#ksm

The thing about Seungmin is he isn’t much of a fighter. He’ll bicker, or lose his temper — but there’s this gentleness to him, a quiet generosity, a softness that pulls him apart. Everyone in their pack always says Felix is the sweetheart, but Felix has an edge to him; he always has. And he’s lived with Seungmin long enough to watch him bite his tongue, and hide his fangs, and bend and bend.

Tonight, though, there’s a challenge in his eyes, a harsh undercurrent in his scent. And where his hand grips the counter behind him — his knuckles are white.

Felix doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t. But—

His mind flashes to the three of you in the backseat earlier: Seungmin’s eyes, narrowed and flashing. The uncertain twinge to your scent, sitting between them. He takes every opportunity to get his hands on you.

“You shouldn’t say that kind of thing in front of her,” Felix says, as even-keeled as he can manage. “It’s not cool.”

“She’s a big girl,” Seungmin drawls, every line in his body tense. “She can take it.”

There’s a sound down the hall — the sound of something falling. A muffled curse. Felix would have smiled and joked to Seungmin about it, under different circumstances.

Instead, he watches Seungmin’s eyes soften, pointed in the direction of the bathroom door, and says, impulsively, “You’re jealous.”

Just like that, Seungmin stiffens. His voice is low. “Lix.”

“Seungmin,” Felix says, almost entreating, “it’s just a massage.”

This time, Seungmin rolls his eyes. “It was never just a massage.”

Felix’s temper, carefully kept, sparks just barely, tingling at the base of his neck. “She can choose whoever she wants.”

Seungmin rolls his jaw, fingers tapping. His voice is so low. “I know that.”

“So…?”

“So,” Seungmin says, following Felix into Korean, eyes pointed down, “I invited her first.”

It’s what Felix assumed, but he still just blinks at Seungmin for a second, stunned. “This is just like League,” he says incredulously. “You’re mad that I sniped you.”

“I’m not mad.”

Felix comes closer, leaning against the counter next to his packmate, some humor in his voice. “You’re a little mad.”

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, not even when Felix ducks his head to see his expression better. Seungmin is already taller but he’s good at hiding. Less good at concealing, though, with that furrow to his brow and that pull to his mouth.

“I’m not mad,” Seungmin echoes, and there’s something quietly defeated to him this time, even if the temper lingers. “What good would that do?”

Nothing, probably. You’ve never liked their infighting; Felix learned that early on, first-hand. His own words flash through his head, said in an impulsive, pre-rut moment: It’s good he isn’t taken then, right?

Sometimes it feels like you and him never went back to the way it was before. Every time Felix manages to get closer, you push him away.

That’s why he can’t let this chance go, though — even if Seungmin doesn’t like it.

“It’s not my fault if she chooses me,” Felix says quietly, as footsteps come down the hall.

Seungmin’s eyes flick up to his, narrowed and burning.

The steps come to a stop. Felix and Seungmin both look up so quickly their heads almost knock.

The first thing Felix notices is the nightgown: not overly racy, in cutesy floral-printed cotton, but short and lower cut than what you usually wear. Your bare legs, and the slope of your shoulder where your sweater is falling down, and your fingers twisting in the hem of your skirt—

He catches himself, and flicks his eyes up to you. Your expression carries that same faint, concerned uncertainty your scent had in the car, eyes flicking between the two of them, lip bitten.

In spite of that, Felix’s grin is completely genuine. “Hi there. Ready for your rub down?”

It’s salt in the wound, and Seungmin reacts as such — shoulders tightening, scent withdrawing inwards. You laugh, but you’re not so easily distracted — eyes straying to Seungmin, even as he ignores you to glare down the hall.

“What are your plans for the night, Minnie?” you ask, sweet and hopeful. “Did you want to hang out?”

Felix almost objects— You’d agreed to hang out with him. He knows it’s hypocritical, and bites his tongue. He watches Seungmin reject you, then invite you into his studio in the same breath, his hand on the top of your head. Giving you one last way to choose him, if you wanted. The way you watch him walk away, Felix almost thinks you’re considering it.

Before you get the chance, though, he wraps you in his arms until you’re laughing and smacking him away. “Cut it out, you goof.”

Maybe it’s the alpha in him: openly competitive, abrasive to other alphas, and all too happy to win. Maybe it’s the way that, when you look at him like this, eyes curved up in a smile and hands laying against his chest, he feels like he can finally breathe again, like that missing piece in his lungs has finally fallen back into place. Maybe he just wants you so bad he doesn’t care about anything else. Maybe that should bother him.

But he hums, and kisses your cheek, and you giggle under your breath — and Felix can’t even see anything else. Can’t see the rest of the world, or the rest of his pack, or even Seungmin, sulking in his studio just down the hall, always too afraid to reach for what he wants.

You always claim you don’t have favorites, and he usually believes you these days — but pre-heat warps all your sensibilities. Sometimes you coast through the whole house in your pre-heats, collecting their scents and bodies as needed; sometimes you lounge in your nest and wait for them to come to you, offering themselves with bowed heads. Sometimes there’s a dynamic you keep drifting to, no matter who will give it to you. And sometimes — though it’s rare — you latch.

Admittedly, they all vie for the position, hoping for a miracle every single time your pre-heat comes around. Part of it is just alpha instincts reacting to their needy, fertile omega, sure — so they hang around, and give gifts, and feed you, and scent you if you let them. You always let them, that isn’t a problem; even now, having clung onto Seungmin since yesterday, you smell strongly of every member of the pack.

But still — somewhere between Seungmin bringing you coffee and a pastry from that place you like down the street yesterday morning and him tying your shoes for you yesterday afternoon, you’d gotten this assessing look in your eye. And that night, when he put an especially juicy piece of pork in your bowl, and then another, when you’d eaten it right away — you hooked your ankle over his, and he knew.

Honestly, he’s surprised you didn’t just follow him into the shower, with how much you’ve been clinging to him today. He pretends he didn’t leave the door unlocked, that he didn’t spend the whole time listening for the telltale click.

Now, in the present, Seungmin only leans away enough to not risk dripping his wet hair on you. “No need. It’s short; it’ll dry.”

You hum skeptically, tugging at it hard enough to make his scalp tingle. He bites down a moan and a complaint both, made increasingly docile by the way your pheromones flood the room.

Before breakfast this morning, you’d been such a brat — sharp with hormones and irritable from cramps, refusing to leave his space but bugged by his very presence. “Do something about it, then,” you’d said when he pointed it out — and he’d pinned you to the wall right there in the hallway, making you come on his fingers until you squirted all over his hand, spilling onto the floor. You’d showered right after, let him rub shampoo into your scalp while you hummed some in-progress song of yours, so he can’t smell your slick on either of you — but when he leans back, sighing, into your neck, he catches a whiff of blood from the shoulder he’d bit down on, deep enough to need to be dressed and disinfected.

Jeongin had chewed him out for it when he’d caught the scent of blood, half-joking — “Her heat’s only a few days out,” he’d reminded, elbowing Seungmin in the side. But you had been pleased as punch with the bite, and that mood persists even now, trailing your nails up the side of Seungmin’s neck, pulling him closer still like you could meld his body into yours.

There’s a new layer of linens on his bed: a fuzzy blanket padding the sides, a fleece one laid flat, a few pillows from the nest pressed up against the wall. Some of the packs’ clothes: Hyunjin’s beer-pizza shirt that you think is so funny, and Jisung’s new sweater, and that jacket of Changbin’s that you’ve been stealing from the beginning. More of Seungmin’s clothes, too: some from his drawers, some from your room, some from the nest. Some he’d left half-worn and folded on the corner of his desk, just in case you wanted them. Evidently, you did.

You’ve never nested in his bed before. He’s not sure if you’ve nested in any of their beds before — not to this extent. His head goes a little fuzzy with the implications, scent twisting needy before he can think to get it under control.

Above and beside him, you hum at the shift. Then you put your hand under his jaw, tilt his head up, and kiss him.

They’re always telling you not to push yourself in your pre-heat but you’re such a force of nature and they’re all so awful at denying you, and somehow in the whirlwind that follows Seungmin finds himself spread on his back, sweats pulled down and shirt yanked up, while you rub your pussy against his still-hardening cock.

“You’re so slow,” you complain, whiny and desperate, bare but for his shirt — and it’s too long, he can’t even see; all he can do is feel the wet glide, the way you leak onto his skin, slick pooling at his stomach and in the hollow of his hip bone. “Minnie, don’t you want me, don’t you want to fuck me; don’t you want—”

It’s been about a minute since you started kissing and about twenty seconds since you ripped your shorts off and started grinding on him; even so, he gets fully hard before you have time to finish speaking. “I can’t,” he gasps instead of pointing that out, grabbing your thighs, then ripping his hands away when he holds too tight— Gently, he has to treat you gently— “It’s not— I haven’t prepped you, it isn’t going to fit—”

When you shift up on your knees, he gets to watch the way your slick drips down onto his skin. Instinctively, you rub it in, marking him with your scent, before grabbing his cock and holding it steady.

“It’ll fit,” you say breathlessly, lowering yourself just to butt your clit against the head of his cock. “I’ll make it fit, puppy; don’t worry—”

He knows you will; that isn’t the problem. The problem is you hurting yourself in the process — playing too rough when you really can’t afford to, when you’re going to need so much sex in the coming days that any discomfort or injury at this point would be catastrophic.

Your face is so flushed; your pupils are dilated. Your lips part around every breath, rubbing yourself down on his cock with single-minded focus — and Seungmin doesn’t bother to say any of that.

Instead, he huffs a short growl, grabs you by the hips, and drags you up his body. You yelp at the motion, fighting to stay put on instinct alone until his breath hits your pussy and you realize exactly what he wants.

Immediately, you pout down at him. “No,” you whine, disingenuous and playful, hips shaking as he keeps trying to drag you down. “No, I wanted— Want you inside— Minnie—”

Seungmin wants that, too; god, he wants that, too. He hasn’t come at all today — not when he got you off in the hallway, not when you ground yourself absently onto his thigh this afternoon, and not even in the shower, waiting for the sound of the door, his ears perked.

But he doesn’t say that, either. Instead — inhaling your scent, panting from proximity, resisting the urge to just stick his tongue out while your slick drips down onto his chin — he tightens his hold on your hips and says, as even as he can manage, “It isn’t about what you want.”

Predictably, your breath hitches — and the next time he tugs, you come down onto his waiting mouth eagerly.

He doesn’t even mean to get you off like this — but he gets so drunk on it, on the taste of you on his lips, that he completely loses his head, hips bucking up into the air as he keeps pulling you further, like you aren’t already sitting on his face, like you could get any closer. He doesn’t even remember his mission statement until you come on his tongue — and only then, when you’re already halfway through your orgasm, does he push a finger inside you, then two, scissoring them open while you scream your little head off, yanking at his wet hair like your scent isn’t crying more, more, more.

You’re almost to a second orgasm by the time he has you stretched on three. He pulls his mouth from your clit, gives you just long enough to catch your breath that you start whining again, and then pushes in a fourth finger.

And you’re still on that precipice when he finally deems you ready, and he’s so drunk on your slick that there’s no desire to hold you back left in his body — so when you yank his mouth away from your clit with a hand in his hair, he goes easy, staring up at you with lidded eyes and shiny lips while you slither your way down his body.

“You’re so,” you say, just the start of a complaint, before immediately getting distracted with the sight of his leaking cock curved up against his belly. Your eyes jolt from it to his face, then back to it, that sadistic glee taking over you in the span of a second, a giggle in your throat. “Oh, Minnie— You’re so wet. Do you want it that bad?”

You talk a big game, but you’re way more wet — still dripping, maybe even more so now, all soft and pliant and open. Ready for him, finally: entrance catching on his cock on the first wet slide, not even bothering to press it to your clit like you had been, not even playing pretend.

Seungmin wants to knock you up so badly his vision blurs.

Normally, you’d chase the question: make him admit it, say it out loud, before sinking down onto him. Or at least bully him until he flips you over, if that’s what you wanted instead: prodding instead of just pushing, your eyes in that very specific mischievous curve.

Today you’re too impatient to do any of that — and so Seungmin doesn’t even have to open his mouth before you’re sinking down onto him. The head, at first — biting your lip, your hand on his middle — and then, after a pause, the rest of it in one quick, urgent rush.

Immediately, you tighten. Seungmin throws his head back into the pillow, a choked whine escaping his lips, clawing at the new blankets on his bed as he attempts not to just grab you and wrestle you underneath him, potential bruises be damned. When you start moving — almost immediately, greedy creature that you are — he jolts back up enough to stare.

Like this, leaned forward and still in his too-big t-shirt, he can’t see where he sinks into you — but when you raise up high enough, he can just see the base of his own cock, wet with slick, twitching and aching to be inside you. And there’s something about that, about not being able to see, not exactly— Your weight drops back down, taking him effortlessly inside you with a short gasp, and he loses his train of thought, eyes fluttering; you’re so tight— There’s something about that, it being hidden, not being able to watch; he can’t explain it, but—

You tighten around him— “Ah, baby, feels so good; you’re so deep,” all raspy and adoring like you’re doing this just to get him off, like you want him to come right now, like you want him to fill you up—

This is dangerous; he’s about two ill-advised thoughts from popping a knot here and now. With newfound determination, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, drags you down, and kisses you.

With this position, you aren’t sunk completely onto him — so there’s space for him to move, thrusting up into you until his breath comes short and his thighs burn. And you moan so prettily into his mouth, letting him swallow your moans and suck on your tongue, balancing your elbows on either side of his head. Very quickly, it’s too warm; sweat sticks on the back of his neck and under his freshly-washed bangs. But he’ll just take a third shower today; who even cares about that; all he cares about is making you come—

The angle is hard, but somehow, he sneaks a hand between your legs — and all it takes is one press of his thumb to your clit and you’re coming almost violently around him: biting his lip before you pull back from the kiss, muffling your shouts in his neck, legs locking and muscles tightening, and you really are so tight, it almost hurts, and he loves it: fucking you through it, holding you still, because he needs to be inside when he comes, he needs you to take it, he needs it to take—

Your orgasm finishes, and you collapse onto his front like a pile of bricks. And Seungmin — just minutes from coming, who you’ve kept on edge all day, who is still rock-hard inside of you — goes still.

He kisses you hair and tries to pretend like his hands aren’t shaking. “All done?”

You hum, sleepy and thoughtful — and he knows you know what he wants, and he knows you know he’d get off on not getting it, just like he did this morning.

But maybe you’re feeling indulgent tonight — or maybe your pre-heat is just making you restless after all. “Maybe one more,” you mumble, kissing his neck, pressing your tongue to his mating gland and snickering when his breath hitches. “Want you to come inside.”