Work Text:
Phainon’s POV
Phainon’s body registers the change before his mind catches up. A shift in the atmosphere, a static charge in the air. He stops mid-action, the words on his tongue dissolving as his hands grip a shot glass, the stream of vodka slowing to a mere trickle before cutting off entirely. The liquid in the bottle swirls, disturbed, but even that settles faster than the tension crackling through the room.
It’s not just him. The bar, once buzzing with conversation and movement, has fallen into an uncanny stillness. Patrons are frozen mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-step - some with glasses halfway to their lips, others with their bodies twisted towards the dance floor, their gazes unfocused as if caught in a trance. Then, like puppets waking from a spell, their eyes sharpen, scanning the crowd with a hunger that wasn’t there moments before; searching for something unseen.
The bass continues to pulse, its deep thrum vibrating through the floor, oblivious to the unease taking root in the room. It’s the only thing untouched by the shift, an unbothered beat playing beneath the eerie pause - a soundtrack to the calm before the storm.
Even as the entrance door slams shut, its sharp crack cutting through the heavy bass, nothing immediately seems out of place. The sound reverberates against the walls, louder than the music for a fleeting moment before dissolving into the usual hum of bar chatter and clinking glasses. Phainon barely flinches. People come and go all the time, their scents weaving into the ever-present haze of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne that has settled into the very bones of this place.
He’s long since adapted to it, trained his senses to sort through the layered fragrances that cling to patrons like second skins. Omegas, betas, alphas - they all carry something distinct, even those who claim to be scentless. There’s always something there, waiting to be found. It could be the crisp bite of body wash still lingering on their skin, the telltale musk of exhaustion after a long day, or even the damp earthiness of petrichor clinging to coats that have braved the rain. It all melds together in a greyscale blur that he barely registers anymore, filtered away unless something particularly striking stands out.
And if something was standing out, Phainon would know. His nose has always been sharp, sharper than most. Some have even called it a superpower - the uncanny ability to tell where someone has been, what they’ve touched, who they’ve been with - all from the smallest trace left behind. But right now, as everyone waits with bated breath, he scents nothing unusual.
Yet, something still feels… wrong.
Phainon’s eyes begin searching through the tightly packed crowds and booths, until right there - he spots the newcomers. A man standing in the entryway, flanked by two imposing figures - bodyguards, if Phainon had to guess - carried no scent at all. Not a trace of wind or rain clings to his clothes, no lingering fragrance of soap or sweat. It’s as if he has been scrubbed clean of anything that might root him in the physical world, stripped of every earthly marker that makes a person feel real.
The absence is unnerving and unsettling in a way that makes the hair on Phainon’s skin prickle. It’s like watching a ghost materialise in the middle of the bar, stepping forward with soundless authority. And yet, despite the void where his scent should be, Phainon can feel it; the weight of something heavy and powerful pressing against his skin. His fingers twitch as he forces himself to move, setting the bottle down with deliberate care. His body screams at him to keep still, to freeze in place like the rest of the patrons whose wide, unblinking eyes follow the stranger’s every step. The man carries an aura so thick it seeps into the air itself, commanding attention without a single word.
Phainon doesn’t need a scent to tell him what this man is. The way the crowd unconsciously parts for him, the way their shoulders bow slightly as he passes, the way the entire room seems to hold its breath - it’s all the confirmation he needs.
Alpha.
But not just any alpha.
One powerful enough to leave an entire bar in a trance, their gazes glazed over and rapt, caught in a daze that they don’t even realise they’ve fallen into. A lump lodges itself in Phainon’s throat, thick and unyielding. He swallows once, twice, but it refuses to budge, settling in like a weight pressing against his windpipe. He isn’t sure what it’s made of - perhaps unease at seeing someone so clearly powerful stroll in as if they own the place, or maybe, just maybe, it’s something else. Anticipation. The creeping, breathless hope that the alpha will turn his head, lock eyes with him, and come closer.
The thought unsettles him as much as it excites him. His breath catches, a sharp inhale through his nose, but even that brings no further clarity. There’s still nothing, no scent to unravel, no trail of pheromones to follow. It’s unnatural, wrong, like staring into a blank space where something vital should be. The lump in his throat swells, growing so large it begins to press against his ribs as a shiver snakes its way down his spine. His fingers twitch against the glass in his hand, the condensation slick against his palm, but he barely notices. The alpha hasn’t even looked his way once, hasn’t done anything at all yet approach the bar, but somehow, Phainon already feels caught in his orbit.
As he strides closer, the first thing that draws attention is his sheer presence - shoulders broad and imposing, tapering down into a slim waist accentuated further by the precise cut of his tailor-made suit. The deep red fabric, rich like freshly spilt wine, should be understated in its simplicity, paired with the stark contrast of a black shirt. But it isn’t. Not when the buttons are left undone so low that the expanse of his chest is laid bare, revealing intricate red tattoos curling across his skin like tendrils of smoke, swirling and shifting with every measured step he takes.
A glint of gold catches in the flickering strobe lights - a signet ring, gleaming as it throws back fractured bursts of colour, shifting from pink to green to orange to a deep, blood-like red. Even the way he moves exudes purpose, a silent command that parts the crowd like a blade through silk. His hair, a warm shade of blonde, falls in choppy layers that curl at the ends, save for a single braid that hangs beside his ear, woven so precisely that it almost looks ceremonial. He is a study of contradictions - refined yet dangerous, elegant yet untamed, and Phainon can’t help but stare.
All that, and Phainon still hasn’t met the man’s eyes yet. He almost doesn’t want to, afraid of what he might find there - afraid of what it might do to him. His heartbeat quickens with each measured step toward the bar sending a ripple of electricity through him. Phainon’s pulse hammers, his mouth waters, and his instincts all whisper to him - no, they plead: Come closer. Let me serve you. Look at me.
The urge to lean in, to crawl over the counter like a feral animal and sweep everything aside just to lessen the unbearable distance is overwhelming. But the other alpha doesn’t spare him more than a glance. A simple flick of golden eyes - too quick to fully drink in the shades of amber and honey, too fleeting to commit the sharp angles and blonde lashes to memory - before he settles in front of Castorice, another bartender. It leaves Phainon hollow and burning all at once, craving a feeling he doesn’t even understand yet.
A sudden wave of clarity crashes over him as if he’s fallen to rock bottom only to shoot straight back up, propelled by some unseen force. What the fuck am I doing? Phainon thinks, the fog in his mind lifting as the logical side of his brain finally kicks in. His neck feels stiff, the muscles there creaking with movement as he begins to move, the rust gathering on his bones clearing away as he looks back at the group of women he was originally serving before the alpha walked in.
It shouldn’t be possible for him to be so affected by another alpha that way. He doesn’t generally have any feelings towards them, his laid-back self-assured lifestyle covers him in that aspect. There’s never any intimidation, no jealous streak, and certainly no lust. He doesn’t want to think about why another man, another alpha, stirred something up in him that he’d never felt before.
“Four vodka shots?” Phainon asks, voice hoarse as he tries his best to get the night back on track.
The girls in front of him snap back to attention, jolting as if they’d been shaken awake from a dream. Their eyes remain unfocused, their lips parting in mutual shock as they try to sort through their thoughts and process Phainon’s words. One of them eventually nods, her gaze going between the alpha a few seats away and him.
As quickly as the bar had fallen into silence, honouring the newcomer with open arms, it rose back up again into chaos as if nothing ever happened.
Despite the rest of the bar moving on from the alpha’s entrance, Phainon can’t shake the feeling gnawing at him. It’s a quiet itch, deep in his gut, one that won’t settle no matter how much he tries to ignore it. The night goes on, people laughing, flirting, mingling, but none of it interests him. Not even the pretty faces or flattering smiles sent his way managed to capture his attention. Instead, his eyes keep drifting back to the man sitting only a few seats away. The alpha doesn’t do much over the course of the next few hours: he doesn’t engage with anyone, doesn’t laugh or chat with the patrons, and he certainly doesn’t make any attempt to entertain the flirtations sent his way in the form of free drinks. He just sits there, an impenetrable presence, like a silent storm waiting to unfold. No one dares to directly approach him, skirting around him and his bodyguards with trepidation. Even the betas at his side remain quiet, their eyes scanning the room, their loyalty evident in their focus. There’s something so still about the three of them, almost as though they’re frozen in time. They stick out like sore thumbs, and Phainon has to wonder what they’re even doing here in a shitty bar on the outskirts of the city centre, where the clientele are mostly university students and stressed salarymen.
Despite that, the stillness is what draws Phainon in, leaving him unable to scratch the itch under his skin, and unable to move on.
Even though Phainon didn’t - or rather, couldn’t - approach, he still can’t tear his eyes away. As the night drags on, Castorice throws him a few curious glances, but Phainon’s still too tongue-tied to offer any explanation. He’s not even sure what he would say: that the alpha is giving him weird vibes, that he’s curious about why he doesn’t smell of anything, why somebody like him - someone clearly in a different tax bracket than everyone here - has chosen to reside at their bar. Along with that, he has no intention of poaching his coworkers’ patrons, especially ones who look like they might tip enough to take a few weeks off work. Instead, he stays rooted, watching intently, cataloguing every movement of the man, and each sip of his drink. Red wine, Phainon thinks, though the burgundy hue appears almost milky under the flashing lights. Phainon can’t help but trace the subtle dip of his throat, following the way his Adam’s apple rises and falls with each gulp. It’s hypnotising, intoxicating, and so bewildering that with every passing second, Phainon feels as though he’s at war with himself. The fight between stopping his staring and continuing it rages fiercely within his chest.
Suddenly, the man’s gaze shifts down to his phone, his eyes narrowing as his eyebrows crease in irritation at whatever message or notification has caught his attention. The subtle shift in his expression is enough to catch Phainon’s attention once again, a fleeting moment of vulnerability in his otherwise composed exterior. With a fluid motion, he stands up, his long legs unfolding with an effortless grace that seems almost predatory. As he rises, he gestures towards his bodyguards with a flick of his hand, an unspoken command for them to stay put. Without a word, he strides confidently towards the back door, his movements smooth and deliberate, the weight of his presence still hanging in the air even as he disappears behind the heavy curtains, leaving a strange tension in his wake.
Aglaea appears from behind, sighing loudly as the empty bottles in the crate she’s carrying rattle. “Castorice, can you take out the -”
“I’ll do it,” Phainon cuts her off, reaching out to grab the crate from her.
Aglaea blinks at him in shock, her glittery eyeshadow sparkling with each flutter of her eyelashes. “How unusual. You prefer to complain when I ask you to do this, but now you’re offering?”
Phainon rolls his eyes when the other bartenders snort with laughter at her comment. There’s no way he’s exposing his real reason for wanting to do this menial task: because he wants to follow the alluring stranger, curiosity eating away at him with every second that passes with him out of sight.
“It’s my break now anyway, and I wanna head out for some fresh air.”
Aglaea gives him an all too knowing look but doesn’t comment further, waving him off and leaving him to veer around her, rushing out through the same door the alpha left from.
“You,” Phainon throws out a punch, barely missing a kick coming towards him from one of the thugs. “Owe me!”
The other alpha throws him the most poisonous glare, every inch of him and his pheromones seething. If Phainon was any less of an alpha himself or an omega, he’d be kneeling on the floor like a simpering idiot by now, drugged up on this stranger’s scent. It’s good that he’s just as much of an alpha, and definitely no omega, so his knees only wobble minutely before he gets a hold of himself again and launches back into action.
It’s a stark difference to how little he smelled of anything in the bar, blending into the landscape like he wasn’t even there, a missing puzzle piece. But Phainon has quickly developed the idea that this guy has control over everything in his life: the way his clothes look - pristine - the way he holds himself - with pride - and even controlling his scent to disappear - nothing.
The alleyway’s air is thick as smog and potent with rage and adrenaline. It makes the hairs on the back of Phainon’s neck and arms stand to attention, his heart pounding with a crazed grin stretching across his face. He hasn’t let loose quite like this in a long time, especially after giving up the underground fighting life in favour of trying to go on the ‘straight and narrow’ path of life. Which, as much as it’s less stressful for him, it’s boring.
Horribly - punch - deathly - swing - boring.
With each breath he inhales and exhales, the varying scents of the alphas all sandwiched between two corroding brick walls of neighbouring buildings make Phainon’s blood sing. His lungs work overtime, muscles exhausted, but he’s still going a million miles an hour, taking pleasure in each lunge, kick and punch he throws out. He’s surprised with how in sync the other alpha is with him, working seamlessly with him instead of against him. Especially considering he’s decked out in nothing but posh, expensive clothing and perfectly styled hair that’s only just about been ruined with how a few strands of hair fray from his braid, yet even that looks curated. Phainon would usually assume guys like him get his goons to do their dirty work, too afraid to get blood and dust in their jackets… but this one, this mysterious alpha, plays rough.
Each attack is precise, power exuding with how sharp his jabs and kicks are that it displaces the air and makes a sharp whoosh that follows up with any of his attacks, slicing through his opponent with ease. He’s good, and trained, at that, so much so that Phainon feels himself lag behind in silent awe. He’d never seen anything quite like it before - not even in the underground arena where he used to spend the majority of his time, and before now, Phainon thought he’d seen it all when it came to fighting. It causes admiration to soar to a whole new level for this guy.
“Watch out!” The alpha shouts, eyes wide with shock as one of their attackers barely misses him after he’s pushed out of the way.
Phainon reels, half with the shock of being shoved and saved within the same action, and half due to the voice: it’s deeper than he thought it’d be, but not rough, instead almost melodic in tone.
“Thanks,” Phainon mumbles, his brain bouncing around inside his skull at how fast he was knocked off-centre.
Look, he’s not above being helped out by another alpha, but a part of him wants to peacock around and show off his own skills - to let the man he’s been watching all night see him, force him to pay attention. He doesn’t get a response to his thanks, but he does get an impressed look as they throw themselves right back into the fight, not stopping until they’ve ended every single one of the guys who surrounded them.
When it’s over, Phainon’s fists are dripping with blood and gore, standing back to back with the mysterious alpha. Their chests heave with exhaustion, sweat slicking their skin as their shoulders remain tense just in case one of them gets back up again, but it’s clear after a few moments that they’ve won.
“You gotta pay up after I saved your ass. 70k credits.” A muscle in the guy’s jaw twitches, his eyebrows knitting together. Phainon clicks his tongue, muttering stingy under his breath just loud enough for the other to hear. “Fine. 50k, then.” An eye roll from the other swiftly answers.
“Who even were those guys?” Phainon questions.
The alpha hums, crossing his arms across his chest, cocking his hip out to the side. “Rival gang.”
“Gang -?” Phainon cuts himself off, blinking a few times as it all makes sense. Everything begins clicking into place then: the suit, the aura, the bodyguards… “You’re some kinda mafia?”
“Yes.” A shrug. “And everyone wants me dead.”
“Fancy that,” Phainon replies mindlessly, raising his eyebrows sceptically.
He feels more clear-headed out here now that the fresh air and the night breeze bite at him, the lingering rush of adrenaline working in tandem to clear the fog of confusion that had clouded his mind earlier. The sharp edges of his thoughts begin to cut through the haze, but despite the clarity, the pull towards the other alpha remains, a magnetic force he can’t shake. And now, standing in the dim glow of the street lamps looming above them, it’s impossible not to take him in properly, to really see him.
He looks every bit the embodiment of chaos and beauty combined. His hair is tousled, still messy from the fight, his braid even more frayed than before and there’s a slight sheen of sweat still on his skin. His shirt is rumpled, the fabric stretched in places from where it was tugged or pulled during the scuffle, and the buttons are slightly askew. Despite the dishevelment, he radiates an effortless allure. His amber eyes, bright even in the subdued light, hold a depth that is fierce and dangerous, making it clear that the fight had barely scratched the surface of what lurked below.
His chest rises and falls with each breath, the tension from the confrontation still visible in the way he now stands - hands low on his hips, on edge. There’s a rugged charm in the way he carries himself, in the strong shifting of his muscles beneath his suit jacket to the slight scuff on his lip. It all adds up, equating to an image that Phainon can’t seem to look away from.
“You’re Phainon?” The guy asks suddenly, ignoring his previous attempts at negotiating. It sounds like a statement and a question all rolled into one. The strict tone takes him off guard, as well as the mention of his name.
He’d never heard Phainon said like that before; not by his friends, family nor any of his lovers, either. His name feels laced with narcotics as it passes through the alpha’s lips, leaving a charge skittering across his skin, shooting him up into the clouds and riding on a high that could only end in a disastrous come-down.
Outside of that, hesitance begins to peek through. He swears he hasn’t uttered his name once, and no one else has either, considering the thugs they’d been fighting are all now stashed away in the garbage pile the next street over to hide the evidence. Dead people don’t talk, and certainly not ones that didn’t know Phainon to begin with.
“Yeah, what about it?” Phainon confronts, adding a slight snarkiness to his tone.
“How about we barter?” The guy offers, stepping closer as he brushes lint off his jacket. With the motion, he brings his scent with him too.
While they were fighting, Phainon only had quick whiffs of it before he was distracted by not getting kicked in the balls, and in the bar, he couldn’t smell it at all. But now, with only the two of them standing in the small alleyway, there’s nothing to dampen it. The alpha is clearly purposefully exposing his scent, allowing Phainon to finally scent the rich, decadent, spiced and sweet tones of it. It suits him perfectly, just on the cusp of being too overbearing, but still matching the power that accompanies it. Phainon swallows, collecting the pooling saliva from how much it’s made his mouth water within a few short seconds.
Phainon isn’t nervous - especially not around another alpha, but… something like butterflies starts building in his gut, their wings flapping cautiously with anticipation, a twinkle of curiosity and want settling as their scents begin to mingle. The guy’s nostrils flare, noticing the change in the air immediately as Phainon begins to exude his own scent to match. It’s nothing like the others, nowhere near as strong, but it’s equally as pleasant.
“Tell me your name first,” Phainon says.
The guy huffs, but there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, the amber tones in his eyes catching red hues coming from the lanterns that line the walls, warming them even further. “Mydeimos.”
“Go on,” Phainon says, gesturing for Mydeimos to hurry up. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you negotiate after I saved your ass, Mydei.” He tacks the nickname on at the end like an afterthought in hopes of riling the other guy up, but all he gets is a downward turn of lips and nothing else.
Mydei snorts, looking displeased. “Hardly. You butted in, and as I recall, you’re the one who ended up needing to be saved.” He tilts his head to the side, giving Phainon an obvious once-over. His eyes linger on the ripped-open shirt, catching on Phainon’s exposed nipples and the curve of his waist before they flicker back up. “Which isn’t surprising, coming from someone who barely seems like an alpha.”
A cold, furious feeling floods his stomach, instantly drowning the butterflies that’d only just taken flight, freezing them over.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Phainon straightens to his full stature, and to his delight, he stands around 2 inches taller. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s proven himself countless times to those who mistake his easy-going nature as a sign of weakness for an alpha. This time will be no different - he always comes out on top.
“You’re too delicate,” Mydei explains, “I can barely smell you, even now.” His gaze drops to Phainon’s crotch, a cruel smile curling on his lips. His eyes narrow, the warm glow in them fading into something ice-cold. “Not got a lot down there, I assume?”
“Fuck you!” Phainon yells, his voice echoing and bouncing off the bricks.
He launches himself forward, taking Mydei off guard. It’s easy to get the upper hand when his opponent isn’t expecting it, and Phainon isn’t above making the most out of opportunities like that. He’s learned from the worst that there’s no such thing as honour or fairness when it comes to fighting. Phainon strikes, clawing at Mydei’s stupidly expensive jacket, not caring when he hears the sound of material tearing and buttons pinging off their shirts as they begin to grapple against each other.
“I don’t need some rich bastard like you telling me if I’m an alpha or not!” Phainon shouts, lashing out again, gnashing his teeth and throwing out endless curses as he tries to get the other man exactly where he wants him.
It takes longer than he wants, but finally, Phainon has Mydei pressed against the wall, both his wrists clasped tightly in his hands. In this position, he’s taller than ever, bigger, looming over the other as he wants to make him cower while his scent overtakes the air. It’s as if an ocean wave washes over them, cleansing the alleyway of the iron tang and Mydei’s spiced sweetness. It’s a crisp, refreshing breath of air with a slight saltiness that evokes the scent of the sea.
“I don’t need to parade my scent around to be an alpha, you prick,” Phainon spits out, watching in satisfaction as Mydei’s wide eyes stare at him, their close proximity making sure that there’s no way he can’t smell Phainon now.
Mydei struggles against the grip, even more so when Phainon wrenches a hand up, showing off a golden watch wrapped around his wrist.
“How about I dock 20k off your bill and I take this thing?” Phainon suggests coldly, clicking his tongue in annoyance when Mydei tries to protest. He doesn’t look at the watch, pocketing it immediately in the front of his jeans. There’s no doubt in his mind that just by the weight of the thing, it’s worth more than what he makes in a year.
Caught up in his thoughts and plans to sell off the watch, Phainon doesn’t realise until it’s too late that his world is spinning. It’s just a split second where he takes his hands off Mydei, but with his body weight pinning him against the wall, he doesn’t think the grasp is needed anymore.
Phainon blinks owlishly, his cheek pressing against the wall, the roughness scratching against his face and the dampness of the bricks seeping into his clothing and invading his nostrils, making his face scrunch up in displeasure at the strong smell of mould. He tries to move, to pull free of the grasp, but winces when he realises his arm is twisted awkwardly and pressed firmly into the small of his back. Mydei’s front is plastered up against him, heavy and unavoidable, immovable even as Phainon thrashes and wriggles around to try and get loose.
To his chagrin, he can’t stop Mydei as a hand sneaks up and over his hip, dipping into his jeans pocket, and fetching the watch back out.
“I didn’t agree to pay you anything, HKS,” Mydei says, the words caressing the outer shell of his ear. The last one catches his attention the most, accented and unfamiliar. As much as he wants to ask, he doesn’t, keeping his mouth firmly shut for once.
Phainon shivers. He’s cold, he’s hot, and now he’s sweltering. Phainon can feel how solidly built Mydei is now, his muscles mostly hidden beneath the suit. He’s never felt like this before - threatened, well and truly, by another alpha.
Mydei’s POV
“I did hear something interesting about you,” Mydei begins, his hand coming back up to Phainon’s hip, his fingers curling around the bone. “That you like to offer your customers a good time?” Mydei noses at Phainon’s temple, inhaling the newly found scent. It’s light and fragrant in all the ways his isn’t. “Since I’m apparently paying you, I count as one, hm?” Mydei nips at his earlobe, tugging at it gently. “I’ll give you my watch, and that 50k, if you let me.”
Phainon scoffs, “In your fucking dreams,” And rears, throwing his head back to try and break Mydei’s nose. It doesn’t land, but it’s enough to make Mydei loosen his grip.
Their positions shift again, and this time it’s Mydei who’s pressed firmly against the wall, his body pinned in place with an unrelenting force. Phainon’s leg wedges between his thighs, not allowing for any escape, not even a hint of freedom. Mydei’s hands are trapped behind his back, a firm grip keeping them in place, the pressure enough to make every muscle in his body strain with the effort to resist. His breath snags in his throat, no space to breathe in anything but the raw heat of the moment, their scents entwining viciously, every movement restricted by Phainon’s hold. It’s suffocating, a painful kind of tension building up between them that neither can easily escape, a clashing of two alphas.
The wall digs into his chest, scraping against his exposed skin. The cold surface of it contrasts sharply with the searing heat leaching into his back.
“I don’t get fucked,” Phainon says darkly, teeth suddenly ghosting at the crook of his neck. Mydei feels him tense up before relaxing again. “Oh, isn’t that curious?” Sharp canines scratch the surface of his skin, Mydei’s scent thickening with the threat. “It seems you do, though.”
“No,” Mydei immediately replies out of spite. But it’s there, the truth lingering in his scent, in the way it sweetens. His face flushes with humiliation at being called out so easily.
“You can’t lie to me,” Phainon sing-songs, nuzzling into the back of Mydei’s neck, close to where his scent glands are. His lips tease over them, soft and barely there, just enough to make Mydei’s heart kick in his chest.
A flare of panic sets off like a bomb exploding, and the fight returns to him, igniting in his veins as plumes of bitterness exude from him. It’s a revolting, pungent smell, one that Mydei never thought he’d be able to produce. But then again, he’d never felt like this before: threatened, shoved into a corner, so easily picked apart by a stranger who spent the whole night watching him.
Mydei had noticed the white-haired alpha as soon as he entered, his striking appearance immediately cutting through the dim haze of the bar. There was something magnetic about him, the way he stood behind the counter, his every movement sure and fluid as he served customers. It’d taken everything in him to not stare back, to not meet his icy blue gaze and follow it like a trail. He purposely sat a few seats away, just enough to stay within range, but far away enough that someone else had to serve him. Each glance felt like a brand against his skin, burning white hot and lingering. Still, in the end, it didn’t matter how far apart they were in that space. Mydei was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and when Phainon had joined in the fight to assist him, it only increased, his natural combat abilities impressing him.
All Phainon does is laugh at his silence because there’s no doubt - it’s as clear as the air they breathe in - he's turned on. Hopelessly, soul-crushingly so. This isn’t right - how can it be? Alphas like Mydei are supposed to command, not feel like weak prey in the claws of something much more oppressive. What Phainon wants to do to him, and what Mydei wants Phainon to do as well, it’s unheard of. Mydei isn’t ashamed, per se, but his trysts are usually strictly with betas, their secondary-gender allowing Mydei’s alpha instincts to remain fairly dormant. He likes it that way, he enjoys it - it’s simple, clean and efficient, but the more he thinks about it, the less appealing it seems when in contrast to what he has now:
Breathing that whispers against his skin, a skimming of fangs on his ear catching on the soft flesh of his lobe, a solid weight of another man - another alpha - pressing up against him, boxing him in no matter how much he growls and fights against it.
Mydei’s skin feels like it’s melting off, slipping and sliding around his muscles and bones as his cock fills out, pearls of precum beading at the head and ruining the inside of his clothing - all without even being touched. He strains against the tight hold Phainon still has on him, a dull pulse of arousal making it seem as if every part of him has its own heartbeat. His breath catches in his lungs, full of Phainon’s fresh and tangy scent, cloying and tantalising. Mydei holds his breath for a few moments, wondering on a whim if somehow it’s Phainon’s scent that’s drugged him and forced him to feel like this, but all it results in is a second wave of need coming over him - a desperation to smell it again.
Then, a shift, a subtle movement. Phainon’s hips flex forward, nearer, a hardness settling between his ass cheeks - Phainon’s hardness.
“Pervert,” Mydei spits out, moving to try and get some space between them, but all it does is force Phainon to move with him, pushing his cock against his backside as he’s pulled even closer. “Do you enjoy fucking other alphas?” The way he says it is supposed to sound like an insult, cutting and judgemental, but instead, it comes out too spiteful to sound anything else but jealous.
“Only easy ones like you, sweetheart,” Phainon replies lightly, the pet name dripping with sarcasm as he purposefully grinds his cock against Mydei. “Now, are you finally going to pay me back?”
Mydei goes to shake his head, but stops himself, dizziness overcoming him as his vision darkens around the edges. Against his will, while his deeply rooted instincts scream out to keep fighting, to put Phainon in his place and prove himself to be the strongest, he goes pliant, giving into the pressure against his wrists and back. His lips part, words forming - fuck off, get off me, I’ll kill you - but nothing comes out, his tongue heavy and stuck to the roof of his mouth. His muscles are limp, weak and trembling with exhaustion from two physical fights - one between the thugs from earlier, the second between him and Phainon - and now this tussle included. It doesn’t matter how much willpower he has if his own body won’t cooperate with him, his senses dulling as the tide of Phainon’s scent sweeps over him, cleansing and soothing.
“There we go,” Phainon encourages, those three simple words acting as a signature, signing away Mydei’s dignity.
Phainon’s hands let go of his wrists, winding around Mydei’s waist to grasp at his belt. He undoes it with practised ease, pulling it out the buckle before tugging it out of the belt loops, and tossing it on the ground beside them. Next, nimble fingers are working at his trousers’ button and fly, hooking underneath the elastic of his boxer’s waistband to push them down his legs, gravity doing the rest until they get caught around his knees.
Mydei’s cock twitches, exposed, wet and sensitive to the cool air ghosting across his quivering skin, goosebumps rippling out across his whole body. The coarse chafe of Phainon’s jeans against his bare ass and the backs of his thighs makes heat prickle at his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to face the proof of his growing arousal. Mydei inhales sharply, reacting to the heat of a hand over his left hip and another hovering over his cock. He’s never felt so exposed in his whole life.
A drop of sweat slides down Mydei’s temple, slowly making its way towards his jawline. It glistens in the dim light, tracing a delicate line across his skin. Before it can fall any further, Phainon is there, swift and precise, leaning in to lick it up with a soft yet heated groan of pleasure. The sound vibrates through Mydei’s back into his chest, ricocheting around his ribcage, and his breath hitches. His stomach lurches as heat pools in his core, his thighs trembling and muscles clenching involuntarily, desperate for more. His body is betraying him in every way possible - caught between pleasure and fear.
Mydei’s hand curls into a fist, nails digging into his palm in a futile attempt to control himself, to ground himself against the overwhelming sensations rocking him. But it’s no use - even as he punches the wall, the sharp sting of pain cuts through the haze in his head. It’s a small relief, a brief respite, enough to snap him out of the dizzying spiral, but not enough to stop the tension coiling tighter within him. His fingers turn into feral claws as he scratches at the rough, cold bricks, feeling the remnants of eroding clay and cement break away beneath his nails. It’s an oddly grounding sensation, however, nothing can distract from the overwhelming urge, the need, that’s simmering hotly beneath his skin.
“You smell so good,” Phainon remarks, sounding slightly awed, shoving his face in the crook of Mydei’s neck as he finally wraps his hand around his aching cock.
The first touch of Phainon’s fingers makes him jolt violently, a high-pitched whine leaving his lips. Phainon’s hands are large, calloused from years of work, fully encasing his cock with ease. Mydei feels it more than he hears it: Phainon laughing.
“All that talk about me not having anything there,” Phainon says, squeezing his fingers tightly around Mydei’s length to adjust to the smaller girth. “Yet this is all you have?”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Mydei threatens, voice hoarse as he watches Phainon changing his grip, unwinding his full fist until he pinches Mydei’s cock with his thumb and forefinger, pulling his foreskin down further. He’s not small, not in the way that Phainon is insinuating, but going by the feel of the other alpha’s cock still nestled between his asscheeks, he knows that his is nothing compared to that.
Mydei’s breathing picks up again from anger and pleasure at being played with and glances down between his legs again. Phainon’s pale hand wrapped around his cock only makes the redness of it stand out even more, brutal and angry in the shadows. His skin is shiny with translucent liquid, and each push and pull of Phainon’s fingers only spreads it further down, smearing it in the thatch of blonde hair nestled at the base of his cock.
Mydei’s perspective narrows, distorting like he’s peering through the warped glass of a fishbowl, the world around him stretching and bending at the edges. It’s disorienting, like he’s a spectator in his own body, detached and floating, watching through borrowed eyes rather than his own. None of this feels real. The sensation prickles at his skin, a strange, electric tingling creeping through his limbs, deeper, deeper until it burrows into the very core of him.
Something shifts. His body isn’t just reacting - it’s reforming, reshaping, rewriting itself from the inside out. Even his DNA, those tightly coiled strands that have dictated his existence since birth, seem to be unspooling, unwinding from their carefully structured double helixes before twisting back together in an unfamiliar pattern. It’s terrifying, exhilarating - like being taken apart and rebuilt into something new, something unknown. Everything that made him who he was, that built him up and broke him down, that shaped his every thought and shame, is recalculating, redefining itself in ways he can’t yet understand.
He’s never felt like this during sex, even during some of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life, but just with Phainon’s hand on his cock, pumping and thumbing at his tip, he feels like he’s going insane.
Mydei likes this. He loves it. The rush of admitting it - albeit only to himself - gives him a high unlike anything else. Admitting he enjoys having another alpha touching him is almost enough to make him come on the spot, and only with restraint does he refrain.
“More,” Mydei grits out, not knowing where his voice came from.
His senses are guiding him now, whatever otherworldly primal urge has taken over him and possessed every part of him. On the surface, he doesn’t know what more is, but there’s an echo inside of him, a tugging need, something trying to tell him that what Phainon is doing isn’t enough. It isn’t right. Phainon should be - he should -
“You want me to fuck you?” Phainon finishes Mydei’s thoughts for him without him having to say anything, his fingers stopping their movement.
Mydei whines, leaning his forehead against the wall as he bucks his hips to try and get Phainon to start up again. Phainon mutters something to himself, too quiet to be heard, but he sounds fraught and frantic. Phainon’s touch leaves him completely. He’s free, nothing holding him down now, but the coldness that replaces the warmth from Phainon’s body is too distracting for him to care about how he can run away.
Mydei hears a crunch from the pavement below, and then there are hands on his ass, fingers prying them apart. He pitches forward, catching himself with splayed palms over brick, eyes wide with shock. Phainon hadn’t disappeared, he’d dropped to his knees. Phainon spits on his hole, making him flinch. It’s filthy and disgusting, but his mouth opens with a moan instead, which only increases in volume when a tongue probes at his opening. Hot, wet and curious.
Mydei’s first instinct is to tighten and pull away, completely barring Phainon from entering. But the second instinct, this new one that seems to be developing inside of him, forces him to do the opposite. He relaxes, loosening his hole, allowing Phainon’s tongue to touch and taste him, lapping and dampening the skin until he’s pliant and wet. He barely notices when fingers join Phainon’s tongue, stretching him wide as they scissor, the tips curling and hitting that exact spot deep inside of him. Mydei’s knees shake, trembling from head to toe, mouth open and drool slipping past his lips and down his chin. He can barely see, eyes rolling back as he pushes against the intrusions, desperately searching for something more, something bigger.
It gets stronger - this new instinct - louder, like a roaring tide crashing against his mind. Thoughts and feelings pile up, tumbling over one another in a chaotic storm, all clamouring for his attention, each one more urgent than the last. They scream and wail, demanding to be heard, pushing and pulling at him from every direction. His head feels like it's being crushed under the weight of them, the pressure building to an unbearable point as if his skull might fracture from the intensity of it all. Every thought feels like a jagged edge, every emotion a razor-sharp blade digging deeper. It’s a dizzying, suffocating spiral, caught somewhere between an overwhelming pleasure and a deteriorating madness.
His chest tightens, his breath comes in shallow gasps, and his pulse pounds in his ears. The line between what he wants and what he can handle blurs, leaving him teetering on the edge, the darkness closing in around him like a thick fog. The more he tries to grasp onto something solid, something real, the more it slips through his fingers. He’s teetering on the precipice, caught between two worlds, and then - everything goes dark. The sound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his veins all fade into a quiet nothingness as his vision blanks out, leaving him suspended in the black void.
A scent bursts out of him then, so sweet and sickly that it makes his stomach turn, an endless, pitiful whine leaving his lips. Mydei sags against the wall, leaning on it with all his body weight as Phainon’s hands support him from the waist down. It’s like a bunch of puzzle pieces finally slot into place, the decisive echo of their finality all reverbing around him.
Mydei is caught in a dance, and he’s merely being spun around on the ballroom floor. Phainon rises, and there’s the click of his belt buckle opening, the sound of his zip being undone. Mydei isn’t sure how long he was out for, but just that now arms are around him as their bodies entwine, cocooning around him, gathering him up like a lover and not just a quick fuck in the back of an alleyway.
Mydei wants to see him. He can smell his scent all over Phainon, and it’s another new one. There’s no salt to it, now a sugary sweetness, yet still accompanied by a freshness that can only come with an early morning breeze. It reminds him of drinking margaritas on the beach, content and happy, his tongue and lips tingling with the fruity flavours and the tartness of the alcohol that leave him craving another sip.
Mydei’s breathing stops when he feels the tip of Phainon’s cock at his entrance.
“How -” Phainon gasps, sinking in quicker than either of them expected.
It burns and aches and it feels like he’s being split apart as Phainon inches in, nudging inside of him so slow Mydei wants to scream. There’s a slick noise, a squelch, thick and viscous. There’s no way that just the spit Phainon left behind should feel or sound like that, but he’s too dazed to care much more about it.
He’s torn between wanting this to be over and for it never to end, this endless stretch of time as Phainon slots himself closer, joining them together. The heat inside of him roars to life even hotter, burning him alive, sweat pouring out from each atom of his being. He’s panting harder than before, his vision blurry.
Crazed, delusional, desperate.
Mydei arches his back, forcing Phainon’s cock to the hilt, his ass resting against his pelvis as he’s all the way in. All the breath in his lungs rushes out, eyes rolling back. He thought it would calm the itch under his skin, but it doesn’t, it’s made it worse. It’s not enough. Without any words, Mydei flexes his hips, unable to stay still. Phainon grips his waist tighter, squeezing even more air out of him.
Mydei feels… dominated, taken over - no, that’s not quite right - he feels taken care of. Each rock of their hips together feels so right, his insides purring and content, happy that their desires have been heard. There’s more, just out of reach, that still aren’t pleased, pleading for more. How can there be more to this? What is left for him to give to Phainon - he’s already given him so much more than he thought possible. The space inside of him is carved out so Phainon’s cock can fit in perfectly. The curve of his back, the swell of his ass and the dips in his body melded into place so Phainon can melt himself in between, not an inch of them not touching where possible. He feels Phainon from head to toe, each brush of his hair against his skin, his chest and torso and hips, the front of his thighs and his shins, even his shoes as the toes of them press into his heels.
His hearing comes back to him in pieces, enough to distinguish that he’s making noise, so much that it’s echoing around the alleyway, and that Phainon is shushing him, soothing and sweet between his gasps and moans, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on his skin to calm him.
He thought he’d feel small, pathetic, weak and useless having another alpha take him, but instead, he feels better than he ever has before. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and all the fatigue he feels is washed away, taken away in the ocean spray tang of Phainon’s scent as it rises between them. He’d never smelled so many variations of his own scent before, but Phainon seemed to bring out a new tone to it each time: sweet, sweeter, sweetest - all layering on top of each other.
As Phainon begins to move, fucking into him with hard, sure, rough thrusts, so much so that he can feel it in his throat, almost making him gag. His cheek is sore from where it’s been rubbing against the wall, chafed and raw, but Phainon makes him forget all about that too. Moans, mewls and cries all spill out, his cock dripping, and there’s a wetness between his thighs too.
“Holy shit, Mydei,” Phainon gasps, sounding like he’s in awe.
Is it because Phainon feels as good as Mydei does? Each thrust is wet, sloppy and more liquid spills down his thighs, coating them and soaking his trousers, even running down his calves as well. He’s boiling hot, disorientated, his stomach tightening, clenching around Phainon’s cock.
He wants him. He wants to kiss him. This isn’t enough, they aren’t close enough. Each part of them that isn't touching feels like a waste like Phainon is a thousand light-years away from him, out of reach.
His moans turn into cries, pathetic, humiliating whimpers that plead and beg the other alpha without using his words. Mydei isn’t sure he can speak, or form words, even if he wanted to. What would he even say?
“Please,” Is what he says. It’s all he can muster.
The other alpha groans, a guttural, feral sound, pulling out just long enough to spin Mydei around. He grabs him underneath his thighs, hoisting him up. Mydei tries to wrap his legs around Phainon’s hips but his trousers and underwear are in the way. Phainon growls, and with a single swipe of his newly protruding claws, they’re in ribbons, slashed and fluttering to the ground.
Distantly, Mydei knows he should be furious. Those were his favourite pair, but right now all he cares about is getting Phainon inside him again, filling him up, connecting. Phainon hoists him up easily and as he slides in, Mydei slings his arms around Phainon’s neck and they can finally kiss. It’s everything Mydei needed: the slide of their lips, their tongues tangling and the mingling of their scents. They smell divine together, smoky and sweet, salty and warm.
Mydei squeezes his eyes shut so tightly that all he can see is a technicolour prism of shapes behind his eyelids. He’s not sure how long he can last - what with Phainon’s tongue in his mouth licking and reaching as far back as possible, glazing over his teeth and flicking at his sharp canines along with the brutal speed of being fucked into that Phainon has taken.
“Mydei -” Phainon starts, pulling away with a pop of their lips. A string of saliva keeps them connected, and the sight of it makes Mydei’s heart thud in his chest. “I think…”
“What.” Mydei snaps, patience non-existent as he notices that Phainon is slowing down. He claws at Phainon’s shoulder blades, pushing and shoving him as much as he can in this position to keep going.
“Fuck, Mydei, I think you’re in heat,” Phainon finally says, voice strained as a vein throbs at his temple.
Mydei freezes, stomach bottoming out. He glances up at Phainon, pulling his gaze away from kiss-bitten lips up to his eyes, where glassy blue meets his own. “What the fuck do you mean? I can’t be - I’m -”
“I know, an alpha,” Phainon breathes in sharply, adjusting his grip on Mydei’s ass to hoist him higher. The movement makes him slide up on his cock, the motion leaving Mydei moaning. “But you - there’s… slick, Mydei. You’re leaking it. Your smell, it’s…” Phainon trails off, at a loss for words.
“Can we please have this secondary-gender crisis after you’ve finished fucking me, please?” Mydei grits out, curling his fingers into the short hairs at the base of Phainon’s neck to tug at them. “I don’t give a shit what I am right now, all I want is to come, okay?”
Phainon looks a little lost, his blue eyes wide and unfocused, as though struggling to make sense of what’s happening. It’s almost cute - the way he stares unabashedly, mouth slightly parted, breathing uneven, a dazed expression softening his features. He blinks slowly as if trying to blink himself back to reality, but each time his gaze lands on Mydei, it flickers with something uncertain, something raw.
It’s endearing, his brows knitting together in a mixture of trepidation and wonder, like he’s been struck by something far bigger than himself. He looks as though he’s been hit over the head with a hammer - stunned, off-kilter, completely thrown. But it’s fascination that triumphs, bewilderment, like he can’t quite decide if what Mydei just said is something to fear or something to be chased. And Mydei, watching him so closely, ready to coax Phainon into doing what he wants, knows which one it’s going to be.
“Please, alpha,” Mydei whispers coyly, looking at Phainon through his lashes as he forces his voice as low as it can go while he tugs gently at Phainon’s hair. “Fuck me.”
“Gods, Mydei,” Phainon chokes out, and then he’s going again - hips pistoning in and out, gradually gaining speed and force until it feels as though they can never part again.
“Phainon!” Mydei gasps in shock at the sudden force.
In and out, the delicious slide of Phainon’s cock inside of him, it never ends. Mydei can’t tell how long they’ve been going, all his body knows is the scent of Phainon and the way he feels around him. He can barely keep himself up, thighs trembling with exertion as they wrap around Phainon’s waist. He’s grateful for Phainon’s strong grip on him to keep up upright and pressed against the wall. During all this, his suit jacket and shirt have ridden up, exposing his lower back to the bricks. Each thrust, each jolt, each press sends another shockwave of pleasure-pain through him, enough that he’s sure that when this is over, his back will be scraped and bleeding.
Phainon nuzzles into his neck as if sensing his distress, licking and biting, tracing over his skin as he leaves open-mouthed kisses to his skin. The cool wind quickly soothes them, the sheet heat from Phainon’s mouth drying out the saliva almost instantly until his neck is littered with red marks and bruises. It makes him feel claimed, owned, and cherished.
Panic settles low in his stomach, mixing with arousal until his cock is throbbing with it. Mydei can’t tell whether he’s going to pass out from the pleasure or the fear that what Phainon said earlier was true - that he was somehow an omega now, his scent and slick two glaring factors to support the case. Maybe this is just a fluke, a simple misunderstanding, his body getting confused after having too much contact with another alpha. He’s never heard of it happening, but maybe he’s a special case?
The thoughts leave him as Phainon bottoms out, grip bruising as his fingertips dig into the backs of his thighs, panting heavily against his neck. They’re both shaking - either with oversensitivity or fatigue. Mydei grumbles, thinking that he’s stopping again when they haven’t finished. He still hasn’t gotten what he wants, still isn’t full enough, and is still missing something important that he can’t put a name to. Then, Phainon starts thrusting again, muttering words of encouragement, praise, of worship and reverence into Mydei’s skin.
“You feel so good, Mydei, shit, so perfect for me. So wet and tight and -” The alpha cuts off, the grip on Mydei’s ass becoming even more bruising than before. His toes curl in his shoes, head falling back to thunk against the wall, exposing more of his neck.
It wasn’t his intention to give Phainon more space to work with, but he takes advantage, diving in for more.
“You smell divine, sweetheart,” Phainon mumbles into his neck, somewhere close to his ear. The pet name doesn’t grate on Mydei’s nerves like it did either, instead filling him with a warm, content feeling.
Sharp canines are settling into his lobe, biting down and marking him there, too. Mydei wonders idly if he’ll ever feel the same after this - marked up and changed forever, inside and out, all because of this encounter with a bartender that he met a mere few hours ago. Mydei moans, long and low, his stomach tightening up almost painfully, hole clenching around Phainon’s big cock. It sends another wave of bliss through him, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He’s practically deaf to the slapping of their skin now, the wet noises coming from their coupling disappearing amongst the cool nighttime breeze.
Scrabbling for purchase across Phainon’s clothed back, the head of his cock presses in just so, directly hitting his prostate.
“Ah! Ahh - nh, fuck - Phainon, I’m -” Close, is what Mydei wants to say, but through blurry eyes, he catches Phainon’s heated gaze on him.
Phainon looks ruined, debauched and depraved, his hair in complete disarray and pale skin flushed up to his cheekbones. He’s so handsome it hurts, physically pains Mydei to look at, and with another aimed thrust at the bundle of nerves inside of him, it’s over.
He comes untouched, head thrown back and a shout leaving his lips. Mydei clenches down on Phainon’s cock so much it aches, stopping Phainon’s movement completely. The heat and weight of his cock inside is enough to milk it, waves of pleasure coming over him as his cock spurts out white ropes up his black shirt, some even hitting his chin with the force of it. He’s shaking, trembling from head to toe, vision going in and out as all the tension leaves his body in one go.
“I got you,” Mydei hears, and he hums in contentment, cocooned by the alpha’s scent and his warm body pressed against his. He expects to be let down, already preparing for his knees to give out when the time comes, but instead, he’s jolsted upwards.
“What -” Mydei starts, but is promptly shut up when Phainon fucks into him again, hard. He yelps, eyes wide and consciousness returning to him like a snapped rubber band as he scrambles for support. Mydei grips the material of Phainon’s shirt like a lifeline.
“Did you really think I’d stop before I came?” Phainon questions, voice mocking.
Mydei feels tears well up in the corner of his eyes as everything turns blinding from too much too much too much, the marks on his neck throbbing in time with each gasping breath punched out of him from Phainon’s thrusts.
“Enough -” Mydei begins, but is quickly silenced by lips pressing against his.
“Not yet,” Phainon pleads, pulling back. His face is concentrated, desperate, eyes wide and dewy. “I’m almost there, promise, I swear.”
Mydei’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the stimulation but it’s too much, too soon. He bites down on his quivering bottom lip, raking his fingernails across Phainon’s scalp.
“Come in me,” Mydei demands simply, watching as Phainon’s eyes turn into the shape of saucers, feeling his hips locking and jerking, until he’s flooded, full of his own slick and Phainon’s cum.
They stay like that, wrapped up in each other until the sweat begins to dry on their skin, leaving them feeling tacky and gross for the next few minutes. Mydei groans, grimacing as his gut sloshes with the slightest movement. He’s so full, stomach pulled taut and uncomfortable.
“Put me down,” Mydei says, shoving at Phainon’s shoulder.
Phainon sighs, kissing Mydei’s temple before slowly unsticking their chests from each other, gently lowering Mydei so his feet can finally touch the floor again, pulling his cock out at the same time. Cum and slick gushes out, splattering on the pavement below as Mydei is too loose to keep it all inside, knees wobbling with how faint he feels. His stomach feels lighter, the slight cramping feeling disappearing immediately. He feels disgusting, hair matted to his forehead and skin throbbing with how many bruises Phainon left dotted around, hole clenching and unclenching around nothing, gaping.
“Are you alright?” Hands come up to his face, cupping his cheeks and wrangling him to look up at Phainon’s all-too-earnest eyes.
A curse is right there, threatening to escape, his hands twitching to form into a fist so he can pummel it straight into those doe eyes, but he stops himself. He’s sated, pleasure still humming around in his veins, sore and stretched out beyond capacity, but…
He feels good.
“Fine,” Mydei snaps, although there’s no heat behind it.
Phainon nods eagerly, and if he were a dog - which Mydei highly suspects he is after being slobbered all over - his tail would be wagging. As if to prove Mydei even more right, Phainon kisses his cheek, then his nose, chin and even over his eyelids, until he’s left writhing under the weight of the affection.
“I’m going to take care of you,” Phainon swears, voice so confident and assured that it makes Mydei burst out into laughter.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Mydei says, breathless, his voice rough with disbelief and lingering amusement. Laughter still shakes through him, his chest rising and falling with the aftershocks, a rare, almost foreign sensation spreading warmth through his ribs. He hasn’t laughed like this in - hell, he can’t even remember the last time. His stomach muscles ache from the effort, a deep, pleasant soreness that only makes him laugh again, softer this time. It feels good, too good, and for a moment, he forgets how gross he feels and how desperately he needs a shower.
“Because you’re mine,” Phainon replies, cutting through Mydei’s laughter. It stops abruptly, Mydei blinking at the other alpha in shock as fingers rest against the side of his neck where his scent glands are. “My… omega?”
“I’m your nothing,” Mydei snaps, but then his heart squeezes with guilt as he watches Phainon wilt like a dying flower, expression crumpling and eyes shining, lips pouting and shoulders hunched over. He sighs, long-sufferingly, “Get me a new pair of trousers and then we can discuss all that.”
“Anything you want,” Phainon promises, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss.
It’s soft and sweet, nothing like their clawing desperation from earlier. Mydei allows himself to melt into it, wrapping his arms around Phainon’s neck to haul him closer, taking his time feeling the plushness against his lips, the deftness of a tongue against his.
“Have I paid you back for helping me yet?” Mydei asks, pulling away just enough to speak.
“I think you’ve done more than that,” Phainon replies, nuzzling their noses together before kissing him breathless again.