Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jay | Jake

There’s no protocol for forever, but they made one anyway.

They weren’t given much.

Three weeks. No debriefs, no drills, no tracking collars or scent suppression. Officially, it was listed as a tactical cooldown phase. Unofficially, it was a bribe, proof of mission efficacy exchanged for silence about the body count. The team split. One pair per node. Jake had picked the jungle.

They hadn’t always known each other like this.

Jay met Jake after assignment clearance, back when SEVEN-VEIN was still a rumor and everyone on the roster was a name on a file. He’d only known Jungwon from training. Everyone else was new. Jake had walked into the holding room with a tablet in one hand and a med scanner in the other, still chewing gum like he had nowhere better to be. Jay had expected another rigid, by-the-book field medic, but Jake had looked straight at him, popped his gum, and asked how many bones he’d broken this week. It threw Jay off. Pretty boys weren’t supposed to be useful. But Jake moved like he’d handled chaos before—and didn’t care who was watching.

Jay didn’t like him at first. Too relaxed. Too pretty. Touched his hair every five seconds like he forgot anyone else could see him. But Jake moved like he belonged in chaos, and when Jay broke two ribs during a spar drill, Jake was the one who had reset them. No words. Just a cold compress, a steady hand, and a casual, “You’re lucky I like stubborn Alphas.”

That was it. No dramatic moment. No sudden shift. Just missions. Long nights. A shared ration bar during a blackout. Jay started waiting for Jake to check on him after every op. Jake never stopped.

So when Jake chose the jungle, Jay didn’t ask. He already knew. It made sense—quiet, green, no eyes on them. It was the kind of place Jake would choose if he wanted to breathe without asking permission first. 

It was far, hot, and fully off-grid. Their resthouse was wrapped in overgrowth and data decay, built into the bones of a failed surveillance outpost. Jake had gutted the tech and remade it into something soft: filtered light, thermal floors, a real kitchen. A place where they could touch each other without the smell of blood in the air.

The safehouse smelled like crushed leaves, mineral water, and Jake.

Jay knew it the second the door slid open and warm air swept past him. It was almost too much after weeks of filtered oxygen and recycled air rations. Here, the jungle breathed for them. The low hum of old servers hidden behind the mossy panels, the solar heat trapped in the walls, and Jake’s scent, soft, a little sweet, sharp only when he wanted it to be, saturated the space like it was woven into the walls.

Jake had prepped the space days in advance. It showed in the little things. The synthwood kitchen console already warming a pot of something simmering. Two clean towels folded on the back of the couch. A half-washed shirt hanging off a nail near the door, unmistakably Jay’s.

Jay stepped in, boots soundless on polished concrete. He didn’t say anything.

"Shoes off," Jake called from somewhere inside, hidden by one of the modular doors.

Jay huffed but obeyed. The second he stepped barefoot onto the interior pad, the security grid recognized him and unlocked the rest of the house. Lights shifted subtly. The hallway glowed.

Jake padded into view in a worn shirt (Jay's), loose sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair was damp. His scent wasn’t suppressed.

"You’re early."

Jay shrugged. "You always say that when you leave the door open."

Jake grinned and stepped closer. Not to kiss, just to press into him chest-first and nuzzle at the dip of his neck. Jake inhaled deep. Jay didn't move. That was the rule, when Jake scent-claimed him like this, Jay let him.

"Smells like you need a rinse," Jake mumbled.

"Smells like you missed me," Jay replied, finally letting his hands land on Jake’s hips.

They cooked like they always did. Jay had stripped down to his tactical pants, dog tags glinting, chest bare and damp from the heat. His lean, muscular frame looked less like a Second-in-Command and more like someone who’d finally stopped carrying command on his back—for now.

Jake directed from half-inside Jay’s shirt, which he’d stolen back off the wall and put on halfway, unbuttoned, clinging to Jay’s back like he belonged there. Which he did.

"The pot's going to boil over," Jay said mildly, reaching for the spoon.

Jake batted his hand away. "Don't touch it, you always stir too hard."

"You're the one who asked me to help."

"I asked you to stand there and look pretty, not commit a war crime on my broth."

Jay gave him a flat look. "Are you saying I look pretty now?"

Jake smirked. His hand slid over the bare skin of Jay’s back, fingers grazing just above the waistband of his uniform pants and up along the groove of muscle until they found the Veinmark inked beneath his shoulder blades

“Only when you look like this—off guard. Mine.”

Jay stilled for half a second. Jake always did that—touched the mark like it was a handle. Not the tattoo, not the symbolism. Just the part of Jay he never had to ask permission to reach for.

He looked like he was thinking too hard, jaw tight like he might retreat just to get control back. So Jake leaned in, bit his shoulder — gentle but pointed — and muttered, ‘Shut up and stir the pot.’

Jay rolled his eyes but turned the heat down with one hand, the other bracing Jake’s thigh where he was pressed up against him. The scent of rice broth, ginger oil, and Omega was doing things to his brain. He swallowed hard.

"You running a heat?"

Jake shook his head. "Nope."

"Then why are you scenting me like a feral?"

Jake leaned forward and whispered against his jaw, "Because I can. And because you like it."

Jay didn’t answer. Just reached up, fingers brushing under Jake’s hair, slow—like the touch might say what his mouth couldn’t yet. Fingers brushing just beneath the damp hair where Jake’s own Veinmark was inked—behind his right ear. Small. Intimate. Only visible when he let his guard down.

Jake didn’t flinch. He just leaned closer.

"Told you," Jake said, lips brushing his jaw. "You like it."

And Jay couldn’t argue with that.

Later, Jake stood in front of the bedroom mirror, the shirt gone, his reflection bare from the waist up. He hooked a thumb under the adhesive strip on his hip, peeled back the thin medical patch. Just under the skin, slightly raised and pale, sat the scar—the bondmark. Not documented, not state-approved, but real. The kind that stayed because it meant something. The kind Jay had given him without ceremony, without a word. It had never faded completely. Not once.

Jay caught the motion in the mirror and froze in the doorway.

"You didn’t ask."

Jake met his eyes in the reflection. "Didn’t think I had to. It’s fading."

Jay stepped in, slow and direct. "Come here."

Jake didn’t move. "Make me."

Jay moved fast. He grabbed him around the waist, hauled him off his feet, and carried him to the bed. Dropped him like gear—controlled, easy. Jake was already laughing by the time he landed, the sound punching out of him sharp and light.

Jake sprawled back onto the mattress, elbows bracing briefly before giving out, legs already falling open on instinct, his breath still caught somewhere between the laugh and the look in Jay’s eyes. The shift left him fully open, flushed, waiting—and Jay didn’t hesitate.

Jay leaned down and kissed his throat. The laughter stopped instantly, replaced with a hard swallow and the sound of breathing catching.

"You want that mark fresh again?"

Jake nodded. He was still on his back, legs parting on instinct, sweatpants already riding low.

Jay leaned over him, one hand flat against Jake’s stomach, the other dragging the sweatpants the rest of the way down. Jake shifted under the attention, lifting his hips with practiced ease. His cock slapped up, flushed dark, tip already leaking.

Jay’s eyes lingered. Jake looked like this every time he got worked up—broad frame tight with tension, flushed lips parted, and those fucking eyes, dark and stubborn. But it was the way Jake bit his lower lip, just barely, like he didn’t even know he was doing it, that hit Jay the hardest.

He looked up. "You gonna chew that off or let me have it?"

Jake huffed a breathy laugh, still biting his lip. "Depends what you're planning to do with me."

Jay grinned, sharp and mean. "Everything."

That was it. The moment restraint gave out. Jay surged forward, kissed him hard — not the careful kind, not this time. His mouth landed hot, claiming, teeth brushing Jake’s lip like punishment for keeping it out of reach.

Then he shifted down, trailing kisses over Jake’s chest, then lower — until he reached the soft slope just above his pubic bone. Jay kissed that too. Slow. Rough. Like a promise.

His hand dragged down between Jake’s thighs. Fingers slipped through slick, circling. Jake’s hips twitched.

"You’re already wet," Jay said. His voice sounded lower than usual.

"I said I wanted you," Jake muttered, lifting one knee, foot flat against the bed. "Were you listening or just standing there to look serious?"

Jay pushed one finger in, slow and steady, and Jake’s breath hitched sharp in his chest. His head tipped back, lips parting as his teeth caught the bottom one again—he couldn’t stop doing that, like he was trying to anchor himself with it. His free hand tangled in his hair, then dropped to clutch the sheets beneath him.

Jay’s focus sharpened. Every twitch, every subtle shift of Jake’s hips, every tiny intake of breath was information. He worked another finger in, curling them just slightly. Jake bucked—his thighs tensed, eyes fluttering shut as he moaned loud, open, honest.

“There?” Jay asked, already knowing the answer.

Jake nodded, hair damp and stuck to his forehead, flushed and already wrecked. “Right fucking there. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Jay twisted his wrist, fingers curling just right, and watched Jake’s back lift off the bed in response. Lips swollen, jaw locked—he looked like he was fighting not to beg for more.

With one hand, Jay spat into his palm, grabbed the lube from the drawer, and stroked his cock once—practical, not teasing. The other hand stayed steady as he slid three fingers back in, spreading him open with the same calm, focused rhythm that always drove Jake insane.

A sharp gasp punched out of Jake. His legs shifted wider, hole fluttering around the stretch.

“You always stretch me like you’ve got all the time in the world,” he said, breath catching mid-sentence. 

“I do,” came the reply—low and certain, as Jay pushed in just a little deeper, twisting with care and confidence like he already knew Jake’s body better than his own.

Jay eased his fingers out, slicked and steady, watching Jake’s body shudder at the loss. He lined himself up—cock flushed dark, hard and pulsing. Slick coated everything, but he still took his time, guiding the head against Jake’s rim, letting it press and nudge until the Omega’s breath hitched again.

He kept his eyes on Jake’s face as he pushed in. Inch by inch. Every flicker of breath, every twitch in his thigh, every time Jake’s hands fisted the sheets like he needed something to hold onto.

Jake trembled all over. “Fuck—”

Jay bottomed out with a low groan, buried to the base. The stretch made Jake twitch, slick and heat keeping pace with every inch.

“Fuck—” Jake breathed, high and wrecked. “Jay—”

He held still, hands locking around Jake’s thighs like anchors. The urge to knot was already pressing behind his ribs—instinct clawing for the next step. But Jay stayed focused. He could wait. Barely.

“Move,” Jake whispered, voice ragged. “Don’t tease. Please.”

That cracked something open. Jay started moving, hips rolling into slow, deliberate thrusts—deep enough to press into Jake’s limits, steady enough to feel like worship. The drag of his cock inside slick heat was almost too much. He moved like he had time to memorize every part of Jake from the inside out.

Jake’s head fell back, lips parted on a sharp gasp. His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, skin flushed, bitten lip trembling. His eyes fluttered shut—but not before they dropped, devouring the view in front of him: Jay’s jaw set in restraint, his chest flexing with each controlled motion, arms braced on either side like he needed the tension to stay grounded.

Jake met each thrust. Need ran high, his hips canting up to meet every one, sharp and greedy. His cock throbbed against his stomach, untouched and leaking.

"You feel this?" Jay asked, breath rough now, control fraying.

Jake moaned. “Every fucking inch. Don’t stop.”

Jay leaned down, kissed his chest, then bit just under the collarbone—harder this time. A place that meant something. A place Jake would feel later, when they weren’t pressed skin-to-skin. A reminder.

He didn’t stop moving. His knot had begun to swell—he could feel it, thick and heavy at the base, pressing deeper with every push, stretching Jake inch by inch.

Jake groaned. “Do it. Don’t hold back. I want to feel you stay.”

Jay grunted low in his throat and drove forward. The sound their bodies made—wet, obscene—echoed under his breath. He pushed until the knot caught, until the stretch locked them together. Jake’s entire body twitched, thighs trembling, back arching.

“Shit—Jay—” he gasped, high and helpless, eyes wet at the corners.

Jay held on, one hand sliding down Jake’s thigh to keep him open, the other wrapped tight around his hip. He was deep, too deep, thick and unmoving now, the knot sealing them with a final push.

Jake’s whole body shivered with it. “I’m not gonna last,” he warned, voice thin, wrecked.

Jay leaned in. “Then don’t. Come for me.”

Jake broke.

Orgasm hit hard—his body seized, muscles locking tight around Jay’s knot like he couldn’t stand to let go. Cum spilled across his stomach in hot, messy pulses. He was gasping through it, legs twitching, still grinding against the seal of Jay’s hips.

And just as Jake shuddered through the aftershock, Jay leaned down, mouth dragging over sweat-slick skin—then sank his teeth into the faded scar on Jake’s hip.

Not hard enough to break it open. Just enough to remind them both where it started.

Jake gasped again, high and wrecked, his whole body twitching at the contact. The mark throbbed under Jay’s mouth, pulsing in time with the bond itself—Unfiled, unspoken, but carved deep.

Jay didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t. His knot was locked deep, pulsing slow and steady, like it knew exactly where it belonged. Release came late, not sudden, but slow and wrecking. His body shook with it, forehead pressed to Jake’s temple, breath stuttering out against his skin as he gave in. Jake stayed wrapped around him, holding him in place—not just with his body, but with something deeper. Like he didn’t want to be left empty.

They stayed like that for a while. Breathing synced, muscles trembling, everything damp and hot and close. Jake’s nails dragged light, absent lines down Jay’s spine, like he was mapping him from memory.

And underneath it, steady and invisible, was the bond.

Not the knot. Not the heat. Something older than all of it. Something they never named. It pulsed under Jay’s skin like a memory, like instinct—quiet and irreversible.

The air smelled like Omega and Alpha and sweat, no neutralizers to hide it. Just what they were, laid bare.

Jake finally shifted, slow and boneless, like he forgot how to move until now. His face tucked under Jay’s chin, breath warm against his throat. One hand came up and traced the edge of the Veinmark at Jay’s back, thumb pressing over it like a reflex.

Their bodies began to loosen, knot easing between them, but neither pulled away. Jay shifted only enough to cradle Jake against his chest, keeping them wrapped together like it would anchor them both.

No one asked for space until Jake reached for the sealant tube like it was muscle memory. Dabbed it behind his ear and wrist. Not to mask anything. Just to keep things from spilling too far. They’d learned how to do this. Even now.

Jay also reached for the cloth and cleaned them both—slow, unhurried. Jake’s cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t push his hand away. He let Jay take care of him.

“You always do that,” Jake murmured, eyes half-lidded.

Jay looked down. “Do what?”

“Act like I’m a field injury you know how to treat.”

Jay gave a small smile. “Remember Node Blackline?”

Jake scoffed. “When you came in half-dead and still insisted you weren’t bleeding out?”

“You didn’t flinch,” Jay said, voice soft.

“You bit me while I had a concussion.”

“Tactical bonding.”

Jake nudged his ribs. “You’re actually fucked in the head.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, “but I’m yours.”

Jake didn’t answer. Just sighed, like the fight had already left him.

Jay pressed a kiss to his temple. “Next time, just say you want me off-mission.”

Jake smiled faintly. “And miss the part where you fuck me stupid?”

“You love that part.”

“I love you,” Jake said. Not dramatic. Just truth. “Don’t get weird about it.”

Jay blinked, caught off guard.

“I mean it,” Jake added, voice dropping. Quiet, but not unsure.

Jay didn’t say anything. Just kissed him. Temple. Cheek. Mouth. Every part that counted.

They stayed curled together like that, the heat fading but the bond still alive between them.

“You still twitchy?” Jay asked.

Jake cracked an eye open. “You literally just knotted me.”

Jay grinned. “Didn’t say you didn’t like it.”

Jake gave a sleepy smile. “I like you better when you shut up.”

“Liar.”

Jake elbowed him, then stilled again. The next words came quieter, from somewhere deeper.

“Promise me again.”

Jay looked down, serious now. “What?”

Jake met his eyes. “Promise you won’t die on me.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Jay didn’t blink.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. There was no heat in it. Just the raw truth of surviving for someone else’s sake.

Then Jake exhaled, pulling the mood sideways like he always did.

“Good. I don’t wanna explain to Command how I smuggled your corpse out of a breach zone.”

Jay huffed a laugh. “You’d do it.”

Jake yawned, settling into his chest again. “Yeah. I would.”

Jay didn’t say anything else. Just held him tighter.

The bond was still there, humming low, unshakable. Not a command. Not a protocol.

Just them.

And Jay would take that kind of certainty over sanctioned safety every time.

Chapter Text

Sunghoon | Sunoo | Ni-ki

There was no rule for how to share an Omega, but they wrote one together.

There were only two rules in their safehouse.

First, Sunoo picked the location. Second, no one else got a key.

Like all SEVEN-VEIN pairs, they were given three weeks—no drills, no patrols, no tracing implants or med patch protocols. Officially, it was called downtime. Unofficially, it was a pressure valve release, a reward for not dying when the Node collapsed under breach fire. Sunoo didn’t ask for the mountain lodge, but when Command handed him the map and clearance codes, he marked it with a sharp red X and didn’t explain why. No one questioned it.

It sat buried under snow and silence. What used to be a ski resort had been gutted and converted—thick reinforcements in the foundation, climate-locked thermal floors, and walls fat with insulation. They used it every time they were cleared for long rest. Sometimes for heat. Sometimes rut. Sometimes neither. It had enough beds for three, but Sunoo always turned down the others.

Sunghoon arrived first.

The lodge let him in without fuss—biometric pad blinking green, temperature locks disengaging with a hiss. The air that greeted him was cold despite the heating, and dry enough to bite. Outside, the snow sat untouched, storm-wild and ankle-deep. He didn’t bring much: a single pack, a med kit, and a folded copy of their debrief file still marked “UNREVIEWED.” His gloves stayed on, but his jacket didn’t. The Omega’s scent hit him halfway through the threshold.

Subtle, but not mild.

Not suppressed, either.

It drifted like it had been left behind on purpose. Warm and sharp, clinging to the baseboards and air vents. The kind of scent that left a mark just by existing. Sunghoon didn’t call out. Just let the door close behind him and kept moving forward. There were fur throws stacked in the living area, heat pads unrolled near the foot of the bed, two scent pillows in the nesting ring still damp with Sunoo’s presence.

But no Omega.

Sunghoon exhaled once, slow. He didn’t check the corners. He knew Sunoo wasn’t hiding. If he was being quiet, it meant he wanted them to earn it.

He had just stripped off his jacket when he heard the door open again.

Footsteps crunched into the snow outside, too fast for Sunghoon’s stride. The pad let the second arrival in without protest. The sharp smell of Alpha came in with it.

Ni-ki didn’t bother with protocol.

His boots tracked snow inside. His jacket unzipped before the door shut. His eyes found Sunghoon, but there was no tension. No need for it. Not anymore.

They didn’t speak.

Sunghoon stepped back once, giving space. Ni-ki didn’t take it. Instead, he scent-claimed the air with a long, full inhale, jaw tight, pupils already blown wide. His nostrils flared. He was already tracking.

That’s when Sunoo appeared.

Quiet. Barefoot. Shirt oversized and slipping off one shoulder. His hair was down. His skin was flushed. His scent—thick now, humming with heat and demand—spilled into the room like a trap already sprung.

He didn’t speak either. Just walked right between them, slow and sure, and dragged one nail down the center of Ni-ki’s chest.

Ni-ki didn’t flinch when Sunoo’s nail dragged down his chest. Didn’t speak either. Just looked — a stare that caught on the edge of hunger and hovered there, waiting for permission to tip over.

He didn’t get it. Not with words.

Sunoo leaned in like he already knew what Ni-ki wanted, and he was going to give it—but on his terms. He reached up with both hands, slow, sliding them under Ni-ki’s jacket until the weight of it dropped off his shoulders. The room had heat, but Ni-ki still shivered when Sunoo’s fingers passed over bare skin. Not cold. Just contact.

Then Sunoo pulled him down by the collar and kissed him.

There was nothing soft about it. No press of lips before the melt. No shy touch to ease the way in. Just mouth , hot and full and open. Sunoo sucked in a breath through his nose and kissed like the air was his to ration. Like Ni-ki’s lips didn’t just belong to him — they owed him.

Ni-ki staggered. Not back, but forward, caught off balance by the sheer force of it. His hands landed on Sunoo’s hips, trying to anchor them both, but Sunoo moved first — dragging them a step left, then walking them into Sunghoon.

It wasn’t an accident.

Sunoo kissed like he had an audience, and he wanted it. Wanted Sunghoon to see his tongue deep in Ni-ki’s mouth. Wanted him to watch the way Ni-ki gasped, sharp and guttural, when Sunoo rolled his hips just once against him.

Ni-ki didn’t break the kiss. He just moaned into it.

Sunghoon hadn’t moved. Just stood there, watching. And maybe that would’ve been enough for now — watching, cataloguing, letting the arousal rise slow and mean behind his ribs. But then Sunoo reached for him without looking.

Still kissing Ni-ki, he slid one hand back — fingers curled open, expectant — and Sunghoon took it.

Sunoo pulled him forward by the wrist, guiding him until they were chest-to-back. He tilted his head, still fused to Ni-ki’s mouth, and nudged back until the slope of Sunghoon’s chest met his shoulder blades. Then he did something cruel — he let go of Ni-ki’s lips, panting, and turned his face into the side of Sunghoon’s throat.

“Hold me steady,” he said.

Sunghoon’s gloves came off in one motion. Then his hands closed around Sunoo’s wrists — firm, not rough — and he pressed them flat against Ni-ki’s chest.

“Don’t let go,” Sunoo added, breath hitching now. “Not until I tell you.”

Sunghoon didn’t speak. Just tightened his grip.

Ni-ki looked fucked already. Eyes wild, hair falling loose in strands where Sunoo had pulled, mouth open like he didn’t know what to do with it now that it wasn’t being used. His cock pressed full against his pants, hips twitching toward contact even as he held still. He looked at Sunghoon once — only once — and it was enough.

Sunghoon gave him nothing back.

Sunoo rolled his hips again — slower now, controlled — and Ni-ki’s breath stuttered.

“Fuck,” Ni-ki whispered. “Fuck, Sunoo—”

“Ask me nicer,” Sunoo said, not even winded. “And maybe I’ll let you put your mouth somewhere useful .”

Ni-ki groaned. It wasn’t frustration. It was need , plain and raw. He leaned forward like he might drop to his knees, but Sunghoon didn’t let go. He kept Sunoo’s wrists pinned to Ni-ki’s chest, grounding him like ballast.

Sunoo arched a little into the hold. Not submission — leverage. Every move calculated. He shifted his weight to spread his thighs slightly, bare feet flat on the heated floor, shirt falling lower off one shoulder. Ni-ki was breathing hard now, pupils blown, hands fisted at his sides like touching without permission might get him kicked out.

And Sunoo loved it.

He turned his head again, kissed Sunghoon’s jaw. Then said, quietly but without a trace of uncertainty:

“Ni-ki. Mouth.”

Ni-ki dropped instantly.

He dropped hard enough that his knees slapped the floor, hands catching on Sunoo’s thighs just in time to keep from bruising them. His mouth was open before he even looked up — lips wet, breath ragged, tongue already out like he couldn’t bear another second without tasting.

Sunoo let him. He didn’t even blink when Ni-ki mouthed at the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down with his teeth first, hands second, breath catching when he got the first hit of slick.

Sunoo was already dripping.

The scent of it hit hard — sharp, hot, omega in heat — and Ni-ki growled. Low in his throat, just once. Then his mouth was on Sunoo’s cunt.

There was nothing shy about it. No hesitation, no slow buildup. Ni-ki licked like it was a goddamn order. His tongue dragged deep and flat up the seam of Sunoo’s pussy, then circled around the hole, tasting every drop. He sucked when Sunoo shifted — not teasing, but hungry — and moaned when the slick came heavier.

Sunoo made a noise, soft and sharp, and his knees buckled just slightly.

Sunghoon held him steady.

“Good,” Sunoo whispered, hips grinding into Ni-ki’s mouth now, riding the pressure without shame. “Just like that. Eat me like you’re dying for it.”

Ni-ki groaned again. Louder this time. He gripped Sunoo’s thighs, hauled him forward until the backs of his knees hit Ni-ki’s shoulders, and buried his mouth deeper.

Sunoo cried out , finally — sharp and ragged, spine flexing as his cunt throbbed into Ni-ki’s tongue. His scent spiked, heat rolling out in thick waves. He didn’t try to hold back. Didn’t try to look composed. He wanted to be messy. He planned to be messy. And Ni-ki? He was going to be wrecked for it.

Sunghoon kept both wrists pinned, chest firm against Sunoo’s back.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“I’m close,” Sunoo breathed.

“Then let him take you there.”

He did.

Sunoo came with Ni-ki’s mouth still on him. Sharp, guttural, spine bowed so deep that Sunghoon had to haul him upright again before he collapsed.

Ni-ki didn’t stop licking until the aftershocks made Sunoo curse. Didn’t even stop then, just slowed it down — wet, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs, nosing along his cunt like he couldn’t stop.

Sunoo let him, for a second.

Then he reached down, fingers twisting in Ni-ki’s hair, and said, voice hoarse but sharp-edged, “Enough.”

Ni-ki pulled back, breathing hard. His lips were slick. His chin glistened. And his eyes were still blown wide when he sat back on his heels and let go.

There was no protest. No whine. Just obedience, clean and smooth, because when Sunoo said stop , he meant it.

Sunghoon loosened his grip on Sunoo’s wrists.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, voice pitched for him alone.

Sunoo nodded, but it came with a sound. Not quite a sob. Not quite a laugh. Just a full-body exhale like he’d run to the edge of something and only now realized how close it had been.

“Get me on the bed,” he said, already leaning into him. “Now.”

Sunghoon moved.

He was slower than Ni-ki. Always had been. But he was stronger, and steadier, and when he carried Sunoo across the room, it felt less like desperation and more like devotion . He didn’t rush. He didn’t stumble. He laid Sunoo down with both hands—one under the knees, the other braced against the soft of his back—and only let go when the fur pelts dipped around Sunoo’s body like a cradle.

Ni-ki followed at a distance, watching, quiet now. His arousal was obvious — cock hard and tenting his pants, pupils still wide — but his breathing was calm. He’d had his mouth on Sunoo, been wrapped around the scent of heat and slick and need, but still, he was waiting. Not for Sunoo’s permission this time, but for Sunghoon’s lead.

Sunoo spread his legs without being told. His thighs were flushed, his cunt slick and swollen, still twitching with the afterglow of his orgasm. He blinked up at Sunghoon and said, quieter now, “You too.”

Sunghoon didn’t need it explained. He shed the rest of his gear in measured movements — shirt first, then the waistband of his tactical pants unfastened with one hand. His cock was already half-hard. He gave it a single stroke, not to show off, but to feel .

Sunoo opened his arms.

The air in the room shifted.

Sunghoon climbed into the bed, not with force but with gravity, letting his weight settle against Sunoo from thigh to chest. They aligned easily. He pressed their mouths together — slower than earlier, deeper — and swallowed Sunoo’s sigh like it was something worth keeping.

Sunoo parted his legs further, knees pulled high to cradle Sunghoon between them. His cunt was so wet it slicked against the inside of Sunghoon’s thighs before he even rocked his hips. Sunghoon held himself back, kissed down the curve of Sunoo’s jaw, then his throat, then lower — tongue dragging over sweat and salt, scent-marking with nothing but presence.

“Sunghoon,” Sunoo breathed.

“Still here.”

“Then stop teasing.”

He lined up.

Sunoo reached between them first, guided the head of Sunghoon’s cock down with two fingers and a soft exhale. When he nudged in — just the tip, slow and careful — Sunoo rolled his hips to take more. Not fast. Not greedy. Just sure.

The slide was obscene. Slick soaked everything. Sunghoon’s cock split him open slowly, stretch by stretch, until he bottomed out with a grunt that punched low from his chest.

Sunoo arched, gasping.

Sunghoon stayed still.

“You okay?” he whispered, already brushing a hand down the outside of Sunoo’s thigh, grounding him with touch.

“More,” Sunoo choked. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

So he did.

Sunghoon moved with purpose — full thrusts, long and deep, cock dragging in and out with just enough grind at the base to keep Sunoo twitching. He wasn’t rough. He was relentless . Every stroke mapped the same rhythm — down, in, hold — and every breath he took seemed synced to the way Sunoo’s cunt pulled around him.

It didn’t take long before Sunoo was gasping again.

“You feel me?” Sunghoon asked.

Sunoo nodded, face gone red, mouth slack.

“Good. Keep me in.”

Then Sunghoon slowed. Slowed everything.

The thrusts got longer. More drag, more stretch. He pressed in until his hips met Sunoo’s and stayed there, cock thick and fully buried. When he pulled back again, he kept it just shallow enough to make Sunoo chase the next one.

The knot started to swell.

Not fast. Not abrupt. Just pressure building where their bodies met — the base of Sunghoon’s cock firming, then pulsing, growing thicker with each thrust.

Sunoo felt it. His mouth parted in a soft moan and his fingers clutched at Sunghoon’s shoulders.

“You’re close,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“You gonna give it to me?”

Sunghoon leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Only if you want it.”

Sunoo didn’t answer with words. He wrapped his legs around Sunghoon’s waist and pulled.

Sunghoon groaned — low, shaking — and pushed in to the hilt. His knot caught at the rim of Sunoo’s cunt, fat and swollen, not quite locked, but thick enough to make Sunoo whimper .

That was all the permission he needed.

The last few thrusts were short and punishing — grinding friction, every inch of his cock working to seat the knot deeper. When it finally popped past the ring of muscle, Sunghoon gasped and froze .

Sunoo’s cunt clenched hard around the knot and didn’t let go.

“Fuck—” Sunghoon’s voice cracked. “I’m—Sunoo—”

He came hard. Deep. The knot locked tight, sealing every pulse of his orgasm inside. His whole body bowed forward, mouth pressed to Sunoo’s throat as he fucked through the lock — just shallow rocks now, nothing fast, just riding the aftershock.

Sunoo trembled under him, but his hands never let go.

They stayed like that for a long time. Still moving, but barely. Just breath and sweat and the sound of Sunghoon trying not to fall apart too fast.

Across the bed, Ni-ki watched.

His cock was still hard. His fingers clenched in the sheets. But he didn’t reach for himself.

Not yet.

Sunoo turned his head toward him.

“You next,” he said, voice wrecked but steady.

Ni-ki moved in slowly, catching Sunoo’s eye first. There was no rush in him now, just precision. Just reverence.

Sunghoon stayed buried, knot locked deep, his breath steady. Without a word, he shifted—arms flexing as he adjusted his grip, rolling Sunoo’s hips upward with practiced ease. Like it was muscle memory. Like Sunoo weighed nothing in his hands. He moved them both just enough to make space behind him, still fully sheathed, still holding Sunoo through it.

Ni-ki lined up behind them. His cock was already slick, tip flushed dark, rhythm steady as he eased into position—close enough that his thighs pressed to Sunghoon’s. Close enough that Sunoo could feel both their breaths on his skin.

“Breathe,” Sunghoon murmured, low against his throat.

“I’ve got you,” Ni-ki added, voice hoarse but careful.

Sunoo didn’t flinch. He just nodded once, pulled Ni-ki closer with a hand around his wrist, and said, “Now.”

The stretch was deep. Not painful—just full. Shattering. His hole took the push slow, slicked and softened by heat and want and the way his body knew both of them by instinct now. Ni-ki rocked in with practiced control, inch by inch, until he was seated fully. Until Sunoo’s cunt held them both, snug and trembling.

He choked on a moan. His thighs shook. But he didn’t stop them.

Ni-ki’s chest pressed to his back, one arm sliding around his waist, the other bracing near Sunghoon’s. Their weight blanketed him. Their rhythm matched. The motion turned into grind and pressure and held breath, both Alpha cocks thick inside him, each thrust carefully timed, coaxing and claiming and holding—not to conquer, but to fill.

Sunoo couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. He just felt it: the drag, the stretch, the full-body ache of being exactly where he was supposed to be.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”

They didn’t.

Ni-ki’s knot swelled fast. He bit down on a groan and pushed in once more, deeper, hips locking tight as the base of his cock popped past the rim and sealed inside. His body shuddered. His forehead dropped against Sunoo’s shoulder.

He came hard, grinding in helpless little pulses, slick and heat and weight bearing down in waves. His hand stayed curled over Sunoo’s heart like he needed to feel it beating.

The knots held.

Sunoo didn’t mind. He needed the stillness. The weight of both of them. He needed to feel full and anchored — two steady pulses inside him, one at his front and one at his back, pressing in from every side like a boundary he asked for and got.

It wasn’t about being claimed.

It was about being kept .

Ni-ki was the first to move — not to pull out, not yet, but to shift closer, arms wrapping low around Sunoo’s waist. His forehead dropped against Sunoo’s shoulder. His breathing was uneven, but quiet. Just skin and breath and soft heat where they were still joined.

Sunghoon adjusted too, hand smoothing over Sunoo’s stomach, then up to his chest. He didn’t speak. He just listened to the rhythm of the Omega’s breath and let his own sync to it.

No one rushed the comedown.

Sunoo’s eyes were closed now, lashes damp, mouth still parted. He looked fucked-out and flushed, but not wrecked. Just… held . His muscles stayed loose even as the edge wore off, even as the overstimulation started to sting a little. He didn’t tense. He trusted them to move slow when it was time.

“You good?” Ni-ki asked finally, voice gone raspy with use.

Sunoo nodded without opening his eyes. “Mmm. Still floating.”

“Yeah,” Ni-ki murmured. “That tracks.”

Sunghoon bent to kiss his neck — not possessive, not claiming. Just touch.

“I’ll get the towels in a bit,” he said quietly.

“Don’t move yet,” Sunoo murmured. “Please. Not yet.”

Sunghoon stilled. “Okay.”

So they stayed.

Three bodies tangled under the heat-furs, two knots still seated deep, scent soaked into everything — skin, sheets, the air itself. The safehouse didn’t just carry the memory of this. It held it.

Ni-ki’s hand found Sunoo’s and laced their fingers. He kissed the inside of Sunoo’s wrist — soft, instinctive — and didn’t let go.

Sunoo turned his head slightly. Just enough to meet Sunghoon’s eyes.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Because I asked you to be.”

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He just nodded, once, slow. Then glanced past Sunoo — toward Ni-ki — and said, “Us too.”

It could’ve been tense. It would’ve been, once.

They’d fought like hell the first time — teeth bared, instincts flaring, both of them trying to prove who deserved Sunoo more. But no one won that fight. Sunoo stopped it himself. Stepped between them, trembling and in heat, and said, “If you want me, stop making me choose.”

They hadn’t made him choose since.

Sunghoon reached across Sunoo now — past his chest, past the knot still nestled deep — and found Ni-ki’s arm. His fingers curled around his wrist. A steady, grounding grip. His eyes met Ni-ki’s, a soft glance with everything they didn’t say. Something passed between them — not dominance, not deference, just a quiet knowing that this was never about halves.

Ni-ki let out a breath. Not quite a sigh. More like a release.

Neither Alpha liked to share. That had been true for years. They were hard-wired for it — bred to lead, to mark, to own. But with Sunoo, something rewired. Something softened. What they had with him wasn’t a split — it was a circuit. One loop, one fireline, held together by choice. Not instinct. Not rank.

Sunoo made them better by being theirs . And they were better because they chose to be his .

Eventually, the knots would go down.

Eventually, someone would clean up the mess. There’d be rinsed towels and wiped sweat and a fresh set of sheets and maybe, if the mood held, a few leftover ration bars passed around in silence.

But right now, there was no hierarchy. No protocol. Just gravity.

Sunoo fell asleep between them, breath slowing, body lax and spent. Still sealed. Still full. Still loved — not in a loud way, but in the way they breathed him in like a home scent and stayed right there, steady and sure, until morning came.

They didn’t split him. They steadied him. And somehow, that steadied them too.

The lodge sealed shut against the snow and silence. Inside, it stayed warm—not just from the heat they shared, but the way they chose to stay close, all three of them held steady.

Chapter Text

Heeseung | Jungwon

There was no map for coming home, but he followed him anyway.

They were alone now.

Jay and Jake had been the first to vanish off the grid. Officially approved, but no one had to explain why they took it. Then Sunoo, Ni-ki, and Sunghoon took a transport shuttle heading north, citing solar exposure therapy and gravitational recovery. Nobody asked questions. SEVEN-VEIN knew how to vanish clean.

Which left just the two of them.

Still at base. Still in uniform. Still standing in the rec wing hallway like the mission timer had glitched and no one knew what to do.

Jungwon shifted first. Looked over at Heeseung and said, "So. What now?"

Heeseung blinked like the question had weight. "Now?"

"Yeah. Downtime. What do we usually do?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then Heeseung let out a soft, dry laugh. "This is actually our first."

Jungwon frowned. "First downtime ever?"

"First real one. First time we’ve been given more than two days without an after-action briefing or a rotation override."

Jungwon leaned against the wall. "So what do you do with three weeks of nothing?"

Heeseung shrugged. "File reports. Run logistics. Update the security grid."

"That sounds miserable."

"You usually kept busy. You’d train. Or take recon side quests from Bravo Squad."

Jungwon hummed. He didn’t remember it, but it sounded like something he’d do. "That’s boring."

Heeseung looked at him, half-smile curling like he hadn’t used it in a while. "Yeah. It is."

They stood in the silence that came next.

Jungwon pushed off the wall. "Come on. Let’s go."

"Go where?"

"Out. Market sector. You’re not doing three weeks of spreadsheet combat and I’m not dragging myself to Bravo’s dumb obstacle tower just to pretend I’m busy."

Heeseung hesitated. "We’ve never—"

"Exactly. You’ve never taken a break. I don’t even remember how. Let’s figure it out together."

Jungwon extended a hand, palm open. He gave Heeseung an unguarded smile, the kind that made his dimples show — fleeting, but real. It slipped past whatever mask he usually wore without apology.

Heeseung looked at it for a beat too long—then took it. His fingers curled around Jungwon’s, firm but tentative, and something in his chest clicked into place. Like he'd been holding a breath for decades without knowing it. That smile—unguarded, dimples and all—hit somewhere old in him. Somewhere starved. It made his stomach turn over, made his throat feel tight, like something tender and unspeakable had been placed in his hands. He matched the smile without meaning to—small, unsure, but real. A crack in the armor he'd worn too long.

Heeseung didn’t answer. Not with words.

But inside, everything cracked open. The way Jungwon said it — like it wasn’t a risk, like it wasn’t shameful — dug under every layer of guilt Heeseung had spent years perfecting. He wanted to reach back, to confess all of it — the late nights guarding his door, the way he read Jungwon’s medical file like scripture, the quiet ache every time he walked into a room that wasn’t full anymore.

He didn’t say any of that. But he still had Jungwon’s hand in his, and when Jungwon turned toward the lift, he followed—step for step, fingers still laced like a tether they weren’t ready to break.

They dressed in civvies. Not disguised. Just inconspicuous. Heeseung carried a small security pack. Jungwon didn’t bring a weapon. When Heeseung raised an eyebrow, Jungwon just said, "I think I trust you enough to keep me safe."

It was a reminder — soft, but firm — that Jungwon didn’t need guarding. He chose to walk beside Heeseung anyway.

That shut him up fast.

The market was farther than either of them usually went on foot. They took the outer tram line, the one that circled past the greenhouses and wind farms. Jungwon kept looking out the window, squinting like every field looked half-familiar. Heeseung didn’t interrupt.

They got off near the southern interchange — still in the district, but far enough out that the buildings started to look mismatched and real. No surveillance towers. No mirror glass. Just open-stall vendors and concrete plazas warmed by overhead lamps.

They walked side by side. Not touching, but close enough that their hands brushed a few times. Jungwon didn’t flinch. But Heeseung noticed the twitch in his fingers, the way they curled in toward his palm like muscle memory was catching up. His own pulse kicked, subtle but sharp, and he had to glance away for a second. Like some part of him still wasn’t used to being allowed this close.

Jungwon pointed out skewers first. Cheap, meatless protein bites. He bought two and handed one to Heeseung without asking. Heeseung took it. They ate while walking, pausing to watch a group of teens racing drones between market poles.

"They don’t care," Jungwon said quietly.

"About what?"

"About what happened. About what we lost. About who we became."

Heeseung nodded. "They’re not supposed to. That’s the point."

Jungwon exhaled. "Feels nice."

They sat at a bench near the edge of the plaza. Watched the lights flicker in the canopy struts above. There was a vendor hawking spice sachets to their left. A kid doing flips off a crate. Two older women arguing about the price of fermented paste.

It felt...normal. Wrong, in a way neither of them said out loud.

Jungwon shifted closer. Their knees bumped. He didn’t move away.

"So this is a date," Jungwon said, the corners of his mouth tugging into a bashful smile. It wasn’t coy — more like he was surprised by his own boldness, like the words had escaped before he could second-guess them.

Heeseung startled. "What?"

"I mean. Kind of. Right? We eat. We people-watch. We sit too close on a public bench. What else do civilians do when they like someone?"

Heeseung was quiet for too long.

Jungwon looked over. "Too much?"

Heeseung swallowed. "No. Just... you’ve never said that before."

"I know. But it doesn’t feel wrong."

Heeseung met his eyes. Really met them. For once, he didn’t look away.

"It doesn’t feel wrong to me either."

They left the market just before curfew lighting kicked in. The sky was already softening, that faint red glow that meant a weather shift was coming. Jungwon didn’t say much on the tram ride back, but he leaned a little when the car rocked, and Heeseung didn’t shift away.

They could’ve gone back to quarters. Could’ve stayed at base, curled into the habit of separate bunks and silent meals. But neither of them brought it up.

When they stepped off the tram, it was Heeseung who said it first.

"You want to go back to the safehouse?"

Jungwon blinked at him, then nodded. "Yeah. That place… it feels like something. Even if I don’t remember why."

Heeseung held his gaze. "It’s yours. That’s why."

They didn’t talk after that. Just kept walking. Together.

The safehouse hadn’t changed. The outer door still took a moment to respond to Jungwon’s ID—just long enough that Heeseung’s hand hovered near the manual override, not touching, but ready. When it hissed open, Jungwon stepped in first.

Heeseung let him.

The interior lights stayed dim, motion-sensitive and slow to catch up. Jungwon didn’t reach for the switch. He walked instead through the familiar dark, touching things he didn’t remember but still somehow felt.

The blanket nest in the corner. The rack of knives they weren’t supposed to keep in shared quarters. A photo taped to the inside of a cabinet door—blurred, clearly unplanned. Two figures, shoulder to shoulder. One of them grinning. The other unreadable.

Jungwon pressed a thumb to the edge of the frame like it might trigger something.

Heeseung stood behind him, not too close. He moved slow, quiet, like proximity might scare Jungwon back into the blank space he’d barely crawled out of.

Jungwon turned.

Heeseung didn’t flinch.

The distance between them stayed small. The air warm, scent-familiar. No suppressants. No cycle spikes. Just them.

Then Jungwon leaned in—one motion, smooth and instinctive—and dragged his nose along the line of Heeseung’s throat.

It wasn’t heat. It wasn’t driven by anything protocol-bound. Just… knowing.

A quiet, natural claim.

Heeseung exhaled sharp.

"Do you want me like this," Jungwon asked, voice low, almost hoarse. There was a flicker of something sharp in it — like he was bracing for an answer he didn’t want to hear. "Even though I don’t remember?"

Heeseung’s restraint cracked in his throat. "I always wanted you. Even when I wasn’t allowed to."

Jungwon didn’t say anything. He just stepped back, toward the nest.

Not fast. Not shy. Just decided.

He sat. Then leaned back, bracing on his elbows. Legs bent, shirt still on. No heat to trigger this, no instinct demanding it. Just him, choosing.

Heeseung didn’t move right away.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Jungwon nodded once. "I’m here. I want this. I choose you."

That was all.

He moved forward slowly, closing the distance between them. The air between them shifted — charged, but open. Heeseung knelt there for a beat, just breathing, before he reached for more.

Heeseung slid his hand toward the hem of Jungwon’s shirt, pausing when their eyes caught again. A nod—quiet, clear. The shirt lifted over Jungwon’s head, arms raised, hair mussed in its wake. Heeseung took a second just to look, breath catching. They’d never touched like this before — not when they were younger, not even when they first found each other again. This wasn’t necessity. It wasn’t heat or protocol. It was permission. It was want.

Then his hands slid lower, to the waistband. His thumbs tucked in. Another pause, not hesitation—just reverence. The fabric came down slow. Jungwon shifted to help, lifting his hips with a silent kind of grace. The air cooled over bare skin, but he didn’t flinch. He leaned back on his elbows, legs parted, gaze steady. Not obedient. Just present. Willing.

Heeseung lowered himself between Jungwon’s legs, palms braced flat to the furs. His eyes stayed locked on Jungwon’s face.

Then he kissed him. Messy, searching, years of restraint uncoiling all at once. Their mouths dragged open, breath tangling, teeth knocking until it settled into something hungry and hot. Jungwon’s fingers curled into Heeseung’s shirt, dragging him closer, anchoring him.

Heeseung broke away just long enough to shove the fabric over his own head. Their chests met—bare to bare—and the contact made them both flinch, not from discomfort, but the gravity of it.

Jungwon looked up, breath catching, a flicker of something bashful in his face like he wasn’t sure this was allowed. Heeseung’s breath hitched. He let it in. All of it.

Jungwon reached for his belt, fingers finding the clasp with unhurried steadiness. Heeseung helped, knees shifting against the furs as they worked through the rest together—slow, tangled, mouths brushing between every motion. Until nothing was between them. Just skin.

Jungwon kissed like he was remembering. Like he was reclaiming something. And Heeseung kissed back like it was the first breath after drowning.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathless. Lips swollen. Jungwon’s pupils were wide, his face flushed down to his throat. He looked like he might say something, but he didn't.

Heeseung leaned in again, slower this time. Kissed the corner of his mouth, then lower. Down his throat. Across his collarbone. His hands were already sliding down, tracing the line of Jungwon’s waist, mouth following like memory. No more layers. No repeats.

He paused at the curve of his hip, eyes flicking up one last time.

Jungwon didn’t look away.

And when Heeseung leaned in—lips parting, breath hot—Jungwon’s head tipped back like it was instinct. Like his body remembered exactly what to do.

Heeseung used his mouth like it mattered. He started with broad, deliberate licks—slow strokes from base to rim that left Jungwon shivering. Then he let his tongue curl tighter, circling the entrance with pressure just enough to tease before pushing in, deeper this time, tongue slick and insistent. Jungwon gasped, spine arching as his hips bucked forward, his hole clenching around nothing as Heeseung fucked him with his tongue—short, deliberate thrusts that made slick spill freely. Jungwon's thighs twitched, trying to stay open, but his body pushed back into it, chasing every movement. One hand clutched Jungwon’s thigh, steadying him as he moved. The other anchored at his waist, grounding him with steady pressure.

Heeseung flattened his mouth there, licking with messy, relentless precision—tongue dragging in and out as Jungwon’s breath broke into choked moans. Every stroke earned a new sound, a new tremble, the slick between them growing louder. Jungwon’s head tipped back, lips parted, spine arching. It wasn’t just want—it was muscle-deep need, carved from instinct and choice.

"Why do you know me like this?" Jungwon gasped, voice unsteady as his thighs trembled on either side of Heeseung’s head.

Heeseung didn’t answer.

He just sank deeper, lips slick and reverent.

Jungwon’s hands threaded into his hair. Not yanking. Just holding. As if anchoring himself to something real.

When Jungwon finally gasped, shaking, the sound that came out wasn’t a name. But it was close.

Heeseung moved with reverence, every touch careful, like each second was something sacred to be stretched. Like he was afraid the moment would end if he rushed it. When Jungwon reached for him — fingers trailing up his chest, eyes already dark with something more — Heeseung caught his wrist.

Not to stop him. Just to breathe. To steady.

He leaned down and kissed him — slow, messy, sealing something in that didn’t need words.

Then he reached for the slick, eased two fingers in with care. Jungwon hissed — not in pain, just at the stretch. At the sudden flood of sensation.

Heeseung pressed in deeper. Curled his hand just so. Watched as Jungwon bit down on the back of his own wrist, trying not to shake apart.

"I had a flash," Jungwon breathed. "You were holding my hand. I didn’t want to let go."

That made Heeseung pause. Fingers still buried inside.

His forehead dropped against Jungwon’s. A long, shuddered breath between them.

"I knew you before you knew yourself," he said, voice raw. "Before the blood. Before the knives. I would’ve followed you even if they ordered me not to."

Jungwon’s chest lifted, ribs moving like breath was a battle.

"Then follow me now.

Heeseung didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. His hands mapped every inch like memory—both old and new. He eased Jungwon onto his back, guided his knees apart, braced them gently with his palms. One long inhale, steady and deep.

He stayed there, watching the rise and fall of Jungwon’s chest, something thick and raw settling in his throat. Every breath Jungwon took was a tether—proof he was here, warm, alive. Not a ghost. Not in Heeseung’s nightmares. Just here.

His eyes traced the angle of Jungwon’s collarbone, the rise of each inhale against bare skin, the way his lips parted like he was still trying to catch up to his own heartbeat. There was a tension in his arms, but not fear—more like readiness, like a soldier still braced for a command that wouldn’t come. His gaze wasn’t drifting. It stayed fixed on Heeseung, open and steady. Like the silence between them wasn’t a pause, but a promise.

And for a second, it felt like forgiveness. Not for the year lost. But maybe for every moment Heeseung convinced himself he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve him.

He blinked once. Inhaled steady.

Then the silence broke.

"If I forget this tomorrow," Jungwon whispered, "will you remind me again?"

Heeseung nodded. "Every time."

He paused. Looked down at Jungwon — really looked — waiting for something unspoken to pass between them. Jungwon met his gaze, eyes wide but sure, then gave a short nod. No words. Just that.

Heeseung lined up slow, the head of his cock pressing against Jungwon’s slick hole. He eased in with care, inch by inch, until the tight stretch made Jungwon gasp. His back arched. His head fell back, mouth open, eyes fluttering. And when he breathed out, the scent shifted — citrus sharp, lightning through snow.

Heeseung moved only when Jungwon said, "Okay."

The rhythm was steady, paced with reverence. But his control wavered when Jungwon wrapped both legs around his waist and whispered, "I want all of you. Here. Now."

Heeseung groaned, hips stuttering as he tried to hold the rhythm. But the pressure was building too fast, too deep. He buried himself again, the slap of skin echoing sharp and desperate. His knot was swelling — thick, deliberate pulses with each thrust, stretching Jungwon open inch by inch, slick clinging to every push.

"Do it," Jungwon said. "Don’t hold back."

Heeseung didn’t speak. Just cupped his jaw — steadying. Like this mattered more than anything else had ever mattered.

Jungwon’s hand slid up his back, fingers digging into the curve of his shoulders. "My body remembers you," he whispered. "That’s enough for now."

Heeseung’s rhythm faltered. The knot dragged deeper, nudging past tight resistance. Jungwon gasped — a sharp, helpless sound — hips rocking forward as if to meet it. The stretch was brutal, overwhelming. Heeseung groaned into his neck, the air between them too hot, too thick.

Then — the knot caught.

It seated hard, flush and final, locking them together in one last grind of hips and breath.

Jungwon let out a cracked sound, body clenching around the swell. No space left. No give. Just fullness, sharp and anchoring. His hands scrambled across Heeseung’s back, searching for something to hold onto — something real. He shook, but didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask for less. Just held on tighter, body split wide and finally, finally full.

Jungwon’s voice was a wreck. “Fuck. It’s— Hee, it’s—”

Heeseung cupped the back of his neck, steadying. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Jungwon’s breath caught — like the words hit somewhere deeper than they should have. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. The praise wasn’t loud, wasn’t forced. But it broke something loose. Something tight and buried.

The words sank in — not just as comfort, but as truth. Something old and cellular, etched deeper than memory.

His cry came from the center of him. Not pain. Not even release. Just something unspoken, too big to name. He gripped Heeseung’s shoulder like it might keep him tethered, nails digging in without apology. Every part of him trembled — stretched wide, filled, pinned open by the heat of it all.

Heeseung didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every muscle in his body strained to stay still, to hold the lock without faltering. The knot throbbed inside Jungwon — grounding, undeniable — and the press of their chests, slick and flush, was enough to steal breath. He tucked his face into the crook of Jungwon’s neck and breathed him in like oxygen, like he wasn’t sure he’d ever earned this much of him.

They didn’t move. They just held. Together. Locked deep, skin slick and trembling, hearts knocked out of rhythm and finally—finally—finding it again in each other.

Heeseung face stayed buried into Jungwon’s neck, breath stuttering.

"That’s it. You’re perfect like this. Taking all of me so well."

They stayed that way—pressed together, locked deep, bodies flushed and slick and trembling.

After a long moment, Jungwon turned into his chest, cheek resting just below the hollow of Heeseung’s collar.

"Bite me," he said quietly. "Just once. I want to feel your teeth. I want you."

Heeseung pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Jungwon’s gaze was steady — unblinking, dark with trust and something rawer threaded beneath it. Not fear. Not even desperation. Just a certainty that shook Heeseung down to bone. His pupils were wide, his lips parted from the force of his breathing, and there was something almost defiant in the way he offered himself, waiting. Not pleading. Just present — entirely, irreversibly.

"Are you sure?"

"I want to wear it. I want to feel it tomorrow. Even if I forget, even if it fades, let it show."

Heeseung leaned in and kissed him first — slow at the start, soft and grounding. Jungwon kissed back with equal care, then more. The kiss deepened, tongues brushing, then tangling, mouths parting like they were pulling breath from each other. Jungwon’s fingers twisted in Heeseung’s hair, holding tight as their kiss turned messy, almost feral. Like need caught up to them and refused to wait.

Heeseung broke away only to drag his mouth lower — down Jungwon’s jaw, his throat, to the place just beneath his ear where scent sat strongest. He licked once, slow. Then again, firmer, tongue flattening against the gland. Jungwon’s whole body tightened beneath him, a sharp inhale cutting through the haze.

Then Heeseung bit.

Not a bond. But close. His canines pressed deep enough to bruise, not break. Enough to stake something wordless. Jungwon gasped, hips jolting, but didn’t pull away. His jaw tilted, baring more.

"Yeah," Jungwon whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. "Just like that."

The bruise bloomed under Heeseung’s mouth. Sharp. Deep. A mark, not a bond. But it stayed.

They stayed curled like that until Jungwon’s breathing slowed. His hands loosened where they’d clutched at Heeseung’s back, and his body, still stretched and filled, finally went slack with sleep.

Heeseung didn’t move at first. Just lay there, knotted deep, watching the way Jungwon’s lashes trembled with dream flickers. It didn’t feel real — not entirely. Like he’d slipped sideways into a life he never believed he could have, where Jungwon was here and warm and still beneath him, not a shadow in his nightmares or a folder on his desk. The knot pulsing inside was the only thing anchoring him, the only proof this wasn't another grief-laced dream. Every breath Jungwon took pressed soft against his chest, steady and alive. Heeseung didn’t want to break the moment. He didn’t want to blink and lose it.

Eventually, the tension in his body began to ease, the deep pulse of the knot slowing with every breath. Heeseung felt the fullness fade, the lock between them softening until it gave way — not sudden, but gradual, like the body finally allowing what the heart wasn’t ready to release. He slipped out with care, slow and gentle, the stretch giving a final drag that made Jungwon shift with a soft, sleepy sound. Heat and slick still clung between them, but there was no discomfort — only the afterglow of something held and earned. Jungwon made a soft sound but didn’t wake.

Heeseung finally moved. Careful, slow, like every motion still counted. He cleaned them both with soft, methodical hands — not rushed, not detached. Just quiet care, like he was still learning how to stay.

He reached for the old med file, still tucked in the outer flap of his gear bag, pages worn soft at the edges from too much handling. Held it for a beat — thumb grazing the corner like it meant something sacred. Then he slid it under the edge of the nest. Not hidden. Just placed. Like trust, finally given room.

He wasn’t letting go of Jungwon. Just the fear of losing him again.

When he turned back, Jungwon had shifted again — arm thrown over where Heeseung had just been, the sheets tangled around his hips. There was a new slickness in the air, a sharp edge to the scent that hadn’t been there before. Like the heat between them had stirred again — softer this time, not urgent, just hunger remembered.

Maybe they’d moved again. Slow, instinctual, half-asleep. Maybe once in the middle of the night, tangled in silence. Maybe again just before dawn, Jungwon reaching first — breath warm, hands sure, no words spoken. Each time softer, lazier, like they were learning how to stay full without urgency.

Finally, when the dust settles, Heeseung watched the slow rise of Jungwon’s chest. The way his mouth parted in sleep, lips swollen, lashes still trembling. There was a faint mark on his neck now — dark, deliberate, and perfectly placed. A bruise where teeth had nearly claimed, and Heeseung couldn’t stop staring. He looked wrecked. He looked safe. And he looked his.

Jungwon mumbled something — garbled, barely audible.

A name.

Heeseung didn’t catch it.

But it sounded like his.