The car came to a gentle stop near the house. Wipers scraped across the glass, clearing the last drops of the night's rain. The silence in the cabin was profound. Do-yun was already reaching for the door, but Seungho leaned closer. His hand rested on Do-yun's shoulder, and his voice was low, slightly hoarse: — You're resting today.
Do-yun wanted to object, to say that he didn't have the luxury of "just resting." But he didn't get the chance. Seungho touched his temple with his lips—so unexpectedly, so warmly, that Do-yun froze. — Good night, — he added quietly, letting go.
Do-yun got out, and the car pulled away, dissolving into the street's neon reflections.
***
At home, the first thing he did was take off his jacket and toss it onto a chair. The kitchen greeted him with silence. He brewed tea, but the mug remained untouched—the steam vanished, leaving only a faint aroma. In his room, he walked past the bed, sat on the edge, and just sat there for a while, pressing his temples with his fingers. Thoughts spun one after another: the warehouse, documents, Lee, Seungho. Especially Seungho.
He lay down without undressing, deciding to "just close his eyes for a minute." Sleep claimed him instantly.
***
The morning and afternoon passed in a haze. By evening, he was back at the club. Noise, lights, a crowd. New clients, unfamiliar faces. The mixed scent of pheromones and alcohol hung in the air, spicy and sticky.
He navigated between tables, carrying a tray of glasses. His body worked automatically: lean in, set down, accept the bill, nod. But his mind was strained to the limit. He was searching. And simultaneously—trying to avoid making eye contact with the one he shouldn't see too closely.
Tonight stretched out longer than usual. The crowd was drunker than ever. And at one point, as he was collecting empty dishes, a hand reached out and grasped his wrist. — Hey. — The voice was thick, soaked with alcohol. — Are you new here?
Do-yun looked up. Before him sat a tall Alpha, wearing an expensive suit and a confident look. His smile was too open, and his fingers held his wrist too tightly. — I work here, — Do-yun answered curtly, trying to pull away. But the Alpha didn't release him. — Such an... unusual waiter. Are you a Beta? — A smirk crossed his face. — Or am I mistaken? — Let go. — Do-yun's voice was level, but his fingers tensed. The Alpha leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush Do-yun's cheek. — You know, you look too pretty for a Beta. You even... — he paused slightly, his smile becoming bolder. — Look like an Omega.
The words hit like a slap. Do-yun froze. The crowd hummed around them, the music pressed down, but in that moment, the entire world narrowed to a single touch on his wrist. — I said, let go, — he repeated more firmly. The Alpha chuckled and squeezed his hand even harder. — What if I want otherwise?
And at that moment, a shadow fell over both of them. A heavy hand landed on the obnoxious client's shoulder. A voice cut through the noise like a blade. — He's not for you.
Do-yun flinched. Seungho. His eyes flashed in the neon light, cold and predatory. The client tried to say something, but Seungho's fingers pressed down harder. — Stand up. — One word, but it held so much steel that the man obeyed instantly.
Do-yun pulled free, taking a step back. But Seungho didn't let him retreat. He grabbed his wrist—almost the same way the client had, but there was no playfulness in this grip. Only fury. — Come.
He didn't argue. He was pulled into the storage room, the door slammed shut behind them, and the music was left behind the wall—a dull echo. It smelled of dust, alcohol, and spilled liquor in here. The lamp was dim, casting shadows on their faces.
Seungho pinned him against the wall, his breath hitting Do-yun's face. — Do you realize what could have happened? — It was just a client, — Do-yun breathed out, trying to stay calm. — A client? — Seungho let out a ragged chuckle. — He was looking at you as if you were already his. — So what? — Do-yun lifted his chin. — That's my job.
Seungho moved closer, their breaths mingling. His palm slid across Do-yun's cheek, then abruptly down—to his throat, to his chest, pausing there. — No. You don't understand. No one has the right to touch you like that. No one.
Do-yun tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat. Seungho's gaze was scorching, devoid of the cold businessman. It was the look of a beast. — You are mine alone, — Seungho whispered, his voice trembling with rage and desire.
He roughly sat him on his knees in front of him. A palm squeezed his hair, forcing his head up. Do-yun squirmed, but it was too late. The belt unbuckled, the fabric of his trousers slid down. The cock, heavy and engorged, sprang out, gleaming in the dim light. The first drop of lube shone on the tip, rolling down onto Do-yun's lips. — Open. — The voice was deep, brooking no refusal.
Do-yun froze, his heart pounding so loudly he could hear it in his ears. But his lips parted. The cock slid inside, filling his mouth, pressing down his tongue. — Suck, — Seungho commanded.
The movements were heavy, slow, as if he was testing how deep he could go. Then the rhythm sped up. The cock thrust in and out, pre-ejaculate smeared his lips, running down his chin. The sounds were wet, resonant. Do-yun choked, his throat painfully constricting, but the Alpha didn't release him. The hand on the back of his head held him firmly, setting the pace. — Look at me, — he growled.
Their eyes met. Seungho chuckled raggedly, the thrusts became rougher. — You like it.
Do-yun wanted to protest, but the cock filled his throat again, his breath hitched, and he only moaned. The rhythm accelerated. Waves of tremors ran through his body, his knees burned against the floor, his fingers dug into Seungho's thighs. — Mine alone, — Seungho breathed out. — No one else.
The storm hit abruptly. He arched his back, holding Do-yun's head, and semen spilled into his throat in hot pulses. Do-yun choked, but Seungho didn't let go until every drop was inside. — Swallow, — he ordered.
He obeyed. His throat contracted, swallowing everything, his breath ragged, his eyes watering. Only then did the grip on his hair loosen. Seungho used his thumb to wipe the semen from the corner of Do-yun's lips, smearing it on his skin. His voice was low, deep: — Remember. No one has the right to touch you like that.
Do-yun was breathing heavily, his chin glistening with lube, his knees trembling. The music thundered beyond the wall. Seungho leaned down, pulling him into his chest, forcing him to bury his face there. His arms were strong, heavy. There was greed. And fear of loss.