Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9197438.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster/Min_Yoongi_|_Suga
  Character:
      Min_Yoongi_|_Suga, Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, So_the_underage_tag;_let_me
      explain, This_story_involves_a_twelve_year_old, mastrubating,
      Masturbation, I_tried_to_only_include_the_details_I_needed_to, It's_a
      subgender_presentation_story_but_also_character_background, so_I_was_very
      conflicted, It's_super_awkward_though_so_there's_that, Alpha_Min_Yoongi_|
      Suga, Omega_Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster, That_wasn't_even_an_available
      tag?, I_had_to_make_that?, Wow, Emotional_Abuse, kind_of, and, Bad
      Parenting, I_am_still_not_good_at_this_tagging_system_wow_I_am_so_sorry,
      If_you_need/want_me_to_tag_something_else_just_let_me_know, Sex, Illness,
      Death, Family_Drama, I_don't_want_nice_things_apparently, Mpreg, Come_on
      it’s_an_ABO_M/M_fic_how_can_there_not_be, Blood, It’s_been_so_long_since
      I_wrote_sex_please_forgive_me_it’s_so_terrible, Minor_Character_Death
  Series:
      Part 2 of Along_the_Way
  Collections:
      Haru_finished_works
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-04 Completed: 2017-01-10 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 25519
****** Look Closer ******
by CynoDemure
Summary
     Growing up is difficult, especially when everything you thought you'd
     be is nothing what you turn out as.
Notes
     This story kind of starts in present day, then jumps back to the
     past, then starts moving forward only to jump back a little bit, then
     bring us almost up to where we find Extra Large.
     Wow, I’m sure it’s easier to figure out when you read it. Hopefully.
     This series is not going to be in any chronological order, but that
     shouldn't be too much of a problem since all the stories are
     independent of one another. Once I start getting more parts, I might
     make a timeline of the stories so it's easier.
     This one might also get a second part? I’ll say it’s finished for now
     because it can stand alone. But it might have a second chapter some
     day soon.
     I’m also going to warn you; there’s a scene where an underage child
     (12) gives himself a handjob and it’s kind of descriptive. I tried to
     put the right kind of warnings in the tags, but just so you know.
     At the end, there are going to be a lot of notes. The majority of
     these are just me explaining in more detail about heats and rut and
     scents. You don't have to read it if you don't want to, because the
     stories should explain everything you need to know to understand them
     without needing the supplementary information. But, if you, like me,
     are just really goddamn curious about all this shit, feel free to
     read it!
     Also I'm really bad at titles I am so sorry please forgive me I
     promise it has two meanings as far as this story is concerned I
     promise I didn't just pick it at random
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
If he remembers correctly, it was a Tuesday when it happened. But, then again,
what day of the week it was is arbitrary and useless and, honestly, who
remembers stuff like that?
Whatever.
It was definitely in the fall. Almost winter, but not quite time for school to
be let out for the holiday season. His older brother hadn't come home from
university yet, which was a small miracle. The man was relentless with his
teasing and, really, Yoongi had had more than enough of that growing up.
So what if he came out an Omega? Their very own mother was an Omega. There's
nothing wrong with being an Omega.
(Except that, for some people, there is everything wrong with it. There are
some that believe pairing up only Alphas and Alphas for enough generations will
lead to only having Alphas. Which, for this day and age is an unacceptable
thought. All subgenders have the same rights now. They’re all equal.)
(Try telling that to his older brother, though.)
Yoongi just isn't excited to see his brother. Eight years his senior, he thinks
he knows better than twelve year old Yoongi, and, sure, he may know more
information, but Yoongi is definitely smarter. His mother says so, and she's
never wrong.
(“You'll do great things, Yoonyoon,” she tells him. Even as his father mumbles
that Omegas can only do so much--they’re limited. Weaker. Smaller. Yoongi
hasn't presented, and already he's the least favorite child. He supposes that's
to be expected when you're an unwanted surprise seven years too late.
“Even if it's just raising pups,” his mother continues quickly, a little louder
now, trying to block Yoongi from hearing his father's hurtful words, “that's an
amazing, great thing. I mean, look at me? I got to raise you, didn't I?” and
even though he's twelve and technically too old (by his father's standards),
his mother starts to tickle him, kissing his cheeks and forehead until they're
both breathless and red in the face. Yoongi has tears in his eyes from the
laughter and his muscles are sore from the struggling and squirming he'd just
been subjected to.
Sure, he's the one that did the moving around, but it's definitely her fault.)
Whatever the case was, he'd just finished up some homework and was relaxing on
his bed, thinking of taking a nap, when he smelled it. The weather had to have
been nice and the house too stuffy, because his window was open. There was no
other way for him to smell what he did if it hadn't been.
Lavender. Sweet, sticky lavender that coated his nostrils and mouth and throat.
It sat heavy on his tongue and in his stomach, and Yoongi sat up straight on
his bed, head turning toward the rustling curtains. It was probably the best
thing Yoongi had ever smelled in his life. (And this was over his mother's
peppermint scent that reminded him of cold winter days when they'd huddle under
blankets together and sip cocoa with whipped cream and peppermint and cinnamon,
whispering about all the things that make Omegas amazing and wonderful and so,
so important.)
Yoongi swallowed thickly and tried to wet suddenly dry lips, but to no avail.
He was hot, somehow. Sure, his room was always a little too warm, a little too
cramped, but it was just unbearable now. And it hadn't been a few minutes
prior, had it? He surely would have realized had that been the case.
No. No, the heat was new. And it had come with the cloying scent of lavender.
He's no stranger to his dick. Not as a twelve year old whose brother was a
teenager when he was seven. Yoongi’s been getting himself off from the tender
age of ten. He'd told his school friends about it, even, and sometimes, they
discussed new ways to do it and make it feel good.
(That's how he found out spitting in his hand was a good idea, but using
lotion--lotion! Who would have thought?--was an amazing one.)
So that's how he finds himself, door locked and pants kicked to the foot of the
bed, boxers hung around his ankles and back pressed against the towel he's laid
out. He used to forego the precaution of a towel, but his mother wondered at
the need for Yoongi to wash his sheets more often than ever, so he started
using towels to protect his bedding.
(Truthfully, his parents could both smell it. They knew what he was doing. But
exploration was common and, so long as he wasn’t destroying the house or doing
it in public, they weren’t going to bring it up.)
Yoongi had his face turned toward the open window, breathing the smell in
deeply. Each inhale sending a primal pulse through his chest, all the way down
to his cock, that hung heavy in his hand. He wondered, vaguely if this is what
a heat is. Has he hit his first one? It's almost nothing like his mother
explained or prepared him for. Then again, she is a woman. Perhaps it's
different in Omega men. He’s met some, of course. There were a few teachers
growing up. But you never ask almost complete strangers how their presentation
had gone.
Yoongi manages to get almost to the end before he hears the voices out in the
hall.
“Do you smell that, Honey?”
“It smells like someone's hit their heat? It's extra sweet, so it must be a
first one.”
“And someone's gone into rut--.”
Both parents realize at the same time what this means for them. Their child
must have gone into heat. It's early for a twelve year old, but not unheard of.
Sometimes, children as young as ten have been known to present, given the right
circumstances. But now--now. Some Alpha’s found their way into Yoongi’s room
and are having their way with him. He's not even on birth control yet! He's
much too young to carry pups!
Yoongi’s breath hitches to the banging on his door. In fear, his hand
reflexively grips a little tighter. He wants to stop, but he can't. He doesn't
know why, but he can't still his hand as it continues to move. He’s on
autopilot and can’t stop moving.
Yoongi whimpers and finishes quickly and with a start while his father shouts
obscenities through the door. One well placed slam and it comes off its hinges,
crashing to the floor of Yoongi's room. His father is a large man. An Alpha if
there ever was one.
Yoongi would be jealous if he cared a little more. But his mother had instilled
a sense of pride in himself and the eventuality of his Omega presentation. He
wouldn't care how large his father was if he treated Omegas like he sometimes
did.
But right now, Yoongi is panicking. His cock is hard, still, even after he's
come. It's throbbing and it aches and feels much too large in his hand, where
it's gripped at the base. There’s a terrible burning there and he thinks,
maybe, pressure will stop it. He feels as though his skin is being stretched to
the limit. His legs and stomach shake and tremble. From what, he's unsure.
Fear, embarrassment, shame. All three and more, probably.
He’s never felt this way when he’s done. It’s painful and uncomfortable and he
doesn’t know if he should blame the lavender or his parents.
His father stops, nostrils flared and pupils pinpricks against the dark irises.
They glow in the dimness of the room and Yoongi can tell, even from his prone
position, that his dad is angrier than Yoongi’s ever seen. Yoongi wishes he
could move. That he could release his dick and turn away to hide his shame from
his father. From his mother, hovering in the doorway.
From here, Yoongi can see her eyes are wide. Terrified. Confused, perhaps? Her
knuckles are white on the door frame. She’s tense and Yoongi doesn’t know why.
He doesn’t understand what’s going on and why he’s in pain.
The eldest Min isn't the brightest, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out
why the room had the overwhelmingly strong scent of cinnamon Alpha as opposed
to the sweetness of lavender Omega. Sure, there's lavender still, but it's
buried. It’s far away.
(Farther now than it had been before, as the teens parents closed the windows
in their house and have since gotten her to take the proper steps to stopping
the smell. But still, it lingers.)
“Alpha,” his father breathes. He's not ashamed to approach the trembling figure
of his son or to look down at the white of his groin, eyes raking across the
engorged base of the cock that’s still gripped in Yoongi’s right hand.
“He knotted. He's knotted!”
And that's that.
Min Yoongi. Alpha.
Yoongi doesn’t understand it until later that night, after he’s taken a bath in
scent suppressor soap and his mother has cleaned his sheets and sprayed down
his room. His father spends most of the time in his office, and Yoongi can hear
him picking up and putting the phone down.
It takes until he’s tucked himself under warm, freshly laundered blankets
before it actually hits him.
Alpha. All this time and he’s an Alpha.
Strangely, he finds that he’s absolutely and utterly disappointed.
---
His father, much to Yoongi’s surprise, takes him out to celebrate. They go to
his father's favorite restaurant the next day, just the two of them. The man
orders them steak even if Yoongi prefers the chicken. He tells the hostess and
the waiter and the guests in the table next to theirs and the man at the urinal
next to him in the bathroom, even if they can all smell over the suppressor
soap for themselves.
Alpha.
They get him some new clothes, just because they can. They get a few new books-
-none of the kinds Yoongi prefers to read. These are horror and dark and
instructional manuals on fixing furniture and cars and the things his older
brother already knew by the time Yoongi was old enough to remember anything
past his mother’s scent and face and touch.
There was no doubt that his brother would be an Alpha. They taught him
appropriately.
Yoongi learned to cook. He learned to remove stains. He learned the difference
between a running and a stem stitch. He learned to tell types of fabric by look
and feel and scent and which could not survive constant machine washing. He
learned which types of sanitary products worked with sensitive skin and the
difference between the leading medications, Mitsom and Motyal, that help with
half heat pain. He learns about the dangers of suppressors and their long term
use.
He’s lucky he learned how to catch and throw a baseball, but that had more been
his classmates and gym teacher than his father and brother.
Yoongi barely sees his mother the entire week after his presentation. He misses
school, but with doctors excuses. It won't affect his record.
By the time he returns, three days before break, rumors have spread. He's
presented, is the biggest one. After that, there's variation. Most assumed he's
presented as an Omega. He had always seemed the type. Ill as a young child,
small, frail, weak. He could barely keep up in gym class, but prospered in
Korean and History and Home Economics. He was good in maths and sciences, but
not the top student. He'd be an Omega when he returned.
To the surprise of almost everyone, he strolled in with the sharp scent of
cinnamon and the underlying tones of Alpha filtering off of him.
And, to him, those who hadn't presented yet, smelled like babies. Like powder
and milk. It's no wonder people like babies and little kids if they smell like
that--Yoongi adores the softness of the scent he’d never been able to smell
before.
Thinking of it now, he's reminded that his father used to complain about how he
and his brother smelled. Once his brother presented and took on the scent of
his presentation (a hearty smell of pine sap), his father only complained about
Yoongi.
So Yoongi doesn’t bring the scent up. He doesn’t know what his classmates will
think of it.
It didn't matter now, however. His classmates can smell him. They know he's an
adult now, even if he's still in the body of a child. His friends crowd him at
lunch and recess. They ask how the knot felt.
He spills it all, leaving out only the details of his father and mother seeing
him spread eagled and a mess.
He'd rather not tell them that part.
Instead, he recounts the feeling of heat. Of undeniable and sudden warmth that
sparked from his most distal points to settle and fester in his inner core. The
fire that raged in his belly. How he coiled and shook with energy and
anticipation. How the end was the highest he ever went.
And then--then.
Then how his cock swelled in his grasp. The base pulsed and grew, thickening
and hardening until it couldn't stretch the flesh anymore. It was painful.
He'll admit to that. It was so, so painful. But it felt good. A good pain.
His dad said the first knot was always the worst. After, the skin would be
slack around the area, allowing for the expansion to happen easier. Yoongi
can't say he doesn't like the thought of it getting easier.
Winter hits and his brother returns home from school. He takes an immediate
interest in Yoongi that he never had before. They spend an entire weekend
running around outside in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other. His
brothers hit harder than Yoongi’s ever will.
He turns down Yoongi’s suggestion of building a snowman in favor of shoving
snow down the back of the younger’s coat and shirt.
Yoongi complains, but continues to play.
Once inside, though, he seeks comfort from his mother. She has cups of
peppermint cocoa waiting, steaming hot, even though they’re topped with whipped
cream and flecks of cinnamon. Yoongi attempts to curl against her side on the
couch, blanket gripped tight in a fist, ready to cuddle and warm up.
But his brother laughs.
But his brother asks what an Alpha like Yoongi is doing, acting like he's still
a baby.
Or worse.
An Omega.
Yoongi’s face tightens. He furrows his brows and glances between his family
members, unsure and confused. Sure, his father mostly tolerated their mother
since they were mated and she'd given him an Alpha for a first son, but never
had there been such blatant disrespect inside their home.
He expected his father to say something.
And he did.
“Come on, Yoongi. Let's go to the office. We can work on improving your maths
skills.”
Yoongi looks at his mother desperately for a moment, but she waves him on and,
reluctantly, Yoongi follows, blanket and cocoa abandoned in the living room.
---
It seems like everything changes quickly after that. There are no more cuddle
sessions. No more tickles or kisses on the cheeks and forehead until he's a
happy, crying mess. No more cocoa or sneaking him pieces of cake after dinner
and dessert have already finished.
He barely speaks to his mother.
She becomes a ghost, almost. Seen, but never heard.
Hardly seen.
She's present at meals. She's present at events. He sees her cleaning every so
often and knows she washes his clothes because his drawers are always filled
with freshly laundered shirts and pants.
---
That spring, he realized why his brother, when he was Yoongi’s age, had a
rotating cast of friends come to visit and why he, too, would disappear twice a
year, like clockwork.
Biology and evolution hadn't made the smell of heat and rut so insatiable and
then leave the people to their own devices. No, it created a fail safe to keep
them from mating with their own packs. Their own families.
Yoongi’s mother fell into a full heat around his thirteenth birthday, and she
smelled repulsive. Like rotting flesh. He gagged the morning he woke to her
first day, puking into the toilet.
His father had a bag packed for him already and shuffled Yoongi into the car
before it got worse. When he stepped outside, it was as though he were
breathing fresh air for the first time in his life.
“I booked us a hotel for the week, Yoongi. Come on--we'd better get going.”
It wasn't until later that night that Yoongi realized his father intended to
stay with him in the hotel.
“But, Dad,” he started, confused. “Omegas shouldn't be left alone during full
heats. It's not good for them; Mom told me so. A lot. She told me that a lot.
It’s one of the most important things. You need to go home and help her.”
But his dad just shook his head. “She'll be fine, Yoongi. She was fine before
we mated, she'll be fine now. Right now, spending some quality time with my son
is what's important.”
Yoongi scowled. “Dad--.”
“No. Yoongi, I won't hear anything about it again. Stop worrying. You're
starting to sound like an Omega.”
He couldn't believe his ears. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”
“Yoongi,” his father started, using a tone more suited for explaining to a four
year old why you couldn't have ice cream for dinner than the current situation.
“I allowed your mother to take the lead in raising you because everyone thought
you'd present as an Omega. I don't know how to raise an Omega. But the simple
fact is that you're not one. You're an Alpha. And it's high time you start
acting like one.”
Yoongi bristled and, honestly, it surprised his father. His eldest hadn't
fought him on anything. He'd been perfect, listening to any and all commands.
He played sports and was going to be an engineer with a minor in business. His
eldest was perfect.
And then there was Yoongi who, in his adolescent inability to control his
hormones, was challenging him by filling the room with the sharp tang of
cinnamon.
His father bristled right back and Yoongi felt his power flood the room. His
scent clear, but bitter. Sagebrush.
Yoongi stood his ground despite the warning bells in his head.
“Because the way to act like an Alpha is to abandon your mate and Omega when
they need you the most?”
And he turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Yoongi didn't return until a little after midnight. He'd gone out with nothing
but his room key on him, so at least he could get back inside.
His father was still there, asleep on the larger of the two beds, spread out
wide and open, limbs taking up most of the space available.
Yoongi could still smell the strength his father had pushed out and filled the
room with, even after hours had passed. He curled up as small as he could on
his bed across the room, as close to the far edge as possible. He slept and
when he woke, his father was still there.
They spent the rest of his mother’s full heat together, much to Yoongi’s
irritation. He asked every day if his father was going to return to their house
to help his mother, but that just seemed to irk his father to no end.
Otherwise, Yoongi communicated as little as possible with the man, responding
to questions in monosyllables and clipped answers. He could tell he was
angering the man by the smell of the room, but that didn’t stop him from
continuing.
The only good thing was the fact that his mom had a relatively short cycle--
hers lasted only three or four days as opposed to the average five to seven.
(Or, the longer than average ten to thirteen days. Yoongi felt bad for those
Omegas. Most who understood what a heat felt like did.) (Not that Yoongi had
ever felt or would ever feel one, of course. He’d only experienced one rut as
it is, and they’re nothing like what his mother described heats as. And,
besides. It was his first time, and they're the shortest, waning after one
knot, especially without the accompanying scent of heat to keep them riled up.)
Five days after they left, Yoongi and his father returned to the house.
His mother was there, of course. The building had been aired out and sprayed
down with de-scenter. Even so, Yoongi could still smell the rotten undertones
to his mother’s regularly pleasant scent.
Nevertheless, he pressed himself close to her, holding and pushing his face
into her neck, nosing at her scent gland. His father made an unpleasant noise,
but didn’t stop the action. He walked past, scoffing on his way to his office.
The next two days were spent with Yoongi attached to his mother’s hip. He’d
missed five days of school and it was the weekend once more. He’d have to go
back on Monday, but for now, he tried to throw as much attention onto his
mother as he could manage.
He had to make up for her being ignored completely during a full heat. For her
being touch starved and abandoned when she needed her mate.
He scented her and let her scent him, chins and necks and wrists rubbing
against available skin. It’s a bonding typical of Alphas to their Omegas or
Betas, used in the past to claim. It’s common for Omegas to scent each other in
friendship and parents to scent their children--his mother used to do it before
he went to school each day, running her hands through his hair and letting her
wrists linger on his scalp or scratching and rubbing at his neck with her palm
and wrist and fingers.
He always reveled in the scent of peppermint.
Rarely did he smell of sagebrush.
---
His father was noticeably unhappy with the turn of events, but he didn’t say a
thing about it.
---
As the year drug on, more of his classmates presented. The Alphas started to
segregate themselves from the Omegas, chattering about how frivolous the games
they, themselves, had been playing just the day before were, now that Omegas
were continuing to enjoy themselves with them.
Yoongi hung back from them all, choosing to keep himself out of the mess. Side
with the Alphas and turn into his father. Side with the Omegas and be outcast
for the rest of his school life. It was a tightrope walk and Yoongi never had
the best balance.
He was conflicted. An Alpha raised up to be an Omega, taught to see the world
from the point of view of someone who, though equal in the eyes of the law, was
often not seen as such by society.
And, in a flash--as quick as lightning strikes--, he was tossed up from the
semblance of non-oppression into the world of the Higher Class.
But that bolt struck brush and Yoongi felt the wildfire burning deep inside
him.
He doesn’t know it--he’s thirteen. He’s young. He’ll make mistakes.
But the ashes carry the scent of peppermint in the wind.
---
Yoongi’s father sends him away each time a full heat comes to his mother. Most
times, his father goes with him, sharing hotel rooms or vacation times, if
there’s no school. When Yoongi comes back, he sits with his mother any chance
he gets. He cooks with her, helps do cleaning and laundry. He scents her and
lets her scent him.
Peppermint and cinnamon. Their hot cocoa dates in the winter.
His mother's once regular full heats become an irregular mess. She's not
getting as much help with them as she should and her body is trying to
compensate. It has them come at random, almost, trying to catch her and any
nearby Alpha off guard. She has a few days warning, but sometimes it’s not
nearly enough.
One day, Yoongi’s father drives her to a doctor's appointment. When she comes
back, she has a pill bottle that Yoongi inspects the first chance he gets.
“You made her get suppressants?” he's fifteen now. He can control his hormones
and, yet, still, he floods the room angrily when he and his father fight.
“Those are dangerous on their own, but even more so after the age of forty.
What are you thinking?!”
His dad looks tired. More than Yoongi remembers ever seeing him. “This isn't up
for debate. I didn't make her. She agreed. It's better this way. We can stop
leaving when she goes into full heat because she won't anymore. It's that
simple.”
“No. What's simple is that you could just do what a good mate should do and
help her.”
His dad growls and narrows his eyes. After a moment, he stands. Three years
later, and Yoongi still hasn't grown much. His father had hoped he'd get
something out of presenting. That the extra hormones inside would fix Yoongi.
That they'd turn him into an actual Alpha.
Instead, he's just as skinny. Just as short. Just as scrawny.
Just as much an Omega as the day he popped his knot.
“We're done here, Yoongi. I won't have you disrespecting me in my office. My
own home. Not over something so trivial.” Everything smells of sagebrush. It's
thick and clogs Yoongi’s senses. He backs up a step as his father takes two
forward. “One more outburst and that's it. You're gone. Are we clear?”
Yoongi growls deep in his chest, but it's more defensive than aggressive and
his father knows it. Yoongi tries to push out more of his scent, but he's not
mature enough to overtake his father's, so he stops. He knows what a challenge
looks like. “But,” he tries, and is cut off when his dad speaks up and over
him.
“No. You will shut up and you will start acting like an Alpha. I thought I was
lucky to be given two, but you, as it would seem, are just a disappointment.
You always have been and I won't be dealing with it anymore. One more outburst
and you're done. Now get out of my office, or out of my house.”
And Yoongi goes. He'd love to really leave, but he can't. He has no money and
nowhere to go. He has no employable skills to speak of.
And he can't leave his mother like this. With this man who claims to be his
father.
So instead, he sits with his mother in her sewing room and helps her organize
fabric. Stops every little while to rub his chin against her skin, trying to
replace sagebrush with cinnamon. It will never fully work, thanks to the bite
on her shoulder, but even a little bit will make him happy.
At least he knows his father will always smell slightly of peppermint from his
own bite wound. He can never escape, just like his mother, both trapped in an
unhappy marriage.
Yoongi doesn't blame himself, though sometimes he thinks he should. If he had
been an Omega, it somehow would have been easier. He would have at least lived
up to his father's expectations. But it is what it is and he can't change or
control it.
So he moves on.
---
The first chance he gets to move out, he takes. He asks his mother to come, but
she's stubborn. Yoongi realizes he got it from somewhere, and it wasn't his
father.
It's a quiet sort of stubborn. It festers and it waits, building until nothing
can topple or overtake it. She's been building since Yoongi was twelve and
that's all there is to it.
Because if she's stuck here, so is his dad. He can't leave her. Not
permanently. For heats, yes. For a weekend or a week for work, yes. But if he
leaves her for good, he'll be a social outcast.
Yoongi recalls sitting on a bench at the park when he was eight, his mom
peppering kisses around the bandage she had to put on his scraped knee. The
couple that the child who pushed him off the slide belonged to had started
yelling and the Alpha had slapped her Omega across the cheek. Yoongi had asked
his mother why the man hadn't done anything to retaliate.
“Omegas aren't usually as strong as their mates, Yoonyoon,” she speaks
carefully and quietly. It’s not a lecture, but a gentle lesson and Yoongi knows
this voice, so he sits up straight and he listens, trying to commit the words
to memory. “We fight back in other ways. The best is to simply do nothing.
Imagine what would happen to the house if I stopped doing laundry? If I stopped
cleaning the bathroom?”
Yoongi can imagine it, and he sticks his tongue out and wrinkles his nose up to
the idea. “It would be really smelly.”
His mom runs her hands through his hair and leaves peppermint in her wake. She
drags him toward her by gently pulling on the back of his neck and presses her
nose into his immature scent gland, breathing in the milk and powder for a few
seconds before pulling back.
“The smelliest. Now go on. You’re fine. Run and play.”
---
“Yoonyoon, my baby,” she's soft, still. Touches his face with a palm and leaves
a patch of peppermint on his cheek. “You'll do great things, remember?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, moving forward to rest his head in the junction of her neck,
breathing in more sharp peppermint and letting it flood his senses until all he
can smell is her. It's been so long since his father touched her, his sagebrush
is virtually nonexistent. It's a small relief. “Like raise pups. You did great
things like that, Mom. You raised me, and I'm pretty awesome, right?”
She laughs. Yoongi wants her to kiss his cheeks and forehead and tickle him
until they both laugh so hard they cry and his muscles are sore from the
wiggling. But she doesn't. Instead, she steps back.
“Visit, maybe. Not too often. But enough. Call when you get the chance. If you
ever need anything…”
“I'll call. You call me if…,” he lets it go unsaid, but she nods, taking
another step backward and to the house.
Yoongi drives away in an old car he bought with money he saved from a summer
job, looking back into the rear view until he can't see his house anymore. His
mother stands outside for a few minutes after he's out of her sight, then
sighs, turns, and returns to the house, hiding out in his bedroom to soak up
the last remnants of cinnamon she can.
Seoul is far from Daegu. It's a good distance and a good drive. Yoongi thinks
about a lot of things during the three hours it takes to get to the new city.
He's not just going to run away. That would give his father too much
satisfaction. No, he's been accepted to a university in Seoul and is renting an
apartment off campus where he can live year round. He won't have to go home
unless he wants to visit his mother.
He plans to call every Friday, at the very least. That's the day his dad works
late and his mother has less of a chance to be bothered about speaking on the
phone.
He hasn't picked a field of study. Once he was accepted as undeclared, his
father had tried to speak with him again. It was the most they talked since his
mother was put on suppressants three years prior. Yoongi responded with sharp,
single syllables and his father got mad and told him to get out of his office.
Good old Dad.
---
Yoongi doesn't mind being alone. Not really. As it turns out, that's how he
spent a lot of his time. Looking back on his life, if he wasn't with his mother
or at school, he was pretty much alone.
It doesn't bother him. He's fine.
There's less he has to explain if he keeps to himself.
So he goes to his classes and he talks to his professors when he needs to and
his classmates when he has to for homework and projects or missed notes.
Everyone here is just as segregated as they were back home. Omegas hanging out
with their own kind and Alphas with there's. Betas intermix, but that's always
to be expected. Yoongi only had four Betas in his class, and they were pretty
nice. They would have kept the peace if all their friends prior to presenting
hadn't been Alphas.
It didn't matter in the end, Yoongi decides. He'll find something he likes
doing and graduate and make money, and if he finds someone, he finds them. But
he’s not going to look.
Being alone isn't so bad.
---
“You smell really nice, you know?”
Yoongi’s nose twitches and he takes a breath. It's floral, which would have
most people thinking Omega, but that's not always the case. He had one girl in
his graduating class that presented as an Alpha with the scent of fresh butter
cups. She'd been teased relentlessly for a few years, but it tapered off toward
the final few.
But, as it were, this flowery scent is laced with Omega sweetness, so Yoongi’s
first impression was right. “Sorry,” he starts, shifting in his seat, “I'm not
looking for a mate. Or a date.”
“Neither am I?” Yoongi turns his head to look up--and has to keep looking. The
Omega’s head is not where he expected it to be, and it turns out, the man is
taller than originally assumed. Taller than Yoongi is, at least.
Yoongi wets his lips and leans, pulling his books closer to him and opening up
space at the small table in the cafeteria. He knows it's crowded at this time
of day, and he feels a little bad for taking up an entire table, even if it’s a
two seater.
The Omega sits down, a little surprised, and extracts his own books. Yoongi
raises a brow. “Physics? That's not generally a class most Omegas take.”
“Well, I’m not most Omegas. And I could say the same for Alphas and psychology.
Isn’t that typically a Beta-dominated field?”
“Well, I’m not like most Alphas.” Yoongi purses his lips and turns his head
back down to his book. It’s hard to concentrate now, with the Omega sitting
across from him. Not that he’s doing anything--no. Like Yoongi, he’s just
reading. Just studying. But it still bothers him, if only for one reason.
Yoongi takes another breath. “What is it? Your scent? I--I know what it is, but
I can’t quite place it.” He’s smelled it before, but can’t remember where.
“Oh--Jasmine. It’s jasmine. It took us ages to figure out what plant it was. My
mother took me to every nursery and florists in the city. Eventually, someone
in our apartment building said it reminded her of a garden her father used to
keep because it was overrun with jasmine. And there you go.” The man shrugs and
Yoongi nods along. It’s a cute story, really. At least the Omega knows what he
smells like. Some people go their whole lives and never find anyone who can
accurately place the scent.
“Well, it’s...nice.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
They fall back into quiet studying for a long while. It’s surprisingly
comfortable for them both (the Omega more so than Yoongi). A few times, one of
them gets up to get something to snack on returning to munch and quietly study.
Yoongi watches the Omega pluck pickles from three, separate sandwiches as he
brings them to the table, one by one, before he speaks up again. It’s been an
hour and a half of comfortable silence, broken only by chewing, page turning,
and pencils scribbling. “You know you can just ask for them to take those off?
Or get one specially made without any on it, right?”
The other man looks up, offering a nervous smile. There’s an embarrassed flush
across the bridge of his nose. “Sorry--sorry. It’s my half and I love pickle
juice? It’d be better if they were those little whole pickles, but you know.
This works.” He stops talking until he’s finished the sandwich, then continues.
“Sorry--it’s just--sometimes, during half heats, Omegas will--.”
“Get strange cravings that make up for the fact that they basically don’t eat
during a full heat. Yes, I know,” it comes out a little more impolite than he
means it to and he apologizes quickly, head ducking down to accompany the
words. He’s used to his mother quizzing him, even after he presented. She’d
question him, just to make sure he remembered.
Yoongi hadn’t understood why until this very moment.
The Omega licks his lips. “I’m Kim Namjoon; Omega. I turned eighteen in
September.”
Yoongi blinks a few times. “Min Yoongi; Alpha. I’ll be twenty in March. I’m
from Daegu.”
“I could’ve guessed from the accent.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
They go back to studying for a little while before Yoongi closes his book more
forcefully than he meant to. It almost startles his tablemate, but not quite.
He starts packing everything carefully into his bag while Namjoon watches him.
When he’s finished, Yoongi stands and blinks down at the other.
“Come on. I’m going to buy you a jar of whole mini pickles so you can have the
juice.”
A pause. “Will you eat the pickles?”
“Don’t push your luck,” he pauses, then as an afterthought, he teases with a
hesitant whispered, “Alpha.”
Namjoon snorts, stuffing his books and folders into his bag without much care.
“Omega.” It’s not meant to be degrading. It’s a play off of Yoongi’s joke. But
Namjoon still tenses his shoulders, suddenly prepared for the worst.
Most Alphas aren’t fans of being called anything but. It’s a dangerous game
Namjoon’s just gotten himself into.
The wind shifts.
Yoongi laughs. He grins. He can practically see Namjoon’s worry and fear
deflate as he lets out a heavy breath.
Yoongi could swear he smells peppermint at the same moment Namjoon’s hand
accidentally brushes his when they cross the street on their way to the closest
store. There’s certainly a fire raging in his stomach.
“I might be able to stomach all those pickles. We’ll make it a challenge for
each jar I buy.”
“Sounds like a date.”
“I thought you weren’t looking for one of those.”
“Just because you’re not looking doesn’t mean you won’t find something.”
Chapter End Notes
     If you wanna follow me on tumblr you can find me at SeriouslyExcited.
     You're more than welcome to ask me any questions you'd like to!
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Alrighty. So I made a second part. I couldn’t help it.
     This starts a few months after the last one. They pretty much met
     early fall at the beginning of their first year of college at the end
     of the last chapter and this starts that first winter. Namjoon
     started college a year early, btw. I don't think I explained that
     last time, but he and Yoongi are in the same year, but he's a year
     younger age wise.
     And if you're confused, they didn't really start dating at the end of
     the last part. They just started hanging out.
     And everyone seemed to like his mom and that makes me really happy???
     But um. Right. Yeah. Um.
     Gonna be blunt: there’s sex, but everyone is legal now, so we’re all
     good. Along with the sex is a lot of fluff and some angst and I don’t
     want my ABO series to be all about sex because, while that’s good
     stuff, I would like it to have some substance as well.
     I tried to balance it out? We’ll see how it goes.
     It’s also been a long time since I wrote a sex scene, so please
     prepare for the worst, ahahaha.
     This got long and it went in directions I didn’t expect? Jesus. Why
     does this always happen to me? It got so much more angsty than I
     wanted it to. I am so sorry I tried to end it kind of happy???
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It had started small, as most things do. Honestly, it had started long before
he noticed, so there’s no telling when it actually began. In the end, the
‘when’ doesn’t matter; just the now.
The first time Yoongi noticed the lingering floral scent, it wasn’t even him
that figured out. His landlord had been in to fix a leaky pipe--Yoongi hadn’t
quite figured that stuff out yet. He was learning, but he wasn’t quite
confident enough to do something as important as leaky pipes on his own--and on
his way out the door, he offhandedly mentioned that Yoongi’s new friend
reminded him of his sister's scent.
And that was that.
He was confused at first--new friend? What did that even mean? And, on top of
that; what scent? Yoongi’s apartment smells of himself and only himself. The
scent of cinnamon is almost overpowering from the simple fact that he’s in here
at all times when he’s not in class or at work.
And maybe because he doesn’t like wasting time with de-scenter spray when it’s
just him. Sure, if he had a roommate, it’d be different, but right now, he
lived alone and hardly had anyone over.
So the landlord was crazy. That’s all there was to it.
Yoongi took a deep breath as though trying to prove the man wrong and nearly
gagged at the strength of the smell.
Oh.
Jasmine.
He flushed and started rooting around the small front room, trying to find the
source of the scent. If it was lingering that strongly, there must be something
here that belonged to Namjoon and--ah!
It was a scarf. No wonder Yoongi had gagged; scarves constantly rubbed against
the scent gland and, typically, were repositories of scent. The scent was
strong and, honestly, how had he not noticed it before?
Yoongi pondered on it while he balled the material up in one hand, moving to
hang it over the back of a chair at the table in the corner. He’d have to
remind Namjoon to pick it up the next time the Omega dropped by, but for now,
it could stay.
He was still stuck on it though; how had he not noticed the scent?
It bothered him for the rest of the night and, as he worked on a research paper
for his child psychology course, he couldn’t help stealing glances at the soft
fabric hanging only a few feet away.
He didn’t sleep well until he’d retrieved the scarf from the kitchen chair and
hung it on a hook in his room.
He woke with his nose buried in his hands, breathing the now-faint remnants of
jasmine. It startled him enough to jerk up and out of bed, legs tangled in his
blankets and sheets to the point that he couldn’t get his footing and he
tripped, hitting the ground harshly, hands bracing himself as best they could
on the carpet.
Namjoon asked about the rug burn when they met for lunch, brows furrowed in
worry. “I mean--I don’t want to pry or anything. Alpha and Alpha relationships
are totally normal and--.”
“God, Namjoon. No. No. I’m not fucking another Alpha. I tripped over my bedding
this morning when I got up.” Yoongi’s cheeks were a little pink to the
admittance and he wondered, for a moment, why he hadn’t lied.
“Yeah? What had your dick in a knot, then? Realize you wanted to change your
major? Again? What is this; the seventh time in half a year?” There’s a snort
and Namjoon stuffs a spoonful of tomato soup into his mouth.
Yoongi wrinkles his nose up and turns his head away. “I’ve only changed it four
times, thank you very much. And I--I think I’m going to stick with this one. I
like it,” a pause. “But, no. I, uh--,” a shifts. “There was a spider,” it’s
quick. A lie if there ever was one.
Namjoon stares, spoon in his mouth a little too long while he processes the new
information. He pulls it out with a wet pop and tilts his head to one side. “A
spider.” The words come slow. He’s not done figuring this out. “A spider? Like.
A little bitty spider?”
“I...thought that it was poisonous.”
“Firstly; it’d be venomous. And secondly--a spider? A spider sent you into such
a tizzy, you tripped out of your bed and got rug burn on your palms?”
“Oh, shut up,” Yoongi stands up, glaring down at the man. “I’m going to go get
something else to eat; this pizza is shit.”
“It’s always shit,” Namjoon calls after him, but he reaches over to pick up the
slice, biting down into it to taste.
By the time Yoongi returns to the table with a bowl of mango rice, the pizza
and soup are gone and Namjoon’s already slurping down noodles. Yoongi doesn’t
know how it’s all fitting in his mouth, but he knows how it’s fitting in his
stomach.
“I have to work tonight; you want me to pick up any snacks for you or something
when I’m on my way out? Your dorm’s not that far out of my way.”
They both know it is. Neither bring it up.
“Now that you mention it,” Namjoon starts, still chewing. He covers his mouth
politely with a hand and Yoongi is a little more than relieved. “If you could
get me some cheese sticks? Those, like. Shreddable kinds you pull apart to eat?
Or maybe licorice? I don’t know. Just something. I’ll text you if I think of
something I want more?”
Yoongi nods, already planning on getting both items.
-----
Though he can’t smell it from the outside, the minute the door opens and Yoongi
steps into Namjoon’s dorm room, he has to tuck his face down into his own scarf
and suck in his sharp cinnamon scent. “God, Joonie. Maybe try spraying this
place down before I get here next time?”
The smile he gets in return is both sheepish and apologetic. Namjoon’s holding
the spray can like a weapon, moving around the small room and spraying down
fabric and wood alike. “Sorry--sorry; I forget sometimes that the room is
small, so the scent lingers. Sorry,” he laughs and finishes up by spraying the
mattress a few extra times. He may have washed the sheets and replaced the
plastic cover he has over the mattress, but it’s always best to be careful.
Once the can’s been put away, he turns to eye the bags. Yoongi gives it a
moment before pulling his head out of his scarf and experimentally sniffing the
room. Namjoon’s full heat still lingers, but it’s faint enough Yoongi can
handle it.
“That looks like a lot more than just cheese sticks or licorice, Yoongi.”
“Employee discount,” not a lie. “And they were throwing out the baked stuff
because it expires tonight; I asked and they let me take it,” also not a lie.
He’s not very good at that kind of thing--it’s either that, or Namjoon is just
good at reading him.
Yoongi doesn’t know which is worse.
And it explains why Namjoon didn’t believe him about the spider earlier in the
day.
They sit in the one room dorm for a couple of hours, studying. Namjoon seems to
eat his weight three times over, offering Yoongi bites of whatever he thinks
the elder will like every once in awhile. Yoongi eats them without complain,
lips tugging along the fork or chopsticks or Namjoon’s fingers, depending on
what the younger feeds him with. As darkness really sets in, though, Yoongi
starts to pack his books up.
“I think I should head home; it’s a bit of a walk.”
“You didn’t drive?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “It’s not far enough to need to drive. I’ll be fine.”
‘Because I’m an Alpha’ goes unsaid, but they both know it’s there.
“Alright; well. Text me when you get in? You know I get super anxious after my
fulls,” his nose wrinkles up before another handful of cheetos disappears into
his mouth.
Yoongi manages a laugh and doesn’t think as he drags his hand through Namjoon’s
hair, leaving a streak of sharp cinnamon through the dark locks when he pulls
away. “Yeah, yeah. You know I’d live-text you if it’d make you feel better. But
don’t worry. I’ll text. You just eat up, Joonie.”
The Omega waves a goodbye as his mouth is otherwise occupied, but Yoongi
doesn’t mind.
He texts once he has his shoes kicked off and his coat hung up, one handedly
sending a quick ‘made it’ as he works his scarf from around his neck to join
the jacket on the hook by the door. He’s barely three steps away when the
response of ‘Good; I didn’t want to find any new friends if you’d died.’ comes
in and Yoongi snorts and sends back a ‘cheeky bastard’ as his bag gets dropped
by the ratty second hand couch. ‘You love me and you know it.’ arrives and
Yoongi tucks his phone into his pocket.
Yoongi doesn’t text back until he’s gotten ready for bed; teeth brushed, hair
combed, and face washed. He’s in pajamas and in the process of closing his
bedroom door when he sends the final text of the night ‘yeah. night Joonie.
sleep well.’
There’s no response and Yoongi knows it’s because Namjoon’s fallen asleep.
There’s probably snack wrappers around him on the bed and empty bags and boxes
on the floor beside it. He’ll wake up and crush them in the morning and then
complain about it when they meet up for lunch.
He’d be laughing if he didn’t finish closing the door then, the scarf he’s yet
to return waving with the motion. He’s hit with a wave of stale jasmine and he
freezes, confused. It takes a second for him to remember the scarf and he
glares at it, unhappy that it’s offended him on this otherwise nice night.
Once he’s stalked to the bed and plugged his phone in so it could charge, he
stops, glancing back to the fabric, wavering. He gives in, though, and
approaches, weary, as though Namjoon is watching and judging. But he’s not and
so Yoongi snatches the scarf off the hook and backs his way back to the bed,
falling when his knees hit it.
He drift into sleep with his nose pressed into jasmine.
-----
Yoongi bathes with scent suppressor soap the next morning, making sure to wash
the jasmine from his skin.
When he meets Namjoon outside the dining hall at their usual time, the younger
still smells slightly of cinnamon. Yoongi flushes, but blames the chill in the
air. Namjoon’s brows furrow and he breaths in.
“Why’d you clean yourself so well today?”
Yoongi wets his lips. “I--I kind of smelled like your full and I didn’t want to
walk around like that. I think my coat must have picked it up from yours, you
know?” He knows he sounds nervous and he knows Namjoon is smart enough to know
it too.
“Huh. I thought I sprayed my coat down before I left for class yesterday?” he
tugs at the fabric as they climb the stairs, sniffing it and shrugging. “Oh
well. You’re probably right. I only smell my own heats so much. It’s probably
stronger for you.”
“It is. That few seconds yesterday just about drove me crazy.”
“Oh, what would I have done then, Hyung? If you had just ravaged me?”
“You’d have liked it and my knot. Don’t lie.”
Namjoon chokes on his own spit and turns red. It’s something Yoongi doesn’t see
often enough and he smirks, pushing his shoulders back and continuing to the
register. They’re early enough they don’t have to really wait in line, and
Yoongi doesn’t need to look back to know Namjoon is following him to their
usual sitting area.
They may not get the same table every time, but they tend to like one part of
the dining hall better than the others. Once their coats are hung up and their
bags situated, they separate, heading off to get their first plates and drinks
before saying anything to each other.
Back at the table, Yoongi slides Namjoon a second plate he made, heaping full
of pasta from the side of the cafeteria he goes to, and Namjoon has a slice of
cake sitting off to the side with Yoongi’s name on it.
Neither of them know when they started automatically gathering items for each
other, but they don’t mind. It saves them trips and makes everything run
smoother. So they keep doing it and have stopped saying thank you. The fact
that they get something for each other is thanks enough.
They discuss their classes while they eat, talking about professors and
annoying classmates and unfair assignments.
Namjoon, for his theory of physics, has to write a too-many-pages essay on why
it's an Alpha dominated field. He’s not happy with the assignment. He’s even
unhappier that it wasn’t on the syllabus to begin with.
“I just can’t believe he’s making us do this because I’m taking the class.
Like--that has to be against university policy, right?”
Yoongi slides the rest of his fries over to Namjoon’s plate, lips pursed. “It
is, but only if you can prove it. And, unfortunately, unless you can get him to
admit that’s what he did….”
“I know; I know,” Namjoon sighs, pushing six or seven of Yoongi’s fries into
his mouth at one time. “It’s just shit, that’s all.”
Yoongi can’t disagree.
-----
That night, Yoongi smells jasmine in his dreams.
-----
When the scarf no longer carries Namjoon’s scent, Yoongi gives it back. Winter
is over and spring has settled in enough that some people have begun venturing
out with shorts and t-shirts on.
Yoongi saw a Beta walking around in flip-flops the other day, and felt
personally attacked.
“Why are you still wearing so many layers, Hyung?” Namjoon asks, confused when
he’s passed a freshly laundered scarf. He doesn’t even remember it being his,
it’s been so long. “You just have to take them off when you come over, and it
looks like such a hassle.”
“Well, it’s still cold outside--don’t tell me it’s not. My nose and cheeks are
freezing--so I’m going to bundle up until I don’t have to anymore.”
Namjoon snorts and finally holds up the scarf. “What’s this? It might be too
early in the season for you to abandon your winter stuff, but mine is already
all packed up.” He jerks his thumb to a tote hiding under his bed. Yoongi can’t
see through it, but he’ll believe Namjoon when he says it’s his winter things.
The last thing Yoongi wants to do is poke around, opening non-transparent bins
and find something that will embarrass Namjoon. Even if Yoongi would be fine--
he knows how Omegas handle their heats when they don’t have a mate or a
significant other. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; but Namjoon is Namjoon, and
that’s all there is to it.
“No, it’s--uh. It’s yours. You left it at my place somewhere toward the
beginning of winter and I kept forgetting to give it to you.”
“I’ve been to your place a million times since then!”
Yoongi can only shrug. “I washed it, if that helps any.” Namjoon snorts, but
doesn’t complain. He just puts the scarf in the bin with the rest of his winter
clothes, and settles in to study.
It’s hard for Yoongi to sleep that night and he doesn’t want to admit why.
-----
After he returns the scarf, Yoongi starts a small collection. He feels wrong
doing it, but the scent of jasmine has become so comforting that he can’t feel
too bad.
When Namjoon’s coming to visit and study at his place, Yoongi leaves a blanket
on the couch that the other can sit on or cover up with. When he visits
Namjoon’s dorm, he’ll stuff something small into his pocket--typically the only
thing he can away with are socks, but once, he manages to steal a t-shirt
without the younger noticing.
If Yoongi had trouble getting to sleep, he’d pull one of the jasmine scented
things from the box he stored them in, kept under his bed, and sleep with his
nose and mouth pulling in the sweet scent. He’d have to bath in de-scenting
soap the next morning, but the sleep was well worth it.
-----
With springs nicer weather comes one thing Yoongi hadn’t anticipated hating;
the end of the school year. With May fast approaching, he realized, suddenly,
that Namjoon was talking more and more often of home.
Unlike Yoongi, his family seemed put together and at peace with one another. He
didn’t know much, but just enough to get an idea of the dynamic.
Namjoon’s mother was a male Omega and his father was a male Beta. The chances
of them having a child had been slim but, even so, Namjoon had entered the
world eighteen years prior, healthy and happy.
There wasn’t much else Yoongi needed to know.
For now.
-----
The summer without Namjoon was strange. Yoongi had never depended on the
presence of another person that wasn’t his mother. He’d never grown used to
someone else’s scent.
So, of course, after only ten days alone, he calls his mother.
“Well, he sounds lovely, Yoongi, and I’m a little offended you haven’t
mentioned him before now,” she sounds tired, but she usually does when they
call. And despite her assurances that things are fine, Yoongi knows they’re
not.
“Sorry about that,” a nervous laugh. “And--he...well, he is, Mom. I don’t know.
I just miss him, I guess? I’m used to seeing him everyday--well, outside of his
fulls, of course. Because, well. I mean--you know. You know. But I don’t really
know what to do about it?” He’s pacing and fiddling with whatever he can get
his hands on. A pencil, the paint peeling off the corner of the dresser he
bought at the second hand store down the street, his hair in a mirror. Anything
he can do to keep busy.
There’s laughter over the line and Yoongi would hang up on her if she wasn’t
his mother and he didn’t love her with every part of himself that matters.
“Does my little baby Yoonyoon have a crush? Oh, this is too much. When’s the
wedding?”
“Mom!” He chokes on the breath he takes, sucking it in too quickly through his
teeth. His mom laughs a little more over the line and Yoongi turns scarlet. He
has to turn away from the mirror, too embarrassed to look at himself. “Stop
laughing at me; it’s not funny! What do I do?”
It takes a moment for her to catch her breath. Yoongi suddenly doesn’t mind the
teasing so much; it’s nice to hear her laugh.
“You tell him, Yoonyoon. That’s all you can do.”
“But,” he hesitates and stops pacing. His fingers still where they’ve curled
against the edge of the table in his corner kitchen. “But what if he doesn’t
like me back?”
His mother sighs. “Well, if you really do like him, you’ll realize he needs to
do what he feels is right. And if that isn’t being with you, then you should be
happy with his decision.”
“So I just--I just ignore my feelings and pretend they don’t matter?”
“Oh no, sweetie. Never that. Just--you have to respect him as his own person.
His feelings matter too. And I know sometimes we all forget that, but it’s
important to remember.”
Yoongi pushes out a heavy breath. “You’re right; you’re right. God; you’re just
too smart, Mom. How am I ever going to live up to you?”
“You won’t,” she snickers. “You’ll do better. But just--,” she pauses and
Yoongi knows they’ll finish the call up quickly. “Just keep me up to date,
okay, Yoonyoon,” it’s quieter now. “And maybe think about introducing me later.
I’d love to meet the Omega who’s stolen you from me.”
Yoongi snorts. “No one will ever be able to do that, Mom,” he pauses. She can
here him thinking over the line. “I love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I love you too. Stay safe. Eat well.”
The call ends with Yoongi laughing, but it feels a little bittersweet for its
own good.
-----
Yoongi breaks the next day and sends Namjoon a text at two in the morning. He’s
working as many extra shifts at the store as he can during the summer to get
extra cash for tuition and books, and this shift just happens to be at
midnight. He doesn’t expect a response, especially as quickly as he gets one.
‘is it weird that i miss having you around?’
‘God no; I’ve been struggling to sleep the last couple of days because no one
is here bringing me food. I’m so used to going to bed on a stuffed stomach;
this is torture. My mom sucks at cooking.’
‘i knew it. you only love me for my employee discount’
‘Can you blame me? It’s nice being an Omega with connections. All my friends
are jealous; even Hyung.’
Yoongi snorts and looks up from his register. There are only three people that
work this shift; one to watch the line and greet customers and two to stock and
do general cleaning. They switch off when someone gets tired and, so long as
they get their work done, it doesn’t matter if they play on their phones.
It’s just good to look up every once in awhile.
‘isnt he an alpha, though?’
‘Yeah. But he eats like an Omega coming out of hard heat, I s2g man you
wouldn’t believe it’
‘youre right i dont wheres the proof? thats right you have none’ There’s a
cough and Yoongi turns his head up again. The Beta is watching him expectantly
and Yoongi mumbles an apology. He’d apparently missed her the first time. His
phone is shoved in his pocket and he turns to the register, working to count
out his drawer so they can switch off.
“Sorry,” he laughs nervously and the Beta waves him off.
“It’s fine. Just stop making so many heart eyes at the phone already; we’ve all
been sick of it since day one.”
Yoongi sputters and tries to deny it, but the Beta has no patience for it,
getting herself settled and propping her feet up. She covers her nose and
shoots him a glare when he doesn’t walk off. “You’re putting out too much
scent, buddy. You’ll put me in a quarter heat with all this goddamn cinnamon.
Get going. I stopped in aisle seven.”
Yoongi leaves without much more prompting, apologizing as he turns the corner.
He can’t really complain about being chided. It’s a relief, honestly. To have
Betas (and the occasional Omega) treat him without the kid gloves they usually
wear around Alphas. He feels accepted.
Yoongi doesn’t receive any more texts that night, but he feels a little better
after talking to Namjoon, so that’s what really matters.
-----
They text for the rest of the summer, almost every day. Yoongi often works
double shifts or eight or nine days in a row, and he’s taking one class, so
he’s busy. But he’d never be too busy to text Namjoon back.
-----
‘So how much would you hate it if I asked if I could come back a week or so
early?’
‘huh? why would i hate that, Joonie? have we not spent the last three months
texting each other about how much we miss each other? im waiting so impatiently
for you to get back. i need to spend my hard earned money on more food than i
can eat right this minute’
‘Well yeah, but. I’d have stay somewhere not my dorm since I can’t move in
there early.’
‘oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
Yoongi doesn’t send another response and Namjoon thinks he must have gotten
busy with work or school. But after an hour and a half passes, Yoongi gets
another text.
‘So would it be okay with you?’
‘would what be okay?’
‘If I stayed with you for the week I moved in early?’
Oh.
Yoongi almost drops his phone, which would not have been good--he’s in the
bathroom, texting one handed and holding the phone over the toilet to do so. He
sputters for a moment, though, and curses when he misses and gets the seat; now
he’ll have to clean it.
But that’s not the problem right now.
He puts the phone down on the sink counter and finishes up, wiping the seat
with toilet paper before washing his hands and picking the phone back up,
staring down at the screen.
It’s been about two minutes since Namjoon would have received the notification
that Yoongi had seen and read the text. And if Yoongi knows Namjoon, he knows
the Omega is wringing his hands right now. Clenching and unclenching fists and
gripping them together, only to shake them out a moment later.
It’s a nervous, anxious tic and Yoongi’s seen it often enough.
(No matter how smart Namjoon actually is, he still gets some serious test
anxiety, and Yoongi tries to make sure he’s got something sweet to offer him
for the nerves on his tests days.)
Three minutes.
Four.
Five.
Six.
‘sorry i was taking a piss. its fine yeah. youll have full reign of my shitty
couch for a week and all the ramen and expired baked goods you can eat maybe
even pancakes if youre good and dont pee on the carpet’
The response takes a moment and Yoongi worries. Perhaps Namjoon had given up
and abandoned his phone.
‘Sorry; dropped my phone. It does /not/ take you six minutes to piss; you take,
like. Two on average. You know details about what happens to omegas before a
full, so stop lying and just tell me you were taking a shit.’
Yoongi can’t help but laugh. Before he can respond, Namjoon’s sent another
text.
‘Thanks, btw. I’m dying here. My family is really getting on my nerves, you
know?’
‘i know the feeling’
-----
Namjoon leaves most of his stuff at his parents house when he comes back early
bringing only a suitcase with him. It’s only a forty-five drive, so they’ll
bring it with them when he’s supposed to actually move in. He took a train to
the university and Yoongi meets him at the station with a jar of whole mini
pickles.
-----
The first night is only awkward when it’s around bedtime. Namjoon changes in
his clothes in the bathroom and brushes his teeth before digging through his
toiletry bag with a fervour Yoongi hasn’t seen since the last time he saw
Namjoon after a full heat and Yoongi had given him cookies.
“Is everything okay, Joonie?” he doesn’t want to pry or hover, but he’s worried
now. It’s the first time they’re sleeping over and, really, it shouldn’t be
that big of a deal.
But for Yoongi, it is. He has a hidden stash of clothing under his bed. This is
creepy.
“Yes? No?” Namjoon moves back to the main room, pulling everything out of his
suitcase. He checks every zippered pocket and the pockets on all the clothes be
brought, clearly distraught. “Shit--fuck. Fuck.”
“Hey--hey, calm down? What’s the matter? Joonie, come on,” Yoongi stands behind
the couch, keeping his shoulders relaxed and his scent in check. The last thing
he wants is his worry to worry the Omega more. “Talk to me here.”
“I think I forgot my heat regulators, Hyung.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Yoongi swallows, shifting his weight.
“It’ll...be okay, right? Like--it’s just a week. It’s not that bad, right?” He
knows it is. Heat regulation is sensitive business. Missing a couple of days
can throw an Omega’s system out of whack easily, and that’s never fun.
(Yoongi remembers, once, when he was five, he flushed his mother’s regulators
down the toilet. He’d gotten scolded by both his mother and his father, and his
mother had to go to call into the pharmacy to get them to fill the prescription
immediately.
The matter had been fixed easily and quickly, but he can easily recall their
worry and anger.)
Namjoon just levels him with a look.
“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing
we can do about it now, okay? Call your mom tomorrow and tell him what
happened. They can bring them down--or I’ll drive you up to get them. It’s an
easy fix.”
“It would be, but they’re out of town until they have to bring my stuff down.”
“Well, it’s your house, Namjoon. Just let yourself in with your key.”
“I don’t have one.”
Yoongi stares blankly. “Why don’t you have a key to your own home, Namjoon?”
The Omega looks away and glares at the wall, cheeks pink. “And give me another
thing to lose? Yeah; not likely.” He sighs after another moment, shaking his
head. “I’ll just--I don’t know. Day one and I’m already messing up.”
“Hey--hey,” Yoongi chides, brows coming together and lips pursing. “Let’s not
talk like that, okay? It’s--it’s going to be fine, Joonie. It’s a week--.”
“Ten days.”
“Fine, it’s ten days. You and I will be fine for ten days without your
regulators,” a pause. “You’re not close to a full, are you?” Yoongi’s almost a
little nervous.
“God, no, Hyung. I’m not on suppressants. I wouldn’t have asked to come stay
with you if I could go into full while I was here. I just might hit my half
without my pills though. And I didn’t bring anything for it.”
“You use ‘goAbout’, right? I’ll pick you up a box when I’m at work tomorrow. Do
you use Motyal or Mitsom? I’ll get a bottle of that too. And pickles, of
course. I won’t forget those, though I don’t think I’ll eat too many this time;
forgive me.”
Namjoon stares. “...how...?”
“goAbout is the only brand where the male style comes in pink packaging, right?
Mom used to use it; the women’s kind is purple, though,” Yoongi shrugs.
“Sometimes,” Namjoon starts, watching with an unreadable expression, “you amaze
me, Min Yoongi.”
“Hyung. Min Yoongi-hyung.”
“Min Asshole.”
“Fair enough. I’ll allow it.”
-----
Yoongi wakes up early on the eighth day of Namjoon’s stay with his apartment
smelling more pleasant than it ever has before. He rolls lazily around in his
warm bedding, wanting nothing more than to bask in the new scent. When he flops
onto his stomach, he realizes, quite suddenly, that it wasn’t the scent in the
air that woke him up.
Not really, at least.
No, Yoongi was woken up by his cock, half hard in his pajama pants, being woken
up by the scent in the air.
His cheeks and neck and chest are hot and Yoongi buries his head in his own
pillow, trying to flood his system with his own scent.
“Joonie?” he tries, but his voice crackles awkwardly against the fabric of his
pillowcase. His hips rut down against the mattress without his say so and he
swallows back a whine. “Namjoon?” He tries again, louder this time. When
nothing happens, he tries a third time, head lifting out of the cinnamon he’s
pressed it into to make his voice louder. “Joon!”
There’s a yelp and a thud in the other room, then quiet. After a moment, he
almost calls again, but he can hear Namjoon rushing around the room.
“Shit, fuck. Fucking--fucking shit. Shit. My pants. These were my favorite--and
my underwear! Oh god--fuck--fuck the couch! The couch!”
He’d have continued, but Yoongi growls, loud and low, and everything in the
main room stops. “Worry about that later, Namjoon. Get a shower; use the scent
suppressor soap. I put the tampons in the cabinet under the sink.”
“I’m so sorry, Hyung. I’m so--.”
“Just do it before you smell me and this gets ten times worse for the both of
us.”
Once he hears the shower start up, Yoongi risks moving again. He knows, at this
point he’s not getting out of this situation without getting off, so he might
as well make the best of it, guilty conscious or not. So he reaches to the
nightstand for the box of condoms (he’d learned at some point that they made
clean up so much easier and gave him fewer towels to wash) and starts to kick
his pants and boxers off before rolling a condom onto himself, half hard or
not. It’s not like he’s with someone; if it slips or isn’t on quite right, it
won’t give anyone pups.
Yoongi feels bad when he takes a deep breath, drawing the sickeningly sweet
jasmine in. His eyes flutter shut and he wraps his hand tightly around himself,
giving an experimental tug.
Everything seems to feel so much better and not quite so bad.
He can’t stop the whine this time and it bubbles up and out of his throat, high
and needy.
Yoongi twists his hand and pulls in more air. His thumb presses against the tip
of his cock and he digs it in slightly, tightening the grip the rest of his
fingers have.
The sound of water rushing through the wall behind him only eggs him on more--
Namjoon is in there.
Namjoon, who smells so sweet.
Namjoon, who is so smart and vibrant and perfect.
Namjoon, who is just one wall away, wet and open and receptive.
“Namjoon.”
It’s a loud moan and Yoongi clamps his mouth shut tightly after that, eyes
staring blankly at the ceiling of his room. He stills his hand from pumping,
but continues to adjust the pressure his grip has on his dick, tightening and
loosening at random intervals.
Admittedly, he should feel terrible for that. It’s an invasion of Namjoon’s
privacy, almost, to get off on the scent of his heat. And, really, to moan his
friends name while he’s in the process of? How much lower could he get?
But, even if he’s feeling terrible, saying the name had definitely done
something to him. He had felt the warmth inside him blaze, if only for a
moment. He’d felt fire in his belly and it had been amazing.
So he picks up the pace.
Yoongi keeps the hand tight on his cock and drags it up and down the length,
slow at first. But by the fourth pass, he’s got his heels digging into the
blankets on his bed, trying to find purchase so he can press his hips up and
into his fisted heat. When he manages to do it consistently without slipping or
losing his footing, he pumps faster, tightening on the downstroke and loosening
on the up.
His eyes are closed, but barely. He can make out the first shades of sunlight
starting to peek in through his bedroom window; the sun, creeping up from the
other side of the world, ready to welcome them to a new day. If he were more in
the proper mindset, Yoongi would think it funny--the sun beginning a day and
ending a friendship all at once.
Yoongi comes when a few things happen all at once.
Firstly, there’s a deep breath, pulling in more sweet, sweet jasmine.
Second, he grips the head of his cock tighter than he previously has, thrusting
up at the same time he presses his thumb against the slit.
And thirdly--Namjoon knocks his forehead against the door to Yoongi’s room and
breaths out a heavy-- “Hyung.”
Yoongi arches off the bed, cheeks flushed as his hand movements stutter. He
feels the familiar burning and extremely pleasant uncomfortableness that comes
with a forming knot, moving his hand down to grip and press against the base,
where the slackened skin is stretching to fill with the growing knot. Only when
the knot has fully formed does he stop coming, a full fifteen seconds from the
moment he felt himself tip over the edge.
His hips fall down to the bed and he all but pries his hand away from himself,
letting his arm lay loosely across his bare thighs. Yoongi pulls in deep
breaths to try and calm himself down faster, but the scent of jasmine is still
heavy in the air, mixed now with sex and cinnamon. There’s no way he imagined
that, but just to be sure--
“...Namjoon?” breathless and choked. He’s trying to hide the fact that his
lungs are working overtime to draw in air. It all smells of sweet jasmine and
he’s still adrift on the ocean. A drowning man alone at sea.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says again, less hesitant that the first time. He touches the
doorknob--Yoongi’s suddenly very hyper aware of everything around him and he
can hear Namjoon’s fingers touch the metal--but doesn’t turn it.
“Oh god,” Yoongi manages, trying to sit up, but finding himself unable. “I’m--
I’m just--Namjoon, I--.”
“It’s okay, Hyung,” soft. Understanding. “It’s my fault; I’m sorry.”
“No,” it’s hard and Yoongi grabs his pillow to smother himself with, breathing
in sharply to drown out the jasmine. “No, it’s not your fault, Joonie. Never
blame yourself for your biology and the things you can’t control.” He takes
another breath of his own scent and pushes the pillow away, finally working on
removing the condom and fixing his boxers and pants so he looks somewhat
respectable.
“Then you have to do that too, Hyung. You can’t blame yourself.”
“This isn’t a biological imperative, Namjoon. It’s different. I didn’t have
to.” It’s just hard not to.
Yoongi pushes out a breath and digs through the top shelf of his closet. He’s
uncomfortable moving around so much with the knot still formed between his
legs. It’ll take at least ten minute before the swelling goes down, if not
more, and he really should be laying down to let it run its course.
But there are more important things than his own comfort right now.
“There’s a can of de-scenter under the sink in the kitchen. Do you mind
spraying down out there? I’ll get my room and then I’ll be out, alright? But I
have to get a shower.”
He doesn’t get a response, but he hears the spray can start up, so he knows
Namjoon listened. Yoongi starts on his own room, making sure to get his bed and
trashcan more than anything else. When he feels himself calm down and his dick
is flaccid in his pants once more, Yoongi gives himself a once over with the
spray, making sure to keep it as much off his skin as he can. It tends to burn
when directly applied and, really, is only for the air and furnitures and
fabrics, but he needs his clothes to not smell as though he got off when he
exits the room.
Yoongi balls up some boxers and grabs a pair of jeans, but pauses at the door.
“Namjoon? I’m gonna come out now, but I’m going straight into the bathroom,
okay?”
He waits for a response, but doesn’t get one. Really, he doesn’t want to leave
the room until he knows Namjoon is comfortable with him doing so, but he’s
starting to itch from where some of the spray touched his skin and he just
wants to get clean. So he opens the door and takes a careful step forward.
Namjoon wraps his lanky arms around Yoongi’s body, drawing the elder against
him. He’s dressed, of course, but still damp from the shower. The fabric of his
shirt clings to his torso, especially at his back where he fails to dry it well
enough. His bottoms are loose fitting and drier than the top, which is a
relief, though Yoongi doesn’t know why.
All he knows right now, is a mild sweetness behind the dulled jasmine that is
Namjoon’s scent. He’s the right height so that, no matter which way he tries to
move, his face is pressed close to Omega’s scent gland.
And all he can smell is goddamn jasmine.
“Hyung, please,” Namjoon shivers lightly, gripping his hands into the back of
Yoongi’s shirt. “You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re okay.” Yoongi shakes with him,
trying not to breath in. But Namjoon bends his head to press his nose against
the right side of Yoongi’s neck and breathes in deep, and it’s all Yoongi can
do not to choke out a sob.
He drops his clothes in the process of returning the hug, starting to rub his
cheeks and chin against Namjoon’s scent gland. When he starts, Namjoon follows,
mimicking the actions carefully and slowly, not wanting to startle the other
man.
“Are we good?” they’ve been standing there for a few, quiet moments. Having
stopped scenting each other, they’re just hugging, and though Namjoon doesn’t
mind continuing if Yoongi wants to, he’s also growing a little uncomfortable.
Yoongi does still smell of sex, and it’s not making this any easier.
Yoongi sucks in a wet breath and rubs his cheeks against the other’s neck once
more before pulling back.
“Yeah. Yes--we’re good. Let me get a shower and clean up. Just--make sure my
room doesn’t smell too bad for you, alright? Spray it down more if you need
to.”
And he disappears into the bathroom.
Namjoon had, thankfully, gotten this room with the de-scenter as well, and the
fact that he used the suppressor soap is helping as well.
Yoongi tries to hurry and, really, he’s unhappy because all that time spent
scenting each other and he’s ruining it with the damn soap. Halfway through, he
gets frustrated and has to sit down in the water stream, face in his hands and
pulling in deep breaths to calm down, but he eventually manages to finish the
shower, dress, and leave the bathroom.
He’d forgotten a shirt on the way in and wants to duck into his bedroom, but
has to stop to watch Namjoon for a moment. The man is crouched by the couch
with a wet rag and two bottles--soap and de-scenter. He’s scrubbing harshly and
trying to wash the stain and scent from the cushion he’d slept on the night
before.
Yoongi hears a small sniffle and then he approaches, touching the back of
Namjoon’s head lightly.
“I’m sorry, Hyung. I stained your couch. I knew I should have put something on
before I went to bed last night. I was feeling a little ill and should have
paid better attention--I,” a pause to sniff again. “I was a late presenter, you
know? I didn’t know until I was almost seventeen and by then it was time to
graduate and then go to college and I’m still trying to figure some things out
and now I’ve ruined your couch.”
Yoongi puts a hand gently on Namjoon’s shoulder, stopping him from his
increasingly frantic scrubbing. After a moment, he reaches to move Namjoon’s
hand from the couch and, in a few, clumsy motions, he has the cushion turned
upside down, stained side hidden.
“What stain?” He wets his lips and sits, opening his arms up to the other. “I
had to wash your scent away, Joonie, but I want it back.”
Namjoon obliges readily, sniffling and calming down the longer they share the
couch.
-----
Things are only a little awkward after that. The day Namjoon is leaving to move
into his dorm, Yoongi admits to stealing his clothes and offers them all over,
flushed in the face and trying to explain. Namjoon will hear none of it and
just shoves a different shirt toward Yoongi.
“I’m going to go steal something of yours, and you can have that until the
scent’s gone.”
Yoongi can’t figure out what Namjoon took no matter how many times he goes
through his closet and hamper. Only when they return the old items in exchange
or new ones does Yoongi realize Namjoon had stolen the boxers he had worn the
day Namjoon’s half heat had started.
Both of them turned pink when Namjoon passed them over, mumbling a thank you
for the t-shirt he was being handed.
It became something they fit into their schedule, as simple and easy as their
daily lunches. As regular as meeting up to study, though they never have
classes together. As normal as rubbing hands and wrists against hair and chests
and faces to press their scent against the other's skin.
Once a week, they’d exchange an article of clothing and, eventually, it was
difficult for either to sleep without it there.
They didn’t talk about what happened; it wasn’t necessary. They both know it
couldn't be changed. It was awkward, but they’d gotten past it. That’s what
matters.
-----
“Mom, I think he’s--I think he might ask me to be with him during his next
full. What do I do? I don’t know if I’ll be able to just….”
“Oh, Yoonyoon, that’s wonderful to hear! I told you telling him would work
out,” Yoongi hadn’t explained the entire situation to her. All she knows is
that they’re closer than ever, scent each other, and exchange articles of
clothing. He’s trying to save her the gorey details, despite deciding to ask
her for advice about a full heat.
“Mom. This isn’t the time for that. He--I’ve never--not during a full heat.
That’s such a big deal, Mom. Especially because he presented so late--this
can’t be more than his fifth one, if that. What if I mess up and he gets sick?”
“Yoongi,” his mother sighs. She’s been doing that a lot lately. It’s worrisome,
but Yoongi doesn’t bring it up. “If he asks you, it means he trusts you. It
means he wants to share such an intimate, important part of his life with you.
You don’t have to accept, and hopefully, he’ll be fine with that too. From how
you describe him, I’m sure he will. Just--take it as slow and easy as you can
and make the terms before it sets in. Make sure you tell him you have no
experience dealing with a full, too. You don't want him to misunderstand.”
Yoongi pushes out a heavy breath. “Alright. Thanks, Mom, I--. That’s the door.
It’ll be Joonie. I’ve gotta go, Mom. I love you and I’ll call next Friday.”
They hang up and Yoongi opens the door with a small smile, welcome Namjoon with
a tight hug, sniffing at his scent gland when he’s close enough. He pushes out
a soft breath, content for the moment.
“You're extra sweet today,” Yoongi mumbles when they finally pull away and he
steps back to let Namjoon into his apartment.
“Yeah,” a pause. Namjoon works his shoes off before removing his thin fall
coat, hanging it carefully by the door. “That's…well, it's actually what I
wanted to talk to you about, Hyung.”
Ah. So Yoongi had been right, hadn't he? Namjoon had certainly been eating less
than usual this past week, and yesterday, Yoongi could barely get him to choke
down a slice of toast.
Yoongi swallows thickly and raises his brows, pretending not to have a clue.
“Oh yeah? Well, come on to the table and sit. I'm getting you a glass of water
and you're going to drink it all. No arguing with me, okay?”
Namjoon laughs, a little embarrassed, but goes to the table in the corner
kitchen, pulling a chair out and sitting down, hands starting to wring and
clench.
“Stop that--you'll give yourself arthritis. Now what did you want to talk
about?”
Namjoon settles his hands in his lap, quiet for a long while, trying to collect
his thoughts properly. When he does speak, he’s tugging at the loose fabric of
his sweatpants and the hem of his sweater, clearly nervous to broach the
subject. “So,” a pause, he reaches to touch the cold glass of water Yoongi’s
placed in front of him, just messing with the drops of condensation for the
moment.
“So.”
“So,” Namjoon begins again, a little harder this time. “So, my full is coming
up, tomorrow or the next day. You...you know that, right?”
“I’m aware, yes.”
“Well, I--,” Namjoon wets his lips and pulls the glass toward him. He doesn’t
really want to drink, but he does. He knows Yoongi wouldn't actually force him,
but he’s about to ask for a lot from the man; he might as well try and make him
happy.
The water tastes stale on his tongue and he wants to spit it out, but instead,
he swallows it down. He doesn’t stop until the glass is half empty and Yoongi
is touching his hand to make him lower it.
“I don’t want any confusion,” Yoongi says once the glass is back on the table.
Namjoon pulls his hand away, watching the Alpha through his lashes. He’s
confused at the slight flush across the Yoongi’s cheeks. “Namjoon, I--I really
like you,” Yoongi doesn’t break eye contact. “I love spending time with you,
and I love all the tiny little things about you--like how you really love
pickle juice during your halfs and the way you laugh when I eat the damn
pickles. Or how you always seem to know when I need quiet. Or the way you leave
your scent in my hair….”
He looks away, now. “I really like you a lot. And I don’t want you to...ask
what you’re going to ask without you knowing that. Because I thought I ruined
our friendship once, and I don’t want to do that again. And if it means we’ll
just be just friends forever, that’s okay too. I’d rather...I’d rather have you
as a friend and nothing more than lose you altogether.”
“You’re not going to lose me, Hyung,” Namjoon laughs, just a little. He knows
this is a sensitive subject and not a laughing matter, but he can’t help it--
the thought that he’d leave Yoongi is preposterous. So, when Yoongi looks back,
Namjoon is pink across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. “I--
I know.”
“You know?”
“Well--I mean. I thought? Maybe? What kind of Alpha offers to pick up tampons
for an Omega they don’t like?”
Yoongi snorts. “I was raised to be an Omega, remember? I know this stuff; it’s
nothing.”
“It’s not nothing and you know that.”
Yoongi closes his mouth and looks away. His hands need something to do, so he
straightens up his clothes to keep them busy. He’s never been one to wring and
writhe like Namjoon.
“Would you...join me for my full, Yoongi? You can say no. You don’t have to.
But I...I would like you there. It would mean a lot to me. Having you there, I
mean.”
He knew it was coming--they both knew he knew it was coming--but, even so,
hearing it had a strange effect on Yoongi. His heart started beating double
time and his lungs demanded more air, so he sucked in hard and greedy, filling
them up with too-sweet jasmine. He’s tense and he doesn’t know why.
He can say ‘no’.
He can.
He can.
“I’d love to be there for you, Joonie,” he says instead. “I’m happy that you
trust me enough to invite me into something so intimate. Just--I’ve
never...during a full before. I know what happens and I know what I’m supposed
to do, but...I’ve just never actually….”
“It’s alright, Hyung,” Namjoon is visibly relaxed now. His shoulders aren’t
quite so stiff and he’s stopped playing with the fabric around his thighs.
Yoongi’s surprised he had been worried this much, especially when it concerned
Yoongi. Namjoon knows he can ask him anything, right?
“I, uh. I brought the pills for you, hoping you'd say yes,” Namjoon continues,
reaching into his pocket to pull out a circular ring of medicine. “It's my
brand, just the correct version for you. It's a little late notice, but you can
take up to three a day, even if that’s usually only for forgetting to take it.
So I thought that, maybe, you could take the first three today and then three
tomorrow and we'll see from there when my full hits. It should be within the
next two days or so.”
Yoongi’s honestly surprised that Namjoon put so much effort into this. He
shouldn’t be, but he is. Regardless, he takes the medicine and reads the back,
working to understand the directions. “I've never been in birth control before,
so I hope this doesn't make me ill,” he glances up to see Namjoon’s worried
expression and amends his previous statement quickly. “I'm sure it'll be fine
though, I don't tend to have reactions to medication.”
Namjoon stands up slowly, pausing to take another sip from his glass, if only
to make Yoongi happy. “Would you be willing to meet up at my place? I know you
have scent blockers here, but I'd feel more comfortable there, you know?”
Yoongi nods, agreeing without a second thought. “Of course. You have the other
pills we'll need? The, uh. Vitamins and all that?” Namjoon responds with a
mumbled yes and Yoongi continues on. “Just leave notes on the bottles to tell
me how many I should give you and how often, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Well. I'm gonna get going then. I don't really feel like being out
and about today. I just kind of want to nest. Leaving the dorm to come here was
a task and a half,” he laughs, embarrassed, and is almost to the door when
Yoongi stops him.
“Wait! Here, uh. Take this?” he holds out a blanket he’d just rushed and stole
from his bedroom. It’s folded, but wrinkled. Clearly the one he sleeps with
every night. Namjoon presses his nose into the fabric when he has a grip on it.
Cinnamon. Yoongi. “It'll make it easier for you to accept me into the nest and,
uh. Yeah.”
“I didn't think about that. Thank you. Make sure to tell your professors you're
helping with a heat so you can have work extensions; fill out the paperwork
you’ll need to miss class. I...already put mine in, so what you submit will
match up,” he’s flushed again, looking to the door. “I'll text or call you when
it hits, okay? Oh!” he reaches into his pocket and offers over a key card. “I
got another one from the office so you can just…let yourself in? I probably
won't be able to get up from the nest….”
Yoongi takes the key and nods. “Well. Alright. You just--text me when you get
back to your dorm?”
“Of course.”
------
It takes Namjoon two days before he calls Yoongi. It had been just enough time
for Yoongi turn in his paperwork to the Omega Office about helping with a heat
and for them to email his professors to inform them of Yoongi’s upcoming
absences.
He’s sitting in his Social Justice Class when his phone starts to vibrate and,
usually, he'd just ignore it. But with the chance of it being Namjoon, he pulls
it out to check. In a rush, he accepts the call, even before managing to
stumble out of the classroom, half dropping his books in the process. His
professor would have complained if she hadn't heard Yoongi’s exasperated “Now?”
His response was a breathy, needy: “Hyung. Hyung, please.”
Yoongi somehow lost the notebook for his Korean language class, but he made it
across campus is record time. He'd tried to keep Namjoon on the line while he
ran, but it was hard to concentrate on where he was going when all he could
hear was heavy, labored breathing in his ear.
He had to hang up after he tripped three times and got lost twice.
But, when he gets there, he has a miniature panic attack, searching his pockets
frantically. He could have swore he had the key with him. He hasn't put it down
except to sleep and shower since he got it. And even then, it was next to his
wallet, something he never left the house without. So where was it?
He's thankful he can't smell or hear through the door, as it gives him a moment
to collect his thoughts and take a deep breath of clean air. A door opens down
the hall and he jerks, surprised. It helps to ground him a little more as the
grapefruit Omega walks past, giving him a judgemental look.
He wonders how he appears and smells to her as she goes. And then he finds the
key card tucked safely in his wallet, where he'd put it that morning in fear of
it falling out if he bought coffee from the cafe across from his apartment
building.
He doesn't quite know what he's going to find on the other side of the door.
He's never seen an Omega in their full heat before. Sure, he's seen porn of it,
but everyone knows porn is exaggerated (and how you can exaggerate something
like a full heat, he isn't sure, but apparently it does), so he doesn't know.
He's worried and scared and, for a second, he thinks about turning around and
leaving.
But he remembers, suddenly, spending a few days twice a year in a hotel with
his father. He remembers how the trips became more frequent and longer and,
without another second of hesitation, he opens the door, all but slamming it
behind him as he steps into the room.
-----
Yoongi doesn't remember what his mother smelled of during her full heats prior
to his presentation, but if it smelled anything like Namjoon does now, he
certainly doesn't understand how his father managed to leave her. This was--
well, if the half heat had been amazing, this was extraordinary. Sharp and
sweet and Yoongi could feel his cock jump at just the first whiff.
Namjoon’s done what most Omega’s in dorms do when they want to nest--push all
the furniture as far from the middle of the room as possible. The bedframes are
easy enough to take apart and put back together, so Namjoon managed to drag the
mattress down onto the floor and pull out the parts of the frame that held it
together. Yoongi can just see the head and foot boards peeking out of the space
between the closet and the back wall.
The curtains are pulled closed and he knows that the windows are locked tight--
one crack and half the campus would be outside howling and offering their
assistance. Instead of the natural light, or even the fluorescent overhead,
Namjoon has his floor lamp turned on. It’s dimmer than if he used either other
available option, but Yoongi knows Omega’s senses are hypersensitive during
their full heats, so he can’t really blame Namjoon.
Speaking of.
The Omega is laying in the large nest of blankets and pillows. Yoongi knows
that, somewhere in there is the mattress from the bed; probably under the
middle part. But from what he can see of it, the entire area is just soft and
warm. Maybe cozy, even.
And then Yoongi finally focuses on the man himself and his breath catches in
his throat. His head is toward the door and his legs spread in the direction of
the window (Yoongi can only think: ‘small miracles’). He can’t see his hands,
but the arms are stretched down and he can see them moving in a way that tells
Yoongi all he needs to know about Namjoon’s current situation: he’s doing what
unmated and unhelped Omegas do during their fulls--using whatever means
necessary to lessen the scorching fire beneath their skin.
Yoongi should be embarrassed. He’s walked in on Namjoon pushing and pulling a
fake dick into his body. He should be mortified.
But he’s not.
No, it’s normal. It’s usual. It’s probably what Namjoon has done all the
previous times he’s been through this.
(Yoongi’s read that, as a whole, it’s unsatisfying. The toys get the job done,
but usually leaves them feeling as though they got nothing out of it. Like
practicing for months and winning the race--only to have trophy go to the
second place finisher.)
“Namjoon?” Yoongi suddenly tries. His voice is dry and crackles through his
teeth, but he doesn’t know if Namjoon realizes he’s made it. Yoongi tries not
to breath. He tries to pull in as little air as possible. It’s fragrant and
potent and much too much.
He almost closes his eyes to calm down. He’s glad that he didn’t--he would have
missed the look he gets.
Namjoon’s face has been pressed into a red quilt (Yoongi realizes, with mild
pride, that it’s the blanket from his bed, positioned in the nest to be right
by Namjoon’s nose) until Yoongi speaks. When the word leaves his lips, the
younger moves his head slightly, turning it to look at the ceiling before,
slowly, leaning it back. His neck stretches and, from another angle, Yoongi
could have seen it. Could have watched his adam’s apple bob. But as it is, he
sees Namjoon’s blown pupils watching him through thin lashes, his eyes half-
lidded. Sweaty bangs are flopped back, leaving his forehead and eyebrows
visible (which is not a sight Yoongi sees often). His arms don't stop moving
and Yoongi can tell from the sharpness the movements have taken on that
something has certainly changed for the other.
“Hyung,” it’s a breathy whine. Yoongi stiffens. He swallows. He finally allows
himself to breath.
“W-what do you need, Joonie?” it’s soft. He’s doing what he can to hold back,
even if there’s a part of him that screams to do the opposite. To demand. To
dominate. To take. Take. Take.
Take.
Namjoon doesn’t respond past a keening whine. There’s a stutter of air expelled
from his lungs. His arms speed for a second before slowing to a stop. He lays
there panting, limbs shaking and eyes unfocused. Yoongi doesn’t move past
taking another breath. A hard shiver runs from the top of his head to his toes
and he realizes he didn’t take his shoes off.
So he does, kicking them back toward the door.
“What do you need,Namjoon.” A little more sure. He doesn’t know how long it
took Namjoon to call for him--perhaps he’d tried to handle the heat on his own
only to find it was harder this time? Yoongi doesn’t know. He’s worried though,
as more time passes without Namjoon responding.
But finally--”Pills. Desk. Red.” The words are clipped and strained and Yoongi
once again almost misses his chance to see something he would be mad he missed-
-Namjoon pulls his hands into view and he drops what Yoongi assumes is a
vibrator as far from him in the nest as he can. It even gets a little toss to
move it even further out of arm's reach. But Yoongi can see the slick it’s
covered in shimmer in the dull light and smell the rush as a large amount
leaves Namjoon’s system where it had previously been plugged in by the toy.
He flushes and looks to the desk. As he asked, Namjoon has the bottles lined up
carefully, each with their own note, telling him how many and how often, on the
off chance Namjoon can’t communicate the proper instructions now that he’s so
far gone.
There’s even a case of water tucked into the corner--but those are only for
when he takes the white pills, it seems.
Yoongi shakes two red ovals from the container and starts toward the nest,
hesitating by the edge. “Can I come in, Joonie? I need you to tell me if I
can.”
Namjoon watches him with an unreadable expression. Yoongi realizes suddenly
(and of all things to notice) that Namjoon is wearing a shirt. It looks a
little tight on him and smells a little like--
“You’re wearing my shirt?”
Namjoon flushes and looks away. “Just get in here. I’m okay for now, but give
it time; I’ll be begging soon enough.” He clearly isn’t happy to admit it, but
glances back as Yoongi steps over the threshold and into the nest. He tenses at
first and Yoongi freezes, watching wearily. But with a heavy breath in, Namjoon
relaxes and reaches a hand toward the other, palm up. He’s still trembling
though, and Yoongi ignores the hand in favor of crouching down and placing the
first of the pills at Namjoon’s lips.
They’re a little swollen, and Yoongi can see the marks from where Namjoon’s
been gnawing and biting at them. But Namjoon lets Yoongi feed him the vitamins,
swallowing them thickly and shifting against the blankets.
Both pills gone, Yoongi takes better stock of the younger. He’s still shaking,
but it’s probably chills from the fever of a full heat. A cold bath later
should hopefully bring that down. There’s also noticeable white decorating his
thighs and stomach and Yoongi looks around for a towel, finding a few not far
off. They’re still folded, so he assumes they’re not for the nest and, instead,
the purpose he currently wishes to use them for.
“Can I clean you up, Joonie?” his voice is a little uneven, but he’s trying to
keep it steady. It’s hard when he still wants. Wants. Wants.
Needs.
Namjoon closes his eyes at that. “Please?” a croak and he winces at the sound.
Yoongi presses the towel to the white across the other's stomach first, patting
rather than wiping. He moves to the thighs next, making sure nothing touches
the sensitive skin between the two places.
“I--I have condoms for you,” Namjoon manages when Yoongi’s finished and put the
towel back, folded with the mess on the inside. “Somewhere...I don’t...I moved
around a lot trying to get comfortable. I’m sorry--I shouldn’t have brought
them into the nest. I’m--.”
“I’ll find them. You just take deep breaths. Try to calm down; don’t get worked
up over small things.”
He finds them easily enough, hidden in the folds of a blanket on the edge. The
box is unopened and Yoongi presses a finger under one of the folds to break the
seal, pulling the string of the condoms out. There’s a sharp intake of breath
and he glances back at Namjoon, wetting his lips. “Can I...get undressed?”
“Please. I don’t think it’ll be long; you smell amazing, Hyung.”
“It’s the rut, that’s all.”
Namjoon just hums in response, shifting to get more comfortable. Having someone
in the nest is a new feeling and he’s struggling to find a way to compensate.
Yoongi realizes quickly that the Omega plans to watch him, despite the
wiggling. It’s embarrassing, but, the way he sees it, Namjoon’s allowed to do
whatever he wants right now. He’s the one getting taken care of, and if that
means he wants to watch Yoongi undress, then Yoongi won’t ask him to stop.
He doesn’t put on a show--he doesn’t know how to do that--and he gets his legs
tangled in his jeans trying to get them off, but he’s sitting in just plain
black briefs soon enough. There’s a tent from his half hard cock, and the dim
lights cast shadows across his groin that don’t allow him to hide that fact.
Namjoon wets his lips.
“I’ve only been with a Beta before,” he admits. “During a half heat my first
year after presentation. She was nice, but I don’t think it’ll be anything like
this is going to be.”
“No, Namjoon. I don’t think it will,” he pauses. “You just tell me what you
want, alright? I’m going to try my hardest to follow through with it all.”
Another hummed response and Namjoon closes his eyes again, just breathing for
the moment. He looks extremely peaceful, given the circumstances, and Yoongi is
pleasantly surprised.
At least he’s not one of those poor Omegas with hard heats. He had always been
afraid to present and be one of the unlucky few. When he got his knot, he
didn’t have to really worry about it, but he still thought, sometimes, that his
eventual mate might have them.
Thankfully, though, Namjoon is not one of them.
It takes a moment, but Yoongi works his boxers off too, tossing them out of the
nest with the rest of his clothing. Namjoon can feel him moving around, but
doesn’t open his eyes to look, content to rest for the time being; who knows
what the rest of the heat will bring.
What he doesn’t expect is Yoongi coming closer. He’s not touching, just keeping
himself close enough Namjoon can feel his body heat. “Can I scent you, Joonie?”
The answer is mumbled, but Namjoon smiles while he speaks. “Thought you’d never
ask.”
And Yoongi presses close. His hands tug and tightening in the fabric of the
shirt as he wraps one arm around Namjoon’s torso. His chin and cheeks rub at
Namjoon’s shoulder, even if his shirt is in the way, but-- “Off. Take it off of
me; I want to feel you. Please, Hyung.” Choked out after a heavy, puffing
breath.
Namjoon had taken in a mouthful of cinnamon rut and it was making him teeter
back to the line of too much and not enough.
Yoongi obliged. He worked diligently to slide the shirt up and over Namjoon’s
body, chucking it in the same direction the rest had gone. After, he moves
close again, rubbing gentle lines against Namjoon’s ribs and his chin at a
warm, bare shoulder.
It doesn’t take long after that for Namjoon’s breathing to get shallow and
short. “Hyung--Hyung, I think--I think it’s time for us to get just get this
over with,” he manages one, heavy breath and Yoongi watches his hands grip and
grab at sheets. “And I don’t mean it like--like it’s a chore. I mean--I mean we
should get over the nerves or--or--or whatever it. God. God, just do it.
Please. I want you. I need you. I need something.”
Yoongi swallows. The words jump straight to his cock and he knows it’s harder
now than it was when he walked in the room. “You’re sure?” it’s hard to ask. He
wants to just go, go, go. But the situation is delicate and he doesn’t want to
risk moving too fast.
“Stop babying me. I’m an Omega in heat, not a child with a bruised knee. You’re
not going to break me, even if you think you are. I know--I know you’re scared,
and I am too, but I asked you here because I wanted you here. I wanted you. So
just--fuck, Hyung. Just knot me. I can’t exactly do it myself, and fuck it all
if the toys are really lame.”
(Or so he’d heard. He’s never taken a knot before, so this is going to be
something else, he’s sure.)
But that’s, honestly, all it takes. Yoongi sits up and pulls away from
Namjoon’s side, finding the string of condoms and quickly rolling one on. He
settles quickly between Namjoon’s legs, not having to move them as the younger
hadn’t really closed them since Yoongi entered the room.
The top blanket is stained and damp from slick, and when Yoongi presses a hand
to the inside of Namjoon’s thighs to look, there’s a quiet moan and more of it
appears. It’s almost mesmerizing, the way his hole flutters with the release,
but Yoongi doesn’t spend much time staring at it, fingers hesitantly pressing
against the muscle rim, then sliding in.
Namjoon is immediately chiding him. “Stop kidding yourself--you don’t need
those, Hyung. Did I not just have something in there? Just--come on. You’re not
shy about anything else Omega related. Let’s not make this any different.”
Yoongi never thought he’d be getting a lecture from Namjoon of all people. And
about Omega heats.
During a heat.
But he pulls his fingers out, watching the way a new rush of slick follows
after them. Namjoon rolls his hips with the release, thighs quivering and lips
parting to say what Yoongi thinks sounds a lot like ‘fuck’, but could have been
a variety of words.
(Duck, for example. Or luck. Tuck? Truck? Who knows. Certainly not Yoongi.)
“Alright, well. Now I’m just going to--.”
“Stop narrating and just do it? That’d be great. Sounds like an amazing idea,
thanks.”
“Sorry.”
Namjoon grunts and cracks an eye open, shifting his weight and sliding down a
little further along the blankets. Yoongi pulls in a breath and suddenly
flounders, finding himself adrift once more.
But this time, there’s someone there to help keep him afloat.
His left hand holds Namjoon’s hips in place and his right lines his cock up.
There’s slick on his fingers from their previous breech that transfers to the
condom when he pumps himself once, twice, and a third time. Yoongi swallows
back a moan to just that feeling combined with the sweet, sweet smell.
And he presses in slowly.
The effect is immediate. Namjoon jerks and his head tilts back and to the left,
neck and scent gland exposed. His hands clench in the blankets on either side
of him. He moans and rolls his hips to meet Yoongi’s slow movements. It
swallows him in and Yoongi has to grip onto Namjoon’s hips with both hands to
make the Omega stop moving. Has to hold him in place.
“Oh god." They don't know which one said it, but it doesn't' much matter.
Either way, it feels so good. To be surrounded by wet heat and be filled with
hard heat. Namjoon shakes and his mouth is open, eyes staring up at the
ceiling, unseeing for a few long moments. He wants to move, but Yoongi’s hands
keep him in place. It takes too long--much, much too long. Ten seconds. Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
“Move,” and Namjoon chokes on his own spit, trying to swallow and work his hips
and entice the Alpha inside him to just go. “Move, dammit.”
And so Yoongi does. He keeps holding onto Namjoon’s hips, but pulls his own
back and presses back in, thrusting slowly into the younger. Namjoon bucks and
moans, gripping and ungripping the blankets, only to do it again. Another
thrust and he’s reaching to try and pry Yoongi’s hands off his hips. He wants
to roll them down; to do something other than just lay there. He feels like he
needs to. Yoongi gets the picture and releases, keeping up the slow rhythm,
even as Namjoon presses back against him.
Yoongi leans forward and over the Omega, laying his arms on either side of his
head and rocking his hips up harshly.
There's no kissing and no scenting. Barely anything at all past thrusting and
rocking and grunting. Moans and keens and, in only a few minutes Namjoon is
blubbering slightly.
“God, just--just. More. Can you do more? I just--God. I feel like I need more,”
over and over and Yoongi tries to comply, sitting up again and gripping
Namjoon’s hips with both hands once more, aiming for leverage rather than
keeping Namjoon in place. He rocks forward once, then twice, then presses deep
and hard. He tries to stay as deep as he can, but continues thrusting, pulling
out just enough to allow him to slam back in. The wet sound of slick mixes with
their joint panting and Namjoon whines.
Yoongi knows it's coming before he feels it start. “Im--I'm going to--to knot.
Can I…?”
“Fuck,” Namjoon’s thighs tremble and he pushes his hips down harshly, meeting
Yoongi’s next thrust. “Yes. Yes, do that. I need to know what it feels like.
Please, Hyung. please.”
Yoongi releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and presses in faster.
He keeps one hand on a hip, holding it bruisingly hard, and uses the other to
brace his weight as he leans over Namjoon.
He doesn't bite when his mouth connects to Namjoon’s scent gland in the
junction on his right side. Instead, he tongues over it and mouths along the
skin, moaning when he starts to feel the swelling.
Namjoon seems receptive, jerking at the sensations and thrashing under Yoongi
for a moment. He's scared he'll be mated, but only for the first second. When
he knows it's just tongue and lips, he settles, continuing to roll and meet
Yoongi’s thrusts.
The knot starts to catch at Namjoon’s rim and Yoongi fears he'll accidentally
finish outside and leave them both unsatisfied. So he presses deep, grinding
with extremely shallow thrusts instead of thrusting fully.
He moans against the scent gland when he comes, body jerking and hips
stuttering, trying to get deeper than he possibly can go, chasing the feeling
that grows in the pit of his stomach.
It takes longer for the knot to form this time, and he assumes it all and to do
with pheromones. Why waste energy growing too much during a half heat when you
can save it for a Full and the possibility of pregnancy and pups?
Except that the condom and pills are in the way of that this time.
Whatever the case, Yoongi gives up mouthing at skin and rubs his chin and cheek
against Namjoon, thrusting up every so often to hear a choked sound release
from the other’s mouth. There's a warm stickiness between them and a certain
scent in the air, telling him that Namjoon finished as well. It's a relief to
know they managed at around the same time. Yoongi isn’t sure he’d be able to
help get Namjoon over the edge right now. There’s just so much going on.
Yoongi doesn't try to speak for a minute, too busy rubbing his scent across the
other’s chest and neck and shoulders. He only speaks when Namjoon does.
“God. This is--it's so much better than I thought it would be,” he's stuttering
a few words as Yoongi presses deeper (or makes every attempt to), the knot
moving against sensitive muscles. Namjoon doesn't ask him to stop him at first,
but as the sensitivity starts to border on pain, he reaches fumbling hands up
and presses them to Yoongi’s sides. They shake against his skin, even when he
tries to stop them from doing so. “S-stop, okay? It’s too much. Just--just sit
still.”
And Yoongi does.
He tries to get comfortable without moving so much, and decides the best course
of action is to lay on top of Namjoon. It’s a little awkward considering the
mess between them, but after what they just did, it should be fine. “Sorry,”
mumbled and quiet, and Yoongi stops talking to latch onto Namjoon’s shoulder,
far from his scent gland.
“It’s fine, just--just try not to move for now. Everything is just kind of…”
“Too much?”
“Yeah.”
“For me, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi’s talking, but otherwise, his mouth is occupied sucking and
nipping bruises into Namjoon’s shoulders. He wants to stain them purple and
pink before the heat is over.
They’re quiet for a few, long minutes. Enough time for Namjoon to catch his
breath, chest calming down and no longer heaving, and for Yoongi to manage six
or seven spots along the other’s shoulders and neck and jaw, avoiding the scent
gland out of respect. Finally, though, the silence needs to be broken.
“I think I want a cold bath after this, if that’s okay?”
“Of course--,” Yoongi’s quick to respond and goes to pull up and away, not
thinking about anything other than doing what Namjoon asks, and his knot tugs
harshly at the Omega’s muscles. There’s a strangled yelp that bleeds into the
beginnings of a moan and Yoongi freezes. “Oh god--sorry. I forgot that I--that
we’re--I’ve never--.”
“Fuck, Hyung. Just--just sit still. You’re trying to kill me! At least I’ll be
happy when I die, I guess.” He laughs, but it’s sticky and hard in his throat.
Yoongi stares down and swallows, reaching a hand up to trail his fingers across
Namjoon’s cheek.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful right now.”
Namjoon’s brows furrow. “What?” more of a croak than anything else. “You’re
kidding me, right? I’m disgusting.” He’s watching through heavy, half-lidded
eyes, unimpressed.
And, truthfully, Namjoon should be right. He’s sweaty from the movement and too
pink and red from the slight fever the heat’s putting him through. His hair is
matted grossly with--god. Is that slick? Is that come? Yoongi can’t really
tell. His lips are bruised and swollen from where he’s been biting them and,
now, there’s no less than three purple blotches on his jawline thanks to
Yoongi’s ministrations. His pupils are still blown, leaving his iris’ only a
thin ring of dark brown amidst a pool of inky blackness.
In short--he looks thoroughly fucked.
“No, you’re not,” Yoongi says finally. He leans forward to kiss Namjoon--their
first, actual kiss. Lips to lips. He holds it for a few seconds, pulling away
before the surprised Omega can kiss back. “You’re absolutely beautiful. If I
felt like it and had my phone, I’d take a picture and make it your ID. I’d see
it every time we called and I’d remember what you looked like right now.”
“Gross, you mean?”
“No. Stunning. The most beautiful Omega in the world. The most beautiful
person.”
Namjoon turns his head, huffing lightly. “Well. I still feel gross.”
“And your feelings matters. But if you trust me, you’ll believe me when I tell
you this is one of the best looks I’ve ever seen on you.”
“...including the time I wore those denim overalls with that denim jacket?”
Yoongi laughs sharply and has to apologize when the sound makes his entire body
move. “That’s probably the best you’ve ever looked in your life. You’ll never
top that.” He’s trying not to snicker, if only to keep still, and Namjoon
appreciates it.
Another moment passes. “How long do you usually…?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes. I think it’s been seven so far? It...might go longer
since this is the first time I’ve ever…,” Yoongi trails off, a little
embarrassed.
“You’ve ever fucked someone?” Namjoon tries to finish his sentence, but clearly
isn’t judging him. It’s not like he has much experience either.
“First time with an Omega in heat, at least. I was with one outside of any kind
of heat--half or otherwise--and didn’t knot.”
“That must have been embarrassing.”
A slight shrug. Yoongi lays his head down on Namjoon’s shoulder and presses his
nose against his scent gland. Namjoon tilts his head to put his own close to
Yoongi’s, breathing in sharp cinnamon.
“Not really? It’s not uncommon for Alpha’s to be unable to knot or swell
outside of Omega heat. There’s no biological need for it to happen. Nothing too
strange. He didn’t seem to care much, at least.”
Namjoon just hums and lifts his head as best he can to press his lips to
Yoongi’s scent gland, kissing it lightly.
Yoongi shivers, then apologizes when his cock moves with the action and Namjoon
swallows back a whine.
They're stuck like that for another eight minutes before the knot starts to
loosen and the swelling goes down. Yoongi stays inside for a few extra seconds
before slowly sitting up and pulling out. He's surprised no slick flushes after
him, but he supposes that makes sense too.
It could dislodge the sperm he just supplied if there was slick coming out. No,
it'll come back in time, once Namjoon’s body has decided enough has passed to
allow the little swimmers to reach their final destination.
Unfortunately for Namjoon’s body, Yoongi wore a condom. He pulls it off and
ties it shut quickly, looking around for the trash can. It's not in its usual
place, but he sees it close to the edge of the nest and he leans as far as he
can and manages to drop it in.
“Want me to go start that bath? Nice and cold, right? Any soaps?”
Namjoon whines a little and shakes his head, opening his arms at the same time
he closes his legs. “Come back. I want to just lay here a little longer. Five
more minutes?”
Yoongi wets his lips. He can't really argue with the simple request and goes to
settle in Namjoon’s arms, but grabs the towel from earlier first, gently wiping
off the others belly and thighs before getting his own. On both Namjoon and
himself, he avoids their sensitive cocks, not wanting to cause any discomfort.
When satisfied, he puts the towel back and curls up against Namjoon’s side,
letting the younger spoon against him.
Namjoon makes a pleased noise at being the bigger spoon, nestling his face
against Yoongi’s scent gland and smiling on the skin. “That was good. That was
great, Hyung. You had nothing to worry about, see? I'm fine, you're fine.
Everything is fine.” he pauses, shifting slightly. “And that might have been
the best orgasm of my life, so there's that too.”
Yoongi barks out a laugh, shaking his head lightly, not wanting to move
Namjoon’s mouth from his neck anymore than the talking already had. He gives
this position another minute or so before starting to pull away. “Let go. I'll
run that bath for you. Do you want anything put in it?”
Namjoon is reluctant, but he opens his arms and let's Yoongi crawl away and
stand. Namjoon flops on his back to watch the other walk across the dorm to the
small bathroom. “No. Just cold water. Enough to cover up to my belly button
when I'm sitting in it. You'll have to help me up when you get back, but you
shouldn't have to carry me.”
Yoongi doesn't want to imagine having to carry Namjoon to the bathroom and,
instead, just moves off and out of the nest. When he steps over the threshold,
Namjoon whimpers slightly, but he closes his eyes and calms down while Yoongi
is away and filling the tub. It doesn't take long for Yoongi to get the bath as
full as he thinks he needs it to be for Namjoon’s purposes, and he returns to
see Namjoon sitting at the edge if the nest reaching for one of the pill
bottles.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Yoongi rushes over, stumbling through the nest to Namjoon’s
side. “What do you think you're doing?”
Namjoon startles slightly and drops his hand, looking up sheepishly. “I thought
I'd just…give you a hand. It's your first time after all, and I just…didn't
want to overwhelm you or anything. So I thought I could reach them without
leaving, but…”
“No, Namjoon. You're not overwhelming me. I'm fine, see?” he takes hold of the
others hands and places them on his cheeks, holding them there and smooshing
slightly, just enough to make Namjoon’s lips pucker. “You asked me here so I
could help take care of you, and that's what I'm going to do. So which ones do
you need?”
Namjoon is hesitant, but he gestures. “White. And a b--”
“Bottle of water. I read the instructions earlier. Let me get you in the bath
first?” Namjoon agrees to that, but it takes longer than expected. Yoongi is
smaller than the other, and a little weaker, so they struggle across the nest,
Namjoon’s legs practically jello from the heat.
But, eventually, Yoongi is helping to lower him into the cold water and
offering over a damp wash cloth. He leaves and returns with one, large white
pill and two bottles of water, relaxing against the side of the tub.
“Make sure I drink all of this before I try to talk you into fucking me again,
okay? The entire thing. Every last, little drop.” Namjoon seems worried, like
Yoongi won’t do it if he asks desperately enough.
“I’ll force feed you if I have to.”
“Kinky.”
“You invited me here; it’s your bed. You’ve got to lie in it.”
------
It continues uninterrupted for three days. Every two or three rounds, Namjoon
is sated enough to take a long break. Enough for a nap or a bath or, sometimes,
extra cuddling. They're both covered in bruises across their bodies, gifted
from eager fingers and roaming mouths (and Yoongi has an unfortunate one on his
lower back from a hard, illplaced kick from the second day, but it will heal,
given time). Yoongi has to use breaks to eat, every so often. Unlike Omegas, he
needs solid food to keep his energy up.
“They're usually over by now,” Namjoon grumbles, rubbing Yoongi’s lower back
lightly to try and get the knot to go down faster. They realized it seemed to
help the swelling, if only so they could get to another round. With the bruise,
though, he has to be even more gentle.
“It's fine. Probably just because I'm here, “ Yoongi smoothes his hands over
Namjoon’s stomach, wondering what it would look like swollen with pups. He
pushes the thought out.
They're not mates. That's just the pheromones talking.
In Yoongi’s abandoned pants outside of the nest, they can hear his phone start
ringing, but Yoongi ignores it. Namjoon tilts his head toward the sound, but
doesn't stop rubbing Yoongi’s back. “It's not important, is it?”
“That's the ringtone I gave my brother, so no. It's not.”
“You sure.”
“Positive.”
When it finishes ringing, it starts again and Yoongi groans. He mumbles an
irritated ‘go away’, but doesn't go for the phone. He wouldn't, even if he
wasn't stuck fast inside the other man.
Namjoon looks troubled, but he doesn't question it. Yoongi has been pretty
vague about his family life, and Namjoon doesn't really want to ask for
details.
Once Yoongi can pull out and get up, he stumbles his way to the bathroom.
Alphas don't go through a dietary and fecal purge before a heat. He really
needs to take a piss.
While he's in the bathroom, though, he can't stop Namjoon from struggling his
way to the edge of the nest and using his long arms to find Yoongi’s phone when
it starts ringing again.
He gets half the conversion from his spot on the toilet, and is angry the
entire time.
“No, sorry. It's the Omega whose heat you're interrupting.”
“What? No, he's in the other room. What did you want?”
Namjoon goes quiet. Yoongi growls lightly and rushes to finish, stumbling out
of the bathroom and nearly tripping into the nest. “Give me the phone, Namjoon.
I'm not playing this ga--.”
He stops because Namjoon looks terribly uncomfortable. The expression he's
wearing isn't one Yoongi’s seen on him yet, and it's not one he wants to see in
the future. “What's wrong? Namjoon? What--what did he call you?” he
automatically assumes that's the problem and rips the phone for Namjoon’s
grasp. “What did you say to him, you bastard? I swear to God, in going to--”
“Yoongi. Yoongi, it's mom.”
-----
“I'm not just leaving you, Namjoon. I told you I'd be here for the heat, and
I'm staying. It's what she would want me to do. Do you even realize how angry
she'll be with me if I leave you? Especially to go see her?”
“You're not abandoning me. I'm telling you to leave, Hyung.”
“You don't really want me to leave, do you? Because if you do, Namjoon, I’ll
go. But only if it's what you really want.”
Namjoon wavers, frowning lightly and tipping his head back into the blankets on
the inside of the nest. He had rearranged it furiously only an hour or two
before, reorganizing and insisting on different placement for the blankets. It
had moved the damp, stained ones to a different part and left them in dry
fabric for the time being.
“No,” defeated. “I don't want you to leave, but I want you to be with her.”
“And she would want me here, Joonie. So I’ll stay until your heat is over,
okay? It can’t be much longer.” He cups Namjoon’s cheek before leaning closer
and pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “And when I come back from Daegu,
I'll take you out on a date. A real date. Dinner and movie. It'll be so
perfect, you'll be angry.”
Namjoon concedes. It sounds like a good idea, at the very least.
-----
Yoongi lasts one more session. One more knot. He's pressed deep and tries to
rut further in when, suddenly, everything crashes down and he freezes. His
chest feels tight and he jerks, trying to pull back, out, and away. Namjoon
shouts in pain and grabs at Yoongi’s hips, forcing him to stay in place though
his hands shake with the remnants of his high.
“Wh--what? What's wrong, Hyung? What's the matt--.”
He stops because Yoongi’s chest is heaving, and not in the way it has been when
he's knotted any of the previous times. He's trying to breathe, but it doesn't
seem to be working and he's struggling. Namjoon can see it.
He can also see the beginnings of tears welling in the corners of his eyes. But
now, now.
Now.
He's stuck. And he can't leave.
“Oh my god, Namjoon. My mom. My mom. What did I--what do I do?” he's shaking,
and Namjoon knows it's not from the aftershocks of the orgasm. This is raw
emotion and it hurts to watch.
“First,” Namjoon swallows. He’s still riding the high. His mind is somewhere
else right now, but he needs it to come back. He has to help Yoongi through
this. “First, I need you to--to take a deep breath. In--, no. In. Good. Now
hold it; and out. In and out. Again, good.” Talking him through it seems to
help, and Yoongi visibly calms. He’s stopped shaking and, now, is just
trembling every so often. “Now. Second. Lay down and put your nose in my neck.
Breathe there, okay? It’ll help. I promise. I promise it’ll help.”
It’s a bit of a struggle, but Yoongi buries his face against Namjoon’s scent
gland, pulling in deep gulps of sweet jasmine. Namjoon turns his head to pepper
kisses against Yoonig’s neck, suckling lightly at the other’s scent gland
before breathing in the cinnamon.
“Feeling any better?”
It’s quiet for a little while. But-- “Yeah,” measured and short. He clearly
doesn’t like the turn these events have suddenly taken. “I--I’m sorry, Joonie.
I’m sorry. But I think I need to...I think I should….”
“I know,” a heavy pause. “I love you, and I know.”
-----
Tearing himself away from Namjoon is hard, but in the end, Yoongi manages. He
smells terrible and it has everyone turning their heads to look at him when he
passes by. Omega in heat; Alpha in rut. A mix of jasmine and cinnamon and spunk
and slick.
A few Alphas (and, honestly, a couple of Betas), howl out congratulations.
Yoongi growls at them, if he figure out which do it. He’s too distracted to pay
much more attention to it. He forgets to text Namjoon he’s made it back to his
apartment before he gets in the tub and can’t be bothered to get back out to do
it. Not when he has work to do.
So Yoongi scrubs and scrubs and scrubs. Until his skin is raw and tender to the
touch and until he can no longer smell jasmine or Omega or slick on his body.
Every scented trace of the other man gone.
And then Yoongi shoves together a bag of clothes and texts Namjoon that he’s
leaving.
And he goes.
It’s three hour drive to Daegu.
Yoongi makes it in two.
-----
“What do you mean you can’t let me in? I’m her son!”
“Sir, we’re sorry. But this is a ‘mates only’ situation, and as her son, that
means you’re not her mate.” Yoongi growls at the woman. It’s threatening and he
knows it’s not a good idea, but he’s angry. He’s so goddamn furious.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’ve got him, don’t worry,” his brother grabs his arms and
forces him away from the nurses station and the irritated Beta that was one
button press away from calling security.
“Yoongi. Calm the fuck down. Now.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” there's a rush of anger and he’s filling the
small waiting room with cinnamon and dominance. His brother doesn’t back down
and pine joins until it’s drowning out the cinnamon. Yoongi pushes hard breaths
from his nose and tries to calm down, but his brother’s scent isn’t helping.
“She collapses and you’re telling me to calm down?”
“Yoongi. You getting kicked out isn’t going to help the situation, so stop
acting like a spoiled pup. Dad’s doing what he can right now; what the doctors
want and--.”
Yoongi scoffs. “Like he wants to be here. Hyung, he’s only in there because, if
he wasn’t, everyone would know what a terrible mate he’s been these last few
years. He’s the reasons she’s even here.”
“You don’t think that, Yoongi.”
“Oh, shut up. You don’t know one damn fucking thing.”
-----
It’s another fourteen hours before the doctors and their father make an
appearance. It doesn’t look good. She’s awake now, which is a plus, and she
knows who her mate is. But she’s not much better off than when she arrived.
They’re let in one at a time.
His older brother only stays for an hour before he needs to leave. He’s got a
mate and two little pups that need him. She says it’s okay. She understands. He
should call more. She wants a visit from the grandpups if he has time. He says
he’ll make some.
But they both know it’s a lie.
For what reason, they’re unsure.
Either he doesn’t want to or she won’t make it to any plans he could form.
So he leaves.
“Mom?” Yoongi’s speaking quietly as he steps into the room, pulling the door
closed behind him.
“Yoonyoon?”
She’s pale and skinny--much more so than he’s seen her. He frowns as he goes
forward, reaching to touch her cheek. She leans to the touch and takes the mark
of cinnamon without hesitation. Yoongi can smell the thick sagebrush and
lingering pine from his father and brother. It almost overshadows the
peppermint--it’s frail, but he knows what to look for.
“You should be in school, sweetie. You need a good education to get a good
job.”
“I know, Mom. But I haven’t been home since I left and--and it’s been over a
year and I…”
“I know.”
“Yeah.”
It’s quiet for a while. Yoongi holds her hands and presses cinnamon against the
skin. An hour later, she speaks again, contemplative.
“Did he ever ask you?”
There’s a flush across Yoongi’s face. Nice and strong.
“Ahh. So he did. And did you agree?”
Yoongi looks away. He’s hiding the marks with a scarf that doesn’t belong to
him and pretending it’s because he’s cold. “I did, Mom,” a pause. “He told me
he loved me.” She sucks in a breath and goes to say something, but he cuts her
off without meaning to. “And then I left him to come see you. I--I’m so sorry,
Mom. I shouldn’t have. Now he’s alone and he hasn’t texted me and I’m worried
about him when I should be worried about you.”
His mom lets go of his hand to reach and brush across hers Yoongi’s cheek.
“What’s he smell of?”
“What?”
“His scent? What is it?”
Yoongi chokes on air for a moment. But he scrambles, yanking the scraf from his
neck. It stll smells of Namjoon, even if Yoongi’s been wearing it since he left
Seoul. “Jasmine. He--jasmine. Here,” he holds out the scarf, pressing it
lightly to his mother’s nose, breathing tubes be damned.
She takes a breath and turns her head to the side, smiling. “You’ve found
someone so lovely, Yoongi. I can tell; he’ll give you wonderful pups.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t tell from stale scent on a scarf.”
“No, but I know you. And you’d never pick someone who wasn’t perfect for you,”
she pauses. “He asked you to come here, then? Because I know you wouldn’t leave
if you had the choice.”
“I...I didn’t want to leave him, Mom. I didn’t. But then I started to cry and
he told me to go,” an uncomfortable shift. “He told me to come here and that he
loved me.”
He wets his lips.
“I didn’t say it back, Mom. I left him and I didn’t tell him I love him.”
Yoongi’s heart rate increases. He’s stiff and breathing haggard and his mother
shifts her weight, touching his cheek again.
“Yoonyoon,” careful. “Yoongi, he knows. He knows.”
“How? I didn’t tell him! I left him--I left him, Mom. During a full heat. I
abandoned him when he needed me and I just--I’m no better than Dad!”
He’s more shocked by the fact that she slapped him than the slap itself. Not
that it was particularly hard or painful--she more or less tapped him on the
cheek--but.
She slapped him?
His mother slapped him.
(He’ll continue to exaggerate this fact. It didn’t hurt and it wasn’t a slap.
But for her--for her? She might as well have bruised his cheek with her fist.)
“He knows because you tried to stay with him, Yoongi. And don’t compare
yourself to your father. The only thing he gave you was a home to grow up in,”
she scowls. He doesn’t think the expression looks good on her, but he’d never
say it. He only likes seeing her smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong,
sweetie,” she drops her hand and sighs. “I need you to promise me something,
Yoonyoon, okay?”
Yoongi swallows. He doesn’t like where this is going. But he nods.
“You won’t worry about me so much anymore. I’m an adult, Yoongi. I know how to
take care of myself. And where I am a week, a month, or a year from now, all I
care about--all I care about--is that you and your brother are happy. You’re
the best things that happened to me, and that’s what you need to remember.”
“Anything that happens after that or after this--it doesn’t matter because I
got to talk to you when you were growing inside of me--every shift and every
kick. I got to hold you the day you were born. I got to watch you grow up.
Those are mine. So you’re going to stop worrying about me. Because I want to
remember you as that little kid who smelled of milk, but also as the adult who
drove away from the only home you knew, trailing cinnamon. Not like--this. Not
hating yourself for doing nothing wrong.”
Yoongi wets his lips, a little uncomfortable now. He hadn’t thought of that.
Not really. Sure, he and his mother spoke of how raising pups was an amazing
feat, but he hadn’t really realized how much she actually thought that. He
looks down, strangely ashamed.
(He doesn’t understand why--not at first. Later; years later, he’ll figure it
out.)
(It’ll be the most mundane of days. Making coffee so Namjoon has a little to
take to work. Trying to make sure there are no grounds because he’d also like a
mugful, and grounds are terrible terrible things to have show up from the
depths of inky black happiness.
There’s screaming down the hall and a small child will shoot past him and he’ll
have only a second to react, bending to scoop it up as it tries to dart by. But
he’s skilled in this by now. A decorated child wrangler. All his stars and
stripes.
And there’s shrieking and giggling and kicking legs and feet with one shoe on
and one sock off and Namjoon comes around the corner right after with the
missing sock and shoe dangling from his too-large hands, looking equally
exasperated as he is round in the belly.
And all Namjoon can say is: “That’s decaf, right?”
And, of course it is.)
“Alright, Mom. I...okay.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll have the doctor’s call and keep you updated. Go back to
him.”
“Mom…”
“I’m your mother, Yoongi. Listen to me; you were always good at that. Just one
more time, okay?” She uses her Lesson Voice. The one that always made him
listen. The things she has to say are important, no matter what anyone tries to
tell him.
He swallows around the lump in his throat. One more time?
One more time?
One
More
Time.
“Alright, Mom. I love you; I love you. I love you.” he stands and leans,
kissing her cheek and shifting to lean over her, nose pressing to her neck.
There’s too much sagebrush and not enough peppermint. But, still, he stays. He
tries to sort out the scents and get a lingering whiff of her, but it’s
difficult to find. He’s got too much going on to concentrate on finding it.
All this, and it won’t be enough, and he knows that.
So he pulls back and presses the scarf into her hands.
“He’s the best smell I’ve ever found, Mom. I can’t sleep without it anymore.”
She laughs softly and grips into the fabric. “Remember, Yoonyoon. Great
things.”
And Yoongi leaves without saying a word to his father.
-----
He isn’t there when it happens, but he can hear the dull, single toned beep the
entire drive back to Seoul.
He doesn’t pick up his phone when it goes off. He knows what they’re going to
tell him.
-----
Yoongi makes one stop before heading to Namjoon’s dorm. He doesn’t know if the
Omega’s come out of his heat, but he picks up food from one of Namjoons’
favorite places.
Just in case.
He uses the card key he still has to let himself in. The room is more put
together than when he left. It’s dim, but the nest has been deconstructed and
there are piles of folded blankets around the room, all freshly laundered.
Namjoon’s sprayed the place down with at least a can and a half of de-scenter.
“Hyung?”
It’s sleepy and Yoongi squints to find him hunched over his desk, a cup of
steaming, microwave ramen clutched in his hands. Five or six identical ones are
empty and abandoned next to him, along with other quick snacks and treats.
Anything cheap and easy to keep and quick to make.
“Hey. I brought food,” simple. Quiet. He approaches slowly. “When did it stop?”
“Three hours ago, maybe closer to four? I got the blankets all washed,” a
pause. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in Daegu? How’s your mom?’
Yoongi pulls in a breath.
“She yelled at me and told me to come back.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither says anything for a moment. Finally, Namjoon wets his lips.
“You stopped at the Pancake House? On the corner? At this hour?”
“They thought I was crazy ordering so many pancakes. But I don’t care. If it’s
for you, I don’t care.” Yoongi approaches slowly, giving Namjoon enough time to
tell him to leave.
Or, more probably, drop the pancakes and leave.
But Namjoon watches him come all the way in and put the bag on he desk.
“I love you.”
“I know, Hyung.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I,” Namjoon reaches to hold onto one of Yoongi’s hands, pulling it to
face to press his nose to the palm. He breathes in. Struggles to find it, it’s
so faint. “She smelled nice, Yoongi; peppermint, just like you said. The
perfect balance of sweet and sharp.” Yoongi pulls in a breath and it catches
awkwardly in his throat.
“Could I stay here tonight?”
“I’ll be up most of the time eating, but yes. My bed is free.”
“Thanks.”
------
It’s a long while before Yoongi’s better. Namjoon tells him to go to the
funeral, but Yoongi doesn’t want to deal with his father. Besides, he already
said goodbye.
------
“You know,” Namjoon yawns and shimmies a little, wincing with the pressure
between his legs. “I really have gotten used to having help during my fulls. I
don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t found you.”
“Throwing away a shit ton of pickles every month, that’s for sure. And ruining
so many blankets. How did you never learn to get slick stains out?”
-----
“Hey,” Namjoon should be worrying about securing a spot in the dorms for his
third year. He really should. And, well. He still has time for that, but. “We
should move in together.”
“What?” Yoongi glances up from his plate. Namjoon has been sneaking fries from
it the entire time, but Yoongi doesn’t care much. He needs to study. “I mean,”
a pause. “I honestly thought you had already decided that? I didn’t realize it
was up for debate?”
“Seriously?”
“I mean…? You practically live there now?”
“Well--well, yeah. But not really? It’ll be different. You’ll never get my
smell out of your couch.”
“I never have; if I flip the middle cushion over, it still smells of slick. You
ruined it for good, I think.”
“You probably get off to it, you Kinky bastard.”
“You picked me.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“The stupidest.”
“Dumbest.”
“Fuck you.”
“Please?”
“Fuck, Joon. We’re in the dining hall. Don’t talk like that.”
-----
It’s not as difficult a transition as either thought it would be. Sure, the
apartment is small and most of the furniture is secondhand, but it works for
them. They don’t speak of Yoongi’s family--he sends birthday and Christmas
cards to his niece and nephew and sister-in-law, but nothing to his brother.
Namjoon doesn’t question it. There’s resentment there and he’s not going to
ask.
Yoongi’s bed is a little too small, but they manage. Faces pressed to necks
and, really, Yoongi usually winds up sleeping on top of Namjoon, but it works
for them.
A lot just works for them.
-----
“Hey, Hyung?”
Yoongi hums in response, nosing at Namjoon’s scent gland. They’re in their
living room. The furniture has all been pushed away in favor of a nest. It’s a
longer walk to the bathroom here than it had been in the dorms, but there’s
more space for them in the end. It works well.
“I know it’s--well, it’s soon. But I was just; can we maybe talk about--
mating?”
Yoongi stops, pulling his head up. He’s become a master of moving his upper
body while keeping his lower half steady and still. It’s taken all four years
of college to figure out, but he got there.
“It is soon, Joon. Don’t you want to think and talk about this outside of heat?
Wouldn’t that be better? This is just...it’s the pheromones talking.”
“No, Hyung. It’s not. I--I’ve been thinking about it for a while? My parents
mated after only two years together. Like--they met and they knew. They can’t
really explain it, but they knew.”
“And here, all this time, I thought you hadn’t been looking for a mate.”
“Or a date. But here we are. And if I have to be stuck with someone for the
rest of my life, I think I want it to be you.”
Yoongi laughs. “Is it for my employee discount?”
“Definitely.”
“How about we talk when your heat's done? If we can’t think of a good reason
not to, we’ll do it next full?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-----
The bite hurts. God--god, it’s so much pain. They have to keep their teeth deep
enough to draw blood. But it’s a high they’ve never imagined.
Yoongi drowns again, floundering in the sea of jasmine, lost and terrified. But
there’s a heavy grip on his right shoulder and it grounds him. It hurts, but it
reminds him that what’s important is right here. Below him and around him and
surrounding him.
When he pulls off, Yoongi runs his tongue over the bloody wound he’s left on
Namjoon’s shoulder. It’s a bitter, copper, but he cleans it up as best he can.
These are stains he won’t be able to get out.
“I feel like I’ve just gutted a pig,” Yoongi looks to watch Namjoon and sucks
in a breath. He was laying on top of the Omega; gravity had been in his favor.
It was against Namjoon for sure.
“You look it.”
“Thanks. Thanks. First thing you tell me as my mate is I look like a stuck
pig.”
“But a beautiful stuck pig?”
“When this knot goes down, I want you to leave.”
“No you don’t.”
A heavy sigh. “No; I’m stuck with you now. I can’t get rid of you; I’m always
going to smell like cinnamon.”
Yoongi just smiles and presses his lips to Namjoon’s, blood be damned.
-----
“So this is it?”
Yoongi nods. He’s got a coffee mug gripped tight in his hand. It’s filled with
soil and jasmine seeds; Namjoon had helped him plant them that morning before
leaving their hotel room.
“She had a pretty name, Hyung.”
“She was even prettier.”
“I only have you to go off of, but I’ll have to agree.”
Yoongi snorts and leans to put the mug down against the stone, righting himself
quickly. Namjoon wraps his arms around his mate, tucking his chin on top of
Yoongi’s head.
They’re both quiet for a long while, chilled to the bone as wind whips around
them. Namjoon is just beginning to wonder why cemeteries are always cold when
Yoongi speaks.
“She would have loved you, you know? She said you smelled nice--I had your
scarf with me when I visited her.”
“Hmm. I’m positive I would have loved her too.”
“You think?”
“She gave me you, so yeah. I would have.”
Yoongi snorts. “Come on; let’s get out of the cold.”
“Want some hot chocolate, Hyung? I’m sure we’ll pass a cafe on the way to the
freeway?”
“That sounds good. Peppermint with whipped cream and cinnamon.”
“Anything you want.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you? I’m the Alpha.”
“You’re more Omega than anything, Babe.”
Yoongi smiles and grips Namjoon’s hand as they leave and he doesn’t let go.
Chapter End Notes
     So I cried and just??? I don’t know where that came from but it was
     there and I’m sorry to you all and I’m sorry to myself because I
     cried
     And a new character is also brought up! Just for a second though.
     We’ll see how long it takes to introduce our last three, ahaha. Maybe
     next time?
     Again, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask! I'll
     answer as best I can without giving too much away!
     The rest is extra info. Again, you don’t have to read this; it’s just
     for my own organizational benefit and to clarify if anything is
     confusing. Anything you need to understand should be in this chapter
     or in other parts of the series.
     First, how about a tad more info on suppressors
     Typically, young Omegas take them until they’re 18 and legal. This is
     because they typically present around 14-16 and, therefore, it’s only
     a few years and the chances of drastic effects are lessened. For most
     Omegas, anymore than four years straight on the pills is considered
     dangerous, and that's for young Omegas and not those of older age.
     For those who present at a younger age, they are typically put on a
     more mild substitute that is not nearly as strong or effective, and
     doesn’t stop a FH, just helps to control the smell. Parents can take
     their kids to hotels for the week, as public rooming areas (hotels,
     dorms, apartments, etc.) tend to have scent blocking built into the
     rooms.
     Regulators are what Omegas use to keep their heats regular.
     I mentioned Birth control; companies make three kinds under their
     same brand; one for each of the subgenders (well; I guess six kinds.
     Subgenders plus actual genders since M/F biology is different).
     Anyone can take any kind they want, but they tend to work better when
     each partner uses the same brand. Like real BC, it’s not 100%
     effective, but if both parties use the same brand, it’s about 99%. If
     they both use different brands, it can range from 95-99%. If only one
     partner uses it, the effectiveness is dropped as well. And, when
     paired with other kinds of BC methods (like condoms), it works
     better. A lot of brands are OTC, but if you happen to be allergic to
     those, you can get a prescription for some more heavy duty but more
     addictive kinds.
     Hard Heats were brought up a couple of times. Basically, it's a step
     up from a Full Heat. It's extra intense. They almost always nest,
     always try to protect it, and always need more of everything. More
     touching and more care. It's basically to the point where it's
     difficult for Alphas to sustain their need. Going into rut helps, of
     course, but even then, they tire out long before their Hard Heated
     mates, making it difficult to assist during FH.On top of that, it’s
     hard to accept others into the nest, which means it’s hard for
     everyone involved to be happy and satisfied in the end.
     Their Half Heats are also more intense, but it's basically just like
     someone who has a difficult period. Extra cramping and cravings and
     they will also want to nest more during these. They tend to produce a
     lot more slick as well and need to change their tampons more
     frequently. Sometimes, they struggle to get out of bed because they
     just ache so much.
     Ruts, like I mentioned last time, aren’t as intense as usual for ABO.
     Clearly, Alphas have mental control over their actions. Sometimes,
     it’s difficult and a bit of a struggle, especially at the beginning
     of a heat, but they tend to get more level headed as the cycle
     continues and they get used to the scent.
     Mating occurs during a FH and both partners bite the other. It
     transfers a small amount of scent due to the bite being on the scent
     gland and the blood mixing with the oils the gland produces. It's a
     permanent bond that mixes both partners scents and lets others know
     that an individual is mated. If a mated pair spends enough time apart
     or doesn't touch often, their partners scent will weaken, but
     continues to be there. Just barely.
     --
     If you wanna follow me on tumblr you can find me at SeriouslyExcited.
     You're more than welcome to ask me any questions you'd like to!
End Notes
     Congrats to one person! I hope your Sugamon heart is fluttering :
     ) Mine is too
     If you have any questions, just let me know!
     Thanks for reading!
     PS: Namjoon’s shit smells like jasmine. That’s the one I’m proud of.
     The rest is all that extra information I mentioned earlier.
     Omegas (both male and female) go through two kinds of heat--a monthly
     one called a Half Heat. It’s kind of like a period; they need tampons
     and feel like everyone can smell them and worry that their slick is
     going to ruin their clothes. This is typically very regular and can
     be controlled and regulated by pills. It’s impossible to become
     pregnant during a half heat, but protection is still suggested
     (whether that be pills for both parties involved or condoms) because
     of illnesses. Often, Omegas get strange cravings and cramps.
     They also go into Full Heat, which is a traditional ABO heat. An
     insatiable need for mating and pregnancy. A few days prior, they
     won't eat much to cleanse and clean their system (especially males
     who have no external vaginal parts and, instead, have an internal
     sphincter that separates their rectum from their vaginal canal). It’s
     not so much a choice as a natural cycle. There are pills and vitamins
     that offer nutritional substitute during this time. Omegas are also
     very regular with these heats and they tend to have two a year, but
     when they happen depends on the Omega. It’s not always once every six
     months. Sometimes it’s ‘Once in May and once in August.’ There are
     some unlucky Omegas that have their Full Heats two months in a row.
     Since the Omega is in a weakened state during FH, their Alphas are
     particularly protective of them, but have to remain lucid enough to
     make sure they take their pills and water; otherwise, the Omega will
     run almost entirely on adrenaline and fat stores. When done, they
     binge eat to replace lost energy.
     Both heats can last anywhere from 3-13 days. The average is 5-7.
     Omegas typically keep the same average throughout their lives.
     If there is a large amount of stress in their life or they don't get
     their FH taken care of, their cycles can be disturbed which,
     sometimes, leads to more than two FHs a year.
     Sometimes, Omegas will want to nest during their heats. Some want to
     do it leading up to and during both kinds, some will do it for one
     kind (HH or FH), and some will not nest at all. All nesting entails
     is extra blankets and pillows and a nice soft area to lay and roll
     around in. It’s very intimate, though, and often only mates or loved
     ones are allowed in nests. New parents tend to nest and keep their
     babies with them, not allowing even the other parent into the nest
     with them and the child. This is not always the case, but happens
     often..
     Omegas can also take suppressants that will stop them from having
     FHs. However, overuse and frequent abuse of these pills can have
     drastic side effects such as, but not limited to 1) infertility 2)
     non-regular FH pattern, so it can spring at any time, including more
     than twice a year 3) the pills can stop working entirely
     These are typically only used in drastic cases or when an Omega has
     very important business to attend to that they cannot reschedule for
     a better time. Suppressants are highly controlled and need a
     prescription to acquire.
     Betas (which we haven’t gotten to much), regardless of gender can go
     into Quarter Heats, which are just like. Nothing compared to Omegas?
     Enough that they produce slick and smell sweeter, but it’s mostly in
     response to an Alpha going into rut. All Betas, regardless of gender,
     also go into rut in response to Omega heats.
     Rut isn't super intense. It is basically just a hormonal change that
     allows Alphas to have more than one consecutive orgasm. There might
     be more on this later?
     Everyone has a scent, but it’s not uniquely theirs. People aren’t
     attracted to someone with a scent that’s similar to their own. You
     scent other people by rubbing them with your neck, chin, hands, etc.
     The neck is where the scent gland is located, but rubbing that with
     another part of the body will assist in the transfer of scent.
     Omegas typically have fruity or flowery scents. They can have scents
     closer to Alpha’s, but it’s uncommon.
     Alphas have earthy and more masculine scents. They can have scents
     closer to Omega’s, but it’s uncommon.
     Betas can have a scent at any point in the spectrum, but it’s very
     faint. Often times, you have to get right up on one to smell it.
     Children can’t smell other children because it’s basically like their
     own scent? All small children smell the same, which is why parents
     scent them. It’s a way of identifying them as yours. As mentioned in
     the story, it's also an intimate way to be with someone. You scent
     mark friends and family members to show your love.
     Also; whichever parent gave birth to you is your mom, regardless of
     gender/subgender.
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