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The showers in the university’s locker room aren’t all that bad, Beomgyu decides as he turns the knob and holds out a hand under the spray of the water to check whether the temperature and speed are to his liking. On finding that they are, he steps under the showerhead and allows the warmth of the water to soothe the tenseness lingering in his limbs from practice that had ended barely an hour ago. He suddenly forgets why he’s been so averse to using the showers this whole time; right now, when he can palpably feel the tension rolling off his shoulders and down the drain, he can’t think of a single reason. Besides him being a stubborn brat, of course. He doubts any kind of shower could erase that knowledge from his mind, not when it’s one of his core personality traits.
Midway through his shower though, he feels that all-encompassing satisfaction dissipating bit by bit. A stifling increase in temperature envelopes his body, growing more unbearable by the minute. It takes him a minute to realise that it isn’t the shower that’s acting up; the heat seems to be coming from within.
At the sudden turn of events, he makes the split-second decision to wrap up his shower, resolving to take a more thorough one once he’s home. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like the locker room showers; he feels oddly vulnerable as he towels himself dry sluggishly, trying to stay alert through the film of exhaustion that makes even the simple task of pulling on his skirt seem ten times more difficult. Nevermind that he’s the only person around, leaving essentially nothing to be alert of.
Or so he thinks.
It’s halfway through lacing up his boots that he realises what the uncomfortable flare in his body temperature and the sudden lethargy signifies. Fumbling for his phone amongst his belongings scattered across the bench separating the shower stalls from the first row of lockers, he switches it on and checks the date with a sense of dread rapidly burgeoning in the pit of his stomach.
The numbers that are quite literally the last thing he wishes to see stare back at him almost mockingly.
4th March.
Fuck.
It’s not even time yet. It’s not too far off from when it was supposed to hit, sure, and with schoolwork and an increased number of practices to attend with the next match coming up in less than two weeks, he might have forgotten altogether that it was due anytime soon, sure, but if it had just waited for another hour he would have been home for the weekend, unprepared but at the very least, sheltered and within reach of the resources he would need to deal with it. The resources being an assortment of toys so diverse and plentiful that he could most likely start a business of his own and six different kinds of lube.
But heats wait for no one, and it takes less than two minutes for the warmth to become overwhelming enough that he can no longer keep himself upright. He sinks helplessly to the floor, trying with an almost anguished urgency to look for the bright side in a situation that couldn’t possibly get any darker. The thought that offers him the most solace is that the locker room is off-limits to anyone outside of the cheerleading team. There are only three alphas among their squad of twelve, and Beomgyu knows for a fact that all three of them would rather drive themselves off a cliff than have sex with him, regardless of whether or not he has the power of ‘heat allure’ on his side, because they’re chill like that. They’re nowhere near as meat-headed as the typical alpha anyway—wouldn’t be on the team if they were—so in the rare circumstance that one of them does return to the locker room for whatever reason, he doesn’t have to fret over the possibility of them jumping him.
So, worst case scenario: he has to wait it out until there’s a lull in his symptoms and he can haul himself over to the infirmary two buildings down for a low grade suppressant that’ll only ward off his heat and the aforementioned ‘heat allure’ long enough for him to get home safely. He mourns his misfortune and how the higher beings have congregated in their decision to do everything possible to screw him over on this fine Friday evening; his heat has arrived early, his roommate is out of town for the weekend and therefore unavailable for assisting in getting him home the way he otherwise would, and the door to the locker room is opening.
The door to the locker room is opening.
Fuck.
“Hello?”
That isn’t the voice of anyone on the squad. Beomgyu knows nearly everything about his teammates, and that includes their voices. And the one that he just heard isn’t one of theirs.
Double fuck.
“Is anyone there?”
It is one that he recognises, though. The haze has embroiled him in its web even more firmly now, so he doesn’t really have the capacity to place where he’s heard it before, but he’s cognizant enough to know that he has. He lays there, panting quietly in an effort to draw the least amount of attention to himself, though he’s sure that the potency of his scent is completely cancelling that effort out. The most he can do is wish fervently that the newcomer doesn’t turn the corner and see him sprawled out across the floor like some sort of pornstar at the start of a poorly executed scene. Oh well. At least he managed to dress himself fully before the strength had traitorously left his legs, askew as his skirt might be.
“I know that I’m technically not allowed to be here,” the voice says, sounding alarmingly close now, “but I was passing by and I heard a noise, so I thought I’d check to make sure that no one was—”
And then, because his luck is so fucking immaculate today, the newcomer does exactly what he had wished against and turns the corner.
“—hurt…”
And it’s Kang fucking Taehyun. Captain of the basketball team Kang Taehyun. Object of both Beomgyu’s affections and wet dreams Kang Taehyun.
Triple fuck.
“Taehyun,” he manages weakly. “Fancy seeing you here.” In this locker room. That you’re not supposed to be in. That should leave the vicinity of at the earliest, he wants to add.
Kang Taehyun merely stands there wordlessly, dumbfounded and looking, for all his quick-wittedness and leadership skills, like he has no fucking clue what to do.
“B—Beomgyu hyung? Are you alright?” he says finally, sounding every bit like the gentleman Beomgyu knows him to be, which does absolutely nothing to stave off the arousal that has begun to ensnare each of the nerves in his body. It only encourages it to flourish, rather.
It’s at that moment that Beomgyu realises: Taehyun hasn’t even caught on to the situation yet, because not even an alpha with the most negligible self-preservation instincts on earth would willingly move closer to an unmated omega in heat—especially if that omega is Choi Beomgyu—which is exactly what Taehyun is doing right now.
There’s a good and a bad to every situation, Beomgyu supposes: the good is that Taehyun doesn’t know yet, and if Beomgyu plays his cards right he can keep it that way (although the omega in him whines in disappointment at being so close to Kang Taehyun and Kang Taehyun’s godly cock and yet not having it where he needs it most) whereas the bad is that Taehyun will know if Beomgyu doesn’t manage to stop him within the next second.
“N—No, Taehyun, I don’t think you should come any close—”
As it turns out, he doesn’t have to explain himself much further, because it is at that exact second that his cunt decides to release its first generous stream of slick. The dampness spreads in his panties like a wildfire but he can’t even begin to feel disgusted by the feeling, not when his scent has grown several times more potent from where it hangs in the air surrounding him.
Taehyun freezes. He knows now.
“Oh.”
Yeah, Beomgyu thinks mournfully. He can’t help the shiver that wracks his frame at the dilation of Taehyun’s pupils, though. Oh.
“Oh,” Taehyun repeats. Beomgyu doesn’t know if it’s the heat induced delirium playing tricks on his mind or if Taehyun’s voice is actually an octave deeper. “I—I think,” he pauses to swallow, and Beomgyu’s eyes trace the undulation of his Adam’s apple, wondering what it would be like to feel the motion against his tongue, “that I should go. I’ll send someone over for help—a nurse? O—Or would you rather I called a friend? Yeonjun hyung is your roommate, right? I think I have his number—no wait, you said the other day that he wouldn’t be in town. I have a few omega friends, I could have them come help you? Or no, maybe I’ll just call the nurse—” he frantically slaps a hand over his mouth and nose when the arrival of a brand new wave of slick further intensifies Beomgyu’s scent. “—fuck, okay, yeah, nurse it is then, you just… hang in there for a bit, alright? I—I’ll be right back.”
He hurriedly turns to leave.
Beomgyu doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s because he’s never been in the proximity of an alpha when in heat ever before and his omega has latched onto the presence and refuses to let go now that it’s had a taste of it; maybe it’s because he’s had one wet dream too many resembling this exact situation and he’s eager to see how similarly—or differently—it plays out in real life, if Taehyun’s cock was as beautiful and big as it is in his imagination, if his hands would feel as calloused, rough yet gentle against the skin of his waist, if he would fuck him with the same kind of power and determination that he displays on court; maybe it’s because Taehyun just looks so ravishing, standing there in a pair of sweats and a tank-top, defined muscles flexing gorgeously as he adjusts his hand to better cover the lower half of his face, black hair curling with the perspiration that has begun to appear on his forehead from the near lethal heat building rapidly in the air between the two of them.
He doesn’t know which of those reasons propels him to do it. All he knows is that he can’t let him leave.
“Taehyun, wait.”
Taehyun freezes yet again. Beomgyu can see the muscles in his shoulders tensing. He wonders if it’s because he’s restraining himself. The thought sends another shiver of pleasure rippling through his body.
“What if...” he says, hoping against hope that he doesn’t regret this in the imminent future, “...what if you help me?”
Taehyun gasps audibly. He turns around at the pace of a snail, staring at Beomgyu like he’s seeing him for the first time.
And then he pounces.
Beomgyu has always known that Taehyun is athletically gifted—has seen the evidence of it on court time and time again through heart eyes from his perch on the bleachers reserved for the cheerleading squad—and yet he can’t help the gasp that rips its way out of his throat when one moment, he’s staring at Taehyun’s form standing a good six feet away and grumbling internally at the unnecessary distance, and the next all of his senses are being assaulted by the scent of pure alpha as Taehyun cages him against the wall he’s been slumped against this whole time, meeting his cloudy gaze head on with eyes that weren’t nearly this dark a minute ago.
“Hyung,” he says, sounding weirdly strangled. “I’m going to ask you this once, and once only, because I frankly don’t have it in me to be a gentleman right now. Are you sure about this?”
Beomgyu has never been surer of anything in his life. He makes sure to convey every bit of his enthusiasm when he says, with all the coherence he can manage in the state he’s currently in, “Yes.”
The growl that bubbles low in Taehyun’s throat is borderline animalistic. Beomgyu swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.
He doesn’t know how Taehyun manages to slip off his sweater so quickly without damaging it in any way, but he does. He briefly wonders if it’s because he has experience in undressing people, but the bitterness birthed from that thought doesn’t last very long. It’s quickly replaced by excitement when Taehyun smoothly slides a hand under the material of his skirt, long fingers kissing the skin of his upper thighs, dangerously close to the damp lace of his panties.
And then, in the blink of an eye, his skirt’s gone too. Beomgyu had heard somewhere that Taehyun was into magic tricks. Maybe this was what they meant by that.
Taehyun’s eyes grow impossibly darker as they travel the length of Beomgyu’s body—the smooth skin of his neck, the pale stretch of his collarbones, the maddening narrowness of his waist and how it flares dramatically into his hips, the spread of his supple thighs, and of course, the jewel resting between them.
“Fuck,” he curses softly. It’s so genuine that it elicits a giggle from Beomgyu despite the delirium that has completely scrambled his brains at this point. “Fuck, hyung, you’re a dream.”
Beomgyu preens at the praise, arching up eagerly in an effort to draw Taehyun’s hands to the curves his eyes have been so hungrily tracing.
“Alpha,” he whines. “Take me.”
That seems to do the trick.
With another inhuman growl, Taehyun lunges forward and claims his lips with a ferociousness Beomgyu had only ever dreamt of before. Within seconds, Taehyun’s tongue has slipped past the seam of his lips and is sliding filthily against his own. Beomgyu’s head spins with the plethora of new sensations— Taehyun’s sturdy body pressed so closely to his softer one, his tongue against his own, his hands sliding sensually down his sides and wrapping snugly around his waist, his knee inching closer and closer to the mound between his legs. It’s all far too much.
His cunt seems to agree, if the onslaught of slick it releases yet again is any indication. Taehyun groans against his lips at the feeling of the dampness so close to his still sweatpant-covered knee, which is when Beomgyu registers his state of undress compared to Taehyun’s state of, well, dress.
“Alpha,” he says again, revelling in the hitch in Taehyun’s breath and how strongly the simple epithet seems to affect him. “Won’t you take off your clothes too?”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Taehyun replies, leaving Beomgyu to preen bashfully once again. He watches with impatient eyes as Taehyun pulls his tank top over his head. If he were more conscious of his behaviour, he would’ve felt some level of embarrassment at the rate at which he begins to practically salivate the minute the muscles of Taehyun’s upper body come fully into view.
That, however, is nothing compared to how his breath halts in his chest for a full minute when Taehyun pulls down his sweatpants and boxers in one fluid motion, freeing his erection from its constraints and letting it spring upwards to meet the skin of his abs. And fuck is it more impressive than any vivid image Beomgyu’s brain could ever have conjured.
In his frenzied state, Beomgyu thinks he could write a dissertation on it. Scratch that, he could most likely aim for a novel too, with illustrations and everything because goddamn is Kang Taehyun’s cock worthy of being the eighth wonder of the world. It stands tall and girthy, rather intimidating in its size, but with a soft, delicate charm to it, somehow. The tip is bulbous and flushed pink and the one thought that Beomgyu is left with after his thorough assessment is that he isn’t leaving this planet without getting his mouth on the beauty at least once.
But that has to wait for another time, because right now he is in heat, and potential eighth wonder of the world or not, Beomgyu is the one in need of being serviced and catered to at the moment.
Taehyun seems to agree because he wastes no time in bringing his hand to Beomgyu’s cunt, stroking lightly over the dampness of his panties and smirking at the whine the minimal contact draws from the omega. He slides the lace to the side with deft fingers, not even bothering to take them off fully; the lewdness of it all leaves Beomgyu dizzy.
But even that is nothing compared to the emotion that erupts within him at the first contact of Taehyun’s fingers against the folds of his cunt.
Taehyun clearly knows what he’s doing. Whether it’s from experience or inherent skill, Beomgyu doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t even care, because Taehyun is making him feel good and to his sex-crazed brain and his pulsing heart and his touch-starved cunt, that is all that matters.
It’s obvious that no external lubrication is needed, not with Beomgyu producing slick like his purpose in life is to give the Angel Falls a run for its money. Taehyun expertly spreads his slick along the length of his folds, making sure each corner is thoroughly soaked before he settles for rubbing his fingers slowly against his clit.
“Fuck, Taehyunie, oh my god,” Beomgyu keens, high and shameless and needy. The unrelenting stream of sounds he makes it a point to punctuate the air with clearly spurs Taehyun on, because he pulls his fingers away much to Beomgyu’s consternation, staring dead into his soul as he brings them to his own lips and slurps the slick off them like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted.
Beomgyu watches with eyes blown wide and his mouth hanging open as Taehyun closes his eyes and rolls the small amount of slick around on his tongue, swallowing it and then leveling his gaze with Beomgyu’s once again. “Delicious, just like I’d thought,” he grins cheshirely, as if the erotic display hadn’t left Beomgyu feeling like he’d been assassinated and then brought back from the dead.
And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, Taehyun says thoughtfully, “A little too delicious, actually. I think I might need another taste.”
With that, he raises himself from where he’d been slung over Beomgyu’s smaller body and lowers himself into the space between his legs instead, and before he even realises what’s happening, Taehyun has abruptly slid his panties until they’re tangled somewhere around his thighs and begun devouring his cunt like a starved man.
Beomgyu moans, high in his throat and much louder than he would be if he wasn’t so far gone, but unfortunately—or fortunately, rather—he is, and Taehyun is far too skilled to not be rewarded with a transparent reaction or two to his enthusiastic pussy-eating.
Beomgyu’s hands shoot out to tangle themselves in Taehyun’s luscious hair, needing desperately to feel tethered to something when Taehyun’s tongue is so unapologetically hellbent on making him feel like he’s floating a hundred feet high in the air.
Taehyun flattens his tongue against his clit and laves the whole of his cunt in broad stripes, with apparently no sympathy for Beomgyu’s persistent moaning, downright pornographic in its exaggeration and constantly increasing pitch.
Just when he thinks that Taehyun can’t possibly one-up himself any further, he brings two fingers back up to his pussy, slides them in a V-shape to bracket his tongue, the action driving Beomgyu crazy while effectively wetting Taehyun’s fingers at the same time. Two birds, one stone, or something. And then those fingers slide back down to his opening and slip snugly inside like they were made to nestle there. Needless to say, Beomgyu’s throat begins to ache with the incessant effort he’s putting into this soundtrack to be heard by just the two of them. And anyone else who has the misfortune of walking into or past the locker room, but details, details.
Taehyun laps at his slick like it’s the sweetest thing to have ever quenched his thirst—which, from his reaction earlier, it very well might as be—and Beomgyu can do nothing but produce more of it without an end in sight, only to be slurped into Taehyun’s hungry mouth the second it pours out.
“Taste so fucking sweet, hyung,” Taehyun grunts, his voice muffled against his mound. “Could do this for hours, beautiful, you know that? This is the best thing I’ve tasted all my life.”
Beomgyu whines, feeling very much like it’s the only sound he’s capable of producing at the moment. He tilts his up towards Taehyun’s mouth, urging him to continue feasting languidly. Taehyun, however, seems to have other plans. He pulls away from Beomgyu’s folds, tilts his head the slightest bit lower, spreads his hole open with the two fingers that had been lazily fingering him open and then thrusts the tip of his tongue into the little space he’s carved for himself.
Beomgyu sees white.
Like this, the slick pours directly onto the surface of Taehyun’s tongue. The alpha seems more than content to lethargically drink his nectar straight from the flower without moving an inch. His fingers rub slowly against the warmth of his spasming walls and for a moment Beomgyu is under the impression that if Taehyun keeps at it he’s going to orgasm from this alone, which is exactly when he pulls away with a flourish. Beomgyu is given no more than three seconds to admire the image of Taehyun hovering almost domineeringly over him like this—pupils dilated, hair tousled from the efforts of Beomgyu’s fingers and chin dripping with his slick—before he’s climbing back up until he’s once again slung over Beomgyu’s body, which is now flat against the floor of the room. (Beomgyu and his squadmates make it a point to personally sanitise the lockers and floors thrice a week, so there really isn’t any dirt or grime to be concerned about; even if there was, Beomgyu doubts his disgust would have given him enough strength to keep himself upright, not with Taehyun’s unceasing ministrations.)
The alpha fits one hand against his waist, places the other one next to his head, and Beomgyu is just about to ruminate on how protected he feels, caged by Taehyun’s larger body like this, when the man leans down and presses his lips to his once again.
It takes Beomgyu a few seconds to realise what he’s doing, but as their tongues intertwine once more, he can’t help but notice the new taste that’s been introduced aside from the flavours of their respective chapsticks. It’s when a liquid more viscous than saliva trickles from Taehyun’s tongue to his that he fully slots the pieces together, feeling filthy and sinful and yet, contradictorily enough, like he’s been brought to the gates of heaven, all at the same time.
“What do you think of your own taste, hm, kitten?” Taehyun pants against his lips. “Like it? Want some more?”
“I think you’re crazy,” Beomgyu giggles loopily, feeling a sense of accomplishment when Taehyun breaks his façade to smile affectionately down at him. “And to answer your other question,” he continues, trying his best not to slur his words because it’s important that he gets this across clearly, “I would like it more if you fucked me.”
Taehyun seems the slightest bit taken aback by his bluntness but recovers quickly, grinning in that brazen manner that Beomgyu has come to love so much in the past half hour.
“As you wish, princess.”
Beomgyu watches keenly as Taehyun gathers a generous amount of slick from between his thighs and across his cunt; he even takes it a notch further, scooping some fresh out of his hole, and then bringing all of it to his cock, mixing it with precum and lubricating the length of it thoroughly. The sight of it is so obscene that it tints Beomgyu’s cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, the first of all of the filthy things they’ve done so far to have resulted in such a development.
Taehyun notices, because his eyes haven’t strayed from Beomgyu once ever since they locked on him when he first entered the locker room, and in a moment of spontaneous tenderness, he leans down to leave a soft peck to the rouge of either cheek.
It earns him the most devastating smile from the unfairly stunning omega, leaving Taehyun to wonder what he’s going to do with himself once Beomgyu’s heat-induced frenzy evaporates and the two of them inevitably part ways.
Pushing that thought aside for the time being, Taehyun stops stroking himself and brings his glistening cock to Beomgyu’s equally glistening cunt. He pauses at the first contact though, confidence and authority giving way to soft demureness as he hesitantly asks, “Hyung, are you—”
“I’m clean,” Beomgyu says truthfully, a truth Taehyun easily echoes. “I don’t have a condom on me now—I doubt you do either—but I’m on the pill and you can, um, you can pull out. You know, before…yeah.”
It’s hilarious, how they’ve done the most unspeakable things over the past couple of minutes and yet they’re still having trouble actually putting the act into words.
Taehyun smiles, endeared, nudges his nose against Beomgyu’s, mumbles a faint “here I go then,” against the kiss-swollen skin of the omega’s lips, presses his nose against his neck where his sugary vanilla and strawberry (Taehyun loves strawberry) scent is strongest, and slides right home.
The scream-moan hybrid that is torn without warning from Beomgyu’s throat is his loudest that evening. Taehyun’s size is a force to be reckoned with, and he seems to grow even larger, sheathed inside his heat like this. Now that he knows the feeling of being impaled on Taehyun’s cock, Beomgyu isn’t sure he can go more than two days without his insides being molded to the shape of it. He supposes they’d have to make some arrangements for that.
Taehyun, on the other hand, wonders how on earth he’s supposed to make ends meet with his left hand ever again now that’s experienced the absolutely mind-blowing sensation of having the warmth of Beomgyu’s cunt throbbing around him, clinging to his cock like it never wants to let go. He also wonders if they’ll ever get to do this again.
But that’s a thought for another time, because right now, in the here and now, he has the most beautiful omega hugging his cock like it’s as essential to his survival as oxygen, and if it’s their first and last time doing this, he swears to milk the experience of everything it has to offer.
It’s with that thought, and one fleeting glance at Beomgyu’s expression to gauge how he’s holding up that Taehyun pulls out slowly until there’s nothing but the tip left within.
And then he punches back in.
Beomgyu positively wails as Taehyun sets a ruthless pace and follows the same pattern of pulling out to the point where he’s risking slipping out of Beomgyu’s hole entirely but not quite and then slamming back in, rucking Beomgyu up the floor with each thrust without fail.
Beomgyu’s reedy moans, so different from the smooth richness of his usual voice, are music to Taehyun’s ears. He distantly thinks, as he pistons away at Beomgyu’s pussy like it’s his only objective in life, that his sweet whining twines around Taehyun’s own low, gravelly groans to make the grandest melody, if he’s being honest.
Beomgyu, on the other hand, is more than content to simply lie there and take it, basking in the feeling of Taehyun’s hands around his thighs, his skin against his, the expression of pure bliss on his face—bliss that he is responsible for—the strength and power he pours into each one of his thrusts, more than enough to shove his entire body up with each new thrust. It only grows more pleasurable with time; the pain and discomfort from the onset of his heat from earlier evaporate bit by bit, remedied by the alpha cock rapidly making a home in his guts. Beomgyu isn’t sure if the reason behind every single one of his emotions being amplified like this is that it’s his first time being fucked during his heat or if it’s Taehyun’s excellent fucking stroke game—all he knows is that this is the most overwhelming pleasure he has ever felt in all of his 20 years and that Kang Taehyun and Kang Taehyun Jr. are both godsends.
Taehyun stills for a moment, reaching for one of Beomgyu’s hands, both of which had been occupied in leaving evidence of their activities across the canvas of Taehyun’s back, and bringing their tangled fingers to settle palm-down on the flat of Beomgyu’s stomach. The haze making his brain foggy dissipates and his eyes clear just enough to stare up at him in confusion. He’s met only with another one of those cocky, shiver-inducing grins, before he thrusts back into the omega’s heat.
It’s then that he realises what the alpha is trying to show him. Each time he shoves his cock back in, Beomgyu feels the flat of his stomach distend to what vaguely resembles a lump right under their joined hands. Jesus fucking Christ.
“T—Taehyun-ah,” the omega gasps, squeezing urgently at the hand in his grasp as Taehyun picks his pace back up, getting at Beomgyu’s cunt with a renewed vigour, “Taehyun-ah, I—I can literally f—feel you in my guts. Please rearrange them as you like, alpha.”
Taehyun’s previously lidded eyes shoot open at the words, and the most carnal sort of need starts nagging at him from within, propelling him to haul Beomgyu off the floor he was splayed across. He hoists the omega up into his arms easily, paying no mind to his frankly adorable squeak of surprise as he focuses on pressing him against the nearest wall of lockers and securing him in his unwavering grip.
Surprisingly, Taehyun’s dick doesn’t once slip out of his Beomgyu’s cunt in spite of all the movement. Taehyun guesses it might have something to do with the vice-like grip Beomgyu’s insides have on him. Like this though, Beomgyu feels Taehyun’s cock at an entirely different angle and he scrambles to find purchase by wrapping his legs around the alpha’s waist and his arms around his neck— anything to help stagger the intensity of the unfamiliar sensation.
Taehyun doesn’t seem to be to be the kind of person to let things ruminate, considering that once again he fails to give Beomgyu the time to fully appreciate the moment, to acquaint himself with the knowledge that Taehyun is literally supporting his entire weight without breaking a sweat and instead begins impaling Beomgyu on his cock again.
“I’ve always dreamt of doing this, you know,” the alpha murmurs sensually right against the shell of his ear. Beomgyu can only moan feebly in response. “Of pressing you against the lockers and taking you like this. In my imagination, I’d do it in the locker rooms my team uses, though, because my teammates talk about you. They talk about how pretty you look when you dance, how you’re the perfect omega, how they’d love to court you and make you their mate.” He thrusts in particularly hard, apparently embittered by the thought, groaning when it results in Beomgyu tugging harshly at the short strands of hair at his nape, “I’d do it there, to show them who you belong to. That I’m the only one who can think of you that way, the only one who can make your fantasies come true, the only one who can make you moan like this. You’re mine, hyung, do you understand?”
Beomgyu nods feverishly, eyes lolling involuntarily to the back of his head when he rolls his hips down at the same time as Taehyun’s next upward thrust. “Yours, alpha, yours,” he whines, throaty and beautiful.
“And I’m yours, too, princess, don’t forget,” Taehyun says with an incongruent softness, swallowing Beomgyu’s next moan into his own mouth by sealing their lips together.
Incapable of moaning any longer with their mouths occupied, the vulgar squelching from Taehyun’s thrusts as his cock pushes directly into the source of all of Beomgyu’s slick is all that can be heard for a good two minutes until they separate from each other’s mouths, both for the lack of oxygen and for the fact that the sounds were a little too much for even them to handle.
“A—Alpha,” Beomgyu whimpers, his entire body beginning to tremble, almost like a premonition. “Alpha, I’m close.”
Taehyun smiles, less brazen and more sincere this time around. Pushing his nose into the crook of the omega’s neck and against his scent gland, he murmurs against his clavicle, “Then come for me, my perfect princess.”
Beomgyu does just that. With a drawn-out, almost melodious moan, Beomgyu allows his orgasm to wash in steady yet overwhelming waves over himself, gushing slick onto Taehyun’s abs like his life depends on it.
When he comes to, thinking more clearly and feeling more like himself than he has ever since his heat started, he notices the furrow of Taehyun’s eyebrows as he continues to rut into his cunt with close to none of the dexterity he’d displayed earlier. He must be tired from thrusting so steadily and holding him up so securely this entire time. With his hunger so wonderfully satiated for the time being, Beomgyu feels inclined to return the favour.
“Taehyun-ah.”
“Hm?”
“Let me down.”
Taehyun’s eyes blink open languidly. His thrusts still, and with the purest earnestness, he asks, “Is there something wrong, hyung?”
Beomgyu feels his heart flutter strangely at the simple inquiry. Here is this alpha, possibly thirty seconds away from orgasming, cock buried so snugly in his pussy it’s impossible to tell where Taehyun ends and Beomgyu begins, and he still finds it in him to be genuinely concerned about the person he could be using as a means to the orgasm he’s been relentlessly working towards. Sweet, sweet alpha.
“No, but there is something extremely right. Put me down and you’ll see.”
Taehyun steps back, looking for all intents and purposes like a lost puppy. Beomgyu regretfully kisses the feel of his cock goodbye as it slips out of him when Taehyun carefully lowers him back down onto the floor.
The second he’s collected his bearings, Beomgyu drops to his knees.
“Hyung?” Taehyun asks, beginning to sound uncharacteristically panicked. “What are you—”
Beomgyu doesn’t let him get any further than that. He takes his cock into his mouth as far as he possibly can and swallows around its circumference three times in quick succession, chuckling to himself when the alpha curses violently and lets out his loudest moan of the evening, hands floundering to anchor themselves in the softness of Beomgyu’s chestnut coloured locks.
It’s less than a minute into his newly created routine of suckling, licking and swallowing that Taehyun groans loudly in warning and shoots his generous load straight down Beomgyu’s throat. The omega makes sure to swallow every last drop of it.
They collapse gracelessly onto the floor with their backs against the lockers, trying to no avail to stabilise both their breathing and their racing hearts. Taehyun throws an arm around Beomgyu and gathers him into his side, tucking him into the little space like it was the most natural thing in the world. Beomgyu, in turn, rests his head against Taehyun’s shoulder and listens contentedly to the faint sound of his breathing as they gradually descend from their high.
After a moment’s silence, it’s Taehyun who speaks up.
“We need to get you home.”
“We do,” Beomgyu agrees.
Another moment’s silence.
“And then we go for round two?”
Beomgyu rolls his eyes at the proposition, landing a harmless smack to Taehyun’s chest, although the radiance of his smile is unparalleled. His heart is doing that strange fluttering thing again. He’ll have to look into that.
“And then we go for round two.”