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Euijoo wakes up with a warm weight on his body and the scent of Fuma surrounding him. He snuggles closer in his half-asleep state, pressing his nose to Fuma's hair and inhaling deeply, and then freezes.
Fuma's hair. Fuma's scent. Fuma's body pressing Euijoo into the bed.
Euijoo was afraid something like this might happen when they got to the hotel in Osaka late last night and discovered there was a booking mix-up, and one of the rooms that should have had two beds only had one. Euijoo had glanced at Fuma when their manager asked if anyone was willing to take that room, and Fuma nodded—a silent exchange between leaders, always ready to take the burden of a slight inconvenience on themselves.
Euijoo wondered for a second if it wasn't really an inconvenience for them at all. What sort of things could they do with a locked door and only one bed? What lines could they cross?
But it was only for a second. Euijoo couldn’t let himself do that. It’s too dangerous; they have too many responsibilities to the group; they can’t afford to get distracted or to risk their relationship getting out. Idols aren’t allowed to date anyone, and they especially shouldn’t date each other. Euijoo can’t risk it, no matter how badly he wants to. He knows that Fuma understands, even if they’ve never explicitly talked about it. There’s a cruel irony to how well they know each other, how compatible they are, and how bad of an idea it would be to ever act on it.
So they went to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, a careful distance between them. And now they're here, in the middle of it, tangled in each other. Fuma is still asleep, his steady breaths warm against Euijoo's neck. Euijoo should move, but… it wouldn't be so bad if he just laid still until Fuma woke up, right? Fuma needs the rest. He's always working too hard.
Fuma sighs in his sleep, shifting against Euijoo, and Euijoo is suddenly very aware of why it would be a horrible idea to stay here. Fuma's thighs are bracketing Euijoo's leg, his cock hard and rocking into Euijoo, and he's wet. He's so wet that Euijoo can feel it, even through both their sleep pants.
Shit. That explains the cuddling: Fuma has always been cuddly when he's in heat, despite his hormone suppressants. That was how Euijoo first learned Fuma is an omega, years ago now. Fuma wrapped himself around Euijoo on their dorm couch and then, when Euijoo made a noise of surprise, said, “Sorry, I get sort of needy when I'm in heat.”
Euijoo still remembers the way Fuma eyed him warily, like he was daring him to say something. Euijoo didn't. He hid his surprise behind a shrug and said, “That's fine. You can cuddle me if you want. I like it.”
So Fuma did. He used to seek Euijoo out almost monthly, but that's stopped recently. Euijoo is pretty sure he knows why. It isn't exactly fun, teetering on this line between friendship and something more, with Euijoo always shying away from him.
But Fuma has never done something like this. Euijoo’s never been faced with Fuma rubbing himself against Euijoo in his sleep, making soft little noises in the back of his throat. He can’t smell anything but Fuma’s usual scent, devoid of any indication that he’s an omega, let alone one in heat, but he imagines for a second that he can. That he can smell Fuma’s slick, sweet and intoxicating, enticing Euijoo to give him what every omega in heat needs.
Euijoo slides out from underneath Fuma in one quick movement, throwing himself out of the bed before he does something he’ll regret. He grabs his phone from the bedside table as he goes, retreating to the bathroom with only a fleeting glance back at Fuma. He’s still asleep, face shoved into the pillow Euijoo abandoned.
Euijoo leans against the inside of the bathroom door, heart slamming against his ribcage. He’s hard, his body reacting entirely against his will. But he’s not going to do anything about that. He can’t.
He glances down at his phone and realizes that his alarm was about to go off, anyway. He almost forgot that he has an early morning meeting with the protocol team’s senior manager, his monthly one-on-one where he gives updates on how he and the other members are doing. Euijoo swipes to dismiss the alarm and lets his head fall back against the door, taking a deep breath in.
He lets the breath out slowly and then shuffles farther into the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. He shucks his pants off as well, intending to do the same thing, but then his eyes catch on the wet spot that was on his thigh—a coin-sized spot stained a darker blue than the rest of the fabric. Fuma’s slick, on Euijoo’s pants. For a brief and insane moment, Euijoo thinks about putting it in his mouth to see what it tastes like.
He throws the pants across the room instead of doing that. He turns the shower on cold and stands under the spray until he’s capable of thinking about something other than Fuma, and then he washes up and gets dressed and goes to his meeting like he’s supposed to.
Thoughts of Fuma aren’t so easily shaken, though. It’s all Euijoo can do to focus in the meeting, to pay attention to what his manager is asking him and give coherent, thoughtful answers. He has a moment of hope that he’s going to get some respite about fifteen minutes in, when his manager’s phone vibrates on the table. But his manager rejects the incoming call with an apologetic smile and gestures for Euijoo to keep talking.
Euijoo starts his sentence over, only stumbling a little when his manager’s phone rings and is rejected again. It’s not until the third time that he frowns and actually picks the phone up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s one of the Aoen managers, and they’re overseas, so…”
“It’s okay,” Euijoo says. “Seems like it might be urgent.”
The face journey that his manager goes on as he listens to whatever it is the Aoen manager has to say is almost interesting enough to distract Euijoo from thoughts of Fuma riding his thigh, his lips parted and tempting. Almost.
“All of their suppressants?” Euijoo’s manager says with barely-concealed horror. “Hold on, one second.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and says, “Euijoo-kun, can we reschedule?”
“Of course,” Euijoo says, hoping his relief isn’t too obvious. “Just let me know when.”
His manager nods and presses the phone back to his ear. Euijoo escapes out into the hotel hallway, tugging at the collar of his sweater. He’s too warm, still plagued by thoughts of Fuma in heat. He needs fresh air badly.
He ends up wandering to the convenience store across the street from the hotel. There’s a display of Pokémon bread, and Euijoo can’t help but grab a couple for Fuma. It’ll be a nice surprise for him. They don’t have anywhere to be until the afternoon today, so maybe they can order room service for breakfast and watch something together. It’s been a while since they’ve hung out properly.
The first thing Euijoo hears when he opens the door to his hotel room is his own name in Fuma’s voice, low and a little breathy. He steps inside to see Fuma right where he left him: on the bed, deep in the throes of his heat.
Except now he’s naked on his knees, and Yuma is fucking him from behind, the sound of his hips slapping against Fuma’s ass loud and obscene. Fuma’s head is dropped down, his hands fisted in the sheets. Euijoo’s hand slips off the door in shock, and it swings shut behind him with a definitive click. Yuma looks up at the noise and meets Euijoo’s eyes.
Euijoo doesn’t move, and Yuma doesn’t stop. Euijoo stares, brain whirring as he tries to process the situation in front of him. How long has this been happening? Since when are Fuma and Yuma… what are they? Why did Euijoo hear his own name, if this is happening? And who said another alpha could—
Yuma holds eye contact as he leans down and digs his teeth into Fuma’s shoulder, and Fuma sobs. “Euijoo,” he moans. “Euijoo, yes, please.”
Something feral rises up inside of Euijoo. This is his room. That’s his bed. That’s his subleader getting fucked while sobbing his name.
“Fuma hyung,” Yuma says, sliding a hand into the hair at the back of Fuma’s head and pulling his head up. “Look who’s here.”
Fuma takes a sharp breath in when he sees Euijoo, his eyes going wide. “Euijoo-yah?” he says, voice rough and hesitant, like he's not sure if he's dreaming.
“Fuma hyung,” Euijoo hears himself say from somewhere outside his body. This doesn't feel real to him, either.
Fuma shudders, his eyes squeezing shut and his hands slipping on the sheets. Yuma makes a choked off noise, his thrusts going shallow.
Fuma must have come, Euijoo realizes. His awareness slams back into his body as a snarl rips its way out of his throat, the Pokémon bread still in his hands dropping to the floor. That should be him fucking Fuma like that. He should be the one making Fuma come on his cock.
He takes a few steps toward the bed, and Yuma shies away, letting Fuma go and starting to pull out of him.
“No, wait,” Euijoo says. “Keep fucking him.”
In his right mind, he would have expected the feral urge to make him try to fight Yuma off, but in the moment, Euijoo knows that Yuma would never fight back. He was letting Fuma call him Euijoo, after all. He already knows that Euijoo is his alpha.
And even though it should be Euijoo fucking Fuma, it isn’t. It’s Yuma, because Euijoo fucked up. He waited too long. All he can do now is try to take control of whatever is happening here.
Yuma hesitates, but when Euijoo growls, low and commanding, he starts rocking his hips slowly again. A whimper falls from Fuma’s lips as Euijoo comes to stand in front of him and takes his chin in his hand. “So this is what you wanted,” he says, running his thumb along Fuma’s lower lip. “You could have just told me.”
Euijoo doesn’t give Fuma a chance to respond before he puts his fingers in Fuma’s mouth. The wet heat of his mouth around Euijoo’s fingers goes straight to his cock. The way Fuma moans as he sucks them is something out of Euijoo’s deepest hidden fantasies.
“Look what you’ve been putting Yuma through,” he says, letting his eyes flick up to glance at Yuma. “Were you making him pretend? He looks like he’s doing a pretty good job, isn’t he?”
Fuma moans an affirmation around Euijoo’s fingers, and Euijoo looks up at Yuma again. “Aren’t you?”
Yuma bites his lip and fucks Fuma harder, his hands wrapped around Fuma’s hips to brace him. Euijoo gives him an approving nod. It’s clear that Yuma knows exactly how to fuck Fuma the way he likes, his next thrust making Fuma moan around Euijoo’s fingers again. They fit together so well that it’s obvious this isn’t the first time this has happened.
Euijoo knew that was the case as soon as he saw them, much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it. There was a day, something like two months ago now, that Fuma smelled like Yuma. Fuma avoided Euijoo all day, ignoring the confused look Euijoo gave him when he noticed, and now Euijoo knows exactly why.
Euijoo has to know how long he missed this. He has to know how long Yuma has been doing what Euijoo should never have hesitated over. He pulls his fingers out of Fuma’s mouth and asks, “How many times has he fucked you?”
Fuma blinks as he meets Euijoo's eyes. “It’s only—” he tries, but the words are cut off by another moan as Yuma fucks into him.
“Only when he’s in heat,” Yuma finishes for him. There’s a long pause, Euijoo’s fury at himself building in his chest as Yuma weighs his words, before Yuma adds, “Or I’m in rut.”
Another rush of possessiveness floods Euijoo’s body at the thought of another alpha in rut fucking Fuma. Euijoo should have done better so that it could have been him instead. He should have been there for Fuma’s heats. His omega needed him.
“How many times?” he repeats, voice low and laced with anger.
Fuma doesn’t even try to answer this time, too busy panting as Yuma keeps fucking him. Yuma licks his lips nervously and answers for him. “Seven,” he says. “Eight, including now.”
Euijoo lets his eyes drop back to Fuma, taking Fuma’s chin to force him to look up at Euijoo again. “Eight times,” he murmurs. The words are bitter in his mouth. At least three months that he didn't notice this, if not four or five. “You should thank him for me, Fuma hyung.”
“Thank… thank you,” Fuma stammers out.
“By name,” Euijoo corrects. “It was him, not me.”
“Yuma-kun,” Fuma says. “Thank you.”
“It was—” Yuma starts, but Euijoo is already talking over him.
“Again,” Euijoo demands. “Thank him once for every time.”
“Yuma-kun,” Fuma repeats, voice pitched higher. “Thank you. Thank you, Yuma-kun.”
“Oh,” Yuma chokes out, his hips slowing.
“Thank you, Yuma-kun,” Fuma whines again. “Thank you, thank you.”
Yuma has stopped moving entirely now, his eyes screwed shut and his expression overwhelmed. “Keep fucking him,” Euijoo reminds Yuma.
Yuma nods, blinking his eyes open and fucking into Fuma hard again. Fuma gasps and moans, “Yuma-kun, yes. Thank you, Yuma-kun, please, thank you.”
“Fuck,” Yuma breathes, thrusts getting faster.
“Thank you, Yuma-kun,” Fuma gasps. “Yuma-kun, you always feel so good, you’re so good at fucking me, thank you so much.”
Yuma swears again, his strokes starting to lose the careful rhythm and angle they had before. There’s a wild look in Yuma’s eyes when Euijoo looks up at him, and Euijoo scoffs incredulously.
“Stop,” he orders, and Yuma immediately freezes, his cock slipping out of Fuma. Fuma whimpers at the loss, hips canting backward in search of Yuma. Yuma reaches down and squeezes the base of his own cock, confirming what Euijoo thought: he was close. “Is that really all it takes for you to come?”
“No, I—”
“Was he actually good for you?” Euijoo asks Fuma doubtfully, talking over Yuma. “Did he really fuck you right?”
“Yes,” Fuma says. “He was good for me. He’s always good.”
“Huh,” Euijoo says, studying Yuma. He looks pathetic right now, whimpering at Fuma’s words, his skin flushed pink all over. But Euijoo trusts Fuma. If Fuma says Yuma is good, then it must be true.
Fuma pushes himself up and pulls his face out of Euijoo’s grip so he’s sitting back on his heels, Yuma shifting backward to give him space. “Euijoo-yah, let me—”
“Have you ever fucked Yuma?” Euijoo interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear the end of Fuma’s sentence right now. He’s not ready for explanations, not when he already knows this happened because of him. The details aren’t important.
Fuma looks confused, but Yuma immediately understands what Euijoo is asking. “No,” he says. “But you could. If you wanted.”
The words hang in the air. Yuma said them casually, like it doesn’t matter to him either way, but Euijoo can tell from the tension in his body and the way he bites his lower lip that he wants it.
Euijoo can’t deny that he’s intrigued. He knew Yuma would give Fuma up to him in a heartbeat, but he wasn’t expecting him to offer himself like this. The meaning of it isn’t lost on him. After all, what better way for Euijoo to take charge than to lay claim to Yuma, too?
Euijoo can’t let himself fuck Fuma yet. Euijoo doesn’t deserve to. But maybe…
“What do you think, Fuma hyung?” Euijoo asks. “Should I give Yuma a reward for taking care of you so well?”
Fuma studies Euijoo’s face, seeming more fully present than he's been since Euijoo walked into the room. Euijoo has no idea what he reads there, but after a moment he nods slowly.
“Yeah,” he says, turning to look at Yuma. “I think he deserves it.”
There's something raw in Yuma's expression when he meets Fuma's gaze that Euijoo has to look away from. Euijoo nods and says, “Open him up for me, then.”
Yuma wastes no time arranging himself on the bed on all fours, presenting himself like he's the omega instead of Fuma. He drops down to his elbows, arching his back and looking over his shoulder with a cocky smirk.
Euijoo watches as Fuma comes to kneel next to Yuma, one hand sliding down the curve of Yuma's back. Yuma spreads his legs a little wider in invitation, and Fuma reaches between his own legs, getting his fingers wet with slick before sliding them into the crease of Yuma's ass.
Yuma moans, his head dropping down. “Oh my God,” he gasps. “Fuma-kun, fuck, that's so…”
Hot, Euijoo finishes in his head when Yuma’s sentence is lost to another moan. It’s so hot that Euijoo puts a hand on his cock almost without deciding to, palming at himself over his pants. It's immediately too much and not enough, and Euijoo quickly strips his clothes off, eyes fixed on Fuma's fingers.
It's hard to see what Fuma is doing from this angle, though, and Euijoo desperately needs to know exactly how he's pulling those tiny gasps out of Yuma. “Hold yourself open so I can see, Yuma,” he orders, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking himself slowly. “I want to watch.”
Yuma moans, face shoved into the sheets as he reaches both hands behind him to spread his cheeks wide, exposing Fuma's fingers circling his entrance.
“That's it,” Euijoo says, unable to look away.
Fuma collects more slick from his cunt, fingers shiny with it as he brings them back to Yuma's ass. This time he presses one finger inside slowly, and Yuma whimpers and shoves his hips backward.
“Yeah, please,” Yuma begs. “Feels so good, Fuma-kun. Give me another one, I can take it, I promise.”
“Be patient, brat,” Fuma says mildly, working his finger in and out of Yuma. Euijoo tries to match his pace on his own cock, but it's maddeningly slow, an almost unbearable tease. It's his first sense of how Fuma's particular brand of focused intensity manifests during sex, and it has Euijoo so hard he feels lightheaded.
“Give him another one,” he tells Fuma. “This is a reward, he should get what he wants.”
“Then you should fuck me now, Euijoo-kun,” Yuma says as Fuma adds more slick to his fingers. “I want—fuck,” Yuma swears as Fuma slides two fingers into him. “Holy fuck, yes.”
Fuma glances at Euijoo with a fondly exasperated expression, the kind of look he's sent Euijoo a thousand times when they've had to deal with the members acting up. Can you believe this guy?, he's asking, and Euijoo shakes his head in answer. He can't. He can't believe Yuma is whining on Fuma's fingers like this, trying to demand more even when it's obvious he's tight and overwhelmed already.
He's good at taking it, though. So good that Euijoo is tempted to give Yuma exactly what he wants and fuck him immediately. He bets he would feel amazing clenched tight around Euijoo's cock.
But Fuma is clearly settling in to finger Yuma properly, to get him loose and ready just like Euijoo asked, and Euijoo wants to watch that more than he wants to get his dick wet. Euijoo has always thought Fuma has nice fingers, thick and long and—evidently—perfectly suited to the obscene task of stretching Yuma open.
Euijoo's gaze follows Fuma's fingers as they dip back between his own legs to collect more slick. His eyes get stuck there, admiring Fuma's hard little cock and the glistening pink hint of his pussy below it. He's so wet, wetter than Euijoo has ever seen an omega get in his admittedly limited experience.
It's probably because he's in heat, Euijoo realizes. That's why this whole situation is happening at all. Fuma's in heat, and yet his focus right now is entirely on making Yuma feel good. Euijoo can't have him neglecting himself like that. He should help him instead of standing here touching himself like the useless alpha he's already been for months. For years.
Euijoo gets onto the bed and crowds up behind Fuma. Fuma pauses briefly in surprise, but then he melts against Euijoo, bare skin to bare skin. He's warm and solid in Euijoo's arms, and he sighs softly when Euijoo ducks his head and kisses his shoulder, right above the red outline of Yuma's teeth. Fuma tilts his head to bare his neck, a clear invitation for Euijoo to scent him that makes a thrill shoot through Euijoo’s chest. He wasn’t going to, thought maybe Fuma wouldn’t want him to, but Fuma does.
Euijoo rubs his cheek against the scent glands on Fuma’s neck and then licks over them at the same time as he runs a hand down Fuma's torso until it reaches Fuma's cock. He wraps his hand around it, and Fuma’s body jerks, his breath shuddering. Yuma whines, and when Euijoo removes his face from the crook of Fuma's neck, he realizes that Fuma stopped moving his fingers, leaving them buried two knuckles deep in Yuma. Euijoo indulges in slow strokes of Fuma's cock, feeling pleased with himself for distracting Fuma that much.
But Yuma cranes his neck to look at them, squirming on Fuma's fingers, and Euijoo takes pity quickly. “Keep fucking him,” he murmurs in Fuma's ear. “Tell me how he feels.”
“So good,” Fuma says, obeying Euijoo and making Yuma moan with satisfaction. “You’re gonna feel so good when you fuck him.”
Euijoo hums, dipping his fingers lower, slipping over the inviting heat of Fuma's cunt. He's so wet and open that Euijoo's fingers slide in without him consciously trying, and Fuma gasps.
“You're so wet,” Euijoo murmurs, drawing his fingers back out and pushing them in with more force this time. Fuma is so soft inside, welcoming Euijoo in. “You think you could come before I fuck Yuma?”
Fuma nods, his breath coming heavier as he works his fingers inside Yuma and grinds his cunt down onto Euijoo's hand, the perfect multitasker. “Euijoo-yah, your fingers…”
“You should play with his nipples,” Yuma says. “He’ll come so fast.”
Euijoo is at once upset that Yuma knows that and desperate to find out for himself. He brings his other hand up to twist Fuma's nipple gently between his fingers, and Fuma makes a tiny noise. Euijoo twists his nipple harder, drawing out a louder moan.
This time, instead of forgetting to fuck Yuma, Fuma forgets to tease him. His fingers are fucking into Yuma fast now, and Euijoo matches that pace, still playing with Fuma's nipple. Yuma was right—it doesn't take much longer for Fuma to gasp and go still as he comes all over Euijoo's hand.
“Fuck,” Euijoo swears at the rush of slick over his fingers, dripping down his wrist. Fuma's cunt is fluttering around his fingers, and he imagines how it must have felt when Yuma's cock was buried in him earlier. Euijoo is belatedly impressed that Yuma didn't come right then and there.
Euijoo pulls his fingers out of Fuma and uses his slick-covered hand to touch himself instead. The wet slide of it is so overwhelming he loses the ability to think for a moment. All he wants is to shove Fuma down next to Yuma and take him, just like that.
“I think Yuma's ready for you,” Fuma says, breathless, entirely unaware of the internal battle Euijoo is waging with himself. Euijoo manages to hold himself back, Fuma's words forcing reality to filter back in. He can't do that. He has to make use of Fuma's hard work by fucking Yuma.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” Yuma says. He drops his hands from his ass and pushes himself up, wiggling his ass. “C’mon, please.”
“Is he always this needy?” Euijoo asks as he moves to kneel behind Yuma.
Fuma laughs. “Usually more,” he says. Yuma huffs and reaches out a hand to pull Fuma over to him. Fuma goes easily, settling in front of Yuma with his legs spread, and Yuma immediately nuzzles his face against Fuma’s inner thigh. Fuma slides his clean hand into Yuma’s hair, a small smile playing across his face as he pets Yuma.
The way Fuma is looking at Yuma makes Euijoo’s heart clench in a way he's never been able to handle. He drops his gaze to Yuma’s ass instead, lining his cock up with Yuma’s entrance and bracing himself with a hand on Yuma’s hip as he pushes inside of him. He doesn’t have to exaggerate the way he moans at the feeling.
“Hyung, you were right,” he breathes as Yuma envelops his cock in intoxicating heat. “He feels so good. Is this what you wanted, Yuma?”
“Yes, fuck yes,” Yuma whines. “Fuck me, Euijoo-kun.”
Euijoo pulls out slowly and then snaps his hips in hard, the smack of skin-on-skin harmonizing with Yuma’s loud moan. Euijoo does it again, building up a rhythm that has Yuma panting like a dog, his cheek pressed to Fuma’s inner thigh as he looks up at Fuma with his mouth hanging open.
“Please,” Yuma chokes out. Fuma answers his plea by trailing his fingers down Yuma’s face from his hair to his mouth and sliding them between Yuma’s lips. Yuma sucks on them, moaning gratefully.
“You look so cute all filled up,” Euijoo coos, pleasure coiling in his gut. “Should’ve known you were such a desperate slut, Yuma-chan. Do you need Fuma’s cock, too?”
Yuma gasps. “Please,” he says, muffled by Fuma’s fingers before Fuma pulls them out. “Please, please, I need it so bad, you have no idea.”
That's so far from the truth that Euijoo almost laughs. If there's one thing Euijoo is familiar with, it's needing Fuma and not being able to have him. When Fuma looks up at Euijoo and makes eye contact with a question on his face, Euijoo lets Yuma have what he always denied himself. He nods.
Fuma shifts slightly, guiding Yuma’s face so he can get his mouth on Fuma’s dick. Yuma is clearly eager for it, trying to suck Fuma properly, but he keeps gasping when Euijoo thrusts into him, and all he succeeds in doing is drooling all over Fuma’s cock and cunt, making a filthy mess.
It’s sweet that he’s trying. Euijoo likes that Yuma is so desperate to get his mouth on Fuma, so dedicated to making Fuma feel good even when Yuma is the one getting fucked out of his mind. He’s pathetic, but Euijoo understands what Fuma meant when he said Yuma is always good now. If someone else had to take care of Fuma, it’s good that it was Yuma. It’s good that Euijoo is rewarding him for it.
The thought gives Euijoo an idea and an irresistible need to execute it. On his next thrust in, he stays there and gets a hand on Yuma's shoulder to haul him up so he's sitting in Euijoo's lap. The change of position pushes Euijoo even deeper inside of Yuma, and they both cry out.
Euijoo wraps his hand around Yuma's cock, slowly stroking him as he adjusts to fucking him at this new angle. Yuma is a heavy weight against him, gasping and moving too much, and Euijoo's thighs start to burn almost immediately, but Euijoo doesn't care. He has to give Yuma one more thank you.
“Fuma hyung, come closer,” Euijoo says. “Let him come on your face.”
“Fuck, what?” Yuma pants. Fuma leans forward right away, his mouth dropping open to expose his pink tongue as he looks up through his eyelashes, just like Euijoo pictured. He didn't even have to ask. “Oh, fuck, Fuma-kun.”
“He’s gonna look so pretty marked up with your cum,” Euijoo says into Yuma's ear, speeding up his thrusts and his hand on Yuma's cock. “You like that, don't you? I saw that mark you left on his shoulder.”
“Yeah,” Yuma whimpers. “I like it… I like it so, so—”
Yuma shudders in Euijoo's arms as he comes, clenching around Euijoo's cock. Fuma closes his eyes just in time for his face to be painted with white, cum streaked over his tongue and cheeks, some dripping from his forehead down the side of his nose. He looks obscene, hotter than Euijoo even expected.
It's all Euijoo can do not to come at the sight—he has to pull out of Yuma before he tips over the edge, afraid that he might pop a knot when he does. He doesn’t usually if he's not in rut, but it's been a long time since he had sex. He can't risk knotting an alpha with only slick as lube.
“Come here, hyung,” Euijoo demands as Yuma slumps against him, breathing heavily. He reaches around Yuma to pull Fuma up onto his knees, sandwiching Yuma between their bodies. He can just reach Fuma's face over Yuma's shoulder, and the feral urge that's driven him through all of this has him licking all over Fuma's face, cleaning him up.
Fuma fists his hand in Euijoo's hair and holds him in place, slotting their lips together. Euijoo kisses him back fiercely, years of pent-up tension poured into every brush of their tongues together. Fuma's lips are just as soft and sure as Euijoo always thought they would be, but all Euijoo can taste is Yuma. He never would have imagined that, but it feels right. Without Yuma, Euijoo might never have kissed Fuma at all.
He and Fuma pull back at the same time, breathing hard, and make eye contact. Euijoo smiles helplessly, and Fuma smiles back.
“Hey, come on,” Yuma whines, and Euijoo finally registers that he's been trying to squirm his way out from between them. “I'm too sensitive for this, lemme just…”
Fuma’s eyes drop to Yuma's lap, where Yuma's hand is wrapped firmly around his knot. Euijoo's gaze follows, and he realizes the hand Fuma doesn’t have in Euijoo's hair is on Yuma's hip, his thumb gently stroking Yuma's skin.
“Poor baby,” Fuma murmurs, eyes flicking up to Yuma's face. “Do you want kisses, too?”
Euijoo's heart skips at the thought of watching Fuma kiss Yuma—something inside him has settled after that kiss, and the remnants of jealousy and anger are being drowned out by fondness. Fuma is cute when he fusses over Yuma.
But Yuma shakes his head. This time when he tries to move, Fuma shifts backward to let him. “I'm good to watch,” Yuma says, arranging himself so he's lounging against the pillows. “You should get Euijoo-kun off.”
Euijoo might be feeling less primal now, but that doesn't lessen the thrill when Fuma turns his gaze on Euijoo instead. There's a hunger in his eyes that has Euijoo all too aware of his aching cock, especially when Fuma crowds in close to Euijoo, hand sliding over Euijoo's hip and pulling him in so their bodies are almost pressed together.
Fuma’s hand ghosts over Euijoo's cock, his lips close to Euijoo's when he murmurs, “Can I?”
Euijoo nods, his heart in his throat making it difficult to speak. Fuma kisses him as he wraps his hand around Euijoo's cock, and Euijoo’s hands fly up to pull Fuma even closer, moaning into his mouth.
Fuma moans, too, low and intent in the back of his throat. He pushes Euijoo down into the bed, crawling on top of him. He spares a glance toward Yuma before focusing all his attention on Euijoo, spreading precum down Euijoo's cock as he strokes him.
Euijoo slides his hands down Fuma's back and grabs handfuls of Fuma's ass, arching up into his touch. It feels so good to have Fuma like this, to be able to kiss him and touch him everywhere instead of holding back. Like this, with Fuma pressed against him and working his cock, Euijoo can't even feel guilty for how long it took. When they stare into each other's eyes, everything but their desire is stripped away.
“Euijoo-yah,” Fuma murmurs, reverent. “You close? Gonna come for me?”
“Yeah,” Euijoo breathes. “Yeah… Hyung, I…”
Fuma’s hand tightens on Euijoo's cock, and Euijoo loses his train of thought to a flood of pleasure.
“Hyung,” he says urgently, grasping at the words before they escape him again. “Hyung, you know you're mine, right?”
“Always,” Fuma says immediately. “I always have been.”
Euijoo groans, screwing his eyes shut. He wants to stay just like forever, riding the edge of orgasm with Fuma on top of him and confirmation of what Euijoo's always wanted fresh in the air.
“Bite him, Euijoo-kun,” Yuma says. “He likes it when you do that.”
Euijoo immediately sinks his teeth into the crook of Fuma's shoulder, making Fuma cry out. His hand falters on Euijoo's cock as he trembles on top of him, a warm flood of his slick dripping onto Euijoo's thighs, and Euijoo slips over the edge. He comes with his teeth digging into Fuma's skin, thinking about Fuma considering himself Euijoo's all this time.
“Euijoo-yah,” Fuma gasps out. “Euijoo.”
Euijoo lets go long enough to murmur a soft, “Hyung,” in response before he scrapes his teeth over the mark he left on Fuma's shoulder and latches on, working at it again. He wants it to be dark and lasting, for Fuma to be able to see that he's Euijoo's for as long as possible.
Euijoo lets his head fall back to the bed when he's done, mind spinning. In the aftermath, their breathing is the only sound in the room.
“Okay, that was hot,” Yuma says, cutting through the quiet. “I'm gonna…”
He trails off, and Fuma looks over and then promptly rolls off Euijoo to grab Yuma's arm and haul him back down onto the bed. “Not yet,” he says, wrapping his arms around Yuma and spooning him.
“I was just going to wash up,” Yuma protests. “We're all gross.”
“I like it, though,” Fuma says, burying his face in Yuma's back.
Yuma looks like nothing so much as a disgruntled cat, pinned by Fuma's arms, face scrunched up in annoyance. Euijoo laughs at him as he sits up. “I’ll get stuff to clean up,” he says. “You stay there and cuddle.”
Euijoo gets to his feet slowly, his limbs feeling like jello. Yuma's right—he’s a mess, but at least he didn’t knot, so he doesn't have to deal with the ache of it. He shuffles into the bathroom and almost laughs out loud when he sees his sleep pants still there, crumpled in a corner. The wet spot on them is nothing in comparison to how Euijoo's thighs are coated in Fuma's slick now.
He's a little sad to wipe himself clean, but it's drowned out by the desire to get back to the bed as soon as possible. He brings back warm washcloths, handing one to Yuma and crowding up behind Fuma with the other, coaxing his face out from between Yuma's shoulder blades so he can wipe away the cum he didn't catch with his tongue earlier. Fuma blinks at him with sleepy, fond eyes, and Euijoo's heart goes soft.
Euijoo sets aside the washcloth when he's done, spooning up behind Fuma. Yuma is done cleaning, too, curled up in Fuma's arms with his eyes closed, expression peaceful. Euijoo reaches across Fuma's waist and rests a hand on Yuma's hip.
This isn't how Euijoo thought his day would go, even when he woke up to Fuma pressed against him. Especially when he woke up like that. All the worries that propelled him out of this very bed will no doubt return. They'll have to talk about what just happened and figure whatever this is out.
But that's a problem for later. Right now, Euijoo has a deep sense of satisfaction in his bones at the knowledge that he's claimed Fuma and Yuma for himself. He presses his nose to the marks on Fuma's shoulder that prove it, red blooms in the shape of his and Yuma's mouths.
They don't have anywhere to be for hours yet. Euijoo inhales deeply and lets himself drift into a contented doze, surrounded by all three of their scents mixed together.