TW: SA/Very very extremely supremely dubious consent.
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The air in the small room was thick, curdled with the scent of cherry blossoms in distress. Jaemin felt like he was burning from the inside out, his bones liquefying under the relentless pressure of the heat. Every breath was a ragged gasp, a futile attempt to cool the fire scouring his veins.
Then, the scent of black tea and bergamot flared. It hit him like a wave—dark, commanding, and absolute. It didn't ask for permission; it simply flooded through the space, pushing back the cloying sweetness of his own misery.
"Let me help you."
Jaemin's resistance, already frayed by hours of agony, melted away into the heat. He was so tired. He just wanted it to stop.
"Yes," he sobbed, surrendering to the arms holding him up. "Please. Please, Hyung, just make it stop."
"I will," Seungcheol murmured, his voice a low rumble against Jaemin's ear. "But you need to let me in."
Then he pulled Jaemin to him, and kissed him.
It wasn't a tentative question; it was an answer. His mouth was deep and consuming, startlingly tender in a way that robbed Jaemin of his breath.
For a moment, the world narrowed down to the pressure of Seungcheol's lips and the broad solidity of his chest.
This was it. The moment he had been dreaming about for the last four years. His hyung was finally accepting him, accepting the feelings that he had kept buried all these long years, that Jaemin had never felt worthy to speak into existence. He felt like he was drowning in the spaces where their lips met, the sensory overload momentarily eclipsing the ache in his lower belly.
But then he felt cool air hit his skin. Hands were drawing his shirt up, fingers deft and determined at his waistband.
Panic pierced the haze. Jaemin's eyes flew open, struggling to focus. He realized with a jolt of horror that sex was the equation. Doubt flooded through him, cold and sharp, and he started to push weakly against Seungcheol's chest.
This wasn't right. He was a mess. He was sick. This wasn't the romantic, candlelit first time he had dreamed of. He was sweating profusely, nauseated, his body slick and gross.
"No," he gasped, recoiling. "I can't. Not like this. Please, Hyung, I don't feel well—"
But Seungcheol didn't pull back. He pressed closer, his presence heavy and enveloping.
"You need this, Jaemin," he whispered. "It's the only way to help you."
"No, no I—"
Then Seungcheol spoke again, but in a different voice. The tenderness remained, but underneath it, a terrifying, vibrating resonance hummed to life.
"Relax."
The word wasn't heard so much as felt. It slid into Jaemin's mind like silk, bypassing his logic, his vanity, and his fear. His muscles, coiled tight in resistance, went slack before he could will them to. His struggles ceased, his limbs feeling suddenly heavy and pliable.
Seungcheol didn't waste the moment. He laid Jaemin down on the thin mattress, hands moving with a swift, grim efficiency to strip the sweat-soaked clothes from Jaemin's shaking body before shedding his own.
Though he tried to be gentle, lingering on Jaemin's waist and caressing his pale face, a tremor of urgency shook his hands. The heat in the room was affecting him too, sharpening his movements into something primal, something hungrier, as the scent of cherry blossoms in full bloom clawed at his restraint.
"Open for me."
It was a hypnotic, allure-filled whisper. Jaemin felt a tear slide down his face. His mind screamed as his legs parted obediently, trembling as they settled on either side of Seungcheol. The drug of the heat and the power in the alpha's voice began to blur the lines of his memory; he felt a strange, terrifying confusion. He wanted to obey, even as he wanted to run.
Seungcheol moved over him, his own breathing ragged as he caged him in with his arms. The scent of the omega—sweet, desperate, and cloying—was clouding his judgment, triggering instincts he had kept leashed for years.
He looked down at Jaemin, seeing the glaze of tears and the slack, forced compliance, and part of him, the part that loved Jaemin, the part that wanted to treasure him, protect him, screamed at him to stop. He wanted to leave the poor boy be.
But then he remembered the stakes. He remembered his father's icy ultimatum; an empty bank account, the loss of status, the complete erasure of his future that awaited him.
If Jaemin remained free, if he remained a rival, Seungcheol would lose everything. The only way for them both to come out of this still standing was if Seungcheol could bind Jaemin to himself, permanently.
He gritted his teeth hard, hardening his resolve. He would find a way to make right by Jaemin, but right now, it was imperative that he make sure Jaemin and his genius became his. Amends could be made later on.
Resolutely, he lined himself up, and pushed in.
A choked sound tore from Jaemin's throat as his body arched off the mattress. It was a mix of pain and electric, scorching pleasure. The friction quelled the unbearable ache in his lower body, rewriting the script of his resistance. It felt… It felt good. His hyung felt so good inside him, like his body had been waiting to welcome nothing less than this.
Seungcheol's head fell back, a sharp intake of air moving past his parted lips as the tightness of the omega's body sheathed him. It was overwhelming—hot, slick, and impossibly tight. The sensation of finally being inside Jaemin, of possessing him so completely, sent a jolt of euphoria through his nervous system that nearly made his arms buckle.
Biting back a curse, he began to move, first in slow, full thrusts in and out as he carved a new path through Jaemin's untouched, unsoiled body, but eventually picked up speed as he found his rhythm, urged on by a desperate, instinctual need.
Jaemin's hands flew up to cling to him, but the omega's rational mind—the part worried about sweat and romance—shut down completely. Biology usurped reason, and he stopped thinking about the cure, and started reacting purely on long-buried instinct.
The friction sparked a fire that burned away the shame, leaving only a burning, primal need. Jaemin's hands, previously pushing Seungcheol away weakly, now clawed at his shoulders, whining high in his throat, begging for more.
The feeling of them entangled, Jaemin's heat, his wetness, his scent, his sounds—it was too much. Seungcheol felt his own control fray, and then snap. The facade of duty shattered; he was taking what he wanted, driven by raw, ravenous hunger. Even as the rhythm of his hips grew frenzied, he leaned down to bury his face in the crook of Jaemin's neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of cherry blossoms, losing himself in the rhythm of their colliding bodies.
As his climax approached, he saw Jaemin's eyes widen at the feeling of Seungcheol swelling larger inside him, a flicker of shock returning as the intensity became too real, too sharp.
"Hyung—Hyung please, I—" He tried to twist away, overwhelmed.
But Seungcheol didn't let him. With a loud growl, he clamped firmly around Jaemin's throat, not to choke, but to hold him in place. His other hand gripped Jaemin's hip, bruisingly tight, anchoring him to the mattress.
"Stay," he ground out, his own voice fractured, sanity slipping as the edge drew near.
He drove into him, hard and fast, abandoning all semblance of gentle rhythm for something desperate and final. His movements hit the bundle of nerves deep inside, again and again, dragging raw, shattered sounds from Jaemin's throat.
Jaemin felt like he was being split open, his nerves singing with an agonizing, blinding pleasure that bordered on torture until suddenly, he twisted, body clenching tight. He opened his mouth to wail as the forced climax slammed into him.
A hand snapped up, smothering Jaemin's scream and silencing him. Even in his pheromone-drunk state, Seungcheol was still conscious enough to be wary of the thin dorm walls, but he couldn't stop; the sight of Jaemin pinned and shuddering under him only fueled the fire.
He pounded into the omega through the aftershocks, chasing his own release until, with a guttural groan torn from deep within, he finally poured himself into Jaemin.
The release was explosive, shaking his entire frame. He felt his knot lock them together, inescapable.
He collapsed against Jaemin, panting raggedly, but didn't stop there. Even as they remained knotted, Seungcheol shifted, his hot breath fanning against the nape of Jaemin's neck as his instincts drew him upward.
"Mine," he slurred into the damp skin of Jaemin's shoulder, half-delirious. "You're mine."
Then, for a split second, he paused, staring at the pale, smooth expanse of skin at Jaemin's nape.
Once he bit down, Jaemin would never be the same again. The wild, chaotic artistic spirit that defined him would be tethered. It was the symbol of Jaemin's freedom, the only part of him that was truly his own—and Seungcheol was about to take it from him.
"Let me," Seungcheol rasped, his fangs grazing the milky skin. "Let me claim you."
Jaemin had gone limp long ago, his eyes half-closed, chest heaving. He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Tightening his grip on Jaemin's shoulder, Seungcheol spoke again, his voice absolute and crushing.
"Accept me."
A sob racked through Jaemin's chest. "Yes." A whimper, squeezing muffled through the spaces of Seungcheol's fingers.
At the word, Seungcheol didn't hesitate; he opened his mouth and laid his claim on the omega with a possessive finality.
As the alpha's fangs sank in deep, Jaemin cried out against the hand still muffling him. It was a visceral shock—skin breaking, drawing blood.
But immediately following the sharp agony was a sudden, flooding rush of endorphins and dopamine. The bond snapped into place like a steel trap.
It was a chemical crash, rewriting their biology in real time. Seungcheol groaned, his senses exploding as he was engulfed by Jaemin—he could taste his thoughts, feel his heartbeat, smell the very composition of his blood filling his mouth.
But for Jaemin, the world didn't burst into technicolor. There were no fireworks. Instead, the world went gray. The searing heat of the fever vanished, but so did the vibrancy of the room. The pain dulled instantly, replaced not by joy, but by a heavy, blanketing numbness. It was an anchor, dragging him down into the silt.
Gradually, Seungcheol pulled back. He didn't move away, but stayed close, lapping at the blood still flowing from the bite mark, soothing the wound he had just created with an animalistic tenderness.
Jaemin tried to blink open tear-filled eyes, his vision swimming. He felt hollowed out.
"Is it over?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
Seungcheol raised his head. He looked down at Jaemin, unaware that his own lips were stained with blood as he wiped a smudge of tears from the boy's cheek.
"It's done," he whispered. Then his final command fell, heavy and inescapable:
"Sleep now."
In the very next moment, Jaemin's eyes rolled back in his head. He gave a deep sigh, part relief, part heartbreak, as darkness rushed in to meet him, pulling him under instantly.
The last thing he saw before the gray turned to black was Seungcheol's face, hovering above him, watching him fade with an expression of deep pain, heavy regret, and a dark, resolute triumph.