Archive of Our Own

The weather isn’t nice today.

So much so that Minho and Jisung decide (though it’s more Minho making the executive decision) to bundle up on the couch and start another Studio Ghibli marathon.

It doesn’t matter anymore where the weather metaphor had come from or where it had started, but it’s something that’s helped the pair tackle the harder days as a team. A partnership.

≪≪≪

Jisung woke with a start, lifting his sleep-addled bedhead to find his alpha fondly smiling down at him. Jisung took longer than he probably should’ve to process his partner’s face, eyes taking a moment to focus and realise Minho had started speaking to him.

“Wh—sorry, baby, wha’d’you say?” Jisung’s voice, low and rough from sleep, sounds odd in his ears. His body had felt off the previous night before the two had wandered off to bed—and this morning it still felt off. Floaty—the bad kind—and achey. Jisung has a vague hunch on why, but he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. Minho didn’t seem to notice anything wrong, or if he did, he didn't say anything.

“I just said ‘good morning, bug’,” Minho doesn’t speak much louder than a gentle murmur, “Did you sleep well?” Minho’s voice is soft and clear—which means he’s been awake for a while, then. Jisung tries to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest.

There’s a voice in the back of Jisung’s head that had snuck its way in overnight. He’s usually on top of keeping the asshole locked out, but there’s still days where it crawls back in through the cracks in the walls. It’s those days where Jisung needs to rely on Minho just a little harder to get through the day.

“Y-Yeah,” Jisung swallows awkwardly, “Slept good,” A lie. Jisung had seen all hours of the night, struggling to get a stretch of sleep for longer than forty-five minutes. Stared at the ceiling from around two-thirty to probably four—switching between catastrophising and counting Minho’s breaths to calm himself down—and then must’ve finally been exhausted enough to pass out after that.

Jisung sharply inhales through his nose after his lungs do a funny stutter in his chest, having prevented him from getting a full breath. He flinches when his head swims, the intake of oxygen burning his nose and overwhelming his senses. He does his best to stop the room from spinning—even though he’s not standing and not moving—by squeezing his eyes shut and nuzzling minutely closer to Minho. There’s only a handful of circumstances where his nose gets this hyper sensitive on top of its already-sensitive nature.

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Instead he tries to refocus on tackling the nagging voice that’s floating around in the dark corners of his mind.

“I-I haven’t tied you down, have I?“ The omega tried to keep his voice stable, an attempt at stopping his alpha from sensing the negativity biting at his ribs this soon after waking up. He’s not sure if he kept the uncertainty at bay.

He opens his eyes again when he’s confident his head has stopped swimming, lifting one arm from where it had been loosely draped over Minho’s torso to instead hold it to his own chest. He refuses to make eye contact with his partner, instead choosing to trace the folds and creases in their tangled bedsheets at the foot of the bed with a hardly focused gaze.

Minho tilts his head, tone light and humorous, “You have literally tied me down before, bug, and I very much so enjoyed it—hm?” The light in Minho’s eyes had dimmed just a tad when he noticed how Jisung didn’t immediately react with a nudge, a shove, or sudden yah! to cut him off from his sexually charged comment right off the cuff.

Tentatively, the elder moves to cup Jisung’s cheek with one hand, his thumb gently brushing over the younger’s jaw. “Bug, hey, look at me,” Minho’s concerned, and his scent sours slightly. Shit.

Jisung tries to appear normal when he tilts his head to face Minho, hoping the sudden guilt and shame is neatly tucked away behind his mask of widened eyes and tight smile. He hums, raspy at the edges, and hopes it’s enough to prompt Minho into thinking everything is fine.

However, it turns out having a lifelong partner that you’ve been married to for numerous years now, and have known each other for easily twice as long, means that your partner will learn to pick your tells when something is off. Every time. Without fail. Flawlessly.

“Baby, can you talk to me about it? Or is the weather not nice?” The alpha shifted to drag Jisung further into his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. Jisung flutters his eyes shut, melting into the elder’s arms and exhaling a long breath.

“I wish I wasn’t so easy to read sometimes,” Jisung grumbles under his breath, to which Minho had raised an eyebrow. Jisung sighs and nuzzles his cheek into the crevice between the elder’s neck and shoulder, inhaling fresh mint slowly yet deeply, letting it settle deep in his lungs. Jisung’s voice is quiet and muffled when he speaks into his partner’s sensitive skin, “The weather isn’t that nice right now, maybe later it will be.”

It sounds stupid to Jisung’s ears, but it’s how the code works. It’s worked for years. He sighs. He knows he will have to talk about it later, his alpha won’t let him bottle things up, which he’s thankful for. It’s been a long process to get to where they are now, for Jisung to get where he is now. A lot of therapy. A lot of patience. A lot of love.

Minho makes a noise of something close to acceptance, satisfied enough with how Jisung answered him. The elder presses soft kisses to Jisung’s messy hair before prompting him gently into sitting up. Jisung inhales slowly, small drops of dizziness rippling through him as he lets Minho prop him up against him once the elder is settled with his back against the bed head.

Jisung leans into his alpha’s chest, nudging his nose into Minho’s neck and pressing it gently against his scent gland before dragging it across the raised skin of the mating mark he left years ago. The omega melts into his partner when he feels the warm touch of Minho’s palm drag from between his shoulder blades to instead settle on his hip, encouraging him to cuddle up closer. He hums quietly, tiredly—almost a purr if he had more energy to put into it.

Minho presses a firm kiss to Jisung’s forehead again before he tucks Jisung’s head underneath his chin, bringing his other arm around to loosely circle around the omega. “How bad is it, baby? Are we talking rainy day or stormy day?” Minho’s voice is gentle, not even the slightest hint of annoyance or frustration. Just pure, genuine acceptance. The real question Minho’s asking, is if today’s a couch-rot day or a bed-rot day.

Jisung can’t help the way his heart swells. The code helps him by using the dumb metaphors to assign his mental state to, and by choosing weather conditions it helps to remind him that it’s not permanent. That the weather changes. And Minho’s been with him every step of the way.

Through the initial ‘this is so fucking stupid I’m not fucking doing this oh my fucking god’ phase.

The awkward ‘okay maybe it sorta helps actually but I still kinda feel really dumb about it’ phase.

Then, finally, the eventual comfortable acceptance that came with recognising Minho’s unwavering support for him.

The alpha had never once backed down, even modelling the code for Jisung—labelling his own emotions, feelings and mental state with various weather conditions to help Jisung feel less alienated with using it himself. Jisung never asked him to. Minho just did.

Jisung sniffs, flinching at how his nose burns before he sighs again. He really doesn’t want to think about his heat. He knows he’s due for one, his cycle has been irregular and inconsistent ever since he started taking his birth control. His last heat was easily over six months ago, instead of monthly like the majority of the population.

Minho never insists he should take the pills for the alpha’s benefit, instead encouraging Jisung to do whatever he feels most comfortable with doing to his body. Minho’s own words to Jisung were that Minho isn’t the one with the reproductive system to carry, therefore he doesn’t get a say in what Jisung should and shouldn’t do surrounding it. Jisung thought it was the hottest thing Minho could’ve ever said to him at that point in time; the memory of dropping to his knees with intent after Minho’s soft spoken words had settled between them still send a few sparks down his spine.

“Bug?” Minho prompts, pressing another kiss to Jisung’s hair.

Jisung makes a quiet noise, he forgot that Minho was waiting for a response. He exhales, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Minho’s neck.

“It’s these really dark rain clouds. Don’t know if it’s going to storm but they’re really grey, babe. They’ll probably pass over and it’ll just rain, like, a normal amount though.” Jisung’s voice is almost resigned, mostly exhausted. The between-the-lines answer, one that Minho’s been given before, means bed right now, couch later probably.

Ever the sweetheart, Minho just hums in acknowledgment, peppering Jisung’s hair with gentle pecks. He begins making odd noises every time he lifts his mouth away, trying to get Jisung to crack a smile, maybe get a giggle if he’s lucky. Jisung squirms and Minho barrages him even more, stretching his neck in order to kiss all over Jisung’s face instead.

Through squeezed shut eyes and half-assed attempts at batting Minho away, Jisung gives in to a sheepish smile. It starts small, timid, and Minho makes it his personal mission to kiss it wider, brighter.

Jisung giggles lightly into the firm, final kiss Minho plants on his lips, the tiredness he lied about evident in the way he melts too easily into his partner’s affections. He knows that Minho knows he lied. He knows that Minho doesn’t hold it against him. He knows that Minho will wait for him, wait for him to be ready to crack the window to his inner monologue open, to let it spill out.

They stay there for a short while. Jisung absorbs Minho’s body heat—even though he can feel the way his muscles are beginning to simmer underneath his own skin—and Minho holds Jisung, the omega can feel the love everywhere their bodies touch. They don’t speak—they don’t have to—and let the silence soak into the space.

Jisung keeps quiet, deciding he doesn’t want to speak his worries aloud just yet. Talking about them makes them real. Acknowledged. Possible. He lets his eyes slide shut, focusing on drawing in a long breath and trying not to wince at the slow burn as his lungs fill.

To distract himself, he nudges his nose into Minho’s cheek gently, blindly pressing a soft kiss to his jawline. Minho hums, tilting his head to chase Jisung before he can pull away, gently guiding the younger’s chin back towards him when he leans back with a quiet, surprised squeak. Jisung can’t help the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“Couch?” Minho murmurs against the omega’s lips, warm and soft. Jisung tries again to pull back slightly, successful this time, to flutter his eyes open. He doesn’t say anything, watching Minho with wide, glassy eyes before he nods once, slowly, almost unsure. He lets his gaze flit all over Minho’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t realise his lips are tightly pursed, bottom lip being worried between his teeth, until his alpha gently pries them apart with his thumb.

“Let’s go couch. We can watch Ghibli until the weather gets better, hm?” Minho’s eyes hold a warmth that Jisung knows is reserved for him alone, his voice wraps around him in such a way that drags a shiver up his spine. Jisung nods again, tensing when a wave of dizziness surges through him with the motion. He thinks his eyebrow ticks, given Minho pecks a gentle kiss to it. Jisung sighs. Minho presses his lips to the younger’s temple before slowly removing himself from their embrace, standing up and helping Jisung off the bed.

≫≫≫

They start with Kiki’s Delivery Service, which turns into Ponyo, which turns into Howl’s Moving Castle. The blankets Minho had swaddled them both in slowly get kicked off as Jisung begins to overheat, even though the leaves on the trees outside have been shades of red and gold for weeks now. A soft gust of wind shakes another few leaves loose, Jisung follows them with his eyes while he vaguely mouths Howl’s words playing in the background.

He’s not sweating, but he’s not really at a comfortable temperature either. Minho seems fine with both blankets half bundled in his lap, though the alpha naturally runs warmer than Jisung does in the first place. Tentatively, Jisung reaches for one of the blankets again, draping it back over his lap and kneading at it absentmindedly while dragging his eyes back over to the TV. He hardly focuses on the movie, stuck in his mind while he turns over how to approach his heat.

He’s accepted it’s coming for him. It’s due. He’s glad he’s even getting some warning in advance with the pre-symptoms. He has been unlucky in the past at times, where it all sets in overnight while he’s asleep and waking up instantly overwhelmed and aching, sheets coated in slick in the early hours of the morning.

He knows he can’t hide it from Minho, either. It’s impossible to with how their bond is sealed through their mating marks, and of course he’s in tune to Jisung’s body and the subtle shifts that sometimes even Jisung himself doesn’t pick up on. It still makes Jisung’s head spin at times.

The elder suddenly shuffles his weight slightly, leaning further back into the couch and angling one of his thighs open a little wider. Jisung’s eyes instantly flick to the movement, pupils dilating and honing in, resisting the strong urge to lean over and mouth at the bare, toned muscle that’s now visible where Minho’s shorts ride up.

The omega has worshipped those thighs more times than he can count, would happily spend his last moments between them. The thick, taut muscle that he could ride until his legs give out. The way that Minho knows exactly when to flex to help Jisung over the edge. The way the muscles jump under his touch when he tests the elder’s patience, dragging his baby fangs over the sensitive skin, marking what’s his—

Jisung doesn’t realise he’s staring until his alpha ducks his head to make eye contact with him, snapping him out of his small reverie. Minho’s pupils are dilated, warm brown holding Jisung’s gaze like a vice. The younger feels the way his cheeks have flared with heat, and he imagines they’re flushed a rosy red. Minho’s nostrils flare on a particularly deep inhale, and Jisung finally takes note of how his own scent has thickened, giving away the nature of his inner thoughts. He feels a little dizzy, lightheaded, torn between restricting himself and throwing all inhibitions to the wind.

Minho doesn’t say anything, instead just giving Jisung a gentle, knowing smirk. The elder doesn’t make a move, waiting for Jisung to react first.

Jisung freezes up, holding eye contact for one last, brief moment before he turns away, awkwardly clearing his throat. The back of his neck prickles with embarrassment, eyes going glassy from burning a hole in the blanket—the one he’s now fisting in a white knuckle grip in his lap. Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck. It’s now that he realises how wet his mouth is and how his breathing rate has increased. His heart is pounding in his chest. Shit. He swallows thickly. God. He’s no better than a Victorian man thirsting over seeing ankles for the first time. What a joke.

Minho leans over, letting his scent wash over the both of them, heavy and dense. Petrichor and mint press into Jisung’s bare skin, sinking onto his tongue through his parted mouth. He didn’t realise he’d dropped his jaw until his alpha gently pushes his chin up with his index finger to close it. Fuck, that’s embarrassing.

Jisung’s eyelids flutter as he picks apart Minho’s scent; the base note of mint is stronger, soothing to Jisung—even at its sharpest—after being so devoted to Minho for years on end. Petrichor is what deepens the scent, makes it feel like it’s pressing against Jisung’s heated skin, it reminds Jisung of their movie nights when it’s actually raining or storming outside. The mint and petrichor work together to mix into a scent that feels like home to the omega. Hints of wildflowers and lavender accent Minho’s moods, and right now there’s the tinge of bergamot that Jisung has grown very familiar with over the years.

The omega’s head spins with another inhale, dizzy in the best way, instinctively drawing closer to his alpha. He swallows thickly before breathing out a sigh, lips parted when he tentatively leans into Minho’s side. He shuffles closer to press against the elder firmly, embarrassment still sparking down his spine but getting easily outweighed by the way he can feel his pulse racing, beginning to slick up already just from sensing his alpha’s reciprocated arousal.

It’s embarrassing how easily Jisung crumbles for Minho. The most innocent of actions instantly pulling a filthy reaction from the younger. It’s almost Pavlovian. Jisung internally curses his incoming heat for lowering his tolerance to Minho’s scent, but at the same time, he’s glad for the distraction. Grateful, even.

Jisung starts with stretching his neck to nuzzle directly against Minho’s scent gland, pressing into the sensitive skin and relishing in the way he drags more waves of bergamot into the air. He presses his chest into the elder’s side, slowly turning and moving to straddle the outstretched thigh next to him. With a loud, rumbling purr, Jisung settles delicately against Minho, his pussy throbbing with want. He lazily licks over his alpha’s scent gland, over the mating bite, up to the sensitive spot behind his ear.

Minho had shifted to hold Jisung more securely, the arm that had been draped over Jisung’s shoulders had slipped down to the younger’s hip when he had placed himself on Minho’s thigh. His other hand was busy fidgeting with the hem of his own shorts on his free thigh, cock stirring to life in the loose fabric while Jisung takes his time with teasing Minho’s neck.

Jisung pulls small, relieved sighs and deep breaths from the back of Minho’s throat, and it only spurs him on further. His alpha absentmindedly flexes his fingers where he holds Jisung’s hip, the other hand slowly making its way to mirror his grip on the younger’s other hip.

Minho makes a questioning hum, lifting one hand to gently pull Jisung away from his neck by his curls. It hardly stings, but the omega still whines like he’s had his head yanked away. With wide, almost-black eyes, he blinks at his alpha, lips swollen and slick with spit from mouthing at his neck.

Minho raises an eyebrow, and Jisung pouts back. The younger tries not to squirm too hard under the intensity of his alpha’s gaze, stifling a whimper when he feels the first gush of slick slip free into his panties. Before he can stop himself, he cants his hips against Minho’s thigh, breath hitching in his throat as the pressure sends sparks up his spine.

“Bug. Where are you at?” Minho’s voice is rough, low, and sends a shiver through Jisung. The shiver causes his hips to jolt into Minho’s thigh, and Jisung hardly stifles the gasp he makes. His blood feels like it’s electric in his veins, and the way his alpha’s fingers dig into his hips to keep him in place lights a fire in his gut.

The younger man shudders when another wave of intense mint hits his senses, it burns his nose but he’s too aroused to care. He wants. He needs. He paws at Minho’s chest with one hand while he rests his other on top of where the elder digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Jisung’s hip, a quiet whine spilling from his lips as he tries to put his voice into action.

Jisung doesn’t know if he wants Minho to take charge—to use Jisung however he wishes, or if he just wants Minho to help him through the fire—letting Jisung take what he needs. Minho’s done both before, always at Jisung’s discretion, and stubbornly refuses to act until Jisung tells him how to behave. It simultaneously frustrates and pleases the omega all the same.

Minho waits.

Jisung brings his hips down harder against the thigh neatly tucked between his legs. He can feel how wet he is, slick soaking through his panties and the thin cotton of his pyjama shorts. He keeps changing the angle of his hips to try and get more friction.

Minho tightens his grip, forcing Jisung to stop.

The cry that escapes Jisung’s mouth is cut short, the omega freezing when his alpha levels him with a dark stare. The elder slips his focus to Jisung’s plump, swollen lips before he speaks. His voice is still rough, dominance radiating off the edges.

“Sweetheart, come on now.”

Jisung keens, instinctively urged to submit purely from the tone of Minho’s voice. The pet name sends a hot flush through his system, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. The alpha uses that voice and name sparingly, never fully comfortable with knowing he can get Jisung to bend to his will so easily with them, though he knows sometimes it’s what Jisung gets off on. Being able to give up total control and turn his brain off, handing the reins fully to Minho. It can also help a lot when it comes to taming a certain brat when he acts out, though that’s too easy. Minho enjoys the challenge, but he also enjoys getting to watch Jisung fall apart at the seams.

The omega licks his lips, shuddering through soft pants while he tries to put his head straight. He feels dizzy again, surrounded by the thick, cloying petrichor that he would love nothing more than to drown in. He feels empty, hollow, figures out what he needs with shocking clarity, and stifles a sob. He tilts his head back, flicking his curls out of his face and doing his best to take in a slow, deep breath.

When Jisung looks back down to make eye contact with Minho, his heart stutters before it starts sprinting in his chest. Minho looks wrecked already, eyes dark, glassy and almost-black, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline and his lips swollen from where he must’ve been biting it when restraining himself from taking charge.

He looks like something out of Jisung’s best wet dream.

Good thing he’s not dreaming.

“A-Alpha. In me, a-all yours. Please.” Jisung breathes out, raising his hand from Minho’s chest to place it over the one that had shifted to rest on his thigh, slowly dragging it up to Jisung’s sternum before he teases both of their hands downwards, until he’s able to tuck Minho’s underneath him, sandwiching the alpha’s hand between Jisung’s slick-soaked clothes and his own thigh.

The groan pulled from Minho’s throat makes Jisung’s tummy swoop. The alpha leans forward, burying his head in the junction between Jisung’s neck and shoulder, openly mouthing and lapping at his scent gland, moaning like a man starved. Jisung chokes on a moan of his own, arching into his alpha’s touch.

Fangs skim over the sensitive skin of Jisung’s mating bite and the omega clutches at Minho’s wrist between his legs, urging him to touch, to move, to do something. He whines, high and shrill, pushing his head back in to nestle close to the elder’s ear, suckling at the sensitive skin. He makes sure to let his fangs prick the skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to drive Minho’s alpha instincts absolutely wild.

Minho growls, finally deciding to move his hand between Jisung’s thighs, flexing his fingers to tease over his folds, nudging a knuckle into the slick-soaked opening of his omega’s hole. He can’t push very deep through the barrier of the panties, the crotch of the pyjama shorts having been pushed to the side easily with how loose Jisung likes them. The younger says it's comfier like that, but Minho knows it’s to satisfy some feral part of Jisung’s instincts, the part that gets off on being easily accessible for his alpha.

The omega ruts his hips forward and down onto Minho’s hand, sighing not-so-quietly when he manages to find an angle that feels good. He huffs in annoyance when Minho flattens his hand out again, only to fold forward and muffle a gasp in the elder’s chest when two fingers slip past the saturated fabric and tease at his entrance, hardly dipping in past the pads of his fingertips. The younger desperately grips at Minho’s shirt, gasping and writhing, trying to take Minho’s fingers deeper on his own accord.

Minho tuts quietly against Jisung’s ear, pressing a gentle kiss to it before he thrusts his fingers deeper into his omega’s tight, wet hole in one fluid motion. Jisung parts his lips on a broken moan, shuddering and trying to rock his hips in time to Minho gently scissoring him open, his alpha crooking his fingers the way that makes Jisung fall apart.

“Please, a-alpha, please, pleasepleaseplease, need you—ah—all of you—“ Jisung pants against flushed skin, dampened with spit and sweat. He’s not above begging, not when he’s this brainless and desperate to be filled. Alpha’s fingers aren’t enough, he needs to be knotted.

Distantly, Jisung feels another version of himself standing, arms crossed and watching, judging the state he’s let himself devolve to. Not to mention how quickly. His heat isn’t even here yet—based on his symptoms, he still has a couple of days—but he’s acting like the world will end if he’s not fucked full in the next minute or so. This version of himself rolls his eyes, mumbling something that Jisung can’t quite catch over his pulse roaring in his ears.

Jisung has his full attention snatched back by his alpha, the elder gently pressing his teeth into the soft skin of Jisung’s shoulder, humming appreciatively at the high pitched whimper his omega tries to tamp down in response.

“Already so drunk on me, I’ve barely touched you sweetheart,” The elder giggles airily, right against Jisung’s ear before he has the big-brained idea to trail soft little nips and kisses down the column of Jisung’s throat, timing the way he stops every few centimetres to suckle gently and tease the skin between his fangs with the slow thrust of his fingers. The omega shivers, high-pitched half-moans tumbling from his lips, whole body shaking as he tries to encourage Minho to keep touching him.

Minho then withdraws his fingers entirely, wiping the thick coating of slick off on Jisung’s pyjama shorts. Jisung groans, indignant and impatient, immediately ready to tell Minho to nevermind and that he’ll take care of it himself, when Minho grabs his attention. He’s suddenly aware of his phone ringing, being offered to him by Minho. Jisung can see his boss’s name flashing across the screen. This can’t be happening.

He looks at Minho with furrowed eyebrows and a killer pout, eyes flitting between the phone and his partner, silently asking if Minho is actually for real right now. Here Jisung is, offering himself up, all pliant and obedient, yet Minho is insisting he take a phone call from his boss. Right. Yes. Perfect. Totally.

Jisung suppresses his annoyance at his alpha as best he can before snatching the phone from the elder, rolling his eyes as dramatically as possible before sliding the answer button across. He does his best to steady his breathing, trying not to sound like he was actively trying to get laid by his husband.

“Hi Y-Younghyun, wh-what’s up? It’s my day off—“ Jisung starts, stumbling over his first few words before he’s swiftly cut off. He ducks his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, biting his tongue. He can tell by the brief hesitation before his boss launches into a spiel that it’s not a call for the sake of saying hi.

Look—sorry to cut you off, Jisung—Eunkwang called in. We need a shift runner to get through the lunch rush, and I’m visiting family down south or I’d be heading in myself. Can I please get you to cover the store? Double pay, starting as soon as you get there and ending as soon as you’re out the door. Promise. Please?

Jisung rolls his eyes again—because of-fucking-course Eunkwang called in, he’s as reliable as soggy tissue paper. Jisung didn’t want Eunkwang trained up to be a shift runner because of his reliability issues, who gives a shit if he has a good rep with the aunties? Jisung looks at Minho with a flat stare, phone still pressed to his ear, the heat of his skin rising and settling quickly into frustration instead of arousal. The elder shoots him an apologetic look, eyebrows pinched.

“I…Yeah, o-okay, whatever. I’ll be there in…I’ll be thirty-ish? Trains suck at this hour. I’m out as soon as Miyeon shows up for the close shift. Double pay and Eunkwang gets taken off all shifts with me for the next two weeks. No negotiation or I’m not showing up.” Jisung shakes his head, hanging up the call before he can hear Younghyun’s response.

He stares at the black screen of his phone for a few moments in silence, digging his fingers on his free hand into the flesh of his thigh to ground himself. He’s incredibly horny, and now he can’t do anything about it for the next few hours. Getting off now would mean rushing, and that’s something that neither himself or Minho find particularly satisfying unless it’s under specific circumstances.

Stupid fucking Eunkwang.

Stupid fucking preheat.

Jisung drops his head to Minho’s shoulder, hard. He winces a little on impact, letting out a sigh that tapers off into a frustrated groan. Minho gingerly moves his arms to circle Jisung in a grounding embrace. He just holds his omega, softly humming a tune that Jisung can’t place, while he waits for Jisung to calm down.

Deep breaths make Jisung’s nose burn again, but oddly enough it helps to ground him. To bring him back to earth. Reminds him of the less-fortunate hand of cards he’s been drawn. To attempt to make vague peace with those cards.

Ugh.

Silently, he climbs off of Minho, letting his phone slip out of his hand onto the discarded blankets lying on the couch cushions, and pads away to their bedroom to get changed.

———

Minho is in the kitchen, packing away some clean dishes into their right cupboards, when he hears Jisung shuffle back out of their bedroom. He turns to him, after placing the current plate in his hand back on the counter, with a soft, apologetic smile.

Jisung looks a lot more recollected than he did a few minutes ago. His hair is damp from the quick shower he took and lightly styled away from his eyes, he’s dressed in a plain black t-shirt that hugs his chest nicely, tucked into some light wash jeans that make his ass look amazing, with a simple black belt accenting his lethally thin waist.

The younger fiddles with the silver band on his ring finger while he strides over to the couch to grab his phone again. He turns to Minho, brows slightly pinched in what the alpha can guess is annoyance, and sighs through his nose. Jisung briefly sits on the arm of the couch to put his socks on, dusting his hands off when he stands again.

Minho rounds the counter and opens his arms. Jisung visibly melts before falling into them, wrapping his own around Minho’s neck and shamelessly rubbing his cheek all over his alpha’s scent gland. It pulls a soft laugh from the older, his arms settling around Jisung’s waist as he holds him closer.

The elder can’t smell Jisung’s scent on him, instead only catching it where it lingers in their apartment and on their clothes. There’s a small part of Minho that deflates, but he knows it’s part of Jisung’s uniform standards to wear scent blockers. It has the added bonus of one less thing for Jisung to worry about being overwhelmed by, but Minho can’t help the way he misses the soft apple-vanilla already.

The way that Jisung clings to Minho makes his heart ache and swell. He can tell just how frustrated his omega is at the situation, how he wants nothing more than to tell his coworkers to get fucked, but as a manager he can’t really just do that. Minho slowly starts scenting Jisung as a means to try and soothe him, only to have his partner stiffen and slip away.

“Baby, you still smell horny as fuck. I-I can’t…Not when—“

Minho drops his arms carefully, holding his palms up in gentle surrender. Jisung takes another step back, slow like he doesn’t want to but knows that he has to. Minho understands. Really, he does. Jisung drags his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes and sighing. He mumbles something about Eunkwang.

Minho has heard a lot about Eunkwang. Minho knows he’s not one of Jisung’s favourite people to work with—on the days that he does actually show up, that is. The young alpha throws his weight around like he’s top shit, and he’d always taken an issue with Jisung having more say than he does. Jisung is convinced Eunkwang only went for the management role to try and overrule Jisung. Entitled, prejudiced little bastard, that alpha is.

Jisung stares off into space for a few moments, eyes glazing over a little while he seems to fixate on a 4-cut photo strip of the couple on their fridge.

It was taken shortly after Minho dropped to one knee, made a fool out of himself by slipping on the snow as he went down and tipping into a snow bank. Jisung couldn’t decide whether to laugh at his alpha’s misfortune or to cry at such a declaration of love.

The resulting photo strip showcases Minho covered in snow, hair sticking up in all directions, eyes bright and shiny, sporting the widest, proudest grin, arm securely wrapped around his new fiancé. Jisung’s face was still splotchy from happy crying, eyes glassy and red, small dustings of snow through his windswept hair and across his shoulders from when he’d pulled Minho back out of the snow to smother him in kisses. Both of them had rosy cheeks and noses from the chill of winter. It’s not the cleanest photo set they’ve gotten, but it’s one of their most cherished. Hence its spot on the fridge.

Minho gently edges into where Jisung’s line of sight should fall, which effectively pulls Jisung back from his zoning out. Minho offers his partner a small smile, tilting his head in silent question. Jisung flinches, snapping back to the present. He murmurs an unnecessary apology to Minho before he shakes his head. In a rush, Jisung slips on his shoes and snatches his bag off the hook by the door, heading back into the kitchen to quickly kiss Minho goodbye before heading out, announcing something along the lines of I’ll be home at 4, love you.

The alpha watches Jisung go in slow motion. The way the younger’s dark curls bounce with every step and how his hips move when he walks bring a small, delighted smile to Minho’s face. The door clicks shut as Minho calls back, “Love you too bug, be safe.” Minho’s cock kicks pitifully in his shorts, half hard after the earlier interruption. Minho wills himself down, he has things that take higher priority over his own self-gratification.

Minho knows Jisung’s preheat’s started. He’s picked it up through the subtle shifts in his scent that are slowly becoming not-so-subtle; the tension in his jaw, and the way his body heat immediately spikes at the smallest touch; the easy irritation, the easier give in to lust and desire; the way Jisung gets more consistently lost in his thoughts, and the lack of sleep Jisung got the night before. The second-nature white lie that he still slept well. Jisung’s preheat always starts with not enough sleep and the tendrils of mental darkness that comes with it.

Minho knows. And he knows how badly Jisung’s heats fuck with his body, his mental state. And that’s why Minho is compelled to do what he can to lessen the load for his husband.

And so, he sets out to clean the apartment.

It’s the least he can do.

———

Jisung’s cramps and his general body aches that are usually due with his preheat are slowly making themselves known, he makes a mental note to take some painkillers when he gets to work. He doesn’t have a headache (yet) and so far he’s doing…okay.

The walk to the train station goes mostly fine, he stepped in a puddle where someone spilt their slushie on accident, so now the bottom of one shoe is slightly sticking as he walks. But it’s fine, it’s not the end of the world! He’s fine!

Once he’s at the station, he manages to accidentally shoulder barge a pole as he’s trying to get on to the right platform. Brilliant. He clutches his shoulder and groans as pain blooms from the point of impact. It’s fine, he’s done worse to himself before, but it’s still enough to make his eyes water at the sudden injury. He’s still fine!

He takes the wrong train. Shoulder barging the pole must’ve disoriented him enough to focus on the wrong side of the platform. The train he’s on is still in the same direction that he needs to go, at least, but the stops are weirdly spaced and this train in particular misses the stop that’s right outside his work. He’s getting kind of annoyed at this rate, but he’s still set to be on time from what he told Younghyun. He brings his hand up to his face under the guise of scratching an itch, but it’s really to get a deep inhale of Minho’s scent from where it lingers on his wrist. His agitation ebbs, Minho’s calm—yet distantly horny, rain-soaked mint soothing his mind, even just a little. He’s fine.

Jisung rummages around in his messenger bag for his headphones after getting off the train at one of the as-close-as-he’ll-get-to-work stops. He can’t find them. He swears he put them in his bag? Maybe he left them at work, or on his desk at home? He can’t remember. Fuck me, he thinks. He wanted his headphones to help with how loud this section of the city is, even if they were dead they would still help with dulling the noise levels. Fucking hell. It’s fine. He’s fine.

———

He makes it to work on time! A miracle, really. He rushes in, quickly ducking behind the counter and dumping his bag in his locker, grabbing an apron and joining his coworkers at the front counter to assist with the sudden rush of customers. He gets to work, customer service smile permanently fixed on to his face as he serves the seemingly endless line of people.

He accidentally sells someone a drink that they ran out of the ingredients for yesterday, and he promptly gets berated by the customer that ordered it. He keeps a brave face. It’s okay, it’s an honest mistake.

One of his colleagues drops a drink next to him and it soaks halfway up one of the legs of his jeans and into his sock and shoe. The feeling of the wet jeans, sock and shoe as he moves around is not one of Jisung’s favourites. He’s okay.

He slips over when he’s trying to grab something from the back to restock the front of the shop. His back is killing him and he remembers, then, that he never got to take his painkillers. His shoulder still hurts from the train station. His hands are shaking as he steadies himself against the doorframe to the store room. He takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against the chipping paint of the frame, and winces at the strength of all the scents around him. It’s not usually this bad, but his stupid fucking preheat is, of course, making things a little more difficult for him to cope with.

He drags his hands over his face and shamelessly inhales with his wrists pressed to his nose, Minho’s scent has significantly faded from the constant moving around, and general handling of coffee, which is known for assisting in removing scents. It’s okay. Jisung is okay.

His shift ends with another customer yelling at him, insisting that they sell something that they have never once had on their menu in the entire five years Jisung has worked there. Jisung really couldn’t tell you what part of no, sorry, we don’t sell that here doesn’t make sense, he stopped listening properly after the customer raised their voice at him, acting on auto pilot.

Jisung goes to clock out after the order taker clock ticks over to 3pm, saved by Miyeon who gives him a confused wave when she finally gets behind the counter. All he does is mouth Eunkwang and Miyeon rolls her eyes. She gets it. Jisung likes Miyeon.

He turns back to the order taker to clock out, only to see he apparently never clocked in. He slams his fist down on the metal counter, a stack of menus falling over from the force of it. How the fuck he’s been able to take orders this whole time without being clocked in? He could not fucking tell you. Surely it’s some sort of glitch. A fever dream? What the actual fuck.

His head hurts, his nose burns, his back is aching, his shoulder feels dead, his jeans have thankfully mostly dried up but his sock and shoe are still soaked through with coffee, his other shoe is still sticking to the floor when he walks from that stupid fucking slushie. It keeps making a tak tak tak every time he lifts his fucking foot.

Jisung. Is. Fine.

He storms over to his locker, snatches his bag out of it and does a double take. Of course, there’s his fucking headphones. He snatches the headphones too and practically runs to the staff bathroom to change into the spare clothes he always has for backup. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that he does still have a full change of clothes readily available for him in the bag.

He gets changed, bundling his dirty clothes into a plastic bag and shoving them down into the messenger bag. He doesn’t have spare shoes, but at least the rest of him feels relatively fresh and coffee-free. He looks at himself in the dingy, filthy mirror of the staff bathroom. His bangs are either half sticking away from his head like weird little alien antennae, or, sticking to his forehead. He’s flushed in the face, probably from exertion. He doesn’t look amazing, but he’s also looked worse. He’ll take what he can get at this rate.

He pulls out a face mask from the side pocket of his bag and he attempts to restyle his bangs off his forehead again. It sort of works. He puts the mask on and exits the bathroom, calling out a half hearted goodbye to his coworkers as he heads back out into the street.

He fishes his headphones out of the bag again. Unfortunately for Jisung, they are dead, but it’s not a problem! He’s on his way home, dulled noises are better than unfiltered! He manages to get on the right train home! He’s scrolling on his phone, catching up on some posts he’s missed from his friends and sending Minho some assortment of cat reels when he feels the train slowing to a stop. It would’ve been normal if it weren’t for the flickering lights and the confused looks on the other passengers’ faces.

A crackly, hardly-discernible voice comes over the intercom, announcing sudden delays due to some issue with getting a section of track switched to another direction further up the line. A collective groan echoes through the cabin. Jisung could cry. He just wants to go home. He shamelessly brings his wrist up to his face and inhales, the last wisp of petrichor is caught and it only just helps to settle the chaos trying to unfold itself in Jisung’s mind.

He takes a minute to collect himself, hiding his face in his hands, more specifically pressing the base of his palms against his eyes until he can see the colours shift and pop behind his eyelids. He considers his options, shoving his sleeves of his spare hoodie up his arms, and takes his phone out to text Minho and keep him updated.

—

Princess ♡ [03:34pm]

Baby, there’s delays on the train.

Idk when I’ll be home.

Husband ♡ [03:35pm]

That’s okay bug, I’ll be waiting here for you x

How was work? Have you had a good day? xx

Princess ♡ [03:37pm]

Today feels like it’s been cursed.

It’s been a bunch of small shit since I left home.

It’s not a good day

Like

At all.

I just want to be home. I miss you.

Husband ♡ [03:38pm]

Awww baby. I miss you too

I’ve done some cleaning while you were working

I mopped the floors! I know you were wanting me
to do that for a while x

Princess ♡ [03:40pm]

omg thank you, I’ll do it next time it needs doing

Mental block wasn’t letting me do it this time round

Thank you

So much

Seriously.

I’m sorry I suck like this.

Can u pls remind me to take my shoes off
before I get in the door as well instead of
once I’m actually inside the door

One is sticky as all hell bc someone dropped
their slushie and I stood in it like an idiot
before I got on the train

And then

Somi spilt coffee down my leg at work. It was
an accident but my shoe is still soaked. It feels
so gross to walk in. Icky. I hate that I
just reminded myself of it lol

I don’t want to ruin your nice freshly mopped floors :(

I need to have like. An hour long shower once
I’m home. Today has been so cursed lmfao. Everything
hurts. I’m so overstimulated.

Husband ♡ [03:45pm]

Sweetheart :(

I’m sorry today hasn’t been good, when you’re home I’ll
make sure you’re smothered in cuddles and goodness okie

We can cuddle on the couch or in bed after
you shower and watch more Ghibli because I know that
comforts you a lot

Do you want to keep watching Ghibli? I think Ghibli would be good

And! I made cheesecake!! :)

I wanted to keep it as a surprise for when
you got home but I feel like a surprise would
be too overwhelming right now, even if it’s a good one xx

It’s strawberry ♡

—

Jisung’s heart flutters, what would he do without Minho? He could cry, really. Right here, right now, in the middle of the train. His partner loves him so much. He heart reacts the last two messages Minho sent and quickly shoots back a positive response to continuing the Ghibli marathon. Minho knows him so well. What did he do to bag Minho? Jisung locks his phone and slides it back into his pocket, instead opting to fiddle with the band on his ring finger. He twists it around and admires the pattern engraved into it for the millionth time since Minho placed it on his finger. Minho’s design. His heart swells.

Jisung gets lost in his thoughts a little, he’s not sure how long he’s not been paying attention for, but when he snaps back to reality he realises that the train is moving and is a stop out from where he needs to get off. Fucking finally. He mentally prepares himself to get off the train, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his arms again.

He gets off at the right stop. He makes it out of the station without shoulder barging a pole. He doesn’t step in the slushie puddle on his way home! It’s like the stars aligned for the home stretch—

He stacks it on the curb.

He doesn’t lift his foot high enough and he catapults forward, arms stretched out to catch himself. He does catch himself, but he takes some skin off his palms. No one stops to help him. If anything, the witnesses stop to stare. No one helps. Fucking cowards. Jisung bites his tongue in anger and embarrassment. It’s. Fine. He’s. Fine.

He picks himself up, dusts himself off. Winces at the raw skin of his palms dragging across the rough fabric of his jeans. He pats his pockets and finds that his wallet and phone are still where he left them, shoved hastily in his pockets. Good. He’s fighting tears, but he’s almost home. He makes it to the door of the apartment building and fumbles through his bag for his…key card. Y’know, the key card that Jisung needs to get back into the place he lives. Y’know. The key card. That Jisung, in a moment of clarity, clearly remembers leaving on his fucking desk, this fucking morning, in the fucking rush to leave. He’s…it’s still fine, he pulls out his phone to call Minho to ask if he can let him in.

It’s just his luck.

His phone screen is shattered.

From when he tripped on the curb.

The tears silently fall. He lets out one anguished sob, though he doesn’t allow himself any more than the one. He’s still in public. This shit is embarrassing. It’s almost comedic, the run of bad luck he’s had today. Like some higher power chose to pick on him for their amusement or something.

With shaky hands he navigates to Minho’s contact and presses the call button, bringing it to his ear.

It rings once, Minho picks up immediately. He always does. Bless Minho.

“Bug—“

“I-I forgot my key card, can you please come and get me.”

Jisung’s voice is hoarse. Minho knows Jisung isn't purposely being rude when he gets cut off. He understands. He always does. Bless Minho.

“I’ll be down in two, bug, I love you.”

Jisung hangs up. His love for Minho at the moment is implied. Minho knows this. Jisung’s hardly keeping it together. He feels stupid just standing on the front step of the apartment building. The security cameras seem to be taunting him. He knows he’s within his right to be on these steps, but the two minutes it takes Minho to get to the door to let him in drag on, it feels like twenty. He’s so exhausted. He pinches the bridge of his nose and loudly exhales to no one in particular. Today is not his day. And his heat is around the corner. Fuck’s sake. Stupid fucking Eunkwang. Stupid fucking preheat.

Minho opens the door with one hand, the other arm stretched wide for Jisung to fall into. Jisung does, as easily as breathing. The tears keep falling, soaking into the fabric of his mask, and Jisung allows himself a few pitiful sniffles as he wraps himself in Minho’s embrace. Bless Minho.

Minho lets go of the door and lets it shut softly behind him, bringing his arms to wrap around the shorter man tightly. Jisung’s clinging to Minho’s sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and to be perfectly honest, it probably is at the moment. Minho surrounds them with calming mint and lavender, pressing soft kisses to Jisung’s hair and letting a soft purr reverberate through his chest for Jisung to focus on.

Jisung inhales Minho’s scent, it's muffled through the mask but it works to soothe him enough to loosen his grip and stand up straight again. He peers up at Minho through red rimmed eyes, tears still gathering on his lash line but no longer falling. He’s done a good job to keep himself together so far and he’s still got some of his defences up. They’re still in public. He’s still wildly embarrassed. Minho softly smiles at Jisung, eyes flicking to the elevator and then back to Jisung.

Jisung understands it as Minho’s way of asking if he’s okay to head back up now, Jisung nods once and steps back from Minho, grabbing onto the sleeve of his sweater and trailing his hand down to link with Minho’s. Minho smiles wider and gives Jisung’s hand a loving squeeze before lacing their fingers together properly.

Minho brings their linked hands up to his mouth and gently kisses the back of Jisung’s hand. The gesture melts Jisung and sets his heart aflutter. Minho’s made it a habit to do that every time they link hands. It’s the sweetest thing.

The pair make their way back upstairs to their apartment without a word, Minho continues to purr quietly in order to keep Jisung at ease, though he knows Jisung is still ultimately quite fragile. Minho manages to manoeuvre Jisung’s messenger bag off of him, slinging it over his own shoulder so that it’s one less thing for Jisung to deal with.

Jisung is grateful for it.

———

When the pair enter the apartment—Jisung barefoot with his socks in hand and soiled shoes left at the door—the younger instantly stiffens. Minho, ever attentive, is already on alert and turning to Jisung to see how he can help.

“Baby,” Jisung starts, voice cracking and lip quivering, tears welling in his eyes tightly squeezed shut, “Please tell me you didn’t use the Pine-Sol on the floors today.”

Minho pauses, then sighs. “Shit. Bug, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry,” Minho watches as Jisung’s tears slip down his cheeks on a shaky exhale, “Come here?”

Jisung sobs. He doesn’t move from where he stands, shoulders tensed up to his neck and heaving deep, strangled breaths through his mouth. He feels like he can taste the Pine-Sol with how strong the scent floats through the air. He’s so overwhelmed and so overstimulated. Today has been so royally fucked. His heat is due to hit within the next two days and this is the cursed cherry on top.

Jisung wants to collapse, but if he does it will make everything worse. They keep two batches of cleaning chemical at all times to accommodate for Jisung’s sensitive nose around his heat, he can hack Pine-Sol on any regular day—and even prefers it so that he knows easily that things are clean—but the scent is too strong for him to handle right now, he’s been at his limit all day, he just wants to relax.

Minho bundles Jisung into his arms, directing the shorter’s nose to bury next to his scent gland and soothing him with hushed, whispered apologies.

Jisung cries, everything is too everything. His head hurts. His back hurts. His neck hurts. His lungs and nose burn. He can feel the Pine-Sol sticking to his skin. He needs to shower and get into bed.

He can’t do this.

At some point Jisung registers that he’s moving, but he’s not conscious of what part of him is going where. He’s too overwhelmed to identify if he’s moving on his own accord or if Minho is doing it for him. He doesn’t know. He has enough faith that Minho would be able to take charge of the situation.

Jisung has no mental space left, the only thing he can process is his body aching and his brain flickering through different sensory inputs on rapid fire, switching as soon as it identifies that the sense is too overloaded.

Jisung can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t exist.

He thinks he cries, maybe he sobs. He can’t breathe properly. Everything hurts. His lungs burn and his eyes sting.

It’s too much.

———

The omega thinks he blacks out, maybe he defied space and time. He doesn’t remember depositing himself in the middle of their bed, pillows stacked in a half circle behind him and with blankets collected and strewn messily, almost like they were done under stress or panic. It’s a half baked attempt at a nest.

His nose burns more than anything even though it’s stuffy and blocked, his lungs don’t seem to fare much better. He takes some deep breaths through his mouth to try and alleviate at least a smidge of the pain. He’s dizzy, a little too warm, and more than anything does his head swim.

He does a mental take off of his surroundings, trying to ground himself. His eyes sting, dry and puffy from tears he doesn’t remember crying. He presses his palms to his eyes and digs them in for a moment before pulling back, confused when he doesn’t feel his own skin pressing into his eyelids. He blinks.

Ah.

His hands are patched up. Soft gauze wrapped professionally around his palms and a short way down his wrists.

Because he tripped.

Right.

He feels his eyes water, though he can’t place why. He’s already cried enough based on how tacky his cheeks feel and how stubbornly blocked his nose is. He’s secretly thankful he’s forced to breathe through his mouth for a while, but he’s not happy about how he got here.

He slowly places his hands back over his cheeks. He doesn’t press his palms in, just holds himself gently, letting the excess body heat seep into the bandages. He takes a stabilising breath.

Okay.

Half baked nest. The lamp is on. The sun looks like it’s setting between the gaps in the curtains that are drawn shut. The ceiling fan is on the lowest setting. The door is mostly closed, but cracked open a little so someone could peek their head in if they so desired. There’s a small stack of clothes at the foot of the bed, messily folded.

He’s been half stripped and redressed—jeans now missing, hips clad in fresh boxers that look like Minho’s, fluffy socks that reach just above his ankles, and a soft pyjama singlet. One of the straps is slipping down his shoulder.

He collects himself and mentally prepares to stand up. He doesn’t know how long he’s actually been smothered in bed. He runs his fingers through his hair, wincing a little when he pulls at a few knots. He needs to wash his hair. He feels gross. He needs to shower.

Okay.

Up time.

Jisung scoots to the edge of the bed, eyes squeezing shut when he’s hit with enough dizziness that he keens forwards, both hands out to his sides to keep from falling off the bed. He sucks in a breath that he slowly releases, willing the fluid his mind has been dunked in away so he can stand up without any issues.

He waits for a moment before he steels himself, standing up in one fluid motion. He should not have done that. When did he last eat? He thought he was dizzy before, nothing prepared him for his vision fading dark from the head rush he just scored himself. Jisung stumbles, knocking the pile of clothes off the end of the bed and half falling back onto the mattress.

“Shit.” Jisung mumbles to no one in particular. It’s not his brightest moment, but then again he hasn’t really been having a bright day today. He feels too hot, but he wants more layers. More comfort. He finds the strength to stand again, with patience. It takes him a moment to stand without wobbling, though the sudden, sharp stabbing of a few well placed cramps in his hips knocks the wind out of him.

Stupid fucking preheat.

The omega grits his teeth through the pain, groaning quietly when he feels the knife twist particularly roughly. Fucking ow.

He staggers to their wardrobe, opening Minho’s side and rifling through as best he can with one hand—the other is firmly planted on the inner frame of the wardrobe to ensure he doesn’t fall over. Because that would be embarrassing.

Jisung finds the clothing he’s looking for—an oversized (see: Minho-sized) hoodie, thick fabric and worn embroidery making it soft to the touch, the colour a nice, dark green. It’s one of Jisung’s favourites to steal. Perfect. Jisung pulls the hoodie off the hanger and shuts the door to the wardrobe with little grace. Shamelessly, he digs his nose into the collar. He can’t smell it properly, but he knows it smells like Minho underneath the layer of laundry detergent. That knowledge alone settles some distant part of him.

He slips the hoodie over himself, popping his head through with ease and fixing the sleeves with a little less ease. He lets the stretched out elastic of the cuffs sit against the lengths of his fingers, slowly curling his fingertips around the edges and finding comfort in the action. The body of the hoodie falls to rest by the tops of his thighs, the back of it bunching up above his ass. He takes in his appearance using the mirror on the back of their bedroom door. The omega gives a tiny nod in satisfaction, his reflection blurry no matter how many times he tries to blink his eyes into focus.

His cramps have momentarily eased off enough to be nothing more than a mild discomfort, and Jisung takes advantage of this to make his way outside the safe space of their room. They will be back with a vengeance, he reminds himself. He stops in the doorway to peek down the hallway, only to be pleasantly surprised with the sight of his alpha already heading towards him.

In Minho’s arms are two plastic bags—one seemingly full of takeaway containers, and the other has the beginnings of a heat supply stash. Protein bars, electrolyte drinks, and some hard shell candy is all Jisung can make out before Minho is in front of him.

His heart trips over itself at the sight of his alpha. His saving grace. Warm brown eyes rake down Minho’s form, settling on the usual places—soft, dark hair that’s getting long enough to fall in his eyes; strong, broad shoulders with biceps that begin to bulge from the minimal effort he has to put into carrying the bags; built torso clad in a black tank top that accentuates all the right parts of him in the light; deliciously thick thighs covered in grey sweatpants, and the…weight that sways between his alpha’s legs with every step.

Jisung stands with his arms wrapped loosely around himself, leaning into the doorframe. He licks his lips and lets his gaze unsubtly stick to the sight of the elder’s bulge. He can feel the heat radiating off him in waves, the hoodie only amplifying it, and just maybe he feels the way heat begins to pool in his core. He was denied earlier, after all. Stupid fucking Eunkwang.

Minho tilts his head, shifting the bags to hold both of them in one hand while he uses his newly freed hand to cup his omega’s cheek when he stops in front of the younger. Jisung melts into the touch, automatically smiling up at his husband, soft and sheepish. He locks eyes with Minho, dark brown pools captivating Jisung’s attention. Subconsciously, Jisung wets his lips, digging his teeth into his plush, pink bottom lip.

The alpha leans in to press a tender kiss to Jisung’s forehead, Jisung‘s eyes slide shut when feels the soft, knowing smile against heated skin, and he hums. Purrs almost.

“Bug, you’re burning up. How do you have my hoodie on?” Minho’s voice is warm and low against his temple, lips tickling the younger’s hairline. There’s amusement in his tone, knowing exactly why his husband is bundled up—Jisung is a creature of habit after all. The elder knows how his omega will add layers even if he’s burning to a crisp, just to be smothered in the comfort of his darling alpha’s clothes and scent. Even if he’s too overwhelmed. Even if his nose is too blocked for him to smell anything. It satisfies something primal in the depths of his brain, knowing that he’s surrounded by his alpha in a time where he needs the support.

Jisung pushes up onto his tiptoes to force the alpha’s lips back into kissing his skin, unwrapping his arms from himself to instead settle his palms on the elder’s hips. Jisung vaguely murmurs some noises that sound like words as an answer regardless, intentionally dodging the question, too embarrassed.

Minho chuckles softly, dropping his hand from Jisung’s cheek to cradle his neck instead, gently angling his head how he wants in order to plant a loving kiss square on his omega’s lips. Jisung melts. How can he not?

The kiss doesn’t deepen, even though there’s a noisy little thing in the back of Jisung’s mind aggressively cheering him on to do so. He’s not against following that train of thought, but he wants to appreciate his partner first before trying to re-jump his bones.

The alpha breaks away and laughs into his partner’s lips when he eagerly chases him for another kiss. “Just let me put these down, bug. And then we can get you in the shower, how’s that sound?” Minho eyes sparkle with adoration, it’s a look that Jisung is very familiar with. He’s sure he has a similar look on his face, a small dopey grin and hearts in his eyes. He nods and allows Minho to slip into the room, depositing the bags onto the desk in the corner of the room.

Jisung turns his body to follow Minho’s movements easier. The elder pads back over to Jisung, his left hand easily finding Jisung’s hip and giving it a soft squeeze, applying gentle pressure until his omega naturally takes a step backwards. He pivots exactly how Minho plans him to, shifting backwards so that his spine is flat against the doorframe, no choice but to pin himself against the wood with how Minho presses himself into Jisung’s space.

Minho stands agonisingly close without letting their bodies touch. Jisung’s heart flutters, stumbling and tripping when his tummy swoops at Minho’s next move. His husband leans in, his right forearm pressed horizontally to the doorframe above Jisung’s head, effectively caging him in. Jisung’s breath hitches, heat rushing through his veins, colour blooming on his cheeks. “O-Oh—“ he breathes, eyes locked onto Minho’s, the dark brown he’s grown to know and love staring straight back, fire dancing around the edges.

Jisung grips the doorframe behind him with both arms, feeling his knees go weak with the weight of Minho’s gaze, the easy smirk that he knows makes Jisung’s heartrate sprint. The omega shivers when Minho leans in closer, still not allowing them to touch anywhere aside from the firm grip he has on his husband’s hip, thumb pressing small circles into the soft fabric of the stolen hoodie.

Jisung’s chest rises and falls between them, noticeable compared to his alpha, who seems to have himself fully under control. Jisung knows he’s just as affected by how red his ears are and the way his pupils look like dinner plates, but he never points it out.

Jisung parts his lips on a quiet, shaky exhale, wetting his lips and breaking eye contact. His eyes are hooded when he pointedly glances down to the elder’s lips, pink and tempting. Waiting. The omega tilts his chin up, ever so slightly, snapping his heated gaze back up to his husband’s with a small, shy smile. Inviting. Challenging.

Minho’s smirk cracks wider before he closes the distance, leaning forward and tilting his head to finally connect their lips together. His hand slips down Jisung’s hip to pull at his thigh instead, hiking it up to sling over the alpha’s hip with ease. He slots his leg in between Jisung’s and delights in the quiet whine that spills from his lips, letting Minho slip his tongue into the gap. Jisung opens up easily for him, soft moans tugging free with every swipe of Minho’s tongue against his.

Jisung had been denied earlier. Minho had been denied earlier. It’s about fucking time they got to have a moment.

The younger brings his left hand up from his white knuckle grip on the doorframe, instead running it gingerly up from Minho’s hip, to over his stomach, up to his chest. He fondles the firm muscle of his left pec and swipes his thumb over the hard nub of the alpha’s nipple, earning a soft grunt that he can’t help but smile at. He teases at the nipple with a few more swipes, humming at the pleased noises Minho makes in return.

The kiss naturally deepens before the pair have to pull away for air reluctantly. Minho smirks again when Jisung tries to reconnect, leaning back and away with a glint in his eyes. Jisung notices then, just how wet between his thighs he is. He’s soaked through Minho’s boxers, the cotton sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. He’s panting, heartbeat thumping wildly in his chest. He takes a deep breath in, juicy, ripe apple-vanilla and heavy petrichor-bergamot is all he can smell, thick and cloying even through his still partially blocked nose. He sighs airily, letting his head tip forward to land square in the middle of Minho’s chest.

His alpha gently sets the thigh gripped in his hand back down, slowly standing up straight and pulling his husband into him. He fixes his posture so that he won’t hurt Jisung’s neck and wraps his arms around the smaller man. He groans into Minho’s chest, weakly batting at Minho’s shoulders, whining and complaining about how ‘alpha’s so mean and such a tease, what the fuck was that? You know I’m almost in heat, like, what the fuck Minho, why would you do this to me—’

“Shower, sweetheart.” Minho uses the voice, and he feels the way Jisung shudders in his arms, instantly silenced. Minho knows his husband has his bottom lip tightly clamped between his teeth to stop from letting whatever remark he has loaded from slipping out. Jisung swallows thickly. He nods, almost imperceptible, before he slowly raises his head.

Jisung’s pupils are dilated, almost fully-eclipsed by midnight black hunger. Minho lets his arms drop to his sides, stepping back to let Jisung move on his own. He hears a tiny yes alpha before Jisung stumbles down the hallway, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while he tries to keep himself upright. He must be having some trouble with aches and cramps based on the tone of the cutoff whimpers Minho swears he hears.

He needs to take care of his omega.

He waits until he hears the bathroom light click on before he begins to make his way over, biting back a groan when he readjusts himself in his sweatpants. There’s the beginnings of a wet spot forming and he scoffs in disbelief at himself. So willing, so eager.

Jisung just has that effect on him.

That’s why it was a no-brainer to propose to him.

Minho doesn’t allow him much time to reminisce on times past, snapped back to the present when he hears the water of the shower running. Looking up to see where he’s going, he spots the trail of stripped clothes—first the fuzzy socks, a few steps up are his slick-soaked pair of boxers, and then in a pile in the doorway of the bathroom is the pyjama singlet and stolen hoodie tangled together as if they were taken off together in one motion. Knowing Jisung, that’s what’s happened.

Minho licks his lips, half aware that his mouth is watering at the thought of his naked husband, wet and dripping from just a little heated kissing.

He peeks around the edge of the doorframe, distantly aware of how creepy it would be if he weren’t in a relationship with the man he’s spying on. Jisung is fiddling with the taps of the shower, trying to get it to the right temperature, his ass is on perfect display and Minho almost moans at the sight.

He can see the way his husband’s thighs glisten, fresh slick trickling down the smooth skin. He pulls his tank top over his head, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor and joining the singlet-hoodie bundle at his feet. His omega doesn’t hear him over the sound of the water, and he takes advantage of the fact. He strips his sweatpants off, cock springing free after he has the waistband low enough. He kicks the grey fabric off the rest of his legs, stepping slowly into the bathroom and sneaking up on Jisung.

The younger is still stood at the edge of the shower, one arm holding him steady against the glass screen while the other stretches in to test the temperature. Minho comes up behind him, warm arms wrapping around Jisung’s flushed middle, digging his nose right next to the mating bite he left, right underneath Jisung’s scent gland. Jisung gasps, stiffening momentarily before melting into Minho, pressing his back against the alpha’s chest.

“Ah—a-alpha…” The younger breathes, tilting his head back and effectively baring his neck for the older man. Minho hums in acknowledgment against Jisung’s neck, pressing his hips flush against his omega, hard cock digging into slick skin. The elder stifles a pleasured groan as his tip slides deliciously between Jisung’s thighs, nestling right underneath his dripping wet cunt. He lets his fangs scrape over Jisung’s shoulder, light and teasing, before he withdraws again.

He catches Jisung when he looks like his knees are about to give out, hands firm around his waist. Minho feels himself twitch when thick droplets of slick land on him between Jisung’s thighs, instinctively thrusting forward shallowly and growling roughly into the sweat-damp skin of his husband’s neck. It draws a long whine out of the younger man, sweet and pleading.

Minho shifts one hand to palm and grip at Jisung’s ass where it’s pressed flush to his hips, nipping at the muscle of the omega’s shoulder. The shorter man sighs, letting his weight shift again to lean further back into his husband’s plush chest, hands hesitating in the air momentarily before moving with confidence.

The omega lifts his left hand up to hold the back of Minho’s head where he insists on keeping it melded to his shoulder, threading fingers into the soft strands and tugging hard enough to wrench a low moan from the alpha. His right hand finds Minho’s wrist, where the elder’s hand firmly holds his torso, and with a slow, shaky exhale that sounds too close to a moan, drags him to his sternum before pushing his partner’s hand down to where he wants him. Over his stomach, muscles twitching from the gentle touch, and over the dark, neatly trimmed hair. Down to his glistening folds.

With a little careful manoeuvring, Jisung manages to angle Minho’s fingers to slide perfectly over his clit, the touch sending a jolt of electricity up Jisung’s spine. He bites his lip to cut off the gasp he makes, and his husband easily gets the hint.

The water of the shower beats against the tiles in front of them, steam beginning to billow around them as the stream heats up. Minho removes himself and leans around Jisung, reaching into the water to turn the shower handle off, stopping the stream immediately. Jisung makes a noise of confusion, though the way that Minho shifts him answers any question he could’ve had on the tip of his tongue.

Minho guides him backwards and rotates him, pressing his husband’s ass against the cool marble of the vanity. After making sure Jisung is going to stay put, he drops to his knees in front of him, holding eye contact, confident his own eyes are eclipsed with hunger. He licks his lips with a soft growl.

Jisung’s lips part on a soft oh, gripping the counter behind him with both hands, letting his alpha prop his left thigh up and over his shoulder.

The elder turns his head and presses his lips to Jisung’s knee next to his head, kissing a soft, reverent trail up his inner thigh, getting bolder and starting to confidently nip and suck at the sensitive skin the higher up he goes. Before long, he’s exactly where he wants to be. Needs to be.

Minho then pulls back and grants himself one last look up to his husband before he dives in. He breathes in deeply, letting the heady, fresh apples wrapped up in ribbons of warm vanilla settle over his tongue and deep into his lungs. His mouth waters, and he has to restrain from letting his instincts drive him on autopilot. His alpha is snapping at the bars of its cage, begging to be set free, but Minho abstains. His omega calls the final shot.

And with eyes that hold the stars in them, glassy with anticipation and lust, Jisung holds his gaze. He’s panting, hands fidgeting and flexing at the edge of the vanity. He waits, testing his alpha’s self restraint before he gives one singular nod.

Permission.

Minho sits up and immediately laps over Jisung’s folds, slurping up the slick that’s dripped free, sticky and sweet, incredibly messy. The guttural groan of satisfaction that leaves Minho’s throat vibrates into where his mouth is latched onto Jisung, it’s almost loud enough to overwrite Jisung’s high pitched squeal from finally getting some relief.

Minho laps into the wet heat of his omega, dipping his tongue into his entrance with ease, aided by the sheer amount of slick. He moans unabashedly, delighting in how Jisung tastes, swallowing everything down like it’s his last meal. He palms at the younger’s ass with one hand, and the other slowly trails its way up Jisung’s right thigh, firmly holding his hip and massaging soft circles into the divot next to his hipbone.

Jisung’s head drops forward with a strangled moan, eyes squeezed shut, one hand flying to tangle into his husband’s hair, tugging when he starts tonguing at him in the way that drives him crazy. The heat curls and coils in his core, already getting close to release after being pent up and ignoring his needs for most of the day.

The omega bites his lip, stifling another moan and trying to raise his head again just a little to try and take in the sight of Minho between his legs, squinting his eyes open. The view is stunning, Jisung automatically swallows the sudden excess saliva that pools under his tongue, panting harshly as his husband causes more moans and curses to fall from his swollen, bitten-red lips.

The elder’s hand on his hip grounds him, but he knows he would really like it elsewhere right now. With his other hand, he bats Minho’s hand away from his hip, and when Minho tries to put it back he shoves it down. His alpha flutters his eyes open to stare at Jisung, deciphering what he’s trying to get him to do without words. Jisung’s eyebrows pinch and his jaw drops on a particularly loud moan, Minho shifting to suckle at his clit and testing the waters with what he believes Jisung wants him to do.

He lets his arm trail down before carefully positioning his hand between Jisung’s thighs in front of him. He slips two fingers between the younger’s folds before gently touching at the tight, wet entrance, toying with the fresh glob of slick threatening to drip loose. Minho slows his lips down to focus on his husband, humming a wordless question and is pleasantly rewarded with an equally wordless answer.

A shrill whine and a desperate nod of his omega’s head is all the direction Minho needs before plunging his fingers into Jisung’s slick cunt. Jisung shudders, grinding his hips forward involuntarily into Minho’s face, voice cracking on a string of curses. His leg around Minho’s shoulder instinctively flexes to pull the alpha closer, begging him to keep going. The hand in Minho’s hair keeps tugging and guiding to where the smaller man needs him, and Minho goes more than willingly.

Minho moans into Jisung’s skin, happily letting Jisung ride his face and fingers, pretty moans and whimpers from the younger half muffled by the thigh that’s wrapped around his shoulder. He can feel the telltale tremble in Jisung’s legs, can hear the way his moans are starting to consistently become high pitched and airy, can feel the steady gush of slick increase as Jisung nears his peak.

The sounds are music to Minho’s ears, and he slips the hand that had been gripping at his omega’s ass to instead palm at himself. He sighs in relief when he first applies pressure, cock hard and aching, angry-red at the tip and knot more than halfway swelled. He patiently wraps his hand around his shaft, already sticky and wet from the usual steady stream of his precum, lazily stroking to take the edge off. He doesn’t have far to go before he’ll be finished, and he’s not about to get off before Jisung.

He focuses again on suckling in the right places, flattening his tongue and rocking in time with Jisung’s hips with practiced precision. His fingers don’t let up, even though they’re beginning to cramp, massaging the sweet spot that he knows will tip Jisung over the edge, making the younger man see stars.

He hums and moans, swallowing another gush of slick down, and that’s when Jisung’s grip in his hair impossibly tightens, his legs shake before locking up, and his hips stutter on Minho’s tongue.

“F-fuck—mmnh, alpha, shit—I-I’m—“

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, his body takes charge to fill in the blanks. A final, forceful, extended gush of slick escapes him, forcing its way around Minho’s fingers and mouth, coating his face, chest, lap, and the tiles below them both. High pitched whines echo off the walls of the bathroom, and the elder just powers through to help his omega ride out his high.

He picks up the pace of his hand around his cock, moaning lowly as he begins to chase his own climax. His lungs burn from the lack of oxygen, but he can go without for a little bit if it means Jisung is looked after. He continues to lap up the slick, his own hips bucking into his palm almost in time to the stuttering of Jisung’s hips when he nears the end of his peak.

Jisung gently tugs the hand buried in Minho’s hair back enough to prompt him to look up, but not enough for him to pull away. Jisung looks ethereal like this. Hair messy and plastered to his forehead, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, cheeks and chest flushed pink and lips bitten red, swollen. His eyes are glassy, hazy, and tired satisfaction paints every corner of his expression. His mouth is still parting on harsh gasps and pants as he comes down, shockwaves making his muscles twitch.

In turn, Minho probably looks just as messy. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but the love in Jisung’s eyes is enough to ground him. He keeps his eyes on Jisung though his gaze goes unfocused, moaning softly, lowly, into wet skin, eyebrows furrowed while he staves himself off from the edge for a little while longer. He whines at a particularly sharp flick of his wrist, the thread in his core primed and ready to snap.

Jisung tugs Minho’s hair one last time, keeping his grip tight, the way Minho likes. Minho’s eyes snap back into focus, breath sticking in his throat. Jisung’s eyes glitter with something Minho’s familiar with, but can’t put his finger on right now, mind too preoccupied with other things. With a sly smirk, Jisung tilts his head, staring right into Minho’s soul. And then he speaks, soft and raspy.

“Come for me, alpha.”

And then, the thread snaps. A clean break. Minho cums all over his fist with a broken groan. His head naturally tries to dip down, but Jisung holds him in place by his hair. The sting on his scalp only heightens the crest of his pleasure, more moans spilling free when he bucks into the tight grip of his hand. His eyelids flutter, eyes attempting to roll into the back of his skull, but he wills himself to keep his eyes open and on his husband above him. He’s been rewarded for it before, and he knows what his omega expects of him.

Jisung purrs loudly above him, approval and pride colouring his voice when he speaks, “Well done baby, such a good boy, did so well for me, so pretty, my gorgeous alpha,” he slips his hand free from Minho’s hair when he’s confident the elder won’t collapse forward, and carefully picks his thigh up and off Minho’s shoulder, slowly slipping down to kneel with his knees settled on the outside of his alpha’s thighs.

Jisung cups Minho’s cheeks in his hands, blinking at the alpha with wide, sparkling eyes and an almost dopey smile. He leans in, and Minho’s remaining two braincells click together to let him reciprocate the loving kiss Jisung presses to his lips. The couple sigh into each other’s mouths, lazily deepening the kiss until Jisung feels his knees start to ache.

The pair awkwardly shuffle around so that they can both stand up without kneeing one another in the face or otherwise harm each other, and giggle together at Minho almost tipping over sideways when they finally get him standing—poor boy’s legs went numb after kneeling for so long.

The alpha grins, laughing at himself, before bringing the younger in for a quick peck on the lips. Before it can get too far, he tilts his chin towards the shower. He kisses the immediate pout that forms on his husband’s lips away with a smirk of his own, chuckling lightly, “Come on, bug, let’s get us cleaned up.”

Jisung mocks Minho’s tone, but he obliges, stepping forward to turn the water on once more. He continues to fiddle with it until he feels happy with the temperature—not cold enough for Minho to half-heartedly grumble about it, but not hot enough for him to get overwhelmed with his still-simmering body temperature. The aches have subsided for the most part, dulled by the mind blowing high his husband had pulled out of him, but he knows they’ll come back soon. He can already feel the faint throb of a headache behind his eyes, and he doesn’t want to think about it.

The pair step into the shower stream, Minho sticking close to Jisung, draping himself all over the smaller man and scenting him lovingly underneath the water. It makes the omega giggle, it tickles when he’s also dealing with the water hitting his skin.

When Jisung finally convinces the alpha to detach, they take turns lathering one another up in their shower gel, taking the time to wash each other’s hair. It’s something that relaxes Jisung more than he thought it would. Even through the water and soap, he can smell Minho’s mint on him clearly, and it soothes him greatly.

The whole time, the two can’t keep their hands off one another. Touching for the sake of touching instead of having any ulterior motives. They hold hands and trade kisses underneath the water, laughing when Minho accidentally inhales water up his nose, and then laughing again when Jisung chokes on his own spit.

They’re happily married, and it’s the small things that they cherish. Clingy with each other in the best way. They stay under the water for a little longer after they’re both cleaned up, Jisung with his back pressed to Minho’s chest, the alpha’s arms draped over the younger. Jisung gently holds Minho’s arms, a soft, peaceful smile settling over his features while Minho nuzzles in next to his scent gland, pressing soft kisses into wet skin and making stupid, adorable noises to drag giggles out of his beloved omega.

The water flushes icy cold, and instantly the couple are happy to wrap up their shower, turning the water off and stepping out, helping each other to dry off.

After they finish towelling off, the couple make their way back to their room. There’s a few stray droplets of water strewn across Jisung’s shoulders, matching droplets speckled across Minho’s chest and down his soft stomach. Jisung purrs happily, satisfied and sleepy, ready to eat and finally crawl into bed.

Minho kisses the side of the younger’s head before he flips the hallway light off on the way past, ushering the omega into their room with a warm palm on the small of his back.

With the hallway light off, Jisung can see the tiny spill of light behind them from the bathroom nightlight they bought so he would stop running into everything in the dark. Gone were the nights of waking up the next morning looking like a bruised peach.

His heart warms at the memory of shopping for the light with Minho, close to when they first moved in together and a couple of years before Minho proposed. The two of them were in the children’s room section of the store to find a cute light, because Jisung didn’t want an eyesore or something bland if it was something they were buying because of him. The sales assistant had wrongly assumed they were parents, but neither of them felt the need to correct her.

If anything, Minho played along with it subtly enough, pointing to an adorably soft light shaped like an acorn and grinning at the omega, saying how he thinks the baby would like this one. Jisung still remembers how badly he flushed from that one simple sentence—from his ears, all the way down his chest.

And, yes, they bought the acorn nightlight.

Now, Jisung lets Minho guide him to sit at the foot of their bed, on the floor, watching the alpha turn to close their door behind him before he goes to their wardrobe. He pulls out one of his hoodies and a pair of boxers, turning around to offer them to Jisung who takes them graciously. The omega dresses himself, adjusting the fabric of the hoodie to sit more comfortably on him. When he looks up at Minho again, his alpha is dressed in a pair of loose, dark grey sweatpants, the band of his boxers peeking out where the sweatpants sling low on his hips.

Minho catches Jisung’s gaze with a wink, sending a few sparks down the omega’s spine, before stepping over to their desk. He quietly unpacks the bags he left there, setting down the food containers and cutlery from the first bag before he picks out a select couple of drinks from the second. They’re still seemingly cold, condensation coating the plastic.

With the intent of sitting with his back against the side of the bed, Jisung clears the fallen pile of clothes, haphazardly throwing them back on to the sheets. He will use them when he fixes his nest anyways. He drops down, cringing at the way his hips scream at him for sitting the way he is, scent souring while he rearranges himself to try and lessen the discomfort.

Minho picks up the drinks, handing one to Jisung and placing the other one next to his knee on the ground, then he collects the food containers, crouching down next to his omega and laying it all out in front of them. It’s set out so they can pick and choose bites of food from a few different dishes.

They eat in relative silence, Jisung resting his head on Minho’s shoulder and wincing through cramp flare ups. They aren’t consistent, and mostly just make his muscles tense and shift uncomfortably underneath his skin—a moderate discomfort at most. It’s still more than enough for Minho to dote on him, which sends Jisung’s heart into an affectionate frenzy.

Heat pools in the omega’s core, and when they get towards the end of the meal he is less able to sit still, shifting his weight constantly to try and find a comfortable way to sit. With a hum, Minho pats his thighs, encouraging the younger to pick himself up and instead settle with his thighs bracketing the alpha’s. He faces Minho and plants a kiss to the corner of his partner’s mouth before burying his head into the crook of Minho’s neck, slowly lapping once at the elder’s scent gland in appreciation before pressing his lips firmly against the swollen skin, arms curling loosely around his shoulders.

They stay like that for a while, Minho dragging his fingertips up and down Jisung’s back in comforting patterns, purring to keep the omega calm and relaxed. He controls his scent a little, keeping it mostly reigned in so he doesn’t overwhelm Jisung too suddenly. He knows that Jisung just needs some time to decompress. He’s been through it today, and his body is working against him from letting the dust settle.

At some point, Minho realises that Jisung’s breathing has evened out and his body has gone lax in Minho’s grasp. The alarm clock on their desk only reads 6:41pm, it’s much earlier than both of their usual bedtimes. Jisung must be absolutely exhausted after the day he’s had. With a smile and quiet laugh, Minho gently squeezes Jisung closer to him for a moment.

He tilts his head to murmur into his omega’s ear, “Rest up, bug. I’ll be here when you wake up. Love you endlessly, sweetheart.” He finishes with a soft, long kiss pressed to where he can reach Jisung's hair without disturbing him too much. The younger stirs in his sleep, nuzzling in impossibly closer to Minho, lips parting on tiny huffs of exhaled breath that land near Minho’s adam’s apple.

Minho’s heart melts, liquid wax dripping down his lungs and splattering onto his ribcage.

He stays still, he can feel his ass beginning to go numb underneath Jisung’s dead weight already, but he would stay here for forever and a day if it meant Jisung was comfortable.