thinks conveys delicacy, low and hushed, “Are you feeling… forced? Do you feel safe? Do you need to talk to someone trusted about your relationship?”
It takes a moment for Shotaro’s words to sink in, and when they finally do he’s spluttering, waving his arms around, hands flapping uselessly in the air. “No, there’s absolutely nothing like that going on at all!”
“Oh. Well, you should tell them to calm down with the scent marking because it’s super obvious,” Shotaro says, reaching over to pull something out of his desk and handing it over to Sohee. “Try some of this. You smell like you just walked out of Wonbin’s closet. Stupid alphas. They only think with one brain.”
He glances down at the scent deodorant in his hands, up at where Shotaro is giving him the mother of all Looks, and he flushes.
Wonbin’s watching a drama, his laptop propped up on a pillow on his other side. His thighs are soft under Sohee’s cheek, his fingers running through Sohee’s hair as Sohee dozes off, the sound of the shower like white noise.
“Shotaro-hyung said I smell like you,” Sohee says, half-asleep from Wonbin’s ministrations. “He’s always been sensitive, but I can’t really tell, though.”
Wonbin leans down, cupping Sohee’s chin in his hands, tilting Sohee’s face up, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“You do,” Wonbin admits. His fingers drift down, pressing against Sohee’s pulse. “I did that on purpose.”
“You stink,” Eunseok says, shoving the stack of papers he’d been shuffling around to the side instead of bringing to the printers. He’s staring with wide eyes at Sohee, who’s sitting across from him, stock-still. “What the hell is Park Wonbin doing to you?”
Sohee bristles, reflexive. “Nothing, it’s none of your business.”
“Sure, just don’t come crying to me or Shotaro when he takes a chunk out of your neck.” Eunseok tilts his head to the side, thoughtful. “But why do you also smell so much like Chanyoungie?” Then a shit-eating grin makes its way across his face, realization hitting like a freight train. “Oh. Oh. So it’s like that. Good luck, Sohee.”
There’s a skip in his step as he pushes his chair out and makes his way to the printers, and Sohee resists the urge to bash his head into the nearest wall.
Wonbin’s gone back to scratching at Sohee’s scalp when Chanyoung steps out of the shower, a cloud of steam following him out. Sohee can’t help it— he stretches out a leg to kick at Chanyoung’s thigh. Wonbin’s hand in Sohee’s hair stills.
“Hyung,” Chanyoung says, sounding entirely put-upon. Sohee kicks at him again, and Chanyoung catches him this time, his hand wrapping around Sohee’s ankle. “Stop it.”
“Make me,” Sohee challenges, and Chanyoung rolls his eyes, clambering up onto the bed. His hand slides up Sohee’s leg, his fingers dragging along Sohee’s skin to the inside of his knee. Chanyoung flops down so that he’s facing Sohee, his head just inches from Wonbin’s thigh.
“Sohee-hyung, you’re always so mean to me,” Chanyoung whines. Sohee kicks at him one last time, a fruitless effort when Chanyoung still has his hand in the crook of Sohee’s knee. It drifts upward, up to the inside of his thigh. “You should be nicer.”
“Chanyoungie,” Sohee says, reaching out. Wonbin’s hand drifts down his neck, slips past his collar. Chanyoung’s skin is still warm with the residual humidity of the shower. “Come here.”
Chanyoung follows, obedient, and Sohee hears Wonbin laugh from above him. “Good boy.”
His entire life, Sohee’s heats have been weak, more like an annoying insatiability than the debilitating conditions other omegas found themselves in. He was used to spending them on his own, toughing out the few days that it took for the fever to break. It’s why, when Sohee stumbles over his own feet in the printer room, his vision swimming, he’s caught unawares. The shouts in his ears are muffled, like he’s surfacing from somewhere deep underwater. He can feel himself getting moved around, lifted onto someone’s lap, and at once he can tell that it’s Shotaro, the other omega’s scent comforting.
“You’ll be okay,” Shotaro murmurs into his ear, and then he feels a sharp pinch on his thigh before he drifts off.
The next time he opens his eyes, he’s in bed. He looks around, blinking groggily— Chanyoung is sitting at the edge of the bed, his phone in his hands.
“Chanyoung-ah,” Sohee croaks, and Chanyoung nearly jumps, whipping around and crawling over to where Sohee’s buried in blankets.
“Sohee-hyung, how are you feeling?” He presses a hand to Sohee’s forehead, his skin nice and cool against Sohee’s overheated body.
“Like shit.” Sohee flaps his hand at Chanyoung. “Come here.”
“Shotaro-hyung gave you an emergency suppressant, so that’s probably why you feel like that. He said it’d keep the heat away for a few hours,” Chanyoung says as he slips under the blankets, tucking Sohee into his arms, against his chest. “He came and gave us a lecture about making sure you eat when you wake up, and then he bullied Sungchan-hyung into helping Wonbin-hyung make food for you. I think it’s just jook right now, they weren’t sure what you’d be able to keep down.”
Sohee sighs. “Sorry. It’s not usually like this.”
“I know,” Chanyoung says, his voice distant. “You’ll be okay. We’ll take care of you.”
Once, Chanyoung was sent to the States for a week-long conference. He sulked about it for what felt like an eternity, casting dark looks at Sohee, who was ensconced in a blanket, and at Wonbin, who was watching a drama on his phone next to him, before going back to pack his bags. He kept it up all the way until they dropped him off at the airport, Chanyoung leaning down to kiss Wonbin first, then Sohee, wearing that same kicked-puppy look until he disappeared from view.
Wonbin was quiet the entire way home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Sohee’s on the center console, so when the door clicked shut behind them and Wonbin spun around and tugged Sohee to him it came as no surprise at all. He buried his face into Sohee’s neck, inhaling and exhaling, and when he said, “Sohee,” it came out more like a growl rumbling out of his throat.
And Sohee knew that Wonbin loved their little games, the chase he could lead Wonbin on, the charade of it all, so he ducked underneath Wonbin’s arms and escaped his grip and ran for the bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed. Wonbin appeared in the doorway soon after, and Sohee poked his head out of the pillows he’d collected to watch Wonbin stalk toward him, catlike. He pushed Sohee down, throwing a leg over Sohee’s waist, watching him with dark eyes.
“I swear I’m going to put a baby in you before Chanyoungie does,” Wonbin muttered, nosing into Sohee’s neck, licking a broad stripe up his skin. He was rutting aimlessly against Sohee’s leg, and then he cupped Sohee’s face in his hands. “You’re mine.”
“Huh, weird,” Sungchan says one day as Sohee passes him by. Sohee turns, expression quizzical. “No, it’s nothing. You just smell different today.”
Sohee lifts his wrist to his nose, sniffing. “Really? I don’t think anything’s changed.”
“Oh, okay. Maybe Wonbin’s stopped scent marking you like crazy. I’ll see you around, kid.” Sungchan ruffles Sohee’s hair, leaving Sohee to grumble about how he actually put effort into his hair today and now it was all ruined. He watches Sungchan go with mild bemusement, the other man whistling a tune as he heads off to harass Shotaro into grabbing lunch or something like that. He’ll ask Wonbin and Chanyoung about it later.