Work Text:
Had Yunho been an ordinary person, or perhaps more along the lines of a non-famous person, his thoughts on alphas would probably not have been widely known. But since he is, well, an idol, and an omega idol at that, he’s been asked a plethora of times. In interviews, in passing, in random encounters on the street and so on. Utilizing the industry-standard of personal but not private, Yunho has always aimed for what can only be called the truth. Yunho has always found alphas, well, cute.
The alphas they have in the group do not really contradict that particular statement, even if the bad boy persona cycles through them about every second comeback, Yunho finds them cute even when they wear leather and puff up their chests and act as though they could bring down a black bear with nothing but their blunt teeth. It holds true for all of them, for San, with his bright red hair and mischievous smile, Seonghwa with his pastel pink hair and big eyes, Yeosang with his soft smile and blue hair and... and Mingi with —
Yunho shakes his head, dispelling the thought instead of investigating it further. He returns to the now black screen of his switch, thumbing and clicking at the left stick while his stylist brushes his dark-brown hair into silk-like softness. He sighs, fondly if a bit exasperatedly, at the loud and bright noises of the alphas getting ready just a few feet away. Their hair is in a myriad of bright colors, brighter than they are on their days off, their hormones excitedly spiking when it comes time to perform, and they preen and boast as they’re dressed in expensive, bright clothes. Had Yunho been in a better mood, he’d have indulged them, the way Wooyoung is doing, cooing and praising them until the alphas shiver with the praise given.
Continuing his train of thought, dodging past the ‘Mingi’ of it all with the agility of a rock skipping on water, Yunho bites his lip. Many idols are alphas. After all, they are cute (as earlier stated), and built for showmanship and nurture, practically made by nature to foster a fandom. Omega’s, like Yunho, are duller. Haircolors ranging from light-brown do dark-brown, Omega’s are made for utility and hunting, for protection rather than nurture. So, they are rarer in careers as these, but that might just as well be the cause of a society that scoffs at choosing such an indulgent line of work as it is a quirk of their birth. Alphas are excused, their nature almost demands a stage, but omegas are supposed to be tougher, stronger, not swayed as easily by something as foppish as attention.
But Yunho finds that ridiculous, mostly because they are so tired all the time that the secondary genders barely matter. They’re on suppressors, the kind that they have to ship in from overseas because they’re seen as too damaging for normal people, and too stressed and ‘dieted-out’ to go into season when the pills aren’t enough. And besides that, it’s all performance. They play the role that fits the stereotype of them when they need to. Yunho, who is tall for an omega, and who at most just smiles when San preens and coo in his direction (in difference to Wooyoung, who mostly just laughs but then bares his teeth in threat when anyone else tries to approach San), has always been fine at playing at the other genders when he needs to.
“Yunho-ya!” Mingi shouts, too loud for an enclosed space, and Yunho glances over. Mingi is smiling, broad enough so that it goes a bit uneven, and Yunho gives a quick smile before looking back to his lap and the switch that is just as black-screened as it was a few minutes ago. Fuck. Yunho thinks, tapping a nail against the bright neon-green of the joycon. Fuck.
The thing is... Mingi was always cute. Yunho’s been very open about it, whenever someone’s asked (that someone is mostly Mingi, honestly). Mingi was cute before he presented, and he was even cuter when he walked out of the scent-sealed season-chamber fiddling with his orange-red hair. Yunho can deal with cute. He knows what to do with Mingi being cute.
Yunho does not know what to do about Mingi who has broad shoulders and a tiny waist, who has thick thighs and an ass that honest to God jiggles when he moves with the force of his dancing, and Yunho especially doesn’t know what to do with a Mingi that’s so fucking aware of how hot he is. Mingi’s hair has been shifting between gray and light purple for the past couple of months, until it suddenly settled as pink, and Yunho has never thought of himself as having a preference until that moment. Which is also, conveniently, the moment that he realizes that perhaps Mingi is something other than ‘just cute’.
“Ready?” Hongjoong asks, placing a hand on Yunho’s shoulder, making him startle slightly as his thoughts are once again interrupted, “Twenty more minutes.”
“You got it, boss,” Yunho nods, looking into the mirror and meeting Hongjoong’s eyes through it, “Tell me if you need any help getting them in line.”
He grins as he inclines his head towards the alphas who are currently begging for compliments from their stoic managers, Mingi being particularly bad, practically hanging off his favorite manager's arm. Yunho licks his lips to avoid baring his teeth, and quickly dismisses any out-of-bound instinct. Focus. He breathes in through his nose, taking comfort in the beta’s presence. The neutral, clean scent of him is so comforting that Yunho has started thinking of it as Hongjoong’s rather than a beta’s.
“It’ll be fine,” Hongjoong grimaces, “But I’m glad it’s the last date for a while, and that we’re home, because they’re getting unrulier and unrulier for every night passing.”
Yunho doesn’t have to think of an answer because Mingi gives a victorious woop, setting of the other alphas into a ruckus, which makes Hongjoong stalk over, grabbing Mingi by the scruff of his neck and Yeosang by the other, a lecture already spilling from his tongue.
With a shake of his head, Yunho looks back into the mirror. Focus, he says, swallowing as his throat is oddly thick. Focus.
A couple of hours later, Yunho is really struggling.
Here’s the thing, Mingi being an alpha didn’t surprise Yunho, needy and soft as he was even when they were kids, just as being an omega didn’t surprise Yunho at all. But somehow, Yunho has a tendency to only remember half of what makes an alpha an alpha, and forget that the other half is...
“Wow, he’s really going at it, isn’t he?” Wooyoung murmurs appreciatively, watching Mingi slowly roll his hips, holding his shirt just high enough so you see the way the movement travels from his flat tummy down to his hips. The other alphas are hollering, encouraging him, which makes the next movement, a full-body roll, even worse. Mingi’s head is thrown back, his pink hair damp with sweat and starting to curl around the collar of the shirt that Mingi only has two buttons buttoned on, his tongue peaking out between his full lips and his eyes fluttering shut, his entire tight, muscular body shivering as his back arches, his thighs flexes —
“He’s even worse than San,” Jongho sighs from the other side of him, arms crossed over his chest and one hand loosely holding on to his microphone. He’s not looking away though. Yunho thinks about ripping both of their throats out, and then immediately shies away from the thought.
“We really should get out there to help Hongjoongie-hyung,” Wooyoung says softly, making no hint of moving. The aforementioned beta is standing off to the side of the alphas, first futilely trying to MC whatever friendly competition this started out as and now trying to stop the horny dance-off it devolved into. And fuck, alphas were made for this, to dress up and make pretty, to dance and sing and coo to their mates. Yunho can’t believe they thought this would be good pause entertainment, a distraction from the way the three of them ducked off stage to change their wardrobe. It had worked well enough so far, but apparently well-enough seems to have been just a step away from trying to trap thirty bees in your bare hands.
It will be changed until the next leg of the tour, they’ll redo the wardrobe changes so the alphas are always accompanied by at least one omega to help out Hongjoong (who is a formidable beta, in a way that makes Yunho’s stomach swoop sometimes, like out of the old myths about the warrior betas that conquered lands, but not even he can keep a hold of four horny, virile alphas put into the addictive feedback loop that an appreciative audience can emit), but that doesn’t change today. Today, Yeosang is laughing and San is giving a hearty woop as Mingi sways around, the movement carried entirely by his hips. He has a longer jacket on today, and like the menace he is, he moves it out of the way so that the camera can pan over the way his hips move, letting it longer over the way his the tight black jeans strain to fit over his thick thighs and ass.
The arena is practically vibrating. Yunho snarls, the deep sound carried almost entirely through his secondary vocal chords, and it makes the two other omegas blink at him in surprise. Yunho takes a breath, smiling apologetically, and does not think about stepping out on stage, wrestling Mingi down and claiming him, hissing to the audience that Mingi is his alpha, Mingi builds his nest, guards his eggs and if anyone wants to try, Yunho keeps his teeth sharp and his nails long and —
“Dude?” Wooyoung frowns, stepping closer, his vanilla scent deepening in concern and Yunho shakes his head, trying to get rid of the sullen, angry fog that’s started to cloud his senses. It feels like a natural progression, which should probably worry him, but right now Yunho is mostly angry. Wooyoung’s hand is cool on his forehead, and Yunho is so brave and kind for not biting it off and skinning it to keep the bones as lucky charms in his nest. Yunho, angry and quickly devolving into what can only be called bloodthirst, does not look away from Mingi.
And Mingi, still dancing, is looking straight back at him, full lips curled into a smile, his eyes so dark they look like obsidian.
Yunho goes into heat two hours later.
The only one that’s really surprised by that is Yunho.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Seonghwa coos, gently pushing Yunho’s hair back from his forehead.
“No,” Yunho answers, sullenly, allowing himself this when his so-called best friend apparently induced a heat in him so hard it ate through three years of steadily taken hormones. Not that he’ll tell anyone else that. If anyone else asks, he’ll say he forgot to take his morning pill. The fact that no one has asked him is kind of surprising him, but he decides to not dig deeper. For his own sanity, if nothing else. Yunho doesn’t like being predictable, but he especially doesn’t like others knowing he doesn’t like being predictable.. He shifts, uncomfortable, whining as hot and cold somehow manage to spark through him the same time. Seonghwa coos at him again, more decisively this time, and looks down at him with a pointed look, unblinking, until Yunho rolls his eyes and coo’s back. Seonghwa, presumably happy with that, tucks a strand of lilac hair behind his ear before turning to Yeosang who is currently wrestling with the heap of pillows he’s trying to shape into a nest in Yunho’s bottom bunk.
“He’s less than half an hour away. You think you’ll get done until then?”
“I’ll get done enough,” Yeosang huffs, his eyes still smudged with dark eyeliner and his skin still streaked with glitter and sweat, “Mingi should be able to do the finishing touches.”
Yeosang blows his bangs out of his eyes, the bright green strands barely moving from underneath its multiple layers of hairspray. He looks at the half-finished nest before frowning and leaning up to make sure the blankets that’s canopied underneath the bottom bunk is holding up.
“Mingi’s not here,” Yunho says in a way he wishes was uncharacteristically emotional but is probably just par for the course. The way his stomach clenches around the thought is not normal though, the way his entire body seems to shiver with the way Mingi’s name rolls of his tongue, “Mingi’s an asshole.”
“Mingi’s getting yelled at by Hongjoong,” San yawns from the top bunk, peering over the edge and tilting his head to the side, looking so cute that Yunho thinks about biting his head off and keeping it underneath his pillow for safekeeping. San smiles, adorably, his eyes disappearing into the curve of his round cheeks, as though he knows exactly what Yunho is thinking, “He’ll be back to claim firsts before we all take our turn.”
“Did you make a schedule or something?” Yunho asks and bares his teeth at San who just flutters his eyelashes, feeling testy and angry about it. Alphas are usually more chill about being subject to their hormonal changes, but an omega is not. Yunho hasn’t even had his yearly proper heat for five years, and now he’s forced into a flash heat because of stupid, sexy —
“We did,” Seonghwa hums, tilting his head as he gentles a hand through the strands of Yunho’s soft hair, “We talked about who’d christen your cunt first, and Mingi and San almost came to blows about it.”
Yunho flushes at the way Seonghwa speaks, almost lackadaisical in his filthiness, and licks his lips as another surge of heat starts to eat him up from the pit of his belly down to the clenching need of his pussy until it’s so overpowering it’s in his throat. Seonghwa’s eyes darken, his nose twitching as his the hand he has petting through Yunho’s hair stutter in its movement, and then stop, before resuming again.
“I would’ve won, had I fought for it,” Seonghwa murmurs as San’s head once again becomes visible from the bunk bed, his nose flaring as titter his teeth together the way he does when he sees a fat dove outside the window, “But I like the idea of fucking you when you’re sloppy.”
Yunho swallows, his body tensing slightly as another roll of heat pounds through him, and tries not to feel the way they’re all looking at him, hungry and eager.
“I thought Wooyoung would be the first one to crack,” San comments idly, tucking his head up on the wooden slats that makes sure he doesn’t roll off the top bunk in a restless sleep or a rut, “But this is better.”
There’s a tension in the air that Yunho tries to convince himself at first is just from his own embarrassment at going into flash heat, something that’s usually reserved for newly presented teenagers. But when it doesn’t dissipate, instead inching into the room like darkening shadows, brought into reality by the dark gazes of San and Seonghwa, in the coiled, restricted strength of Yeosang’s body as he kneads his fists into a pillow to make it softer. It’s not Yunho’s first heat, but it’s the first one he’s had when it’s all of them.
“Pretty,” Yeosang comments, his voice airy but his gaze very much not as it hones in on the way Yunho squirms, “You smell good, like the air just before a rain. It suits you.”
Yunho’s body roils with another flash of fire and need, Yunho thinks about San’s strong back, about Seonghwa’s lips, about Yeosang’s broad shoulders, Mingi’s strong waist, he thinks about watching Seonghwa wrestle San down on the ground and fucking him while waiting for his turn with Yunho, Mingi’s cock sinking into Yunho’s cunt, pretty and strong and virile and —
Seonghwa’s nails scratch against his neck and Yunho moans, biting it off the moment he realizes he’s doing it.
“You sound good too,” Yeosang comments again from where he’s trying to figure out if one pillow makes a better match to San’s running shorts than another one. To Yunho, the choices look the same, but alphas are picky about that kind of stuff.
“Shut it,” Yunho hisses, kicking a foot out in Yeosang’s general direction.
“Go to sleep, puppy,” Seonghwa tuts, shifting his weight to press a kiss against Yunho’s temple, his breath cool against Yunho’s flushed and heated skin, “Mingi will be here when you wake up.”
The mention of Mingi sears through Yunho like a brand, and it’s embarrassing, it’s shameful, because his thighs shiver, and he pushes them together as his cunt throbs just with the mention of him. Fuck, it’s not just about Mingi, about his strong shoulders and thin waist, it’s about him coming here with the purpose — with the purpose of —
Yunho closes his eyes, a soft gasp escaping him as he imagines Mingi above him, encasing him, fucking him. Seonghwa’s eyes are burning, and San, head tilted as he watches Yunho from his perch, licks his lips.
“At least it’s not a real heat,” Yunho mutters as he snaps his teeth around what he wants to be a growl but is most certainly a whine, trying to remind his hindbrain that the Mingi that it has apparently decided to fixate on once ate a worm when they were thirteen to impress a girl, “It will be over fast, if nothing else.”
Yeosang hums, turning to him, his cheeks bunching up around a sweet, angelic smile. He smiles, and his sharp corner teeth make Yunho swallow and think about tanned skin and strong muscles, about Yeosang’s curious gaze and strong hands.
“It will feel real enough, Yunho-ya,” Yeosang states before turning back to weave one of Seonghwa’s pastel hoodies together with one of Mingi’s threadbare black ones.
Yunho mutters asshole but doesn’t say anything as he tries to make himself comfortable. It works well enough, and he’s soon lulled to sleep by Seonghwa’s gentle hands and the quiet, rippling anticipation of his body.
When he sleeps, he dreams of heat.
The dream turns into stark reality when he wakes up, curled up around a pillow wearing the sweaty tank top Yeosang had worn only a couple of moments earlier. He is on fire. His blood burns with something deep and dark, something that goes beyond himself and digs into the deepest, most feral parts of him. He whimpers as he realizes that he is ravenous, hungry and horny at the same time, his cunt throbbing and dripping, with his stomach churning with hunger for something metaphorical and very, very literal.
Yunho groans, the low sound turning high and needy as he stretches and arches his back. His nose flares as he takes in the scent of the nest around him. Something inside him, the part that feels as foreign as it does fundamental, murmurs happily at how well-constructed it is. Good mates. Good pack.
Groggily, he reaches up to bat a lazy hand towards one of the thin golden chains Seonghwa likes to intertwine with silk ribbons and hang in the nests he builds, making it swing, which makes the silk and gold catch the light coming from the downturned light in the corner. Yunho’s head falls back as he stretches, the long line of his body arching as he mewls, the friction of sheets feeling both like heaven and like hell against his sensitive, flushing skin. Sage, citrus, sweat, heat —
“Sorry for waking you,“ a low voice drawls from the shadows, and it’s only then that Yunho realizes that he closed his eyes again when he scented the air. His eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the low light, and Yunho sees Mingi by the dresser. Mingi is halfway turned away from him, his hair a lighter pink than it was earlier in the afternoon. When Mingi glances up and back at him, Yunho can see Mingi’s lips, the way they’ve swollen darker than normal.
“Did you suck his dick?” Yunho asks, his voice feeling heavy and unused even though it can’t have been that long since the others left him in the room. Yunho’s eyes track the way Mingi’s lips twitch, smile, and then Mingi thumbs at his plump bottom lip, making it shape around the press of his thumb, “Is that why you took so long?”
Yunho tries to make it sound something other than petulant. From the way Mingi looks at him, he’s not entirely sure he succeeds.
“It’s the easiest way to make him shut up,” Mingi hums, his pink lip darting out to lick at his bottom lip with an arrogant tilt to his sharp jaw that is as much infuriating as it is devastatingly handsome, “It would’ve taken longer had I let him rant. If you actually ever got in trouble with him, you’d know that.” Yunho thinks about Mingi on his knees, his broad shoulders slanted submissively, with Hongjoong’s small hand in his hair. Yunho pulls in a breath as the thought shivers through him, making his ass clench as his entire lower body burns. Fuck. Yunho’s mouth opens, his eyebrows pinching as he digs a hand into the nest of sweatshirts in the corner.
“Give me a minute,” Mingi says, and Yunho can tell he’s trying for something like comfort. The way Yunho’s entire body burns with each vowel twisted from Mingi’s tongue, Yunho doesn’t feel very comforted though. Mingi is wearing a threadbare t-shirt that Yunho’s seen him wear for years, since long before they became idols, and the way it’s gone from hanging off Mingi’s lanky body to straining to cover his broad chest makes Yunho’s mouth water.
He ate a worm, Yunho thinks to himself, loathe to allow himself weakness, even when his entire biology is trying to make him go belly-up (literally and figuratively), he ate a worm and then cried when she wasn’t impressed about it.
Mingi runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head to the side and cracking his neck. Yunho stares at the long line of his throat, at the beautiful and clean sharpness of his face, from the line of his forehead to his straight nose to his plump lips and sharp jaw. He looks sinful, in a pair of low-slung sweats that’s low enough on his sharp hip bones to show that he isn’t wearing anything underneath, and a shirt that Yunho bought him ten years ago and Mingi still wears.
The thought makes his stomach clench, in something more complicated than just heat.
“You didn’t add anything to the nest,” Yunho grouches instead of investigating the feeling a bit closer.
“I didn’t add anything to the nest, yet,” Mingi answers with a shrug, a second later than would be considered smooth. He turns back to the dresser, and Yunho realizes that he’s removing his jewelry. Mingi tugs a thick chain necklace from his neck, rubbing the skin where it’s been hitting his chest as he dances. Yunho can imagine the slightly reddened mark, the bits of imperfection that breaks the illusion of perfection they sell to the fans but makes him all the more real. Yunho strokes his fingers down his own waist, shivering as he dips his hand over his stomach and down between his legs. The movement is fluid, almost instinctual, and he barely has the time to be embarrassed about it. His pussy is so hot it burns, and the scent of it is so strong, so strong.
Mingi’s nose flares, his gaze darkens. Yunho strokes two fingers along the lips of his pussy, gathering wetness and spreading them from the sensitive inner ones onto the outer ones that Yunho can feel has plumped up. When his wet fingers grace over his swollen clit, he whimpers. It’s so intense that he wants to stop touching himself, but also so intense that he can’t, and Yunho almost feels like he did during his first heat.
“Just hurry up,“ Yunho says, and he isn’t whining, he swears he isn’t.
“I’m on my way,” Mingi says, his voice higher than it was a moment ago, the only sign that this play of theirs, a simulacrum of the way Yunho would’ve made Mingi chase him, where they still in the mountains, dressed in nothing but furs and feathers, is any strain on him at all.
Yunho huffs, twisting his body, his blood thrumming wild and hot. He flexes his hands, considers wrestling Mingi down and taking him, rubbing his cunt against Mingi’s cock until it’s wet and erect, until Mingi doesn’t have a choice. He turns his head, placing his head on his knees, staring into the cotton woven blanket that makes up the canopy of his nest. The tink of one of Mingi’s jewelry hitting the plate on Yunho’s dresser shivers along Yunho’s entire spine. He breathes, sighs, and at the second sound, the drawn-out quiet of Mingi curling one of his necklaces over the porcelain, Yunho snaps his jaw and hisses.
Mingi’s only answer is an amused little huff, and Yunho narrows his eyes before turning his head to face Mingi, curling his arms around his knees and head to nose at inside of his own elbow, breathing against the sensitive skin of it. He curls himself up tightly as he watches Mingi through the curtain of his soft, brown hair.
Mingi removes one of his rings, twisting it off the finger, placing it carefully on the porcelain before bending it against the palm of his other hand and cracking it. He hums, his hoarse voice carrying the dark supportive note of his secondary vocal chords. Yunho clicks his teeth.
“You done?”
“A moment,” Mingi murmurs, lip quirking as he glances in Yunho’s direction. He removes a bracelet, parting his lips to hold it between his teeth while he fiddles with the small clasp. Mingi’s teeth are round, rather than pointy, and Yunho has a flash of a thought to chew the tougher parts of a felled prey before feeding it to Mingi in small, indulgent bites.
“Stop hissing, I’m coming,” Mingi mutters and Yunho quickly swallows the sound he hadn’t realized he’s making. Another ring, another —
“Fuck, Mingki,” Yunho growls, his secondary vocal chords vibrating the words with a threat, “Just get over here and get inside me.”
For a second, Yunho thinks that Mingi might deny him a third time. That he’ll continue the charade, and Yunho is going to cry if he isn’t fucked right this second, he’s so horny it hurts. And amongst it all, all the hormones that omegas are usually so good at dealing with, usually a pack's stable center, are suddenly at the forefront of his mind and body with the speed of a crack of the whip. What if Mingi doesn’t want him? The thought fills him with as much anger as it does sadness, one feeling feeding into the other. He bares his teeth, his eyes burning, and Mingi blinks, slowly, lazily, before tilting his head slightly backwards and to the side, exposing the tender, soft line of his neck.
Yunho closes his mouth, pouting, and the hurricane of emotions subsides, rocking back into the heat, going from dampening it to bolstering it.
“When you rut,” Yunho says, trying for acerbic but landing on whiny, his stomach twisting as Mingi grabs the edges of his t-shirt with his arms crossed, starting to pull it off, “I’ll see how you like it, getting teased like this.” Mingi pulls the shirt off with a grace that is both novel and deeply in character, revealing tan skin stretched over broad shoulders, the concave curve of his flat stomach, the sensuous contour of his skinny waist.
“I’ll like it,” Mingi says, running a hand through his hair and shaking it out, and Yunho can trace the movement through every relevant muscle in Mingi’s body. The shift of Mingi’s bicep, the flex of the tricep, the roll of his shoulders, “Because it’s you.”
Yunho opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself unable too, the words turning the pit of his belly to warm, thick syrup, making the heat of his cunt tighten around the nothing that’s starting to feel like a spiritual denial. Mingi runs the hand from his hair, down over his chest, over his stomach, teasing around the edge of his sweatpants. Yunho watches, unblinking, licking his lips as Mingi yawns and flexes his shoulders. Placing one knee on the edge of the bed, he places his large hands on Yunho’s legs and with one sharp yank, pulls Yunho closer in the same movement that he heaves himself up into the bed and into the nest.
This time, Yunho doesn’t even try to squash the embarrassing squeaking sound he makes as he’s pulled closer. He shivers, eyes fluttering as he breathes in deep, of Mingi’s warm, sweaty skin and the traces of cologne still clinging to him. Mingi leans over him, Yunho’s face suddenly full of the curve of Mingi’s pecs as Mingi shoves the t-shirt into one of the nest’s corners, adding his scent more properly to the others.
“Careful,” Yunho says, voice low and hoarse as he flexes his hand once before placing it on Mingi’s warm skin, splaying it over Mingi’s ribs, “You’ll break it.”
“Can’t help it, I’m not good at nests,” Mingi shrugs, one hand stroking down Yunho’s side, grabbing Yunho’s thigh to spread his legs a bit wider, settling more comfortably between them, “That’s Yeosangie’s and Seonghwa-hyung’s specialty.”
“Uh-huh,” Yunho’s breath hitches as Mingi leans down to nose at Yunho’s jaw, his breath hot right against the sensitive spot where Yunho’s jaw meets neck, “What’s yours, then?”
“Fucking,” Mingi answers, nonchalantly, and Yunho can feel the grin against his neck as Yunho shoves at his shoulder, Mingi not moving a single inch.
Yunho has a sharp retort, a good one, on his tongue, but before he can voice it, Mingi pushes at his cheek with his nose, making Yunho look down at him. Their gazes meet, and Mingi’s sharp eyes are deep, dark and adoring.
“Hi,” Mingi murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss against the corner of Yunho’s mouth, as though he can’t feel Yunho’s cunt tensing against the hard line of his cock that’s still trapped underneath the impenetrable wall that is his gray sweatpants.
“Hi,” Yunho mirrors, breathless, breaking out into a smile as he gentles a hand through Mingi’s hair and down over the side of his handsome face, Mingi turning to nuzzle against the palm of Yunho’s hand as it reaches his cheek, “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” Mingi says softly, a rumbling purr starting between his ribs as he kisses Yunho’s palm, “Sorry for missing last time.“
Last time had been during Mingi’s hiatus, when Yunho, angry, betrayed and so worried he couldn’t sleep properly for almost three months, had gone into a faux heat that had been absolutely awful. Yunho had spent it curled up in San’s shoddily built nest while crying, feeling as though the world was crumbling around him. Mingi had been gone, then, and none of them had really known if he’d ever come back. But... But here he is, Yunho thinks, his throat suddenly thick as he strokes a thumb over Mingi’s cheekbone. Here he is.
With a soft breath, Yunho leans down to press a kiss against Mingi’s nose.
“Fuck me,” Yunho breathes, the syrupy warmth giving way to the blooming heat, and Yunho shivers as Mingi looks at him as though he’s hung the stars, as though he’s beautiful like this, flushed and quivering and begging, “Please, Mingki.”
The kiss Mingi pulls him into is searing, his hand on Yunho’s throat (presumptive, for an alpha, but Yunho’ll allow it, for now), with one thumb holding Yunho’s chin tilted towards him. Yunho runs his hands over Mingi’s shoulders, spreading his legs so he sinks closer, hooking one leg around Mingi’s hips as he slips one hand between Mingi’s arm and ribs, tracing over his skin until he can rest it on the line of Mingi’s spine, finding the place for it between Mingi’s shoulder blades as Mingi arches his back, rubbing his straining cock against Yunho’s pussy.
They are both breathing heavily as they pull apart, Yunho’s breath almost a wheeze as his entire body pounds with need. His secondary vocal chords vibrate with a lilting, cajoling note he’s barely aware of doing, stuck halfway between himself and pure instinct and need. He watches Mingi pull down the waistbands of his sweats, the elastic catching on his cock for a second, making it bob as it’s released and Mingi can hook the waistband underneath the swell of his generous ass. Yunho whimpers, licking his lips, arching his back and pulling Mingi closer. He rolls his hips, releasing a high-pitched whimper as the wet folds of his pussy part around the velvet-soft head of Mingi’s cock, giving a full body shiver as the clumsy, needy movement makes it glide between the lips of Yunho’s cunt, hot and hard against his hole but not finding home.
He makes the same movement again, ending in the same result, but at the tail-end of the undulating movement, Mingi pulls him closer, holding him still as he grabs the base of his cock to guide it right.
“Fuck,” Mingi says hoarsely as he rolls his hips, the head of his cock entering Yunho’s cunt, “Fuck, you’re tight.”
“Just get it in,” Yunho’s entire body is tense with anticipation, and he wiggles his hips to get Mingi’s cock deeper, but Mingi places one big hand on his hips and holds him still, “Mingki, I swear to God if you don’t get inside me this second I will —”
“Just relax,” Mingi says, his thick eyebrows knotting worriedly over his eyes as he gives Yunho a slightly harried look, and he’s so cute, he’s so fucking adorable, worrying that Yunho will hurt. Mingi is coiled tight like a spring, and Yunho is so wet he’s pretty sure he could wring slick out of the sheets already, his cunt throbbing so hot he knows Mingi can feel it, “Yunho, I’m big, I’ll hurt you, just relax.
Yunho blinks, feeling insane, but then he barks out a laugh and shoves an elbow into Mingi’s shoulder, making the other man give a surprised oof, and giving Yunho to use the leverage of his hooked leg and Mingi’s arched back to flip them over. He holds his forearm against Mingi’s throat, baring his teeth in a growl as he leans back, grabbing Mingi’s cock and holding it straight so he can sink down onto it. He pauses, clenching as he rolls his hips, rubbing wetness over Mingi’s leaking cock.
“Just follow my lead, Mingki,” Yunho licks his lips, making sure to let his tongue linger over the sharp points of his canines. The words are familiar, spoken a thousand times in everything from dance studios to parties to after club activities, from the first moment they met.
“Always,” Mingi breathes, almost reverent, as though he didn’t spend minutes teasing Yunho just before. Yunho forgives him though, because he’s so cute, and because if Yunho wants, he can give Mingi so many eggs to care for that Mingi won’t have the time to be such a little shit.
Any coherent thought is lost though when Yunho readjusts his hips and guides Mingi home, easing Mingi’s large, thick cock into his cunt. Oh, Yunho groans, oh, that’s — he rolls his hips, getting Mingi’s cock to slide deeper. It’s so thick, so hard, that it almost seems to forge a new path inside him. Mingi whimpers, his cock jumping, and Yunho snaps his teeth, and Mingi nods, shivering as he stays still as Yunho slides down further. Oh, Yunho has missed this. He’s missed being full, having a cock inside him as he rubs his clit, the odd and satisfying feeling of cumming with something inside you. And he’s missed Mingi, stupid, sexy Mingi and his hot body, his insane dancing and his bottomless adoration.
Once he’s seated fully on Mingi’s cock, he pauses for a second, leaning back so he can enjoy the feeling of Mingi inside him. He runs a hand down his body, lingering over his stomach, tracing down where he can feel Mingi’s cock inside him. He rolls his hips with his weight fully seated on Mingi’s thighs, eyes fluttering shut as Mingi’s hands grab his waist, holding Yunho steady as he rides Mingi’s lovely, thick cock.
The sounds are downright perverse with as wet as Yunho is and Mingi gets, cock probably leaking precum from the moment he stepped into the room. And Yunho, who otherwise has a well-developed sense of shame, couldn’t care less. Instead, he finds a rhythm, rolling his hips with a twist of his body, chasing the building feeling of burning heat.
“Mingki,” Yunho whines hoarsely, leaning back to rest his hands on Mingi’s strong thighs as he finds a position that gets Mingi as deep as he can get, his cunt clenching tight around Mingi’s cock like a vice, “Mingki, just —”
And Mingi, who is so good, who is breathing hard and watching him, his mouth open and wet and looking like a blooming rose, nods and slides a hand to where they are connected, rubbing at the base of his cock before resting his hand so that his thumb can rub at Yunho’s swollen clit.
Yunho’s mouth falls open, and it takes every single hard-earned muscle memory to keep moving in the same, maddening rhythm, his stomach swooping before settling into a fire that eats its way through every bone in his body with each movement of his hips.
It almost takes him by surprise when he comes, having chased it and wanted it for what feels like hours but is probably more like minutes, one second he is on the precipice and the next he is falling, his entire body tensing and then releasing in a cascade of shivering heat. Yunho’s mouth falls open as his knees snap together, his back arching as his cunt pulsates hot around Mingi’s cock. Mingi’s hips stutter, a shivery little movement as he follows, the knot only forming halfway, pushing at Yunho’s cunt, nosing at the hole that isn’t stretched enough to take it yet. It will be though, in a few hours.
Yunho breathes hard, whimpering, and for a second he feels sated. He basks in it until Mingi, never one to accept being ignored, gives a playful pinch to his clit, making Yunho squeak and then shove at him, too tired to actually get off Mingi’s cock.
“Stop that,“ Yunho grouses even as he feels the heat that had barely subsided start coming back, grabbing Mingi’s wrist to hold him still. Mingi blinks up at him, his normally sharp eyes big as he speaks, his voice lazy and slurred after his orgasm.
“But Yunho-ya, I want another go before the others break down the door,” Mingi pouts. Yunho wants to open his mouth and swallow him whole. Mingi moves his thumb slightly, teasing over the sensitive nub and making Yunho’s entire body tense and pulse.
And Yunho who is a fool but who is, more importantly, so in love with Mingi that it’s so fundamental to him that he won’t be able to place it for another couple of years, just nods.
“Of course,” Yunho breathes, leaning forward, stroking his fingers through Mingi’s hair, “Of course, Mingki, anything you want.”