Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s not out of shame, Mydei would say. The pads of his fingers graze over his scent gland, rubbing in the neutralizing cream thoroughly. Once the coy, sweet scent of pomegranates fades, Mydei caps the tube with a sigh. 

Patches are generally better at hiding one’s scent. He’d been using them up until last year. They’re easy to apply, lasts the entire day, and could be bought in bulk. Although at the expense of the ease, they aren’t discreet in the slightest, conspicuously stuck over your glands and inviting even more attention—the exact opposite of what he wants. 

Mydei has since become somewhat adept at concealing his secondary gender, building a routine around it. The first thing he did upon moving in this semester was place a diffuser in the shared bathroom, pointedly displaying pomegranate-scented oils beside it. The trick of secrecy is flaunting it in plain sight. 

His roommate is none the wiser, complimenting his ‘niche but surprisingly cool’ taste, oblivious to the fact that the sweet lingering scent always permeating their bathroom is from an omega at his most vulnerable and not the diffuser. Granted, that brute of an alpha probably wouldn’t even be able to differentiate natural from artificial scents. 

Mydei feels no shame at being an omega. It truly doesn’t matter to him. What bothered him had always been other people’s reactions to it, as if the truth forces awful tinted glasses over their eyes and makes them unable to see Mydei the same as before. 

It isn’t even that much of an ordeal to pretend otherwise. He’s quite particular about maintaining his body, resulting in a larger build that lends plausibility to his claim. Fortunately, Mydei also has a freakishly high heat tolerance, still being somewhat functional even throughout his heats. They’re mild and manageable, letting him pass unnoticed. He simply needs to use patches on top of the cream to dampen his more potent scent, and his body can withstand some cramps here and there. 

The only heat that had him indisposed and bedridden for days was the one accompanying his presentation. It had come out of nowhere and received the ire of his father. He had not allowed Mydei to have any assistance then, keeping him isolated in his bedroom until it waned. 

Eurypon was the first one that began treating Mydei differently because of his secondary gender. Ridiculously enough, this same aversion allowed Mydei to reluctantly enlist the help of his father into forging his documents. 

So, on paper and in his daily life, Mydei has always been a beta. 

“Hey, Mydei! Stop hogging the hot water, would ‘ya!” 

Mydei blinks out of his stupor with a small shake of his head, wiping the fog off the glass with his fist. He steels himself and fixes the towel around his hips before stepping out. 

Phainon has been leaning over the doorframe with an exasperated expression, immediately stepping backwards when Mydei opens the door. His eyes roam down Mydei’s torso for a second too long, then snaps back up and crinkles guiltily. 

Hints of cedarwood hang in the air, rich and thick and a little overbearing. Phainon never realizes his control on his scent is quite poor right after waking up. “You always take so long. You’re not the only one with an early morning class here,” he complains with a huff. 

Mydei shrugs, trying not to show any untoward reaction to his scent. “Unlike you, I actually do much more than just wash my hair and use the same shampoo everywhere else.” 

Phainon steps aside to give Mydei room to walk out. He raises his arms with a loud gawk. “I also shave!” 

“Do you want a compliment for that?” 

Mydei makes the mistake of looking back at him. Phainon cocks his head with that boyish smile, his bedhead swaying over piercing blue eyes. Mirth lines his features; he always does find humor in everything. “Aw, geez. You’re too considerate of me, Mydei.” 

Mydei clicks his tongue, jerking his gaze away. “I wasn’t—” 

“You left this, by the way,” Phainon interrupts, tossing something into the air. “You’re welcome,” he says teasingly, disappearing behind the door with a soft click. 

Mydei catches the tube, breath hitching as he looks down at his palm. It’s his scent neutralizing cream. He must have forgotten it in the sink. 

He glances back at the door, hearing the spritz of the shower and Phainon’s out-of-tune humming. He didn’t seem to notice anything, but the product is rather nondescript. Such is really appreciated by those who have to resort to even using them. 

Either way, Mydei needs to be more mindful. While as an omega who has no qualms living with an alpha, Phainon did specifically mention preferring to room with a beta or a fellow alpha in his listing. He’d rather not have to face his lie and potentially find another place to rent just two weeks into the new semester. 

He inhales carefully. Cedarwood and warm amber still persists faintly in the air, enough that Mydei presses the back of his wrist to his nose to check if his scent has been roused by it. While he loathes to be a slave to biology, Phainon is still an unmated alpha that resonates with something primal within him by nature. 

Well, he’d better get started on breakfast before he thinks too much about it. 

When September rolls around, the first bites of autumn chill licks at his cheeks. Mydei naturally runs hot, so he doesn’t change much from his usual attire aside from donning thin overcoats. It’s still a rather odd limbo, the brutal late August sun melting into just enough cool to tease. 

Mydei shrugs off his coat and hangs his keys by the door. When he steps into the living room, he’s met with familiar clutter: Phainon’s worn letterman jacket draped over the arm of the couch, an open textbook face-down on the coffee table like its owner gave up halfway, and a mug with what appears to be that morning’s coffee still inside. 

Mydei’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t bother cleaning the mess. He learned in the first week that tidying up after Phainon only encouraged him to nurture this bad habit. Scolding him typically gets more of a positive effect, having Phainon scrambling to pick up his things while he laughs at Mydei’s particularities. 

The coffee might be a hazard though, god knows what pests have crawled into that mug throughout the day. He throws the stale leftovers down the drain and decides he could use a cup of his own before he gets started on his readings for the day. 

He’s blowing the steam off his mug when the front door bursts open with a loud groan. Mydei doesn’t turn around to look, but he senses Phainon’s presence immediately—bright, heavy-footed, radiating heat like a small blaze. His scent, mixed with the stench of sweat, rolls through the apartment. 

“Phainon,” Mydei calls, voice taut. He steps into the living room, idling by the arch separating it from the kitchen. 

“Hmm?” Phainon hums, toweling his sweat-damp hair dry. He toes off his shoes, but at least he has the decency to kick them into the row beneath the shoe rack. 

Mydei eyes him. His muscle fit shirt clings to his broad shoulders and trails down into a perfectly narrow waist. He’s just gotten off the gym, scent glad worked so loose that his musk permeates the entire living room immediately. Mydei swallows thickly, feeling Phainon’s woodsy scent sticking even to the back of his throat. 

Goddammit. For all the care he puts into hiding his scent, Phainon mirrors it in the exact opposite way. 

“What did I tell you?” 

Phainon blinks those wide blue eyes. “Certainly many things,” he says plainly, collapsing into a sprawl on the couch. Thighs spread, arms limp over the backrest, his head lolls to a shoulder so he can maintain eye contact with Mydei. “I did something bad, didn’t I?” 

Mydei scoffs. “At least you have some awareness left.” 

Phainon laughs, big and unrestrained. “Actually, you just have this face,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards his own. 

“What face?” 

“The one where you’re definitely about to scold me.” 

Nearly spluttering over the rim of his mug, Mydei grumbles, “How wonderful.” 

“C’mon, don’t sulk now. What is it?” Phainon is still catching his breath as he laughs again, softly this time. With the way he’s positioned, the rise and fall of his chest is so pronounced that it seems a little obscene. 

“I told you not to leave your things lying around. It’s an eyesore.” 

Phainon lifts his head to survey the scene with a wince. “That’s just this time—I was running late! You know Prof. Anaxa, don’t you? Spare me some mercy.” 

“It definitely is not a one-time thing if I have to repeat myself to you again,” Mydei says though lacking the heat. “That should’ve been a footnote in your listing.” 

“Don’t tell me that’s a dealbreaker for you.” Phainon rises to his feet with a muted groan, popping his back with a mighty stretch. He moves to approach the kitchen. “Is it?” 

Mydei decides to entertain him. “Well, I’d have closed the tab.” 

“Harsh, Mydei,” Phainon clutches his chest, pretending to stagger forward. “It would have overrode my charm?!” 

“What charm? You just littered the ad with kaomojis, stupid alpha,” Mydei mutters, stepping around him to avoid the whiffs of sweat and cedarwood he stirs with every movement. “Take a look at our common space, please. I don’t want to live in a wasteland.” 

Phainon leans on the fridge and grins. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you nag.” 

Mydei narrows his eyes. “I don’t nag.” 

“Sorry,” Phainon says, pushing off with his arms briefly raised in surrender. “Let me correct myself, then. It’s cute when you so politely insist.” 

“I can be impolite next time if you wish.” 

“Give me your worst, Mydei!” Phainon humors him with a thumbs up, disappearing behind the fridge door. The clinking of jars against each other follows as he rummages through their stock. 

Mydei throws back one last withering glare that Phainon doesn’t see. 

The next few weeks pass in agonizing slowness. With the semester now in full swing, his professors have amped up their usual workload, insisting that those who still haven’t settled into the academic rhythm to do so from then on. More often than not, Mydei finds himself toiling away until midnight these past few days. 

Phainon cooed at him at first, wishing him luck as he lounged sideways on the couch, head propped up on his hand. Cheerful voices from the TV droned out as white noise throughout the night, although muffled enough that he knew Phainon had turned down the volume to a considerable degree. 

Then, some few days later, Phainon lugs a stack of textbooks and a laptop to the other side of their dining table, silently joining Mydei with a defeated hunch. Mydei thinks about directing that same teasing energy back onto him, but decides against it when he notices the tense set of his shoulders. He’d better focus on his own work. 

Phainon leans over his notes, squinting at a paragraph before finally sighing and pulling out a long, sleek case from his pocket. He slips on a pair of glasses without ceremony, pushing them up his nose with his knuckles and angling his pen away from his eyes. 

At the rustling, Mydei glances up and startles. He’s never seen Phainon with glasses. They’re simple black rounded frames, softening his angular face and making him look quieter, gentle in a way that sets itself apart from the usual whirlwind of his personality. Phainon blinks at him, clueless as ever, then goes back to writing as if nothing is amiss. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Mydei blurts before he can think better of it. 

“Ah,” Phainon freezes, the pen in his hand pausing mid-stroke. As if instinctively, he pushes his glasses further up his nosebridge, shoulders curling the slightest bit inward. “Yeah. For reading, you know? It’s… uh,” he clears his throat, “not a big deal.” 

“Makes sense why I’ve never seen them before.” 

Phainon’s chewed lip gives way for a small smile. “Whatever.” 

“They suit you.” Mydei jerks a shoulder in what he hopes is a casual shrug. 

“Oh?” Phainon tilts his head, that stubborn cowlick of his bouncing with the movement. The shy curve of his smile widens, sharpening with mischief and reshaping itself into something brighter. His scent lifts almost imperceptibly, a quiet swell that an actual beta would have missed. “I look good in them?” 

Mydei gives him a deadpan stare. “Not what I said.” 

“It’s okay. I won’t let it get to my head, Mydei.” 

“You already did.” 

Phainon laughs under his breath, just a slight tremble of his baritone. “Can you blame me? Compliments from you are so rare that you must really mean them. Gotta savor this!” 

Mydei huffs in disbelief, twirling his pen. “I’ll make sure to be more sparing with them.” 

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that,” Phainon says. He leans forward, their kitchen light lending a threatening glint to his lenses. The stark blue of his eyes shine all the more. “You clearly have a soft spot for me, Mydei.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Mydei dismisses, cutting off their heated eye contact and turning his attention back to his worksheet. 

Their nights turn into working together in relative solidarity. Phainon occasionally breaks the silent tempo to ask Mydei what he wants to order for takeout. Maybe he noticed, in a surprising stroke of consideration, that Mydei couldn’t afford the same leisure of cooking themselves a proper dinner like before. The moment he returns from his classes, he’s already throwing himself into another night of endless studying.  

Until that, too, shifts into Phainon learning his preference by heart and ordering for the both of them without asking, sliding the paper bags onto Mydei’s side of the table. “Got your usual,” he’d mention offhandedly, crinkling the receipts in his hand and shooting them across the room, arm suspended mid-air as he anticipates whether he made the shot or not. He’s never given Mydei a straight answer when he asks how much are the halves he should pay for. 

Tonight, the apartment is quiet except for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional drag of Mydei’s pen across his notebook. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, shining down on them like a solitary spotlight, harsh in the dead of the night, casting the two of them into a small world of their own. In the undisturbed stillness, their quiet companionship settles warm and steady. 

Phainon leans back in his chair, stretching with a groan. “I’m done! My brain is soup!” he whines, running a hand through his disheveled hair like the dozen times he’s already done in the past hour. 

“What does that even mean,” Mydei replies, flat and disinterested. His chin rests on his palm, holding himself up as the beckon of sleep becomes more tempting by the minute. 

“Mydei, you are as clueless as ever! It means…” Phainon trails off, suddenly turning up his nose and sniffing once, twice. He pauses. His chair scrapes as he leans back a little too quickly, pupils narrowing then widening in a flash. “Did you change your detergent or something?” 

Mydei puts down his pen, looking up at Phainon with confusion until he smells it. A soft, sweet curl of creamy pomegranate rises, barely there but noticeable enough that Mydei fights not to stiffen in his seat. “No,” he answers, deadpan. 

“Huh,” Phainon scratches the back of his head. His irises have dilated slightly, and he not so subtly sniffs the air again. “You sure love pomegranates, do you?” 

Damn it. Time must have already passed later in the night than Mydei realized. His neutralizing cream only lasts about six hours before he has to reapply a coating of it. Mydei’s usually meticulous about his routine, but the stress of his workload has surely thrown him off. 

“Yes, I do.” Mydei closes his book with feigned calm. “I’m going to bed,” he says, forcing a yawn that feels painfully fake. He’s never open enough like that, never flaunty, especially with his roommate. 

“Oh,” Phainon snaps back to himself, blinking and shaking his head. “I think I’ll call it a night too. See you tomorrow, Mydei.” He scrunches his nose, beginning to pack his things with a thoughtful furrow between his brows. His scent flares out in response to the cloying pomegranate still in the air, nearly knocking Mydei off his feet. 

“Good night,” Mydei nods, then slips away to his room. He doesn’t make another step further inside before the strangest thing makes itself apparent. With reddened cheeks, he grabs a wad of tissue and wipes away the stickiness between his thighs. 

What sort of demented biological reaction is this now? He stuffs the soaked wad to the bottom of the bin. He feels guilty towards Phainon, who hasn’t the faintest idea that his roommate is lying to him about his secondary gender, but also that said roommate’s body was thoughtlessly lusting over him too. 

Mydei has to be more mindful. Although the thought alone is unbelievable, he has been beginning to cherish their friendship as of late. 

A sharp knock jolts Mydei awake. 

“Mydei? Hey, are you up?” Phainon’s voice leaks through the door, muffled like he’s thousands of feet away. “It’s past nine and I’m about to leave. Don’t you have class?” 

Mydei stirs, blinking at the ceiling. Opening his eyes to the sight of his room kissed by sunlight is strange, immediately clueing him in that he’s overslept. He usually wakes with the rise of the sun, watching the deepest blue make way for the soft morning rays while running around the perimeter of their block. 

The bags underneath his eyes feel tender and swollen under his touch. Exhaustion tugs at every muscle in his body, the kind that settles under his bones and plagues him throughout the day. Is he coming down with an illness? Perhaps he’s contracted some sort of virus. 

Another knock pulls him out of his thoughts. “You alive in there?” 

Mydei groans into his pillow, wiping off the dried drool tracking down his chin. It’s disgusting. He wants to shout that he’s awake, but all that comes out is a hoarse croak. He pushes himself upright, wincing at how his room tilts dangerously for a moment. God, did he get crushed by a ton of bricks in his sleep? 

“Mydei?” Phainon calls out again, tone edging towards worry. “I’m not gonna open the door. Don’t worry, I’m not breaking your sacred rule! Just… say something if you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Mydei mutters, but it comes out too softly to carry. 

Then, adrenaline hits. Did Phainon say past nine? Mydei swings his legs off the bed, stumbling for his drawer. He peels off a patch and slaps it over his scent gland, a complete waste considering he’s going to take it off in the shower again anyway. Mydei would normally be done with bathing and his scent routine by the time his roommate wakes up, but Phainon is already right there, and there’s no way around him. 

Mydei yanks the door open. 

Phainon jerks back in surprise, hand still hovering in the motions of another knock. “Oh, finally!” 

“Sorry,” Mydei mutters and tries to brush past him without a second glance. Phainon catches his forearm easily, forcing his feet to skid to a stop. His pulse is loud in his ears. 

“Mydei, you…” Phainon’s brows knit together, eyes trailing up and down his figure with none of the usual teasing glint that action comes with. The back of his other hand comes up to Mydei’s forehead, but he flinches just enough for Phainon to notice and drop it sheepishly. “Are you sure you have to go to class today? You look dead on your feet, no offense.” 

“I do. It’s just one class,” Mydei sighs wearily. When he meets Phainon’s eyes, too discerning and too caring, his clammy skin feels flayed open. Mydei hates being seen so personally, at such a vulnerable state. He looks away only to land on the hand still gripping his arm, large enough to almost wrap all the way around. 

“Which one is it?” 

“Huh?” Mydei blinks slowly. There’s a faint pounding in his head, dulling his sharp senses. Even the sight of Phainon, just a foot away from him, appears blurry to his sight. 

“Which class is it?” Phainon clarifies. 

Mydei’s heavy eyelids fall shut as he wrestles a response from his head. Ten o’clock on Thursdays… 

“Economics,” he finally grunts out, slurring it slightly. 

Phainon hums, low and pensive. His grip neither tightens nor loosens, steadfast without being demanding. The warmth of his touch grounds Mydei. “Alright. Go lie down,” he says, tugging Mydei back gently. “I’ll take notes for you.” 

Mydei snaps his eyes open, a sense of shock striking through his foggy mind. “What?” 

“I’ll go to your class and take notes so you won’t miss out on anything,” Phainon casually repeats. His tone is easy but laced with an underlying certainty, as if he’s already shut down any future arguments. Mydei tries anyway. 

“You don’t even know anything about Economics.” 

“Hey, I never said they’ll be good notes,” Phainon chides. His hand slides down to press against Mydei’s back, steadying him and letting him lean some of his weight on Phainon. “Come on, you can barely stand on your own. Did you go to sleep when I told you last night?” 

Mydei pointedly stays silent. What use is there to admit to it? The physical evidence is in plain sight: his eyebags, sure to be more prominent now, and the unusual fatigue making his knees weak. He must be a sorry sight, a far cry from his regular put-together self. 

Phainon’s eyes meet his, searching for a heartbeat then narrowing in urgency. “You should lie down, seriously. Missing a day won’t kill you. I swear I’ll try to make the notes coherent enough for you to follow.” 

Mydei opens his mouth, closes it, then tries again, but every argument falls flat against the quiet and stubborn insistence in Phainon’s expression. A sharp surge of exhaustion lances through his body, and Mydei grits his teeth as he nearly collapses to the floor. Just what is happening to him? 

“Oh, shit.” Phainon steps closer, fully looping his arm around Mydei’s waist, thick fingers digging into the thin fabric of his sleepshirt. This close, a sudden strong burst of cedarwood envelopes Mydei. He chokes down a whine, wide eyes unseeing as he stares at Phainon’s chest and wills himself to remain composed. 

He knows what this is now. Phainon’s instincts as an alpha must be driving him crazy, telling him to provide and care for the weakened omega in his arms—only, Mydei is anything but weak, and Phainon is completely oblivious to all of this. 

“Fine,” Mydei acquiesces, barely more than a breath. There’s no swaying Phainon at this rate. “Lady Bonajade, Room 336 in my building.” 

Phainon sigh is subtle but relieved, warm against Mydei’s forehead. “Okay, I’ve got you covered,” he says, turning him towards his room with a nudge of his palm. “You’re going to collapse at any minute now so I won’t wrestle you into breakfast, but you should really get something in your system when you wake up again. There should be some leftovers in the fridge, right? Oh, and drink lots of water.” 

“I can take care of myself, idiot,” Mydei hisses under his breath, earning him an amused chuckle. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Phainon lets go of him with a final pat, but his gaze lingers just in case Mydei topples over. “You better not die in my absence. I don’t have anywhere to bury your conspicuous body.” 

“Co—” Mydei shakes his head. “Just go.” 

Phainon doesn’t leave until Mydei slips back into his room, the thuds of his footsteps gradually fading away, punctuated by the click of the front door shutting. Mydei pushes his hair out of his face with an annoyed exhale, mentally cataloguing if he’s in pain anywhere. He doesn’t really feel much beyond perpetual exhaustion and a slight tightness in his abdomen since entering the room. 

Resigned, Mydei trudges ahead and collapses face first on the mattress. He’s half asleep before he can even pull the covers over himself. 

Mydei comes to himself with a slow, shuddering gasp. Slack-jawed, his mouth gapes open as he gulps in lungfuls of too sweet, too thick air. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, panting and willing his nausea to wane. His saliva is thick, slow when he swallows, tinged slightly sour from sitting on his mouth. 

There’s an ache pulsing low in his spine, blooming outward in molten waves of pure warmth. Along his back, the dips on his neck, and beside his temples, sweat breaks out in excess. The sheets he threw haphazardly over his frame sticks to his damp skin. Mydei watches in horror as thin strings of slick break apart when he peels it off his crotch. 

He shoves himself upright. Once again, he stumbles out of his bed on unsteady feet that threaten to buckle under his own weight. His sickeningly sweet scent spills unchecked into the room despite the patch still clinging to his gland. It’s so heavy that even his own head swims, all of his senses overwhelmed. Mydei wants to scream at his body for betraying him, but most importantly himself for not seeing it sooner. 

He’s in heat—a full, proper heat. His second one since his presentation all those years ago. 

But how could he have foreseen it? There was no precedent at all. He did not experience any pre-heat symptoms, did not feel any different when he went to bed last night. A heat just decided to hit his body like a mislaunched bullet. 

Mydei tries moving again, one foot before the other. Every step feels like wading through molasses, but he pushes himself to the nearest wall and hugs it all the way to the kitchen. Distantly, he’s horribly aware that he’s staining the entire apartment with his scent. 

He hopes Phainon isn’t home yet. Judging by the orange glow spilling from the windows, it would be soon. 

Mydei snatches the first things he sees: two bottles of water and an energy drink from the fridge, a pack of old crackers from one of the cupboards, and an apple from the now empty fruit bowl. They all threaten to slip from his grip several times before he manages to shove them against his chest, holding them with his forearm. He doesn’t dawdle, the overbearing light of the kitchen too much for his sensitive eyes. 

He staggers back into his room, kicking the door shut and fumbling desperately at the lock. “God,” he mutters, finally hearing it click. He tests the knob once and, feeling dissatisfied, hauls a chair to lodge underneath it. If he had any of his usual strength, he would have pushed his whole closet to barricade himself in. 

A tremor runs down his spine, a mere prelude to the agonizing cramps suddenly seizing his abdomen. “Fuck!” he swears, letting himself fall back into his unmade bed. 

Mydei bites into the apple, lodging his teeth in deep to stifle the needy noises spilling from his mouth. His knees knock together, bones rattling from the impact as a droplet of slick trickles down his hole. 

Everything is in chaos. His pussy is producing so much wetness, the excess pools on the sheets below his pelvis. His scent gland is uncontrollable, naturally pushing out waves and waves of his sweet pomegranate scent in hopes of enticing a nearby alpha—Phainon, specifically. 

His mind has clouded over, a wanton veil of impurity infecting every single thought until all that he can think about are release, breed, and knot. Desire is too simple a word to be this sickening feeling—it’s all-encompassing, a primal instinct that dictates his very being. 

Mydei swallows down a wail when his trembling fingers touch himself down there, dragging down the soaked cloth of his underwear. It’s not nearly enough. He angles the meat of his palm, digging into his cunt when he cants his hips upwards. His toes curl inwards. 

His body feels both his own and not, the smallest pleasure erupting in his veins entirely his to feel, yet the lust clouding his mind is foreign to him, turning himself red with shame. His mind supplies him with the most debauched imagery he’d never before even thought about. Himself, mounted by a faceless alpha, back so arched he wonders how it hasn’t broken with each shattering pound of the alpha’s hips. 

Mydei sobs. He’s so, so empty. His fumbling fingers aren’t enough. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself, how to touch himself and make it feel good enough. 

Turning over, his possessed hips roll against the rough sheets at a frantic pace, grinding and pressing and scraping his clit with the friction. A salty tear escapes his scrunched eyes, trailing down his cheek and straight into his slack mouth, apple long unbitten and forgotten. 

Mydei loses himself to the rhythm, weakly pushing himself up to his elbows so he can hump the bed better and with abandon. Like a crazed animal in estrus, his hole clenches and unclenches in the air, hoping for something to stuff him full. His lips feel chafed raw, sensitive against the subtle texture of his panties and sleep shorts. The sheets feel too scratchy, irritable against his thighs, but it’s the only sensation he can provide himself outside of outright jamming inexperienced fingers into himself. 

The pleasure builds with lazy persistence, cresting slowly with every swipe of his tender pussy. His climax uncoils through him in a long, trembling wave that has no start nor end. Even when he creams himself and the tension inside him wanes, the fire in his belly only seems to flare in dissatisfaction. 

It’s not enough. Nowhere near enough. 

A thin, shaky breath leaves him. Mydei collapses into his own release, pliant and boneless, his muscles unraveling until the tremors taper off into a humming beneath his skin. His lashes flutter, fighting hopelessly against the pull of sleep. 

The sound of keys jingling against each other slips into Mydei’s hazy awareness like a rope tugging him up from beneath the depths. He’s lying in a pool of his liquids—two or three more orgasms since the last, he doesn’t quite remember. For a suspended moment, he can’t tell if it’s only a figment of his imagination, but the unmistakable rustle of Phainon’s stuffed backpack echoes down to his room. 

Mydei bites down on his pillow, teeth gritted and gnashing together. A pitiful croon rumbles trapped in his throat. His fingers, though sluggish, still work tirelessly against his unhooded clit. He can’t stop; the denial of pleasure lighting up his entire body in pure agony and the unsatisfactory service of his fingers trapping him in an endless cycle of want. 

“Mydei, I’m back.” Phainon’s voice carries down the short distance in between the foyer and his room. His footsteps meander around, perhaps searching for Mydei in the living room and the kitchen. “Did you sleep the whole day? You didn’t answer my texts.” 

Mydei’s stomach twists. Checking his phone had been the least of his worries, with the greatest one now cutting a straight path to his room. He hopes the towels stuffed between the narrow gap of his door and the floor hold up against the barrage of his scent going haywire. The alpha absolutely cannot realize that there is an omega in heat within his home. 

“Mydei?” Phainon calls out, closer now. “Hey, I got your notes. You’re lucky the TA forgot to check attendance! I went to the wrong room at first though, so there’s no way I can show my face anywhere on your side of the campus now.” He laughs to himself, then the padding of his feet stops just in front of Mydei’s door. 

Mydei pushes his face further down his spit-soaked pillowcase. He can’t breathe like this. It makes him lightheaded, but it’s the only way he can think of to muffle the sinful noises tumbling out of his mouth. His lips keep mouthing around the syllables of the alpha’s name, mirroring the turn in his thoughts: Phainon, Phainon, Phainon…

“I’m getting worried, Mydei,” Phainon says, voice taking on a harder tone. “At least tell me if you’re sick in there. Do you need anything? Medicine? I can—I can drive you to the hospital if you need it.” 

“No,” Mydei gasps, too wet and too high-strung. 

“Mydei!” Phainon calls out, relief apparent. There’s a shift behind the door, a soft thud against hardwood. “Oh, thank god. Please tell me you’re alright and I’ll leave you alone. I’m just—I don’t know, I feel restless.” 

“I’m fine,” he manages hoarsely. The words scrape themselves out of his raw throat. His fingers quiver over his pussy, pausing in his ministrations. He doesn’t trust himself around Phainon: an unmated, attractive, and healthy alpha. His entrance is already pulsing with need. 

“Damn, you sound awful. Are you sick?” 

I feel awful, he almost says. With a shuddering breath, Mydei squeezes his eyes shut. “Something like that,” he chuckles humorlessly. 

Phainon exhales slowly. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest. I’m just across the hall if you need anything, yeah? Or you could just text me—that works, too.” 

“Phainon,” Mydei pants. The ache between his legs stubbornly makes itself known, seizing control of his sanity. His hips shake with the effort not to move. 

The silence on the other side rings for a second too long. “Hmm?” Phainon then replies, completely neutral and unreadable. 

It’d be so easy to quell his heat. His body is demanding something he cannot give to himself, but Phainon can. God, Phainon probably would if he asked. He’d do it without a second thought, driven by that pure and altruistic streak in his heart. He would be a sweet lay, putting Mydei’s needs before his own. When his cock is spent, he might even let Mydei ride his fingers, his thick and strong thighs, maybe the chiseled planes of his abs. 

“Mydei?” 

“I need—” Mydei chokes out, slamming a hand over his traitorous mouth. His eyes widen, dispelling some of the fog around him. 

“What do you need?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly. 

“Come on. Don’t worry your little head about it. I can hear your overthinking from all the way here.” 

Mydei swallows thickly. “Don’t… water the cacti.” 

“Huh?” Phainon replies, and Mydei can almost picture the characteristic tilt of his head. “I mean, I wasn’t going to! I don’t think I’ll ever forget you sitting me down for an entire hour lecturing me about cacti hydration.” 

“Good. Now leave.” 

“Are you sure?” Phainon asks, quiet and so full of concern. 

“Yes…” Mydei hisses out. He’s unable to help himself anymore, the burning all throughout his flesh too powerful to ignore. His fingers dip back between his folds with a wet squelch, and he throws his legs wide open despite Phainon still being there. Or perhaps it’s precisely because Phainon is, somehow, still there and worrying himself sick behind the door. 

What a good alpha he is. Mydei’s sure that if he hadn’t barricaded and leak-proofed the gaps around the door, Phainon’s distressed scent would be flaring out all around. Sharp cedarwood and amber would cut through the cloud of pomegranate. It sounds so intoxicating, so tempting, to press his nose right up against Phainon’s gland and greedily gulp down his fill. 

Mydei twists the erect nub of his clit between his fingers. There’s a shrill ringing in his ears. He can’t even strain to hear if Phainon said something else, if he’s still there and waiting for Mydei to answer. The thought of it inexplicably turns him on, drawing soft whimpers as he rolls a nipple under his palm. His pace turns frantic, battering his red and abused clit until the tension finally snaps, release leaking down his taint and drool tracing his chin. 

Phainon is long gone when he returns to himself. 

Two more days pass in a fevered blur. Long, restless hours of Mydei drifting in and out of sleep blend together. Sometimes he’s slightly more aware, particularly when Phainon wanders down to his room and paces around in front of his door or when the need is too intense not to satiate with his fingers. 

The worst of his heat slowly burns itself out. On the second evening, the sharp spikes of pain dull into an exhausted throb. By the dawn of the third day, his body finally breaks free from the spell of debauchery. The pressure has finally eased enough that he can breathe without trembling with need. He feels hollowed out, wrung dry, barely surviving on the last dregs of his sanity. 

Mydei doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know he looks like shit, hair probably sticking out in all directions from rolling around his spit-covered pillows. There’s a strange crusting between his thighs, where liquids of all sorts from his climaxes dried out. His lips are chapped and peeling from the lack of hydration. The meager two bottles of water tried their best to last beyond the second day. 

Moving on stiff legs, Mydei gathers the bundle of clothes he’d kicked off the bed: shirt damp with sweat, the sleep shorts he doesn’t want to think about, and his underwear. He throws them into a loose armful as he pushes the window open, airing out the stale concoction of pomegranate, sweat, and cum from his room. He slips on an oversized shirt and reapplies his scent blocking patches, sniffing himself to make sure it’s muted enough. He barely remembers to wipe himself down before cracking open his bedroom door. 

He drops his clothes into the laundry basket with a dull thud, rubbing the gunk off his eyes as he pads bonelessly to the kitchen. 

Phainon is already there, leaning back on his seat with a mustard yellow mug in his hand, hair still a tangle from sleep. His scent hangs loose in the air, muddled and drifting like it hasn’t fully woken up with the rest of him. Morning light spills through the window behind him, catching on the edge of his glasses and the steam rising from his coffee. On the windowsill, Mydei’s cacti pots remain untouched. 

“Mydei?” His voice is low, rough in the early morning. The haze of his scent pulls tight, alert and attentive now. “You’re alive.” 

Mydei’s gaze trails down and across the table. One of Phainon’s textbooks is left open, pushed to the side. The light from his laptop screen reflects on his pale face. “Why are you studying?” he asks, slightly surprised at the raspiness. 

“Couldn’t focus… last night and the night before,” Phainon drawls, blinking as he looks him up and down, lingering on his bare legs. “You got a real nasty virus, huh?” 

Mydei fights the urge to pull the hem of his shirt down, unsure where this sudden bout of bashfulness is coming from. He has nothing to be ashamed of. “Unfortunately,” he mumbles, rounding the table to haul the fridge open despite the protests of his aching muscles. 

Phainon keeps glancing at him, fast little flicks of his eyes darting away every time Mydei meets them. He’s clearly trying not to stare more than he already has, jaw working as if he’s getting to know every word passing through his head. “Do you feel better?” he settles on, small and unimposing. 

“Yes,” Mydei sighs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be… out of commission for so long.” 

Phainon whirls around, wide-eyed and suddenly full of thin bravado. “Don’t be sorry, Mydei. If anything, it’s me who should apologize for not being of any help. I’m such a useless roommate.” 

Mydei pulls out some freezer ends, popping two slices into the toaster and resigning himself to a bland breakfast, not quite trusting himself with a knife or the stove just yet. He looks back at Phainon through his peripheral, raising a brow. “There was nothing you could’ve done.” 

“Of course there was. There always is,” Phainon mutters, staring down his lukewarm coffee. This has evidently been eating away at him for a while. “But I’m glad you’re alright. If another day passed like that I would’ve punched a hole through your door from knocking over and over.” 

“You were knocking?” 

Phainon looks miffed by this. Whether because he thinks Mydei ignored him or he was so out of it to even notice, Mydei’s not sure. “Yeah,” he says, reserved, shorter than anything he’s said so far and clearly holding back. 

“I was asleep most of the time,” Mydei tries to placate, carefully neutral. The toaster clicks, startling him a little. 

Phainon huffs, that familiar, frustrated sound he makes when he wants to say more but doesn’t. “You, ah, really scared the hell out of me, you know.” 

Mydei pauses in the middle of reaching for a plate. “Scared you? Why?” 

“Well, yeah.” Phainon shifts in his chair. He props his elbow on the table to rest his chin on his knuckles, turning his head away. It doesn’t hide the jut of his lip. “You’re the most well-adjusted person I know. Runs outside every morning, vegetables in every meal, all that stuff. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I had to help keep you upright.” 

“Everyone gets sick. I’m not exactly immortal,” Mydei says. He reaches for a cupboard, taking out some strawberry jam and slathers a generous layer over his toast. 

“Okay, most people don’t drop out of the face of the earth for three straight days. The apartment felt,” Phainon pauses, licking his lips, “wrong.” 

“Dramatic.”  

“You didn’t even comment on the state of the living room, and you look like a stiff breeze could knock you over right now.” 

“Thank you,” Mydei says flatly, willing the tightness beneath his ribs to fade. 

“Anytime,” Phainon shoots back, but the edge softens almost immediately. His gaze drifts over his shoulder again. “Please never do that again. Or at least let me help you when it gets that bad.” 

Mydei quietly plates his strawberry toast, feeling quite blindsided and unsure what to do with Phainon’s sincerity. He, the lying fool he is, doesn’t deserve such a thing. “I’ll consider it.” 

Phainon snorts. “That means no.” 

“It means I’ll consider it,” Mydei repeats, firm but with a trace of resignation. He sits down on his usual across from Phainon, carefully avoiding brushing their bare knees together. 

Phainon looks at him for a moment. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, no longer steaming and fogging his glasses, then offers him a timid smile afterwards. “You can trust me, Mydei.” 

Mydei grows silent. He doesn’t know what to say, really, to dissuade that raincloud of self-doubt tormenting Phainon. It would’ve been easier if only he had been forthcoming with his lie earlier, but he harbors a dislike for the notion of what if’s. If he had been honest, he probably wouldn’t even be here right now. He and Phainon would be no more than fleeting strangers. 

“I do,” Mydei ends up saying and finds that he means it. 

His roommate sits back and laughs, not quite believing it yet. “Did you at least miss me?” he asks suddenly, tilting his head. Just like that, the strange tension dissipates. 

My hole was pulsing to the thought of your name. Mydei takes a long, pointed bite of his toast to avoid replying. 

Phainon’s grin sharpens into a boyish smirk. “Yeah. Thought so.” 

It’s remarkably easy to fall back into the same routine before his disastrous heat. The mornings settle into their familiar rhythm: Phainon stomping outside the bathroom door half-awake, Mydei cooking breakfast as he lets his hair air dry. They move around each other under the narrow arch leading into the kitchen, Mydei leaving to gather his things and Phainon going to eat the portion left on his side of the table. They mumble apologies without real heat when they bump shoulders. 

Their evenings see a slight change. They still study at opposite ends of the dining table, but sometimes Phainon exaggerates a yawn and tugs Mydei up from his seat. “You need to unwind,” says his insufferable roommate. They pile onto the living room couch, Phainon kicking his legs up only for Mydei to push them off. Often, he does it again right after just to hear Mydei’s exasperated sigh. 

Phainon usually gets to pick the movie. By the fifth time Mydei’s dozed halfway through them, he’s half-convinced Phainon is intentionally choosing the most godawful, boring movies just to get him to sleep. How ridiculous. 

One day, Mydei breaks routine. His afternoon class is cancelled and he ends up going home early. Emerging into their living room, he wrestles back an annoyed groan when he sees Phainon’s clothes strewn all over the space. He circles around and picks them up, shoving them into the overflowing laundry basket before deciding he might as well put them in the wash. 

“Damned Phainon,” he curses to himself, loading the pile into the machine handful by handful. 

He pauses when his fingers snag one of his panties, staring at it in confusion. He never puts his underwear into the laundry basket, washing them by himself over the weekend. Still, the unmistakable sight before him doesn’t change. It’s the same brand he wears too, erasing any doubt. 

Perhaps he had just mistakenly grouped it with the rest of his dirty clothes—in which case, he’s glad he did the laundry after all. But there’s a nagging suspicion in his head, distantly remembering this specific garment being the one he had been wearing when he’d gone into heat last week. How come he hasn’t washed it yet? 

The possibilities stack neatly, too neatly, as if his mind has subconsciously already decided the meaning behind this. 

No. Indeed Phainon is messy, slightly intrusive, and sometimes too bullheaded for his own good. He can list down a dozen more flaws and attacks on his character, but perverse is not one of them. 

Mydei exhales slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. “Maybe he’s right, I’m in need of more sleep,” he mutters to the empty room just to hear it, to convince himself of it. He straightens up and shuts the washer with a firm click, watching it rumble to life. 

Phainon is not a very subtle person either. Mydei would know if something is truly wrong. 

“My rut is due soon,” Phainon says, piercing through the evening calm. 

Mydei’s finger hovers over his keyboard. He looks up at Phainon, unloading the contents of a paperbag onto the table. The greasy smell of takeout wafts into the air, and Mydei fights not to wince. That’s the third time this week. He’s gone too lax with his diet. 

“I suppose you’d be wanting privacy for that. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you be,” Mydei replies. He goes back to what he was doing before, but the word that forms on his screen is not even an actual word. He shakes his head and hits backspace. 

Phainon scratches his nape, pulling his chair back with a noisy scrape. “Oh, thanks. That’s not exactly why I’m telling you though.” 

“What is it, then?” 

“Well, I get weird leading up to it. Stupidly territorial, a little snappy—oh, and hungry. I eat so much, half of the pantry is gone in just days,” Phainon says, nudging his foot gently against Mydei’s ankle. “Just thought I should let you know since it’s my first one after moving in together.” 

“It’s not weird,” Mydei blinks, focusing on that tidbit for some reason. Phainon should know they’re all ultimately ruled by instincts and nature at the end of the day. 

“Thanks for the boost in confidence.” Phainon rolls his eyes playfully, tearing open the cardboard box of his meal. “Fear not. You can just shove me into my room and forget all about me until it’s over!” 

Mydei gives a thin, tired exhale. “I don’t want to shove you anywhere.” 

“Wow, such affection. I’m swooned.”   

“Phainon,” he says after a thought. “I’m dismissive not because I don’t care. I just don’t think it’ll be as much of a fuss as you say. You are already annoying to me as you are.” 

Phainon wipes a hand down his face, cupping his mouth as he huffs. His exposed eyes crinkle in amusement. “Did you know you have such a way with words, Mydei? Please never change.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

True to his word, Phainon becomes easily irritable in the following days. He loses the snarky comebacks entirely when Mydei tells him off for leaving his things everywhere, silently picking up his hoodies with a stiff jaw and a withering look he doesn’t bother to hide.

In the mornings, Mydei wakes up to the kitchen bin stuffed to the brim with empty food wrappers. It’s no surprise; Mydei has caught Phainon standing in front of the open fridge twice, rummaging through their food, then the cupboards once he’s done with that. He doesn’t question it when one of the cabinets is magically stocked full with a pile of cup noodles. 

Through it all, though, Phainon keeps brushing against him. 

They’re easy to miss: knees bumping under the table, an elbow grazing Mydei’s side, the brief press of a palm between his shoulder blades when they squeeze past each other in the kitchen arch. None of them are overt enough to be called out, but each feels distinctly intentional and deliberate. 

The closer his rut approaches, the more he tethers himself to Mydei. Phainon’s presence becomes more weighted in the apartment; where before he blended easily into his home, now he seems embossed against the background. He lingers in doorways as if internally debating with himself, hovers behind the couch before settling in closer than he usually would—not exactly crowding, but not giving space either. 

Mydei doesn’t mind too much. He tries to be discreet when he watches Phainon silently, though every time their eyes meet, Phainon looks away like he’s been burned. He must know he’s being obvious but can’t figure out how to stop. 

His scent, usually lazily warm and drifting throughout the apartment, grows denser around the edges. A second skin wrapped around himself. 

Mydei sympathizes with him somewhat. It’s clear that Phainon doesn’t enjoy his baser instincts, retreating into his room far more often the nearer his rut draws. 

He’s starting to get what Phainon meant back then, that tangent about wrongness. He looks up from his laptop and expects him to be across the table, hunched over his materials with his pale hair gathered between his fingers, but he’s not. The TV hasn’t been used in days. Mydei’s not even sure where the remote is. 

On the night before the day Phainon’s marked on the calendar, Mydei finds himself in the kitchen for a different purpose altogether. His textbooks lay forgotten on the table as he tinkers around the counters, putting together snack bars that are heavy in carbs and sugars. Having seen Phainon’s appetite before the rut even hit, he wonders how that man would tide it out without proper sustenance. 

He snaps a quick picture of the tray tucked inside the fridge, sending it to Phainon without context just to let him know of their existence. It doesn’t even take long for his phone to ding with a notification. 

Mydei puts his phone down, determined to get some reading done to at least compensate for spending an hour doing unnecessary things. Phainon probably has it covered already, stocked up on the food he needs. He’s intimately aware of his symptoms, taking precautions against himself because he’s already gone through this a hundred times before. He doesn’t need Mydei’s help. 

Perhaps the most difficult part of Phainon’s rut is pretending that it’s not happening. It’s impossible not to when just days ago he’d been glued to Mydei’s side like a parasite. Phainon occupies such a huge spot in his daily life that his absence begs to be defined. And, well, there’s no skirting around the reality that behind that door, Phainon is surely pleasuring himself all day. 

There are a thousand ways for that trail of thought to never end. Mydei isn’t exactly keen on it. 

He finds himself looking at the locked door often, like an anchor drawing him back in whenever he spaces out just a little. He strains to hear inside out of morbid curiosity, but all that he’s met with is dead silence. 

The stillness gets to him, pressing strangely against his ribs. Phainon is never quiet. Even when studying, he mumbles to himself like a madman. He clatters his utensils when he eats, metal scraping against ceramic. He can never keep his thoughts to himself when watching a movie, and his thundering steps always announce his presence before he can enter any room. 

Is Phainon the type to be quiet when doing it then? Perhaps he’s sleeping through it. There’s medication for that, usually prescribed to alphas that get too abrasive, too destructive in the heat of it. 

Mydei forces himself to move—do something, anything that isn’t staring down Phainon’s door. He wipes down the counters for the second time that day. He reorganizes their sparse spice drawer and resolves to remedy that soon. He washes the dishes, but with only his set to rinse, it doesn’t take very long even when he towels them dry. 

Every futile task loops back to the same unsettling awareness of Phainon and his rut. The air feels uneven, as if the apartment itself is holding its breath. 

Mydei presses his forefinger against the seam of his notebook, trying to ground himself. He doesn’t understand why he’s so bothered. He shouldn’t be thinking about the other side of that door, much less imagining Phainon in any kind of detail. It’s a gross breach of privacy when Phainon is so evidently adamant about keeping to himself at this time. 

He tells himself that it will be over soon. After a few more days, Phainon will step out of his room bleary-eyed and ravenous, mouth running with complaints about starving and being exhausted. There’s not much to do until then but discipline himself when his thoughts stray where they shouldn’t. 

The door finally opens on the fourth morning. It swings open with a quiet, cautious squeak, as if Phainon himself isn’t sure he should step back into the world yet. 

Mydei, halfway through whisking eggs, freezes at the soft click of the latch. He doesn’t turn to look immediately, allowing Phainon this modicum of courtesy. He reaches over to the carton and wordlessly cracks two more eggs into the bowl, breaking the yolks and mixing once more. 

Footsteps drag into the doorway accompanied by a long exhale. Phainon is holding himself up by an arm on the wall, posture hunched into himself. His hair is a wreck, flattened on one side and sticking up wildly on the other. His eyes are sunken from the lack of rest, the bags beneath fattened and more pronounced, but there’s some clarity in his gaze. His scent, usually woodsy and cedar-thick in the mornings, is muted and stretched thin from burning hot for too long. 

“Morning,” Phainon murmurs, voice scratchy and worn to threads. Absently, he tongues one of his canines with his upper lip curled up in a grimace. It’s only then that the faint smell of iron hits Mydei in the face. 

Mydei sets the whisk down carefully. “You’re bleeding.” 

Phainon stiffens, looking down at himself. He turns his forearms around, showing more of his skin littered in deep, angry indentations that are distinctly teeth-shaped. Some are already scabbing over, the others still reddish and raw—the desperate work of biting away an urge that cannot be reasoned with. “Ouch,” he says, more for show than anything. 

“Do you usually do that?” Mydei asks stupidly. He crosses the distance without meaning to, seizing Phainon’s arms in his grip. “Don’t scratch them. You’ll get them infected,” he chides. 

Phainon reels back, tugging his arms away without success. He cranes his head away, nose scrunching like he’s trying to sniff the air. His stare clamps on Mydei intensely, deeply, like he’s piecing together something deep in his troubled head. 

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles. “Just a bad rut.” 

Mydei takes in the tremble in Phainon’s fingers, the tightness in his shoulders coiled too tight. He spent days fighting his instincts with nothing but willpower and sharp teeth. Deep down, Mydei knows why. He should’ve stayed out of the apartment more, should’ve taken the longer route around going home. Dangling an unmated omega outside a locked door is just needlessly cruel to an alpha in rut, but he didn’t think… Well, he didn’t think much at all. 

“Sit down,” he pulls Phainon off the wall, slipping an arm under his pits and taking on his weight. They’re similarly built, but with Phainon completely sapped of energy, it’s more of an ordeal than it normally would be. 

Phainon melts into the table, cheek smudging into its surface. “I’m hungry,” he slurs, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Wounds first,” Mydei insists. He rises, padding straight to fetch the first aid kit stored in their bathroom. He pinches his nose when he passes by the laundry basket, reeking of Phainon’s stench. Making a mental note to deal with that as soon as he can, Mydei tucks the kit to his chest and returns. 

Cleaning the wounds and bandaging Phainon is easier without his protesting. The alpha had promptly fallen asleep again, lightly snoring and dripping drool onto the table. Mydei loses himself in the motions of it: running a damp washcloth down his arm, swabbing disinfectant over the punctures, then wrapping them in bandages. His eyes track the bulging veins, popping and flexing when Mydei presses down particularly hard on a wound. 

He should come clean. It’s the right thing to do. There’s no way he can sit on his ass and watch Phainon go through another rut, tearing his flesh apart just to calm down the agitated alpha sensing an omega inside his territory. 

Mydei is not a cruel person. 

Burdened with this thought, he shuffles out of the room and picks out the next guilt-soothing task he can throw himself into. Phainon’s dirty clothes immediately make themselves known with a rush of its stench. Right, he should put those in the wash… Perhaps change Phainon’s sheets too. 

Robotically, he heaves the basket into his arms. The cedarwood and amber are so concentrated here, potent like an extended vessel of his scent. Mydei is a little lightheaded when he sinks to his knees, shoveling its contents out. He unrolls the bundle and flinches back when his nose gets assaulted by a fresh wave of that smell. 

“Fuck.” He shakes his head, snapping himself out of it. That’s weird—whatever he was about to do. A complete disrespect of boundaries, he thinks, as he lowers the shirt and tosses it inside the washing machine. His knees dig into the floor, pressing together. 

Mydei goes rigid when he looks back down. He feels a ripple of déjà vu as he pulls out another piece of his underwear, nestled innocently in between Phainon’s shorts and boxers. Wine red, a darker maroon in certain stained spots. His breath leaves him when he lowers his nose to the fabric, whimpering when he smells the faint but unmistakable sweetness of pomegranates, mingling with Phainon’s musky scent and something else he refuses to name.  

Mydei shudders, eyeing the suspicious stains all over the garment. It couldn’t possibly be. His mind supplies him with an unwarranted image of Phainon sniffing his underwear, not unlike himself right now. 

There’s only one dreadful explanation, and the only person who can explain this is in the other room. 

“Phainon.” 

The alpha in question startles, looking over his shoulders. He has a spatula in one hand and the other rubbing his eyes, body angled towards the stove. The eggs Mydei must’ve whisked earlier are sizzling on the pan, disturbing the otherwise serene kitchen. 

“Hey,” he says, trying for a smile. “Figured I’d stop being a freeloader in my own home and get started on the eggs. Hard to mess up scrambled, right?” 

Mydei swallows hard, then lifts his hand. His panty dangles between his fingers. 

“I—” Phainon stutters, swaying on his feet. The color drains from his face. “You found it.” 

Mydei’s voice is thin, barely firmer than a breath. He feels warm all over, embarrassed when he has no reason to. “Do you… want to explain this?” 

Phainon quietly turns the stove off, turning around and baring himself fully. He drags a heavy hand down his face, leaning back on the counters with a tight grip on the edge. He looks elsewhere. His feet shift restlessly, fidgeting legs drawing closer attention to his tightening shorts. 

“You’re seriously—” Mydei stares, unable to keep his mouth from parting. “Are you getting hard from this?” 

A brilliant scarlet blooms high over Phainon’s cheeks. His eyes squeeze shut with a trembling eyebrow, and the bottom half of his face is still hidden under his palm. “I’m trying… to explain,” he says, voice rough as gravel. 

Mydei sneers. “And that’s turning you on?” 

“Fuck, Mydei,” Phainon groans. “Don’t get mad at me. It’s making it worse.” 

“You are perverted,” Mydei growls, scandalized. “To think that I excused you the first time, defended your honor in my head!” 

“You know about that too?” 

Mydei can feel his face mirror the redness of Phainon’s. His brows furrow, fists clenching together. “So it did happen twice. You stole my underwear… twice!” 

Phainon winces, one half-lidded eye opening and looking at him. “I mean, yeah. You already said that. Or are we going to keep pretending we don’t know things we already do?” 

“Speak plainly,” he spits. 

“I know that you’re an omega, Mydei.” 

Mydei breathes heavily, a cold terror seizing his bones. “What?” he breathes out, arm darting out to steady himself on the table. “How did you…” 

Phainon looks down pointedly at the underwear still pinched between Mydei’s fingers. The bulge straining against his shorts twitches in interest. “I’m not entirely stupid, you know. At first, I did believe that you were sick. But then I did the laundry that night and found your panties in the basket. God, Mydei, you have no idea how intoxicating you taste.” 

“Taste?” Mydei chokes on air. His traitorous mind bursts in imagery: Phainon kneeling, face buried in his underwear, tongue dragging desperately across the surface. It should be a dealbreaker. It should be disgusting, unforgivable. “What else did you do?” he asks anyway. 

“Come here, Mydei.” 

Despite the sirens sounding themselves somewhere in his mind, Mydei relents. Entranced, he pads further into the kitchen—a condemned prisoner walking to his execution. He stops just in front of Phainon, waiting with bated breath. 

“I’ll show you,” Phainon whispers, tucking his fringe behind an ear. His fingers trace a burning trail down Mydei’s neck, his arms, then cupping the back of his hand. He directs it to his waistband, settling on his hip. “Take it out.” 

Mydei ducks his head, refusing to meet the gaze trained on his face, on every flutter of his lashes and every quiver of his lips. Slowly, he inserts his thumb between skin and garter, dragging Phainon’s shorts down his thighs. He nearly jumps back when Phainon’s cock springs out, slapping his stomach and bobbing up and down. The bastard hadn’t even bothered with his own underwear. 

“Then?” he asks, gruff. He stares at it, longer and thicker than he thought it’d be and resting on a bed of white hair. The swollen red head oozes precum out of the slit, beading at the tip. 

Phainon takes his other hand, the one gripping his underwear for dear life. He pries the fingers open, guiding him to wrap his dirty panties around Phainon’s cock. It tears a low moan from the alpha’s throat. “Like this, I used it like this,” he says, pressing his palm against Mydei’s hand and dragging it down. 

“Hah…” Mydei exhales, tightening his grip. What a filthy sight they must make, pressed against each other on the counter, bathing in the early morning glow. He increases his pace and tugs his hand up and down, eagerly jerking Phainon off using his panties. 

“Mydei, Mydei,” Phainon pants, losing himself in a mantra. His head tilts forward, knocking their foreheads together. “The tip—use my precum as lube.” 

Mydei splays his fingers over the head, twisting his panties beneath his palm and feeling it soaken up. It makes the slide easier, squelching lewdly with every stroke. 

Phainon suddenly dips, using his nose to nudge Mydei’s face to look up. The alpha takes his mouth, licking the seam and plunging his hot tongue inside. Mydei whines, lips opening wider and leaning into the kiss. Spit covers their chins, drooling out between the frantic slide of their mouths together. 

When they break apart to breathe, Phainon ducks down, latching onto the juncture between his neck and jaw and nipping at the skin. His teeth snags on the edge of Mydei’s scent patch, tearing it off with a low growl. Mydei gasps, helpless as his sweet and heady scent spills out unrestrained. 

Phainon groans, cramming his nose into the gland and taking a big sniff. Then, he presses the flat of his tongue against it and licks like a starved mammal. “Did I tell you to stop?” he mutters against wet skin. 

“Damn you,” Mydei curses. His hand is frozen in shock, but he resumes pumping the alpha’s cock with a vengeance. 

“Sweet, sweet omega,” Phainon says, trailing lovebites down Mydei’s neck. “Why did you hide from me?” 

“I… I didn’t—” 

Phainon bites down hard like a naughty dog. His tongue darts out to soothe the sting. 

“Ah!” Mydei yelps, squeezing the cock in his grip. “Let me finish, stupid brute! I didn’t… single you out, you know. I’m legally a beta,” he pants out, his other hand flying to hold Phainon’s shoulder. 

Unphased, Phainon digs his tongue into a sore spot. He drags his nose up his neck, mouthing feather-light kisses in his path. “Haha, is that so? You’re so lucky to have an alpha to bitch you,” he chuckles. 

“What?” Mydei flushes deeply. 

“On paper, princess. You think I’m letting you put on another damn scent blocker after this?” Phainon nips at his earlobe, broad hands running up and down Mydei’s waist. “Tell everyone your alpha roommate bitched you during his rut.” 

Mydei starts to shake his head. That’s far too much all at once! 

Phainon coos. “I can smell your arousal, you know. You leaked so much at that… Who knew you’d be into bitching, hah.” 

He groans and snakes his hand into Phainon’s hair. Smashing their faces back together, Mydei swallows down the filthy words from his tender mouth. He steps in between Phainon’s thighs, rocking his hips forward. A jolt of pleasure lights down his spine as his clothed cunt slides against Phainon’s leaking cock. 

“Inside. I want you inside,” Mydei demands, panting against Phainon’s cheek. 

Without delay, Phainon hitches up his legs, supporting Mydei’s entire weight with hands under his knees. Mydei almost yells in shock, wrapping his legs around the alpha’s hips. The position traps Phainon’s cock between his stomach and Mydei’s pussy, a fact he desperately tries to ignore as his body rocks forward with every step Phainon takes. His nerves thrum with arousal; he’s not exactly an easy guy to carry. 

Phainon makes it just past the kitchen arch before he’s distracted by Mydei’s scent, crowding him into the wall and pressing into his neck. “Fuck, Mydei,” he rasps out, sucking on the tender gland. His filthy mouth maps out the bruises starting to form, teething until it borders on painful. 

“Oh,” Mydei cries out, overwhelmed. Moisture pricks in the corner of his eyes. When Phainon nearly breaks skin, he lurches up with an indignant hiss. “Stop that!” 

“Mm, can’t help it. Smells so good,” Phainon blabbers on. The sharp tip of his canine drags down his collarbones, teasing the feverish skin. “Mine, mine, mine.” 

Mydei grits his teeth, tugging Phainon’s head away and glaring at him. “You greedy alpha, spending your rut with my panties and now refusing to fuck me. I didn’t even have any of your clothes during my heat.” 

“Oh, Mydei,” Phainon simpers. “It must’ve been so hard. Did you think of me when you touched yourself? Did it feel as good as this?” he shifts, grinding his cock forward.

With a shaky sob, Mydei tosses his head from side to side. His eager pussy gushes out more slick, trying to welcome the alpha’s cock. There’s a molten sensation deep in his gut that’s begging to be relieved. “Phainon,” he slurs out, half-lidded. 

Phainon perks up like a puppy being called by its owner. “Tell me what you need. I’ll give you everything, Mydei.” 

“I said,” Mydei growls, digging his nails into Phainon’s shoulders. “I need you inside me, or did your rut break your stupid cock for good?” 

The alpha’s eyes darken, pupils blowing out and swallowing the blue. His chest rumbles, and he lifts Mydei off the wall with an ease that makes his breath catch again. “Mydei,” he murmurs reverently, burying his face back in the curve of his neck. 

“My room,” Mydei manages, tugging at Phainon’s hair. “Yours is still a mess.” 

“Mm.” Phainon is already moving, carrying him across the living room in hurried and uneven steps. 

Mydei reaches behind himself, desperately tugging the knob to unlock his door. Phainon kicks it wide open, rushing inside and swinging it shut with his foot. Releasing a fresh wave of pure pomegranate scent to surround them, he knows the exact moment the alpha registers this. Phainon’s eyes glaze over, tumbling forward and falling into Mydei’s bed. 

“Mydei, want to show you one more thing,” Phainon murmurs, nosing along his jaw. He pulls Mydei’s shorts and underwear down before he can protest, tossing them somewhere behind himself. “Like this, I also… used it like this.” 

“Huh?” he says, sucking in a lungful as soon as he sees what Phainon’s doing. 

Phainon adjusts the panties still draped over his cock, stretching the fabric over the head. Then he positions it right under Mydei’s entrance, nudging apart his folds. 

“Wait,” Mydei chokes out. “I’m… I’m not prepared.” 

The alpha takes off his shirt and drapes himself over Mydei’s form, leaning his weight on the elbow by his head. He presses a wet kiss under Mydei’s eye, right on his facial tattoo. “Don’t worry. I’ll only use the tip like this.” 

“Are you cr—” he says, the tail end tapering off into a silent moan as his hole unclenches, eagerly sucking in the intrusion despite the burn. The fabric of his underwear is too abrasive for his fleshy insides, scraping and chafing the walls as Phainon presses in. Slick pours out endlessly. 

“Used it like this, on my fleshlight,” Phainon grunts, sinking his entire cockhead in one go and taking half of Mydei’s panties inside with him. His fist clenches, bandaged arms trembling as he fights off the urge to fuck in deeper. “Made it smell like you.” 

“Oh, god,” Mydei sobs, delirious as his back arches up. He pictures it: Phainon bucking wildly into his hand, this very same underwear trapped inside a silicone tube and making it reek of Mydei. 

“Spent my rut like this,” the alpha rambles. “Thinking of you, imagining it was your pussy I was ravaging. Nearly took out a chunk of my arm every time I tried unlocking the door to get to the real you.” 

Mydei snakes a hand into Phainon’s hair, breathless. “Show me. Show me.” 

“I wanted to savor you, Mydei,” Phainon whispers right next to his ear. “Wanted to explore your body for hours and hours when you finally let me, but I don’t think I’m going to last. I’m so hard I think I’m going to explode.” 

“Just take me, then. I’ll make you fit,” Mydei demands. The ache deep in his abdomen is making him overheat, molten waves setting all of his nerves on fire. 

Phainon makes a sound so raw, scraped cleanly from his throat. His hips snap forward, sinking another inch into that fluttering heat. Pulling Mydei’s legs apart, he rocks back and forth shallowly, coaxing the tightness to let him in. He drags a hand up Mydei’s torso, bunching his shirt under his chin and rolling a pebbled nipple between his knuckles. 

It feels both like forever and too fast when his thighs finally press flushed against Mydei’s ass. Mydei blinks the tears out of his eyes, straining his neck to look in between them, at the point of contact where he’s speared open and only the waistband of his panties remain visible outside of his cunt. That fucking idiot didn’t take out his underwear. 

“You’re so hot, Mydei,” Phainon grunts, bending down to suckle the neglected nipple into his mouth. “You take me so well. Could’ve been doing this for weeks. I wouldn’t ever let you be empty while in heat.” 

Mydei’s chest rattles with a cry and a tear falls down his cheek. “Move, alpha… Please. Fuck me like you meant everything you ever said to me.” 

Phainon shivers all over, hips drawing out and thrusting deep back in, building a merciless rhythm. It jostles the underwear inside Mydei’s pussy back and forth, setting his hole alight in sensitivity. The strength drains out of his legs, slipping out of Phainon’s hold and just falling wide open. He can’t do much else with his hands besides gripping onto rippling back muscles, and distantly he thinks he’s acting exactly like a glorified fleshlight. 

Mydei tries tightening his hole, squeezing around Phainon until it draws a pained groan from him. His rhythm starts faltering, cock fighting against the tight grip determined to keep him inside. His hands drift down to seize Mydei’s waist, posture straightening and giving him better leverage to piston his hips faster, deeper. 

“You feel so good, baby,” Phainon says, completely wrecked, head tossed back. His thick, billowing woodsy scent is suffocating, coating Mydei’s nostrils and the back of his throat like an extra layer of possession. “I’m close—‘m sorry!” 

“Come inside,” he gasps. “Come on, alpha.” 

“Don’t have… much left.” 

“Give it to me!” Mydei gnashes his teeth together, twisting the bedsheets in his grip. 

Phainon leans forward, head limp between his shoulders. His hips take on a new rhythm, punching in and out with abandon as his fingers unhood Mydei’s swollen clit, rolling it to the same frenetic pace. 

Mydei thrashes, his release ripped out of him like never before with a choked shout. His vision whitens as clear liquid spurts from his pussy, splashing everywhere with each instroke of Phainon’s fat cock. He can’t stop, more and more squirt gushing out and splattering all over. His legs fall limp, wracked by endless little tremors. 

“Fuck, Mydei!” Phainon says, fingers not relenting and sending him straight into overstimulation. “That was so hot. You’re too good, so perfect for me.” 

“Can’t,” Mydei whimpers, absolutely shattered. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth, unable to speak. His legs don’t respond when he moves to kick Phainon’s hand away from his cunt. There’s nothing he can do but lay there and take it, completely at Phainon’s perverted mercy. 

Phainon’s tempo falters. “I’m coming!” he groans, yanking Mydei down and sheathing his whole length inside. His cock pulses angrily with his climax, warmth slowly trickling through the fabric of Mydei’s panties and painting his insides. 

He comes so much, the excess slowly spilling down his taint. If this is only the residue after his rut, Mydei blissfully chooses not to think what his usual load is. There might not be any saving for his abused underwear still stuck inside him. 

Utterly spent, Mydei barely reacts when Phainon collapses on top of him, combing his sweaty hair away from his face. In complete contrast to the battering his pussy just suffered, the alpha litters him with soft pecks, lingering beneath his jaw and greedily inhaling his haywire scent. “Sorry, princess. Was I too rough?” he mewls, nudging Mydei with his nose. 

“Yes.” 

“Haha, I said I was going to bitch you, didn’t I?” Phainon weakly chuckles, rolling them over so he can cradle Mydei’s body against his chest, threading fingers through the knots in his hair. “My omega now.” 

“Pervert,” Mydei mutters, unamused.