The air was thick — too thick — every breath weighed down by the scent clinging to the walls like invisible smoke. Subconsciously, Nikolai's body began producing pheromones to counteract it, instinct fighting instinct in a losing battle. The mix was suffocating: Nikolai's soft sweetness against Lucien's sharper, earthy edge.
"Is it because of those horrid pills you call medicine?" Nikolai's voice cut through the haze, sharp and scathing. "Taking that shit isn't going to help you — it'll only make it worse. Fuck… where's your kitchen, or a bathroom…" He shouldered past Lucien without waiting for an answer, movements brisk and tense, irritation barely concealing something more volatile simmering beneath his skin.
The pressure rolling off him was palpable — heavy enough to still the air. Lucien's chest tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. That suffocating dominance pissed him off more than he wanted to admit, and the humiliation of feeling small under it lit a hot, prickling flush across his neck.
"I'm well aware of it," Lucien shot back, voice cracking with heat. "Why do you think I called you?"
His tone grew sharper by the second, but so did the scent around them. Jasmine and chamomile, warm and cloying, flooded his lungs with every inhale until it became impossible to think straight. His vision blurred for a second. His body burned, sweat beading along his temple.
Nikolai muttered a curse under his breath and stalked off. Lucien followed, unsteady but furious.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Why are you acting like a fucking psycho?"
Nikolai didn't answer. He found the kitchen by instinct and twisted the tap to full blast, the metallic shriek of pipes echoing off the tiles. Cold water gushed from the faucet. He bent forward, plunging his head beneath the icy stream as though he could drown the fever crawling through his veins. Droplets splashed down his neck and collar, soaking into his shirt. But even as the water numbed his skin, the rest of him only burned hotter — especially lower down, his hips unconsciously grinding against the counter in a desperate, instinctive bid to ease the ache.
Lucien's voice cracked through the static of running water. "This is all because I didn't take my damn pills that I'm in this condition! So give them to me already!"
Regret gnawed at him — for calling, for trusting, for ever sending that address. But patience was bleeding out fast. Nikolai's behavior was erratic, unnerving, too close to dangerous.
Still hunched over the sink, Nikolai's breath came out ragged. He couldn't turn around — not yet. His hands trembled, gripping the counter until his knuckles went white. The fear wasn't of Lucien, but of himself. Of what his body might do if he gave in to the pull. He was a bastard, sure — manipulative, smug, shameless — but not without a line. And that line was consent. Even if it tore him apart to stay on the right side of it.
Yet the scent spilling off him betrayed everything he was trying to suppress. It filled the space like a storm cloud, heady and humid, reaching out — coaxing.
"God dammit…" His voice cracked, raw and low. He turned off the water, but his reflection in the sink shimmered, unfocused. His chest heaved as he tried to anchor himself with slow, deliberate breaths. He needed to stay grounded. Needed to not touch him.
Finally, he turned. Water dripped from his dark hair, tracing paths down his sharp jawline. His silver eyes gleamed with a glazed heat, feral around the edges.
"You didn't tell me," he rasped between breaths, "that you were in this state over the phone. I would've taken precautionary measures — to keep the both of us under control." He dragged a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back in one fluid motion. His frustration cracked through his restraint as he muttered, almost to himself, "You smell so fucking good right now, I think I'm losing my mind…"
Lucien froze. His anger came roaring back, hot enough to drown the dizziness. He crossed the space between them in three long strides and fisted Nikolai's soaked collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"Can you stop acting crazy and spouting nonsense every time you open your mouth?" Lucien snarled, his voice shaking with something halfway between fury and desperation.
His free hand moved on instinct, patting down Nikolai's pockets — first one, then the other — rough, impatient. "Give me my pills and get the hell out of my house, you narcissistic bastard. You—" The rest of the insult dissolved into a strangled sound.
It was bad enough that the cold water did little to help, but now that Lucien had closed the distance between them, Nikolai felt the onslaught of that sweet scent hit him a thousand fold. It invaded his nose, his lungs, his very nerves. Everywhere Lucien's hands touched scorched him, leaving ghostly trails of heat that made his fingers twitch with the unbearable urge to touch back. When Lucien's body swayed again, Nikolai's instincts betrayed him—he reached out, catching him by the waist, steadying him before he could fall.
Lucien wavered, knees weak, gripping Nikolai's shoulders to keep himself upright. That scent—God, that fucking scent—wrapped around him like smoke, sinking under his skin and curling through his chest. His breath came ragged, lips trembling. "...Fuck you," he managed hoarsely.
The words barely left his mouth before he felt it.
Nikolai was hard.
Lucien froze. His breath hitched. Shock flickered across his face, quickly swallowed by disgust. "You…" he breathed, voice trembling with disbelief. "Jesus Christ. You seriously have no decency, do you?"
But Nikolai didn't react the way he expected. The usual smirk, that sharp-tongued arrogance—gone. His eyes were dark, strained, the tension in his jaw barely hiding how badly he was fighting himself. The words were the same, but the posture was wrong—off. Defensive. Hesitant. It threw Lucien off balance.
Could Nikolai use that? The thought brushed through the haze, quick and shameful, and he hated it. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut, but there was no time for moral lines or explanations. "Just shut the fuck up," he hissed between gritted teeth, his fingers digging slightly into Lucien's waist as if to anchor both of them. "I'm this way because of you."
His mind screamed for distance—for space, for control—but his body refused to listen. Every breath Lucien took seemed to pull him closer, the heat radiating off him maddening. His pulse thundered in his ears. He could barely remember the last time his body had turned traitor like this. Normally, he'd just deal with it—quickly, quietly—but right now? With Lucien trembling in his hands, scenting the air like sin itself? The idea was almost too tempting.
Lucien couldn't even think straight. His body felt like it was on fire, the fever crawling under his skin made worse by the oppressive heat between them. Every nerve screamed for space, but his knees were weak and his breath uneven. The grip on his waist burned. Even through the thin cotton of his shirt, it was unbearable—like sparks racing up his spine. His lips parted, dragging in shaky breaths that only made the world tilt further.
The nails digging into his side drew a strangled hiss from him, and something inside him snapped. His hand shot up, clutching Nikolai's collar, dragging him closer with a rough jerk. "How fucking dare you—" his voice broke into a growl, the sound raw. "You goddamn psychotic pervert!" His words trembled, caught between fury and something far more dangerous. "How dare you say this is because of me! What the fuck are you even— ngh—doing?!"
Disgust and rage twisted in him, tangled with a pulse of something darker—hotter—that made his stomach clench painfully. The air was thick, saturated with that mingled sweetness and musk, the kind that felt like it was poisoning his lungs. His body trembled, sweat slicking his temple, and the sense that something was clawing its way out from beneath his skin grew stronger by the second.
And then—God. The hard press of Nikolai's hips against his own.
Lucien's words died in his throat, his lips parting around a sound caught somewhere between a curse and a breathless gasp. His pulse spiked, eyes widening, voice raw as he forced out through his teeth—"Nikolai..."
"...I told you how you can get rid of that…damn scent of yours earlier, right? Without needing those damn pills. So just…bear with me." His grip on Lucien's waist tightened, the other hand trailing up the man's back only to grab hold of the nape of their neck. Pulling Lucien's head to the side and shoving their face close to his collarbone, Nikolai leaned over, hovering his lips over the enticing smell of the area between the neck and shoulder.
"Let me go this instant! The only way I know is with my pills! Give them to me, Nikolai, or I swear to God—hahh—fuck, what the hell—" His words died, smothered under the pressure forcing his neck to tilt, leaving him exposed. His pheromones burst sharp and heavy into the air, uncontrolled, thick enough to choke him in his own panic. He tried to shove the man away, fingers curling tight against the sharp line of Nikolai's collarbone.
Yet, he couldn't...