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White. White. White.
White was all Minho could see.
White Walls.
White floor.
White hallways.
White lab coats.
They'd just escaped the maze, the gladers and he.
But waiting outside their Hell was a whole new one.
They weren't the only maze but that was hardly relevant.
Groups A and B were aloud to socialize, although heavily chaperoned. They were watched everywhere they went, however, so it wasn't much of a significant detail. Their interactions, both with group B and within group A, were monitored in such a way that Minho got the feeling their next test, because he knew there would be one, would be heavily reliant on how they went. Who were they closest to? Who did they get along with? How did they get along with them? Who did they have absolutely no chemistry with? So many questions. Observations. Variables.
And now it was time.
He was on his way to his next test.
They all were, he supposed. Minho had been separated and isolated from the others for a week now. At least, it felt like a week.
Minho found he didn't do too well in isolation. He got cranky. And fidgety. Radiated tension like a coiling spring.
And cold.
So cold.
The chill started off like any chill. It was a bare room with almost still air but a single vent for fresh oxygen. As time passed he no longer had anything to distract himself with and the chill became more and more noticeable. No blanket to curl up in. Not even baggy or heavy clothes. All Minho wore was a loose pair of thin white pants, almost translucently sheer, and his pride.
White.
White.
Warm.
Warmth.
Warm.
So warm!
Minho began to feel warmth from within.
The room had been slowly changing smell. He didn't know how he knew, it was such a gradual change, but change none-the-less.
Heat.
Breathe.
Heat.
With every breath Minho took the smell grew stronger, igniting the warmth further.
Time began to blur even further. Soon there was no time at all. All that existed was heat as he sucked in every breath with urgent greed.
Breathe.
Heat.
Breathe.
Heat.
Scent.
Warmth.
Breathe.
Hot.
So hot.
Minho down right snarled at the sudden hand on his shoulder, not knowing when anyone had entered the room.
The hand flinched before another from Minho's other side entered his range of vision with a syringe. Empty.
The white room began to blur and spin but Minho fought to stay conscious. Fought to breathe. Fought just to fight.
As much as he fought he was quickly corralled through the door and down a hall.
Turn.
Another door.
Straight.
Right turn.
Another right turn.
Door.
Straight.
Door.
Right.
Or was it left?
Another left.
White.
White.
White.
White.
Pink.
Red.
Minho's vision slowly transitions to hues of red.
It was consuming.
All Minho saw was in reds.
All Minho smelled was electricity.
All Minho felt was heat.
Minho was on fire.
Minho was fire.
Being shoved through another door, he noticed his tour guides didn't enter the room with him. Turning around to look for them the door had already been sealed to camouflage with the wall. Minho had no doubt he'd be forgetting there was even a door soon with the way his head seemed to be acting.
Turning back to observe his destination, the room was dark. Bare of everything but a single bench in the middle and a mirror.
Minho's higher functioning brain would be observing the mirror, no doubt a one way windowed mirror. But as it stood, his attention was solely focused on the figure on the bench.
Cautiously approaching the middle of the room, Minho stalked around the bench and its inhabitant, red trying to take over his mind once more.
The figure looked more and more familiar as the distance between them shrunk.
Thomas was on the bench.
Bound.
Thomas was strapped down to the bench. Naked. Sweaty and eyes glazing over.
Rushing to his friend's side Minho got a closer look at the bindings, trying to figure out how to undo them. He touched Thomas's cheek trying to get a response. Any response.
'Please be alive, Thomas! Please be okay!'
He was startled at the moan ripped out of the brunet at his touch. He was burning up. Minho could feel the heat seeping out of Thomas and into himself, fusing with the heat already inside himself.
"Th-Thomas?" Minho searched his friend's eyes for any recognition.
They were vacant for a worrying amount of time, enough time for Minho's own mind to start slipping, before a weak, "M-Min-O," came. The last part another moan when his hand rested back the boy's face. He seemed to be pleading something with his eyes. Something he was already pleading with his body should Minho look.
"I'm gonna help you out here, Thomas, okay?" Minho tried to reassure, unconsciously licking his lips in his panic to figure out the bench's bindings.
Thomas's expression melted into an odd smile at the reassurance, obviously trusting Minho to help. But with what, Minho hadn't caught on.
Minho fought to focus on his search.
The temperature in them continued to grow and soon Minho's barely-considered-pants-to-begin-with pants were soaked in sweat and sliding off his hips. He didn't seem to notice but Thomas surely did, or what was left of Thomas.
Warmth.
Silk.
Wet.
Tight.
Red.
Minho didn't even know he was hard until Thomas had taken his cock into his mouth. Sucking with a near-desperate enthusiasm. He'd barely managed to restrain himself from giving in and using the boy's throat raw when Thomas tried to swallow him down as far as he'd go.
Regaining his balance and curling over Thomas, Minho finally registered the state of Thomas's lower half.
Legs, knees, and ankles strapped to opposite corners of the bench. Abs hanging just a few inches above the bench's resting platform. Thighs spreading of their own accord but encouraged by a spreader bar. Cock hanging heavy and untouched by any equipment. A large puddle of precum growing on the floor.
No, not just precum. Thicker than that.
Following his nose, Minho found Thomas's ass was wet. Not just wet. Dripping. Drooling. Something in Minho's mind clicked to 'slick', drawing a moan from Minho this time.
Thomas doubled his efforts to try and present when it looked like Minho was finally on the same page. Thighs spread. Ass and hole up. Spine bowed. Neck bared. Wanton whine, no, cry spilling from his throat.
Body switching over to auto-pilot, Minho watched detached as he slid up behind Thomas and rested his weight on the slim but toned body. Greedily nuzzling behind his neck and ear. Chasing an intoxicating scent. He thought back to the comment Aris, poor kid from group B, had thrown out there, suggesting that maybe W.I.C.K.E.D. wanted to fucking breed them. He'd laughed it off and never gave it any serious thought. Elaborated on it in the safety of his mind that night alone in the shower, yes, but disregarded it as a legitimate option.
'Well who was laughing now,' he thought, 'I've just been put out to Stud!'
Minho watched as his pants fell the rest of the way off. Stepping out of them he applied more of his weight to the bitch.
'Bitch?'
'Yes, bitch!' his mind growled, leaving a no doubt filthy smile on his face.
'Bitch.'
'Breed.'
'MATE!'
The more confused Minho became, the less he cared. All that mattered was Thomas and his instincts.
'Mate.'
'Breed.'
'Protect!'
'Mine.'
He slid to his knees between the open thighs; leaving bites, licks, hickies, mine, in his wake down the pale and smooth skin of Thomas's spine. Reaching his destination, Minho wasted no time in tasting his boy.
Sweet.
Wet.
Beautiful.
Rich.
Lush.
Bliss.
'Mine!'
Minho couldn't wait any longer. His cock hung heavy between his thighs demanding attention. Yearning to bury itself in the blooming rosebud on his lips; around his tongue.
Nipping and licking his way back up the bitch's body, Minho rut his length along the curves of his ass as he held the pert cheeks apart. When Thomas tried to push back onto his length, either to catch it in his hole or entice it there, Minho was quick to still him with a harsh bite to the back of his neck. Locking his jaw and holding him in a place of pure submission before thrusting in with no warning what-so-ever prompting them both to cry out.
It was perfect.
Minho was in heaven.
Ecstasy.
'Mine!'
Minho bit down harder, drawing blood to a mark that was sure to scar, igniting and satisfying a carnal possessiveness. Trying to start slow and careful was thrown out of the picture when Thomas's muscles started trying to milk him. Walls squeezing and fluttering.
Mouth full of delicious blood, Minho raked his nails down Thomas's chest, marring the unblemished chest. Nails digging in across perky nipples and eliciting a full body shiver below him. Such sensitive breasts Minho couldn't wait to see swell with mink, his perfect mate ready to provide for the legacy they were creating and more to come.
Rising up to survey his work, his boy looked completely wrecked.
All because of Minho.
And he was just getting started.
Minho dug his nails down Thomas's back just as hard as he did his front, grabbed onto his hips with enough force to bruise for days, and thrust that much deeper in. Hips snapping with reckless abandon.
He continued on and on and on until pressure started to build at the base of his gut.
It was getting harder and harder to pull out.
Thomas was getting tighter.
With a frustrated grunt, Minho urgently drove in. Roaring like the animal he was when they were finally tied together.
Thomas sobbed, writhed, and wailed around his cock.
Around his knot.
God he looked beautiful like this.
Only Minho would get to see him like this.
Only Minho could make him like this.
'Mine!'
Minho ground his hips in lewd circles, working his seed deeper as he continued to cum. Coercing more pleasure from his mate, who'd cum untouched and came again and again with every shoot of Minho's warm cum to his prostate. Abdomen beginning to stretch with the amount.
Minho massaged the protrusion with a sense of awe as the fog on his mind slowly calmed down for the time being, eliciting what could only be described as a content purr from Thomas.
Minho wanted to go around and check on his friend, 'Mate' his mind wouldn't stop correcting him, only to find he was stuck.
His dick was stuck in Thomas.
'What?' even to himself in his mind he sounded almost defeated, maybe a hint hysterical.
He quickly learned not too move to much as it pulled in Thomas and, fucked up biology producing slick or not, it was bound to start hurting.
But the point remained, he was stuck. Minho's cock was tied in Thomas's hole. But not his ass he'd noticed with a confused frown. Just behind Thomas's ball-sack was a scar line, as if new and just on this side of safely healed, splitting to wrap around where Minho was penetrating and realign almost an inch or so from his rectum. Feeling along the seems lead him to a scar on his own body. More specifically, a small incision as if to inject something towards the base of his dick just where he disappeared into Thomas. Upon even further investigation, just past the incision, part Minho's cock was swollen. Enlarged. Flared. Whatever it could possible be called. Knot, something in his head corrected him again.
Before he could freak out and/or accidentally hurt Thomas, whatever was binding Thomas to the the bench abruptly opened. Gravity harshly pulling their tied bodies onto the resting piece, landing with pained and surprised grunts and curses. A weak keen signalling Thomas's return to reality.
"Wha?" Thomas began. "Hmmm?" he broke off, clenching his inner muscles just to loose what little energy he had with a gasp but starting to squirm despite the pain.
"Hey, hey," Minho brought his palm up to the boy's neck to grab his attention, "Thomas."
He stilled instantly.
He looked like prey, Minho quickly shook away the thought.
"Minho?" he whispered after he took the time to recognize the voice.
"Yeah, Shank. It's me," Minho whispered back, catching Thomas when he virtually went boneless at the reassurance.
"Where are we?" was asked after a moment of silence, the two drawing comfort in finally having the other after their solitude.
"I don't know," Minho reluctantly admitted.
"What's going on?" Thomas tried again.
"I don't know," Minho admitted again but this time with a humorless laugh.
"Aris's jokes suck," Thomas concluded.
With matching pained smiles the duo re-positioned themselves to the floor, away from the puddle of Thomas's cum to the boy'd dismay, leaning against the bench with Thomas on Minho's lap and in his arms. Neither would admit how much better the position felt. Thomas feeling safe and protected. Cherished. Minho possessive and nurturing. Vigilant.
Sitting in silence, trying to ignore the cuddling but not exactly minding, just soaking in the other's presence. Waiting what might have been anywhere between minutes to hours for Minho's mysterious knot to go down; Thomas's stomach groaned, a blatant reminder they hadn't eaten since the morning, long before their copulation.
As they finally separated, Minho was entranced at the sight of Thomas's hole. Still tight despite the abuse but leaking white. Leaking Minho. It was like it was trying to tighten fast enough to keep everything in. It was beautiful. Minho would be ready for round two in no time if he stared any longer. So he looked away, tried to keep his eyes on Thomas's face or the room around them. No way was Thomas ready foe another round just yet.
'If he even wants another round,' doubt pierced Minho in the heart, reminding him this was all cooked up by W.I.C.K.E.D. somehow. He didn't even know he'd cared about Thomas wanting him until the doubt came.
Yes he did.
He'd wanted the greenie from the moment he'd run to his side that first day in the glade.
The feeling only growing as he got to know him.
Maybe even falling for him.
Trying to grab his attention or show off whenever the opportunity arose.
Listening and being there in hopes that he would fall for him too.
*Squeak*
*Crash*
A wall had moved along the side of the room. Reviling another room that looked to have a bed and provisions, water and food, like they would be in there for a while.
'Oh, Shuck. There is gonna be a round two,' Minho did not want to think about this. 'Or ten,' that was a lot of provisions.
Thomas seemed to be avoiding that train of thought like the plague in favor of just getting to the food and water before things heated back up.
And they would be.
They were legitimately being breed.
That's what that smell was.
Chemicals.
They were simulating synthetic Heat and Rut!
Minho darted to catch Thomas when it became obvious he couldn't hold himself up. Legs apart as if every attempt at movement cause pain. Minho could admit, looking back, that he wasn't exactly gentle and winced in sympathy.
Making their way over to the bed, Minho gathered up what Thomas would need and served it to him like providing for him was second nature. It may be. Thomas blushed but accepted the attention and before long the heat was returning. Looking into each other's eyes, they had both come to the same conclusion: that it would not be over soon and there was no stopping it now. Grateful they had been paired and trusting each other to pull through this together. Maybe they'd needed the push to finally be together anyway; if only it were on better circumstances, in a better life.
They spent the rest of the week in the room together. Random points and levels of lucidity, but together. Minho had no doubt they'd be leaving the room... successful.