The Still Point [ManxMan]
xxprinceanonymousxx · 15 chapters · 91,979 words
𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖠𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒
Hey guys, it’s been a while and I’m sorry for it, but I come bearing a gift! A project I’ve been working on behind the scenes for a while. Hold Your Breath is still a work in progress, but until I can get the dictionary back for the language I created in the story, I’m kind of between a rock and a hard place. Do I just create a whole new language and pretend the old one didn’t exist? I won’t lie, I’m not a super huge fan of that idea, but maybe that’s just the perfectionist in me.
This story is a no pressure story for me. I have a general plan of what I want to happen in it, and have completed a considerable portion of the first part of the book, but I have not finished it. I’m not promising to be more regular with my updates, because frankly, I’m busy all the time and have little time to commit to doing anything other than working. Still, when I have found time to write, it’s mostly been this.
I had to do a lot of research on Ballet to be able to write this effectively. I used my ability to read Russian, as well as some translation sites to do the bits of dialogue where Felix speaks in Russian. If something is wrong, I apologize. Ah, I got it… it’s an alternate universe, so I didn’t actually fuck it up, it’s just different in the other universe… That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, anyway.
Ah, anyway, you wanna read the book not listen to me ramble about nonsense, so I’ll just continue on with the advisory now. I hope you enjoy the story, and stick around for the ride. Feel free to vote and comment if you like, and follow me if you wanna stick around for future stories.
Please note that this story is a work of fiction. It is set in an alternate universe with secondary genders.
This story contains explicit sexual content. This story is intended for an adult audience. The following list is the list of content warnings for this story:
A/B/O Dynamics, Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega, Dominant/Submissive Dynamic, BratTamer/Brat Dynamic, Odd Anatomy, Slicking, Self-Lubrication, Scenting, Pheromones, Omegaspace (subspace), Instinctual Behavior, Breeding Kink, Brat Taming, Creampies, Cock Piercings, Edging, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Primal Play, Knotting, Cumming Untouched, Rimming, Fingering, Finger Banging, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Exhibitionism, In Public, Praise Kink, Cock-warming, Blowjobs, Oral Knotting, Safe Sane & Consensual, Sex Toys, Cumming On Command, Orgasm Control, Forced Orgasms, Begging, Collaring, Dry humping, Total Power Exchange, Choking/Breath Play, Size Kink, Size Difference, Stomach Bulge, Dacryphilia, Hair Pulling, Sex While Distracted, Biting, Scratching, Cock Cage (mentioned), Rough Sex, BDSM, and honestly probably more??? Let me know if I missed any. I’ll still be adding to this as I complete the story, as well.
!!!Trigger Warning: Sexual Harassment!!!
The harassment and assault depicted in the chapter are not romanticized or framed as seduction. They are presented as violations of the protagonist’s boundaries and bodily autonomy.
This list will be added onto as the story continues. Please read responsibly.
[ 1 ] 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗀𝗂𝖼 | 𝖤𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
The oppressive air in the rehearsal studio was thick and stale, a cloying mix of fresh varnish, sweat, and the sharp tang of unspoken tension. The tension, a tangible entity, had burrowed under Felix’s skin like a festering splinter—prickling, insistent. Overhead, the too-bright fluorescent lights hummed, casting a harsh and unforgiving light that stripped the room of any warmth or humanity. It was cold, the temperature was kept low in the room to keep them comfortable during grueling practices, but Felix was especially sensitive right now.
He was in pre-heat, and he’d been dancing for what felt like an eternity. His muscles screamed in protest as much as his instincts wailed to flee—to seek safety. But he couldn’t leave. Even though his legs burned from exhaustion, his feet were numb, and the bones in his back grated against each other with every subtle shift of his body.
Yet he showed no sign of discomfort. He held the pose. His arms, sculpted lines of taut muscle, were lifted in perfect alignment. His head, exquisitely poised, was titled just so. Every inch of his being and every ounce of his subconscious was honed into a stillness as sharp and fragile as glass.
Then, the sudden jarring halt of the orchestra shattered the air, leaving behind a silence that felt so deep and consuming it was almost a physical weight. Felix waited until the director’s voice cut through the stillness, clipped, devoid of inflection, just a barked instruction: Again .
Felix let the pose dissolve, a controlled, fluid descent, making no sound and betraying no emotion. But Marius’s hand remained on his body, the touch, even through the fabric of his tight-fitted top was overstimulating. His fingers, heavy and possessive, dug into Felix’s waist. Felix was tensed and uncomfortable because it wasn’t a supportive touch, nor was it corrective. It was an uninvited claiming, lingering with a level of implied and unsettling intimacy. Felix didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge his presence.
“Remove your fucking hand, Ублюдок,” Felix snapped, his voice a low, taut string. Marius leaned in, invading his personal space. Felix shuddered—the proximity was too close, too warm, his breath a humid caress against the overstimulated skin of his ear.
“Someone’s a little sensitive today,” Marius purred teasingly , tauntingly . “Are your suppressants not holding?” The words were dripping with faux sweetness and concern, but they did little to mask Marius’s raw, predatory scent. His pheromones, full, unsuppressed , pheromones. Heavy and brazen. It permeated the air, saturating it with the scent of sweet tobacco, musk, and clove oil—the scent of Marius’s pheromones.
Felix’s stomach clenched, a sickening lurch of unease and discomfort. He inhaled again, a subtle, almost imperceptible sniff. There was no mistaking it. No suppressant. It was too strong for it to have been suppressed. In fact, Felix halfway felt like it was too strong for it to have only been a single missed dose. It happened occasionally. Everyone’s forgotten their suppressants once, but it wasn’t typically to this level of pheromone strength. Felix could swear on his life that Marius had skipped his dose intentionally, and not just once.
Several times.
Felix swallowed down a bitter, metallic taste rising with a tide of surging fury and instinctual revulsion. A hot flicker ignited low in his abdomen—a reactive, unwanted response to Marius’s totally in-character brazenness. His own scent, which was usually carefully controlled, stammered in the confined space between them. A confused, vulnerable offering. He wasn’t in heat yet , but instinct knew what was being attempted, and despite hating Marius to the very core of his shitty-ass attitude and barely subpar ability to dance, Felix’s body was reacting to it.
He wanted to scream at him to get the fuck away from him. Tell him to leave, get the fuck out of the studio and away from him. But that’d only screw everyone in the production. Still… he had followed protocol. He’d sent notice. He had the director’s signature on the official document. No lifts. No alpha partners. No close contact until his cycle had passed. So why was Marius even here in the first place? Disregarding every boundary he’d set in place.
Felix turned his head just enough the catch the glint in Marius’s eyes. There was no apology in the gaze, no hint of confusion. Only a raw, unapologetic hunger, laced with cold calculation. Felix drew in a slow, even breath, centering himself. He was fine. This was fine. They were in such a public place, Marius couldn’t do much for now. When he left, he’d make sure to walk with one of the omegas in the corps, that way Marius couldn’t catch up with him.
Felix nodded curtly to the pianist, signaling him to start.
The music began playing, a way-too-familiar opening, but Felix launched into the steps with the precision of a sharpened blade. He wasn’t just dancing anymore, he was making a statement. A declaration. Every movement was a deliberate cut, every angle of his body a silent scream: even like this, I’m still better than you . The corps kept pace, their movements cautious, seemingly aware of the escalation of the tension that’d turned palpable. Everyone in the room could probably feel it—the static charge of something volatile, something about to violently break.
Then came the lift. Felix launched himself upward, a leap of desperate defiance. Marius caught him, but the grip was too low, unfamiliar, too intimate . His fingers clenched around Felix’s hip, a deliberate transgression. Feigning fixing form, his other hand drifted too far up his thigh, sliding with sickening slowness across the very edge of Felix’s scent gland.
Felix’s pulse spiked, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, his anger hitting an all-time high as he fought back shivers. This fucking asshole—he was seriously going to fucking kill him for this as soon as he could kick his ass without being caught by the director. He’d picked the wrong goddamn target this time, Felix had no desire to give him anything , if not for the mere priciple of the matter.
“Marius, I’m going—” Felix started as Marius dropped him down to his feet. But before Felix could finish his sentence, the director cleared his throat.
“Again.” He snapped, voice cutting cleanly through the air like a scalpel. “Marius, your grip is straying too high. We’ve gone over this a hundred times. You’re lifting a person, not a sandbag—support the hips, not the thigh. It messes up the dancer’s form otherwise.” The silence that followed didn’t feel silent at all—it was loaded. The correction rang out like a verdict.
In a sense, it was a pathetic way for the director to end Marius’s behavior without directly bringing attention to it, naming it , but it wasn’t overt enough. For some stupid reason, the director made allowances for the irritating ignoramus, as if he weren’t the single worst dancer in the room. Sure, he had physical strength, but his rhythm was always just slightly off. Felix just knew how to match his rhythm to other people and make it look natural, so it wasn’t quite so obvious in this case. If it was just a matter of keeping Felix in the lead role, there were other Alphas that could do this part—definitely better than Marius could. So why keep him?
Sure he was a legacy, an Alpha, and was physically strong… but Felix found it hard to believe that’d be enough for everyone to look past his shitty fucking personality. Felix was certain he wasn’t the only one confused by it, too. No one liked Marius. Every omega he danced with eventually gave up lead roles to go back to the corps. Some of it could be the pressure of having to perform perfectly every time, but that was half of the corps’ responsibility—staying in perfect synchronization. One could argue that they’re hard in different ways, but that was really just a semantic argument.
Felix stayed silent, eyes straight ahead, his face carved in impassivity, but the corner of his lips twitched. Just barely. Just enough. Marius’s fingers flexed where they were resting on Felix’s hips, then dropped away like he’d been scalded. The director didn’t wait for an acknowledgement.
“From the jump. Try again.” The pianist adjusted, flipping back a few pages. The entire corps tensed in unison, but Felix was unwavering. He moved first. Effortless. Controlled. Like he had just been groped. Like his skin wasn’t crawling. Like he wasn’t one mis-step away from pivoting and breaking Marius’s fucking nose.
But he wouldn’t. Not yet, at least. So far, everything had been so subtle that he didn’t have any proof. But his ability to maintain his temper was quickly wavering. He wanted to knock this douchebags teeth down his throat.
But he just kept dancing.
He leapt again, letting Marius catch him—this time, only because he had to. Because it was the choreography. But he made damn sure there was no room for human error. He held his core tight, kept his shoulders strong. Body perfectly aligned to make this jump the easiest one Marius would ever catch—merely so he’d have to use correct form. It said more about him that he couldn’t catch such a perfect jump than Marius’s ego was willing to allow. No amount of scumbaggery would outweigh Marius’s inability to be seen as less than subpar.
And he caught him perfectly, as expected. Felix shot him an annoyed glance as he lowered him back down onto his feet.
“See, even idiots like you can do it,” Felix muttered, pulling out of Marius’s grasp immediately. His glare was cold, making it exceptionally clear: Touch me wrong again and I’ll break every bone in your fingers for it.
“Again.” The director barked. “That move should become as fluid as water. Marius, keep your focus. That was better.” After that, Marius’s behavior got better—even if it was more passive-aggressive now. He was keeping form perfectly at first, not straying, his grip not wavering. For a moment, it lulled Felix into a sense of false comfort.
It wasn’t but thirty minutes before Marius broke his good behavior streak.
“ You smell like you’re begging for it. “ Marius murmured as he dropped Felix down onto his feet gracefully, carefully leaning in just close enough to make Felix’s heart skip, his voice a low, suggestive rumble. Felix landed perfectly, effortlessly, his movements a testament to years of rigorous training. And maybe it was over dramatic, but in a split second, the world had tilted on its axis, and Felix snapped.
“I fucking dare you to say that to my face,” Felix said, his voice a lethal whisper, cold and sharp as ice. Marius smirked.
“You smell like you’re begging to be fucked.” Marius responded, stepping forward subtly, in an attempt to glare down at him, make him feel lesser when Marius was the one who didn’t even fucking belong here. Felix’s jaw clenched. His fists curled. Every tendon in his neck stood out like piano wire. That son of a bitch thought he could talk to him like that and get away with it? In front of the whole corps?
The worst part is, even as pissed off and disgusted as he was, his traitorous body was still reacting to the jackass in front of him. As fucking if. Marius wasn’t a strong dancer. The director would try to hone his skill until he hit a plateau, and then it was over. Marius would be tossed aside for a better fill-in. The important person in this was Felix . He had the lead role in the dance was recognized nationally. He had multiple first-place awards for performances. Felix was the prince. Marius was so far below him that he barely even counted as a pawn in a chess game.
Felix’s fist connected with Marius’s face in a clean, brutal arc. The sickening crack of bone echoed through the sudden silence that encompassed the studio. Marius stumbled back, a dark bloom of blood blossoming rapidly under his nose. The music died immediately. A collective breath hitched—the corps silently pleased, but the director was visibly pissed off. No one moved, though.
“You fucking primadonna bitch what the hell was that?!” Marius snapped, and Felix laughed. So angry he just couldn’t help himself.
“Instant karma.” Felix drawled passively, stepping forward to lower his voice, “Don’t play as if I don’t know what you’re doing. Only one of us has an IQ in the double digits. Even scent drunk and desperate for a knot, I wouldn’t lower myself to beg you for a goddamn thing. Especially your pathetic little cock.” Felix paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “You may be the director’s favorite little toy right now, but don’t forget your place. I’m the prince, you’re a backup prop in my spotlight.”
Felix turned then, heading to the door of the studio with a dramatic flair.
“It’s been four and a half hours. I’m out.” Felix stated, leaving no room for discussion as he walked out the studio door. Behind him, the studio erupted into chaos—shouting, the clatter of misplaced props, someone’s panicked cry of ‘Legal!’ but no one dared to follow him. They had all witnessed it. They’d smelled it. Marius had walked into rehearsal with numerous omegas around, openly releasing pheromones and completely unsuppressed at that.
Even if no one else was willing to acknowledge it, Felix knew . He would take whatever punishment the school sought to implement without hesitation. He was right and he knew it. Marius was intentionally trying to trigger his heat out, and no one could convince him otherwise.
Because Felix was famous, as soon as word got out that he’d punched his dance partner in the show where he was set to debut as principal dancer, it turned into a big mess. Rather than getting the actual story, they’d made assumptions— poorly . The tabloids feasted on it, painting it as a scandal, their headlines screaming— Violence on stage: Omega Principal Dancer, Felix Ivanov, Strikes Alpha Partner. They sensationalized the shock and drama, conveniently omitting the details that actually mattered. Even international tabloids were going into the story.
Felix’s name was plastered in bold print next to images of Marius’s bloodied and broken nose, framing him as dangerous. Volatile . A rising star with a temper to match his talent. The director of the performing arts college—The Lavrentiev Imperial School of Classical Dance—made a move of (poorly) calculated damage control and announced a temporary suspension pending review on him rather than fucking Marius. He shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t be.
Somehow, the omega is always to blame even if they’re not. Even so, Felix was angry. Bitter. That brute in a leotard masquerading as a dancer got to stay where he was, dancing in the show he’d spent over seventy-two hours a week practicing for. He’d put blood, sweat, and tears into that performance, and Marius cost him it. Even if his suspension was lifted, his place in the performance would be filled in just a matter of days if it wasn’t filled already.
His inbox became a torrent of interview requests, demands for apologies, and unsolicited offers from PR firms eager to manage the fallout. He ignored them all, a stony resolve settling into his bones. He wasn’t going to feed into this, he refused to be made the bad guy when Marius had that punch coming to him. He fucked around with the wrong one, and found out why it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe the broken nose would teach him a lesson, because he sure as hell wasn’t facing any disciplinary action.
But Felix wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness—he wasn’t the one who should be apologetic. He felt no remorse for the pathetic fucktard. He probably did him a favor, now his insurance would cover a nose job that he desperately needed.
It’d been two days since the tabloids seized the story, and Felix couldn’t even leave his penthouse without being bombarded—with questions, cameras, a flood of unsolicited advice he had no intention of taking seriously, and a steady flux of online criticisms not even the walls of his penthouse could shield him from. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent this much time at home. This much time alone .
He wasn’t built for stillness.
Before the scandal, he’d practiced twelve hours a day, six days a week. His schedule had been brutal, punishing, and perfect . An escape route he could always rely on, no matter how gruelling it was. But now the structure was gone. Now he was suspended, trapped in his penthouse that felt too quiet, too slow, too far from the stage he belonged on. Reality felt like something behind glass—close enough to see , but too far away to touch.
So he buried himself in practice anyway.
He spent every waking hour in his at-home studio, chasing the rhythm of normalcy like it could save him. He danced harder than he ever had. Pushed himself further. His muscles burned, his head pounded, his bones ached, his body throbbed—but he refused to stop. Refused to fall behind just because the dumbass director wanted to play politics.
If anything, he’d show that damn asshole he didn’t need his help to surpass where he’d been. He didn’t need that stage to stay sharp. He didn’t need their approval to be exceptional. The wall of trophies and awards reflected in the studio mirror, silent reminders of what he’d already proven—and what he refused to lose.
Eventually, his body gives out. Felix doesn’t collapse, but it’s close. His ankle twinges on a jump, his knee protests on his landing, and when he tries to rise into an arabesque, his thigh locks with a spasm so sharp he has to bite back a curse. Sweat drips down his back, sticky and grating. His hyper-sensitive skin was driving him crazy. He desperately wished he could just speed run the next week because he was in no mood for a heat cycle. His chest heaves, and he takes a moment to catch his breath.
He forces himself to stillness.
For a moment, the world narrows down to the mirror in front of him. His reflection was a stranger, flushed, trembling, eyes shining with something not quite exhaustion and not quite grief. His ribs rise and fall like someone who’s been running—but there’s nowhere to run to. He’s trapped. His life was held in suspense by politics and gender bias.
Irritated, Felix leaves his studio, shutting the door behind him like he’s slamming the lid on a coffin. His life felt like death, anyway. The apartment was too quiet. The four walls of his penthouse felt too pristine. From his floor-to-ceiling windows, the Volga glinted like a ribbon of molten silver, the skyline outside of them bleached in early winter light. The current moved slowly—steady, assured, unlike the chaos inside him. Nizhny Novgorod was beautiful at this height. Silent. The kind of silence that filled your ears when applause ended too soon.
He doesn’t remember when this place stopped feeling like home and started feeling like exile.
He goes to the fridge. Digs out leftovers—dumplings, cold and stiff in the container. He tosses them into a pan, more for the motion than the result, hunger gnawing somewhere deep in his bones but not quite reaching the surface. Beside him on the countertop, his phone buzzes. He’d forgotten it was there earlier, wanting to distance himself from the controversy available at his fingertips.
He tried to ignore it. He did. But without something more demanding than heating leftovers, he couldn’t help the compulsive urge to check it. He ignores it at first. Let it buzz a second time. And a third. Only when the smell of oil starts to turn does he glance at the screen.
An email.
Subject: Recruitment Opportunity: Felix Ivanov – Special Talent Consideration
From: Office of Admissions, Golden Hills University – California, USA
Felix frowns. Flicks the burner off. Wipes his hands, then opens it.
Dear Mr. Ivanov,
I hope this message finds you well.
My name is Erin Calloway, and I am writing you on behalf of the Golden Hills University’s School of Performing Arts, located in Santa Sierra, California. As a part of our rapidly expanding Arts & Innovation Division, we are currently engaged in a selective global recruitment initiative focused on identifying exceptional talent in the performing arts.
Your Portfolio and professional accomplishments were brought to our attention through international performance networks. We recently became aware of the developments in your career and subsequent suspension from the program you were previously enrolled in. We are willing to overlook the incident, our interest lies firmly in your long-term potential and the distinctive perspective you offer as an elite dancer of international caliber.
We are pleased to extend an invitation to explore a direct admissions pathway designed specifically for experienced artists seeking to transition into a rigorous academic-performance hybrid environment. This opportunity will include full tuition remission, school housing assistance, and access to a range of collaborative preformance projects both on campus and within the broader arts community both in California, and we are branching out into international competitions this year—YAGP, Prix De Lausanne, Tanzolymp, Valentina Kozlova International Ballet Competetion, and are pursuing a placement in the International Contemporary Dance Festival.
Should you be open to further discussion, we would be honored to speak with you at your earliest convenience.
Warmest regards,
Erin Calloway
Director of Recruitment and Admissions
Golden Hills University | On Behalf of: School of Performing Arts
Santa Sierra, California, USA.
Felix stares for a moment. It wasn’t a conservatory. Not some prestige-fetishizing incubator for Russian ballet elites. It’s a regular university—in California. Somewhere far away. Somewhere, he could still dance.
He’d vaguely heard of Golden Hills—mostly through other dancers who ended up in film or friends who performed in lower-tier competitions internationally that got offers from random U.S. schools out of nowhere. It’s not Vaganova. It’s not Juilliard. But it’s up-and-coming. Funded. Bold. Their performance program has apparently been eating up awards and attention in the last few years in the U.S. and Canada, and they’ve been throwing money at international students with impressive resumes to strengthen their ranks.
He reads it again. And then again.
It wasn’t pity. Nor was it a PR rehabilitation attempt. They’re not trying to gloss over the scandal—they’re ignoring it altogether. Strategic erasure at its finest. It wasn’t lost on him that it was opportunistic. He knew that. They weren’t offering to save him; they were acquiring damaged goods that they desperately needed to push their agenda. Felix’s recruitment isn’t altruism—it’s a strategic move to bolster their prestige. They’re buying his fame to rebrand their program as “cutting-edge” and “daring.”
It wasn’t like Lavrentiev wasn’t doing the same thing, though. Both schools view him as currency. Lavrentiev spent him; Golden Hills wanted to invest. They wanted him . And the penthouse suddenly felt too quiet again. Outside the snow has started to fall—soft, slow, the color of ash. The kettle clicks on automatically behind him, and he jumps at the sound. He stares at the screen of his phone for a minute.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then his fingers slide across the glass.
He should reach out to his manager. He should . But he didn’t because his manager only cared about the PR nightmare he was entangled in currently, and how to get him out of it.
Hi, Erin—
Thanks for reaching out. I’d be open to a conversation. I’m based in Russia, so I’m +3 GMT. Let me know what time works best for you.
His thumb hovers for a moment. Then he presses send.
The message whooshes away like a breath held too long—and Felix just exhaled.
Honestly, at this point, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Just like Golden Hills University. He could keep dancing, he could meet Marius in a competition, and completely obliterate him. He could show that shitty ass director whos side he should’ve taken. Golden Hills was seizing this opportunity to benefit from him, so in turn, he’ll take the opportunity to benefit from them.
He would win every competition he performed in. He wouldn’t let anyone forget him.
Ballet was a basic bodily function for him; everyone else had to work for it. He just did it. He practiced harder than anyone else and didn’t even need to. He’d take this up-and-coming Performing Arts program and turn it into an even bigger success than Lavrentiev and strip them of their prestige, screwing them over the same way they screwed him over.
Fair is fair, and he fully believes karma has to be taken into one’s own hands if they want it properly exacted.
[ 2 ] 𝖮𝗓𝗈𝗇𝖾 | 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
When the plane hits the runway with a jolt hard enough to rattle the seats, Felix doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move . The overhead lights flick on. Somewhere to the right of him, a child is whining about wanting to go home. A woman in the row ahead unbuckles before the seatbelt light turns off. And Felix just exhales, slow and bitter.
Welcome to California, he thought dryly, his eyes scanning the sight outside the window of the plane with a calculated sort of scrutiny. Too bright. Too green . His winters were painted white, but this was—this was unseasonably warm. Disorienting.
The crowd around him shifts to deboard, but he stays in his seat until the aisle clears, then stands with bored indifference, dragging down his overstuffed duffel bag. It slams into his side like a bruise he’d forgotten about, just painful enough to register. He ignored it. Ignored everything but the nerves rushing through him. He was here. He was in California. He’d been careful not to mention anything to his manager. He knew she’d try to stop him. He didn’t want to be stopped.
Even if it was unorthodox, he wanted to do this. He wanted the space. The freedom. The distance. He wanted to be here. He wanted to do this. So he wasn’t going to talk to her until he’d settled in. She’d been calling him for two days, and he’d been dodging her. He knew, though, that he was caught on camera boarding the plane, so by now she definitely knew he’d left. She’d probably even figured out where he went already. But it was too late now. He was committed.
The air outside of the jetbridge was hotter than it had any right to be. Thick, bright, unfamiliar . He adjusts the sleeve of his hoodie, pushes through the gate, and steps into LAX—the flashing, bright, overstimulating mess of it. Everything smells like industrial cleaner, pheromones, and overpriced coffee. His nostrils flared once. He hates it.
But that doesn’t change anything. He was here for a reason. Hate it or not, it was a means to an end. A sacrifice he was willing to make. He owned his penthouse and could always return when this was over. But for the moment, he went and did the exact opposite of what anyone would suspect. He’d been offered a similar set up to his back home—but the commute wasn’t worth it to him. He’d taken the student housing for Athletes, a shared apartment in an upscale complex the university built for their athletic enrollees.
The university, while recognizing Ballet as an art form, had rationalized when offering it to him: Professional ballet dancers often train more hours per week than even Olympic athletes. Many studies found their physical demands comparable to sports like gymnastics and figure skating. They’d continued, So while ballet is an art form, and its purpose is to express emotion and tell a story, the physicality, training intensity and performance stakes more than qualify it as a sport.
Disembarking was nothing short of tedious and time-consuming. It takes forever with immigration. By the time he makes it to the baggage claim, his shoulders ache, and the edges of his mood are frayed. Most of his stuff had been sent over already in preparation for his arrival, but he’d brought a bag or two with him with essentials he hadn’t been able to part with, even just for a day or two. His practice clothes, his slippers and pointe shoes, his laptop, and a couple of outfits to wear in the meantime. After what felt like an eternity, he finally saw his bags and grabbed them, heading out toward the lobby—or what he assumed was the lobby.
As he walks into the bustling airport lobby, he’s a little lost. Maybe even a little panicked, though he wouldn’t let it show. His spoken English is solid, but reading it? Not so much.
To enroll in Lavrentiev’s program, he’d had to speak English fluently. It was an international program, and most foreign students could speak English, but not Russian—it was too difficult to pick up quickly. Likewise, most of the Russian students had been taught English growing up. So, instead of requiring fluency in Russian, the program had made English proficiency mandatory.
Then he spots it: A white poster board held overhead with the words FELIX IVANOV typed out in a clear and easy-to-read bold black font. The girl holding it is pretty in a sunlit, SoCal kind of way—high ponytail, crisp Golden Hills University windbreaker, leggings, and that cheerleader energy Felix despised off principle. She beams when she sees him approach.
“Felix?” She calls. He nods, only once. Sharply. She offers her hand.
“I’m Callie. Golden Hills student liaison. I’m part of the Welcome Corps for international athletes and performers! I’ll be the one driving you to Santa Sierra.” He glances at her hand, then pointedly doesn’t take it. This time, it’s not contempt, it’s overstimulation. Everything was pressing in too close around him already. Even something as stupid as a handshake felt like it might be the final straw to his wavering sense of control.
His brain feels like static, and his skin feels like it’s shrinking on his bones, and the sounds and scents of the airport make his head hurt. He was too tense to relax, too edgy to be personable. He’s too deep in his own head to even attempt politeness.
“Mm,” He finally responds, not quite acknowledging anything at all. There’s a beat of awkward silence. She holds her smile a second too long, uncertain now, and he shifts his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. It was really a nervous gesture, but he knew it came off more like it was the only thing he found worth in engaging with.
“You’ve already gotten your bags?” She checked, and Felix nodded, so she smiled again—instantly back to bubbly and happy. “Fantastic. Then let’s head out. It’s about three to three and a half hours away! Do you need to stop and get something to eat? I know you’ve probably been traveling for about 18 hours now. Do you want food before we go?”
Felix was running on nearly twenty-three hours of travel. Four and a half hours by train from his penthouse in Nizhny Novgorod to Moscow’s airport. A two-hour preflight delay. Then the twelve-hour transatlantic haul to LAX. Add in immigration, disembarking, and baggage claim hell, and it totaled up to a day lost in motion—and in noise.
He’d crossed eleven time zones in under thirteen hours. He was jet-lagged to hell. The sensory overload didn’t exactly make food appealing. His stomach felt tight and sour from altitude and exhaustion. He never could eat after long flights.
“I’ll manage.” Felix said blankly, “Let’s just go.” He didn’t bother correcting her on travel time. It was irrelevant to her, regardless. She was doing her job, not trying to be BFF’s. He could understand the bubbliness and even tolerate it on a better day, but right now, all he wanted to do was get to his new apartment, take a long, hot shower, and sleep. Approximately twenty hours—or for an eternity, whatever his circadian rhythm needed to adjust to this bright, hot, too social hellscape he’d entered.
“Got it. Let’s go!” She cheered, seemingly not bothered in the slightest by his off-putting personality. She led him out to her car, a new-looking hot pink SUV with tinted windows and a rhinestone plate frame to match. There’s writing on the back window in bright pink, something about Warhawks—the school’s mascot. She had a slew of necklaces hanging from the rearview mirror and hot pink seat covers. Even her steering wheel was pink . The antithesis of his entire wardrobe. Everything he owned was monochromatic: blacks, greys, whites.
Felix crawled into the car silently, listening as Callie prattled on and on about the school, classes, teachers, students, and her friends. Overtly happy and bright. Sunshine in human form. Felix felt out of his league sitting next to her, like he needed to match the energy, but he was running on fumes. He didn’t have enough energy left in his reserve to match a sloth’s energy, much less this bubbly cheerleader who talks a mile a minute with no breaks.
He’d probably fake falling asleep during her ramble to avoid further discussion, but even so, it could’ve been worse. She was cheery and bubbly, but not cruel. She didn’t push him to respond, she just kept the conversation going, even as one-sided as it was. He wasn’t being the most social, but she was rolling with it anyway. He might not have really vibed with her that much, but it was an impressive feat to keep a conversation going that was entirely one-sided and being had with a brick wall showing no emotion.
By the time the hot pink SUV pulled into the parking lot of a low-rise apartment complex, Felix was exhausted and ready for bed . He just wanted a shower and to sleep. Food could wait. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, blinking against the harsh SoCal sun that made everything seem sharper and more vivid than he was ready for. The lot was half-full. Scattered cars ranging from beat-up sedans to gleaming sports cars and overpriced SUVs. A few palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze.
Callie hopped out of the SUV first, already bouncing on her heels as she called over her shoulder, “Here we are! Welcome to your home away from home!” Felix forced himself to move, dragging his duffel bag over his shoulder with a reluctant grunt. The weight of it was familiar but exhausting, even so, he followed quietly behind Callie as she led him up a pristine and decidedly new-looking set of concrete stairs, the chatter of distant traffic and birds mixing with the occasional slam of a car door or someone shouting something loud.
The hallway smelled faintly of air freshener and something else—something sharp, earthy, like an incense that’d burned too long. Felix’s nerves tightened, but he told himself it was just the overstimulation. Just the effects of jet lag. He’d grow familiar with it. It wouldn’t always smell this abhorrent.
Callie pushed open the door to the lobby, still talking nonstop, “So this is the lobby, obviously. There’s also a common area for each floor. You’ll probably see a lot of the other guys there. They’re all athletes, dancers, or performers. It’s a mix of secondary genders, but mostly alphas. Don’t worry though, they’re all super great!”
She led him to an elevator and took him up to the third floor, humming along to the tune playing as they rode. Felix still wasn’t sure he’d spoken to her since leaving the airport, but she was still just as bubbly as ever. As soon as the doors opened to the elevator, she was skipping forward.
“So you’ll be in apartment number 3e. Your roommate is an omega, Hye-Jin. He’s a tennis player. He’s also on-again-off-again with a football player. Devonte.” She paused again, “He’s your neighbor. He and his roommate Kei. God— Kei is so fucking hot.” She sighed dramatically. “We could be a perfect power couple—the cheerleader and her quarterback.”
She stopped in front of the apartment, 3e, and pulled out a set of keys and stuck one in the lock, turning the key.
“These keys are yours!” She chirped, pulling them out of the lock and tossing them to him. Felix’s body moved almost on autopilot, catching the keys. “The biggest key is the apartment key, the second key works for your mailbox in the mail room on the first floor. You’ll need it, because you have a separate mailbox—everyone does. There’s a laundry room in the basement. If you need help finding it, feel free to ask anytime. I live just down the hall in 3r, so we’re like super close and I can totally help you out!”
Callie swung the door open, and a wave of warm, slightly hazy air rolled out, scented with weed, sweat, and pheromones—dark honey and crushed cedar, white tea and peony… but the strongest of the pheromones was ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt. They practically assaulted his senses, making his body tingle with a kind of heat he was too tired to process, let alone fight off.
Felix stood slightly behind Callie, his eyes roaming over the smoky room with hesitation. On a wide, threadbare couch along one wall, two guys were curled together, bodies pressed tightly together, lips moving against each other slowly, softly. The darker-skinned one had strong, muscular arms wrapped possessively around the other—smaller, leaner, clearly the omega. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed, completely lost in the moment. Their quiet moans, growls, and breaths came like a rhythm, the kind of easy intimacy Felix had only glimpsed in movies or read about in books.
He was definitely not a virgin. He’d just never fucked the same person twice. He sparingly even hooked up, saving it for when he was in heat, or when he was far from home at performances, with other people who wouldn’t get attached. Wouldn’t get involved beyond a quick fuck because he didn’t have time for relationships. He didn’t have time for complicated emotions—nor the emotional bandwidth to tolerate them.
Near them, another guy sat cross-legged on the floor, a console controller in hand, eyes locked on the television with a level of focus that surprised even Felix. How he could focus at all with the scent of mating pheromones clogging up the room, Felix had no idea. As if he suddenly registered the newcomers, his eyes flicked over and met Felix’s.
A normal person probably would’ve swooned—Callie sure did—but Felix kept his expression neutral, his body tightly controlled so as not to show how affected that gaze made him. His curls were a wild, tangled mess of sun-bleached brown hair, his skin golden, sun-kissed, glowing . Dotted with tattoos tracing down his muscular arms. Well built. The way his green eyes caught the light—sharp, bright—made Felix’s stomach do an unexpected little flip.
This guy had the kind of body that Felix wasn’t used to. The kind of muscles that spoke of hours of weight-lifting, unimaginable strength, and a terrifying ease with it. Like he didn’t even know how powerful he was, or worse, didn’t care. Like he could crush someone with those arms and still smile the way he always did—lazy, golden, unbothered.
Felix hated how it made something inside of him flinch and clench in ways he hadn’t expected.
“Kei!” Callie exclaimed happily, “I’m so happy to run into you! Felix, this is Kei. That’s Devonte and Hye-Jin. They’ll eventually realize we’re here.” She said, smiling happily. Kei snorted.
“Shouldn’t count on that,” He said, smiling happily as he paused his game, eyes never leaving Felix. “They’re kind of inseparable right now. I think Hye-Jin’s going through his pre-heat. They’re both acting a little feral.” Callie giggled, laughing a little too much at something that didn’t really sound like a joke, more like a statement. An explanation.
“They’re always feral.” Callie responded happily, “It’s kind of adorable, though! Like, right?” Felix didn’t say anything, feeling a bit pinned beneath the gaze Kei had him trapped in. Kei . The quarterback that Callie had mentioned. She definitely did a horrible job of disguising her crush, not that Felix could blame her for it. Even he felt a bit rattled when confronted with those piercing green eyes. He’d never let it be seen—let alone this blatantly obvious—but he had to admit, she was right, though he wouldn’t say it in the same words.
Something about Kei was magnetic. He felt like the center of gravity, like everything in the space answered to him . Even post heat cycle, he made instincts that Felix could usually easily suppress tremor; his body and mind tore in separate directions. Instinct screamed, wanting closer . Felix, however, wanted to tuck his tail and run. Even as his instincts screamed to stay still.
Kei’s eyes still didn’t leave his. He stared deep and hard, as if he was trying to figure something out that he didn’t have a name for. Felix held his stare, keeping his face blank and emotionless even when the gaze felt warm, like sunshine on a chilly morning. He held his composure in place, warmth pooling in his abdomen.
Hye-Jin let out a lazy sigh, blinking heavily as he lifted his head to nuzzle into Devonte’s neck. Felix averted his gaze, cleverly using Hye-Jin’s interruption as an excuse, but before he turned his head, he could see the slow, hazy smile that was spread across his face. He’d still not even realized that he was there—well, either that or he was too caught up to acknowledge.
Callie didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just didn’t care, that the air in the room felt thicker. She twirled on her heel, clapping her hands once with the kind of unnecessary excitement that grated against Felix’s frayed nerves.
“Alrighty! I’ll let you get settled in. I have a team meeting in like ten, so I have to run! But if you need anything, like seriously, anything, just let me know! My number is on a card in your bedroom so you can program it into your phone.” She explained happily, tapping the side of his arm affectionately. “Like, I’m here to help you adjust, so don’t hesitate! Anything you need. Seriously!” She backed toward the door with a peppy bounce in her step. “Welcome again. You’re gonna love it here! Promise!” She vanished out the door with a wave, the apartment door closing behind her with a soft click.
And then the silence settled in. Stretched.
It was filled with the low sound of the game menu on the television, the wet sounds of kissing from the couch, and the near-silent hum of tension between Kei and Felix. Kei leaned back, stretching his legs out and tossing the controller beside him. His gaze finally shifted, a mercy Felix wasn’t about to appreciate but definitely needed in the moment. He was too overstimulated. His heat cycle had been particularly difficult, he’d not had a partner because he was trying to lay low and stay out of the tabloids. He’d had no decent sexual release in over a month, now. He was just horny . He’d be fine.
Captain Muscles was just the only available target of lust. He’d be fine. He wasn’t seriously attracted to him—just his scent. There were plenty of nice pheromones out there, though. He could find a replacement—one that didn’t have the energy of a golden retriever with just a little too much awareness.
“Ballet, huh?” Kei asked, finally breaking the silence. His voice was smooth—low, but not gruff. Relaxed in the way that people could only be when they knew exactly how much space they took up and weren’t apologizing for any of it. “Felix, right?” Felix gave a short nod.
“Da,” He said. “That’s me.” He didn’t say anything further.
“You’re rooming with Hye-Jin,” Kei continued, as if narrating to himself. “Good luck with that.” At that, Hye-Jin let out a soft whine from the couch, blindly flipping him off without looking as he nuzzled into Devonte’s scent gland. Devonte chuckled under his breath, nodding subtly at Felix in greeting before pressing his face into Hye-Jin’s throat, scenting him as if it were an afterthought—a habit . The kind of easy touch that made Felix’s jaw clench.
“Are they always like this?” Felix drawled, arms folded neatly across his chest. His voice was cool and unreadable, like glass over black ice. He stood with precision—hips square, weight evenly distributed, the picture of perfect composure. His posture screamed discipline. Control. Like he wasn’t seeing the way Devonte’s hand disappeared beneath Hye-Jin’s shirt. Like he wasn’t smelling the low thrum of heat curling in the air like cigarette smoke.
Kei, half-slouched on the floor beside the couch, tilted his head back to look up at him. His grin stretched wider. “Only when they’re on. And this is them behaving.”
That made Felix blink. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but so far, everything was a hell of a lot more intimate than he was used to. At Lavrentiev, relationships were strictly forbidden within the school. You could have one—just not with anyone else enrolled in the program. Pheromones were strictly suppressed, even if some people managed to get away with skipping doses. Nobody curled up in common areas with their partners like it was normal . Nobody walked around half-drunk on pheromones, sex, and shared air like it was the natural order of things.
But here? Here, they didn’t just allow it. They accepted it. He tried not to let the realization shake him too much, but he found it somewhat destabilizing. He knew there’d be differences here. This wasn’t a prestigious dancing academy like Lavrentiev was. It was just a university. A place where a little bit of everyone was around. Not just dancers like him.
“Jinnie,” Devonte’s voice cut through the air, low, slightly amused, but a quiet scold for something Hye-Jin must’ve done that he couldn’t see—and based on the sinister little giggle the guy let out in response, Felix didn’t want to know what it was.
Devonte didn’t move. He only adjusted slightly where he lay, draped across Hye-Jin, his face still buried in the side of his neck, one big hand sliding under the hem of Hye-Jin’s shirt to rest on the soft skin of his side, as close to his lower back as the position allowed. Lazy, sure, but Felix couldn’t help noting how deliberate the touch was. Grounded. Claiming.
The kind of touch that didn’t ask permission—just knew it was welcome.
Despite his outward stony expression, his brain was a swirling, spiralling mess of overstimulation, instinct, exhaustion, and rationality. He tried to look away. To not notice. But it was so unfamiliar to him, and the scent was clogging his brain up. Making everything feel just—just different .
He’d had a picture painted in his head of relationships, of instinct, of intimacy. That it was private . That it was scandalous . To be caught, to be seen in any form of uncouth manner, would be a smear upon his reputation. He had never had a relationship. He’d only ever allowed himself to sink into instinct when his heat hit. Even then, it was a once-and-done thing. Someone from a city far enough away that he didn’t have to worry about seeing them again. He’d kept everything quiet. Handling it with the same level of caution, precision, and scrutiny a lawyer would use when going through a life-altering contract.
This discredited not just his sensibilities, but his perception. He acted unbothered. Like he wasn’t even registering it. But something in his brain just wouldn’t let him look away. He kept his expression schooled and indifferent, though. Projecting the outward appearance of someone merely observing from a distance, rather than silently trembling just beneath the surface of his skin. To show that—that would feel like giving something away. Like weakness.
So instead, he acted. He watched. Let the image burn itself into the back of his skull: Devonte’s hand resting on Hye-Jin’s side beneath the hem of his shirt, fingers splayed like he had every right to be there, to touch him. No fanfare. No apology. Just there. Shameless. Steady. Possessive in the kind of way that didn’t force—it rested . It belonged. Like air in lungs or—like fifth position at barre.
Felix kept his arms crossed tight over his chest, exhaling slowly through his nose, willing his body to remain still, unreactive, untouched. He wasn’t reacting. Not really. Just… Just observing .
The way Hye-Jin’s lips curved into a lazy smile at whatever nonsense Devonte was murmuring. The way Devonte didn’t even have to look up to know he had Hye-Jin’s full attention. The ease of it. The unspoken safety that zinged through the exchange between them. The invisible thread that looped between their bodies like a foregone conclusion.
Felix tilted his head just slightly, as though he was adjusting his weight. His jaw ached from holding it so tightly. His nails dug cresents into the backs of his arms. It didn’t mean anything. What he was feeling. The scratch under his skin. The slow, growing pressure in his chest like something that had been wound too tightly, trying to slip free. The tension behind his eyes. Vibrating beneath his skin. The primal urge. The heat. The pheromones. Everything . It didn’t mean anything .
It didn’t mean anything.
It was just the jet lag. The horniness. The pheromones. The humidity. Primal urges, he could fight back and bury. He wasn’t secretly seething. He wasn’t secretly, quietly— silently —jealous. He wasn’t. He just… couldn’t stop seeing the way Devonte’s hands caressed Hye-Jin’s skin. How certain and sure the contact was. How anchored it made Hye-jin look. As if gravity lived under his skin and wasn’t going anywhere. Like he was sure even if he collapsed in on himself like a black hole, Devonte could pull him back.
Felix’s throat felt dry. His stance, perfectly stiff and stilted, expression blank and empty, felt like it took effort to hold. A practiced stillness. One honed from years of needing to look fine when he wasn’t. When he couldn’t afford not to be fine. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want that . Not really.
Except—Except maybe—if someone touched him like that, with the same reverence he could plainly see on Devonte’s face, he might not pull away. Not if it felt like it looked like it felt. Not if it fit the way it looked like it fit.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too deeply. Didn’t give himself away.
But something deep in the back of his mind curled in on itself. Stayed there. Quiet. Tight. Wanting. Craving . He tried not to let the thoughts take root. He tried to ignore it, like he’d ignore anything else that irritated him. But he couldn’t quite hit that point.
“I’m going to shower.” He said blankly, only announcing it because he could feel Kei’s gaze on him even when he wasn’t looking. If it’d just been Hye-Jin and Devonte, he would’ve already fled anyway. Nothing was holding him here. He didn’t need to be here. He could just go. So he did.
He moved toward the hallway, duffel bag over his shoulder and suitcases in tow behind him. As he walked past, the scent of Kei’s pheromones hit him again, fresh, closer—intoxicating. Cloying. Humid. Warm. The heady mix of Alpha pheromones hitting his central nervous system like a hammer. His steps slowed despite himself, his inner omega trembling just beneath the surface of his composure, clawing faintly against his mental shields.
His body , his instincts , wanted to lean into the scent. To breathe deep and nest down right there on the floor like a feral animal. He shoved the thought—the desire —away, his fingers tightening around the handle on his suitcase.
“You okay?” Kei’s voice came from behind him. Too close, too sudden— Felix fought back a gasp, fought back the instinctive urge he got to turn around and scent himself. He didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Didn’t trust himself not to slip if he was pinned by that gaze again.
“Jet lag.” He drawled emotionlessly before disappearing into the bedroom with his boxes stacked in it, not giving Kei a chance to respond before he slammed the door shut behind him. A physical barrier that provided little comfort or protection, but made him feel the slightest bit better, regardless.
He was exhausted. He didn’t feel like dealing with this right now. Shower. Bed. That’s all he wanted. So that’s what he was going to do. Mechanically. Blankly. He’d get laid soon, clear the desire pooling beneath his skin. He’d be fine . There had to be someone who shared his bleak and empty approach to sex somewhere on this college campus. Had to be.
[ 3 ] 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 | 𝖡𝗎𝗋𝗇
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
The refrigerator door groaned softly as it slid open, cutting through the dark living space with a burst of harsh white light that stung Kei’s eyes for a moment. He glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, half listening to the distant buzz of Santa Sierra—the faint, rhythmic pulse of the city, distant but ever present. Ever familiar.
He’d expected whoever was in the kitchen to be either Devonte or Hye-Jin, or both of them, coming in late at night for snacks. They get high, get the munchies, and then raid the kitchen like a couple of little gremlins.
But it wasn’t Devonte. Or Hye-Jin.
Felix.
There was something almost electric about the way he moved—like a tightly coiled wire barely holding back from sparking. His slender frame was deceptively fragile, like a porcelain doll teetering on the edge of a shelf, and Kei caught the subtle tension in his posture. The way his muscles flexed with a dancer’s unconscious grace, just beneath pale, smooth skin. His jaw was set, a line of stubborn defiance, and even though his jaw-length dyed platinum blonde hair hung in a disheveled curtain, shimmering faintly in the harshness of the light, it couldn’t hide the sharp angles of his face.
Then there were his eyes .
Gunmetal blue, cold as ice, hard and sharp, smoldering with something like defiance, flickering beneath a calm, cold exterior. They felt like chips of ice, even from across the room. The longer Kei stared, the less cold they seemed. There was something alive beneath the cool stillness—something quietly burning beneath the surface like a fuse waiting to be lit. A buried tension. Not explosive. Not loud. But certain .
Felix’s eyes didn’t just look through people. They cut. They held shape and weight, like they were used to being a shield. Like they’d seen enough of the world to know it couldn’t be trusted. And yet— fuck , they were beautiful. Compelling. Not in the soft, star-gazing way. Not like lakes or skies or any of the overused poetry Kei had grown up hearing from art kids and hopeless romantics.
No, his eyes were beautiful the same way obsidian was—gleaming, dark, and forged under pressure. Beautiful like something you didn’t— shouldn’t —touch with bare hands unless you want to bleed. And still, Kei wanted to.
He wanted to see what they’d do if someone did touch. If someone leaned too close and didn’t flinch away. If someone refused to look away first. Would they soften? Flicker? Spark? Would they ever melt? Could they melt if someone just applied enough pressure? Kei wanted to know. He exhaled quietly, the urge to speak—just to see if he’d answer—coiling low in his gut.
But Felix didn’t even glance at him. Not really. Not more than a cursory flicker of acknowledgment in Kei’s direction. Like he was aware he was being watched, but didn’t give a damn either way. And maybe that was worse. Maybe it was that lack of concern that pulled at him.
Maybe he was conceited. Probably. But he wasn’t used to people being indifferent to him. He never intended to, but somehow, everyone around him melted. Let their guards down. Quickly. Easily. But Felix didn’t . If anything, he only pulled his guard up higher. Kei could practically feel the ice wall Felix had erected between them. As if Kei would burn him simply by existing in the same space as him. But he knew Felix wasn’t afraid of him. Only of what he was capable of bringing out in him.
Everything about him screamed careful control, precision, and composure. Everything . But when Felix had been looking at Hye-Jin and Devonte earlier, he could practically see the repressed desire all over his face. And there’s a big difference between suppressed desires and repressed ones. Suppression is pushing it down. Filing it away to be handled later. Repression is hiding it so well, even you don’t know it’s there. At least until something happens to remind you of it.
That made Kei even more interested. Compelled. His eyes screamed emotionless, but his instincts screamed Notice me . It made it even harder to resist the pull to him. Because he knew, beneath that guarded, icy exterior, there was softness. Give. It might not come freely, and without work—but it was there. Tiny, ignored, but very much present.
And god, did he want to know what he’d look like unguarded. Unguarded, and looking at him .
And the scent. Suppressed, definitely, but a suppressant can only do so much—especially when they’re taken constantly. It almost forms an addiction-like cycle, where the longer you take them, the more of them you need to see a result. Kei would wager a bet that Felix’s suppressant dose was probably higher than the dose he had to take during a rut cycle on game day. And it still wasn’t quite enough to fully mask the scent of his pheromones. The suppressants were slipping, and the pheromones spilled out in teasing waves, rolling over Kei’s skin like a sudden flush of heat on bared flesh, raising goosebumps along his arms.
Faint, but lush, dangerous, hauntingly sensual. A startling burst of rose, cracked pepper, cinnamon, and charred vanilla. Every note wraps you in heat and tension, the kind that lingers on the back of your teeth after you’ve bitten something too sweet, too sharp. It was raw, unrefined, a stark contrast to the sickly sweet scents Kei was used to.
Felix’s presence filled the cramped kitchen, a potent, almost overwhelming force, even though he kept his distance. He reached for a water bottle with deliberate care, fingers gripping tight enough to leave ghostly impressions in the plastic. Exhaustion was written all over him—jet lag, hunger, loneliness—but beneath it, something fiercer simmered. Something restless, unyielding, like a trapped animal pacing in its cage.
Kei couldn’t help but watch. His own senses, usually muted, were on high alert.
“Hey,” Kei said softly, sliding off the couch and moving to the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Casual. Steady. Sliding just close enough to Felix to tempt the wire, to see if that beautiful, brittle thing would snap or spark if pressed. “You look like hell.” He didn’t mean it as a diss—he looked like he was still on the verge of falling out. Kei had to fight back the urge to shift closer, the instinctual urge to catch him if he were to stumble. He didn’t press closer, though. He stayed put, the counter was the closest he’d get—there was a sweet spot. Too close, and Felix might lash out. Might push him away harder . He had to slide into the picture like background noise.
Felix flinched, just slightly. A barely perceptible tremor, before Felix was turning toward him, eyes narrowing but not with hostility. Not exactly, at least. It was more like he was sizing him up. No words came. Just the faintest curl of a sneer that vanished as quickly as it appeared, a fleeting shadow on his face.
“You can’t survive off water,” Kei commented, turning toward the cabinet where Hye-Jin kept the bowls. He pulled one out and set it on the counter, reaching up above it for one of the instant miso packets. “Eat something. You’re not a rock .”
“Funny, I thought your apartment was next door.” He drawled emotionlessly, if not maybe a bit irritated. “Who are you to lecture me? Steroids are bad for your health.” Kei snorted. He’d never done a steroid in his life—he never needed to.
“So are suppressants,” Kei taunted in return, turning on the hot water and letting it run as he ran his eyes over Felix. “You like Miso? Hye-Jin’s obsessed.” He acted as if he didn’t notice the glare pinning him in place from behind as he flipped on the light over the sink, keeping it dim enough to let Felix hide in the shadows. Felix tensed.
“I can feed myself.” He snapped. Kei ignored the hostility.
“You can.” Kei amended. “But were you going to?” He knew how bare Hye-Jin left the fridge. He bought meals daily and kept snacks lying around. Something told him Felix didn’t have much interest in a half-eaten orange, and the idea of him tearing into a bag of sour patch kids for breakfast didn’t sit right with him. Felix scoffed at that, but didn’t respond.
Kei filled up a pot with a cup of water, putting it on the stove eye to boil it. Kei prepared the bowl, doing his best to ignore how Felix’s pheromones wove around him—a persistent, intoxicating current that tickled the back of his throat.
Kei had a reason for being here—he was the metaphorical active-duty guard this week. With Hye-Jin nearing preheat and Devonte close to rut, his presence was precautionary. Just in case things spiraled into something reckless. Like bonding. He figured they’d end up bonded eventually, but their emotional terrain was too unstable right now. Too many arguments. Too many almosts.
He also played courier. Hye-Jin in heat was clingy enough that even a solo bathroom trip felt like an expedition—and it wasn’t as easy as just dragging him along, either. Hye-Jin didn’t even want to leave his nest. Not for his own needs, or for Devonte’s either. He was difficult in every sense of the word—and in a few that hadn’t been invented yet. Sometimes Devonte needed backup. Sometimes it was food and drink deliveries, other times he was an underpaid body pillow for a pissed off, heat drunk omega who felt abandoned when he was left alone.
The water started boiling, and Kei turned off the eye of the stove, pouring the water into the pre-prepared bowl, the savory scent of umami and seaweed beginning to drift into the air. Felix’s gaze was sharp, his eyes piercing into Kei’s back like ice picks, but there was something almost grateful beneath it. Like he wanted comfort, but hated needing it.
Kei finished preparing the miso before handing it over, watching Felix as he took the bowl with a disinterested sort of apathy. His fingertips lightly brushed Kei’s hand as he took it. He didn’t look to respond, at least not externally, but Kei could feel the subtle spike in pheromones in response to it. But what shook him slightly was that the smallest touch sent a crackling charge through Kei’s veins—a jolt that hummed in his skin, and instinct tried to push him closer.
He pointedly ignored that, though—he couldn’t act rashly. Sure, it could’ve worked in his favor. It could’ve . But more than likely, it wouldn’t. Felix was jet-lagged, tired, vulnerable, and in a new environment. To push too hard, too soon, or too recklessly would be akin to shooting himself in the foot to save his ankle. Pointless . Felix might’ve caved to it now. He might’ve been vulnerable enough to surrender. And if he took advantage of that, there was no sense of accomplishment.
He wanted Felix to want it. To crave it. To fall because he couldn’t deny his instincts anymore. Because he couldn’t deny Kei anymore. Anyone with pheromones could prey on someone in their most vulnerable moments and succeed. Kei didn’t want that. He wanted to watch Felix melt, to play the long game and feel the heat come back into his dead eyes.
Felix began to eat in small, precise bites—controlled, but with an edge of defiance. As if he were eating merely to spite him, not just for the food, but for the proof that he could .
“You always this quiet? Or do you just not like the company?” Kei asked, his voice low, teasing. Felix’s eyes lifted, regarding him with cool indifference.
“I don’t waste breath.” He stated. There wasn’t even a hint of emotion in them, nor any remorse for how blatantly he implied speaking to him was a waste of breath. The words cut through the quiet kitchen like shattered glass—low and dangerous. Kei’s grin widened. A slow, unhurried spread that reached his eyes.
“Good,” Kei responded, “Neither do I.” He poured Felix a glass of water, setting it down in front of him carefully. Felix’s fingers touched the glass wearily, tense and electric, like static before a storm. Jet lag could make people soft. Sloppy. Felix was neither of those things. He was fire held under ice, and Kei wanted nothing more than to see that ice break. To hear the splintering crack and feel the heat of the blaze.
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
The world was painted gray when Felix slipped out of the apartment. Not just gray, but the sky was covered with clouds that blocked the sun, heavy and uninspired—it was almost enough to make him feel momentarily at peace in the familiarity. This was a frequent color of his life in Russia, during winter, when the world was blanketed white and the sky was a flat sheet of mourning silk—colorless, heavy, and endless. Unmoving and indifferent to the world buried beneath its icy tundra.
And it might’ve sounded like he didn’t like winter in Russia—but it was much the opposite actually. He loved it. He loved the bite of the air on his skin, the snow blanketing everything around, the way it dampened early morning sound and made him feel as if he were the only one left in the world. That sounded lonely, but he couldn’t think of a more enjoyable time of day than his four in the morning commutes to Lavrentiev. Before most people had woken up, when everything was blanketed not just in snow, but in silence . Solitude.
The streets still gleamed, wet from the weak, indecisive rain that had started and stopped before dawn. The air held that clean, slightly metallic scent unique to a city awakening—a quiet, expectant hush that was neither soft nor harsh. It was simply there… like him .
He hadn’t bothered telling anyone he was leaving. He’d not even exchanged words with Hye-Jin or Devonte yet, and Captain Muscles was far too irritating for him to want to interact with him. He was probably still asleep on the couch, sprawled out like a carelessly discarded painting. Hair messy against the cushions, his shirt riding up just enough to irritate him even in memory form. Whatever. He didn’t need to think about that.
He was just a pest. Another narcissistic alpha prick trying to chase him. Well, Felix Ivanov didn’t run. He wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t some prey to be acquired. He wasn’t going to lower himself to participating in whatever game of cat-and-mouse this golden retriever with biceps wanted to play with him. He didn’t bend to other people’s will. They bent to his .
He walked fast, a man on a mission only he understood. His hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, hood up, head down, a deliberate barrier against the encroaching outside world. One annoyingly complex bus transfer and a five-minute walk through vacant streets, and the sterile glow of the university’s east wing greeted him like a secret he hadn’t earned. A quiet conspirator.
The card scanner clicked green, a small, satisfying sound. He liked that—the simplicity. Red or green. In or out. No ambiguity. No heat. Just a clear, decisive answer.
The dance studio was still locked when he arrived, the heavy doors a barrier of polished wood and cold metal. He didn’t mind waiting. The hallway outside was dim and silent, smelling faintly of sweat and resin and floor polish. It was familiar, clean in the way Felix liked them—uncomplicated. The cold bit into his arms, a welcome sensation that helped keep the world sharp, unblurry, real .
When the maintenance worker, a stoic man with tired eyes, came by to unlock the doors at six, they exchanged a silent nod. Then the man was off, leaving him to his devices. So he entered the studio, feeling a little like he was coming home.
Inside, the studio was its own kind of sanctuary. It was vast and hushed, the space insulated from the rest of the world. Recently renovated, clearly—high vaulted ceilings, new, unscuffed wooden floors, one long wall dominated by modern, floor-to-ceiling windows. The soft, diffused light that spilled in was pale, tinting everything in a muted, silvery wash that echoed the thick cloud cover outside.
Opposite to the windows, full-length mirrors stretched from wall to wall, catching every glimmer of motion and throwing it back in delicate, fractured reflections. Along the mirrors ran a continuous line of barres—sturdy, new, looking smooth and perfect and untouched. The air carried a faint scent of resin, sweat, and something clean and sterile.
The silence inside was sacred. Broken only by the soft creak of the floor underfoot and the distant hum of the air conditioner kicking on. It was a space meant for discipline, but it also held an undercurrent of grace. Like a chapel—meant not for worship, instead for the body to remember itself. To remember the shapes it knew, the lines it could trace, the quiet ache of control.
Here, there were no questions. No one is looking alarmingly close. Not even another dancer to share the space with. Just mirrors, barres, and breath. Felix could lose himself in the familiarity of it. Here, in this liminal space at the break of dawn, when almost all others were still sleeping, he could exist without scrutiny.
He dropped his bag by the door, the thud a small disturbance in the quiet, and began stripping off layers. Losing his hoodie, his t-shirt, socks, shoes, pants—until he was left in nothing but his black tight-fitted tank top and fitted dance shorts. His pale limbs were bared and marked by faint, fading, but familiar bruises from the grueling practices he’d subjected himself to before coming here. No matter how good you are, falls happen. People overestimate the distance. Mistakes happen. A pirouette turned rough kick, a stumble during a jump, being dropped—each bruise told a story of growth and commitment.
He started with stretches. Slow. Methodical. Familiar.
Each joined pulled open like a gate, releasing the tension he carried. No music yet. Just breath. Just movement . His mind was still cluttered, a buzzing hive of unwanted thoughts. But his body—his body knew this rhythm. This silent language of discipline.
Eventually, he rose. First position. Then second. He began to move. Not for performance. Not for class. Not even for catharsis. Just for structure . The ritual of it. The discipline. The subtle, demanding tyranny of the form—every line sharp, every angle deliberate. There was control here. An undeniable mastery that he craved. That he needed , more than he would ever admit.
His muscles remembered, even when his head didn’t want to. Pliés, tendus, arabesques. His body folded into the shapes with an innate grace, like muscle memory wrapped in silk and stubbornness. When he finally turned on music—a low-volume piece of mournful piano music that seemed to weep through the speakers—it was less for the rhythm and more to drown out the insistent echo of his own thoughts.
But they crept in anyway. Like mold, insidious and pervasive. Kei. That walking testosterone crisis. Michelangelo’s regret. Felix could scoff, but he refused to give him that much control over his emotional landscape. The way he’d looked at him last night was annoying, too. Irritating. Too deeply and too scrutinizingly, as if he thought he were a puzzle that he had to put together. Like he was art he had to decipher to appreciate.
Felix tried not to think about that, so of course , he did. Kei’s green eyes, dark and warm and watching . Not just watching, though. That he could tolerate. Noticing . Trying to look deeper. Decipher. The kind of gaze that lingered. The kind Felix hated . Or at least told himself he hated.
He moved faster. More turns. Sharper. A bit reckless. Trying to burn it off, to outrun the images piling up in his mind.
Kei was all loose charm and lazy confidence. The kind of guy who fit anywhere he wanted to be, with anyone he wanted to be around. The kind of guy who stretched across a couch like the world belonged to him. Felix hated that. Hated how effortless he was—how he made other people look at him like they just couldn’t help it, drawn in by his easy magnetism.
Felix didn’t care. He didn’t. Kei could look all he wanted. He could try to read him. He wouldn’t succeed. Even if he did, he wouldn’t get the response he wanted from it. Felix wasn’t one of those trembling, lovesick idiots who melted under attention. He knew better than to tie his own self-worth into someone else’s narrative. People like Kei liked the chase—a serial seducer who tried to make people feel special because his attention was on them.
Felix didn’t play chase. He didn’t play the dainty prey. Not for anyone. Especially not for a Human Creatine Ad.
He hit a pirouette too hard, his focus fractured, and landed off balance. He caught himself against the barre, breath catching in his throat. Irritation was swimming in his veins. Dammit, he seethed, staring at himself in the mirror through narrowed eyes as if he could intimidate himself into cooperation. He was sweating now. Rivulets tracing paths down his temples. His breath was ragged, his tank top sticking to his back ever so slightly.
The piano music drifted on around him, a melancholic backdrop to his internal struggle. The mirrors watched him, reflecting his strained face, his tense posture. For a second, he couldn’t even see himself. He couldn’t even recognize the reflection facing him. He saw the way Kei had seen him—a dainty, pretty little omega that needed attention . Praise. Grounding. That intense, knowing look that’d rattled him.
Miso soup. Ugh , he could never eat it again now. It’d never not taste like two a.m. regret.
He looked away, breaking the illusion.
He sat down on the cool studio floor, legs stretched out, and folded forward over them, his forehead resting on his knees. Breathing. Stretching. Hiding.
The voice in his head was a whisper when he finally admitted it—not aloud, but to the dark, quiet space inside his own chest: I don’t want him to look at me like that . But even as the thought surfaced, he knew the hollow shape of the lie inside of it. Because there was a part of him that did.
After the admission, he’d gotten back up. Continued dancing as if it’d be enough to force him back into his bubble, where no one had infiltrated. He’d been there since just past six. It was edging nine now.
It was the only place in Santa Sierra that didn’t feel new yet. The only space that didn’t itch against his skin. Everything else—the apartment with Hye-Jin, the too-blue sky, the signs all in English—felt like it was a pit stop. The same level of connection he felt when staying in hotel rooms during performances. Only it was temporarily permanent. He’d be in this too-bright, too-fake world until classes ended.
But here, with the piano tracks on loop and the echo of his movement the only sound in the room, things clicked into place. Here, his body knew what to do. Here, everything else could fade to the background. Here, he could stop thinking. About what happened before he left Russia. The principal role he’d lost. Marius’s wandering hand. The human red flag with dimples.
Felix’s jaw flexed. He sank deeper into a plié, letting his breath flow evenly in and out. He hadn’t even looked at the guy last night. Not really. Not past the first few seconds. There hadn’t been a reason to. A beat of silence. He corrected his turnout, his gaze hardening in the mirror.
It didn’t matter that he’d noticed how deep and dark his green eyes were. Or the way his voice had that low, lazy drawl like it came from behind a smirk. Or how he’d looked at him, like a cipher to make sense of when he didn’t have the key. Or the tattoos that stretched across his chest and back, visible because he felt comfortable walking around shirtless. And why wouldn’t he? With a body like that, he was like a walking objectification lawsuit.
It didn’t matter.
It didn’t.
It didn’t mean anything.
Really.
It was just curiosity. That was it. Felix had been attracted to people before. This wasn’t uncharted territory. Attraction and emotion were two different things. He really just needed to get dicked down. Kei was just an attractive, presumably available Alpha he knew here. One of the only ones he knew here. It was merely physical. Anyone would be attracted to the guy, he wasn’t the only one. That didn’t mean he was willing to fuck him. To fuck him would be to go against his self imposed rules. He wasn’t willing to do that.
If he were just some idiot in a fraternity, he might. But he lived next door. And was presently sleeping on the couch in the living room of his apartment. That wasn’t just close. That was too close. It’d be too uncomfortable. Too possible for him to get the wrong idea. He just needed to meet someone else. Someone he’d never really run into—at least not daily.
The studio door creaked.
Felix didn’t turn to look at it, but his body tensed instinctively. He watched through the mirror as someone stepped inside: a tall, wiry boy with dark curls shoved under a hoodie, wide brown eyes, and the face of someone who still apologized for everything. He froze when he caught sight of him, then blinked like he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real or if it was some kind of hallucination.
“Holy shit ,” The boy said quietly, reverently, “You’re Felix Ivanov.” Felix met his gaze in the mirror, impassive.
“Da,” He responded simply.
“I didn’t think—I mean, I heard, but I didn’t think you’d actually come here. That’s insane.” The admiration rolled off the boy in waves. He stepped further inside, closing the door behind him carefully, like if he moved too fast, Felix might vanish. “I’m Matteo!” He said quickly, “I’m in the pre-professional program. I’ve watched, like, every performance of yours that’s available online. That Don Q solo you did in Paris? Unreal!” He paused for a moment. “You land like you’re made of wire and smoke.”
Felix tilted his head slightly, letting the compliment slide off of him.
“Are you here to practice?” He asked. He’d always felt awkward responding to comments like that. He knew he was good—so that made any response he could’ve given feel forced. Scripted. Fake.
“Oh. Yeah. Uh—actually, I’ve been trying to get my tour en l’air clean before the placement auditions next week, and… I keep botching the second rotation.” He explained, scratching the back of his head shyly. Felix said nothing, and Mateo bit his lip, glancing toward the open space beside him. “Would it be weird to ask for help? Could you?”
It was weird. Felix wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a mentor. He didn’t really want to be either. But he was here because if he didn’t move, he’d start spiraling. The studio was a lifeline—not a classroom. However… Dancing on its own wasn’t keeping Kei from invading his brain. So what the hell.
“Da. Do it,” Felix instructed, crossing his arms over his chest. Mateo looked surprised, then grateful. He set his bag down and jumped straight into the prep. Felix watched with a critical eye. The technique was there. Raw. But workable. Mateo over-rotated too soon, losing the tightness of his line midway, then grounded too heavily on the landing.
“You’re rushing the lift.” Felix stated, “Your push is too shallow. You’re anticipating the spin and moving into it too fast. That’s why you fall out.” Mateo nodded quickly.
“I kept feeling like something was wrong, but couldn’t tell what it was.” He admitted. “Can I do it again?”
“Da, Again. Slower. Find the vertical axis. Don’t move like someone is chasing.” Mateo smiled in response to Felix’s words. They drilled it a few more times. Felix didn’t smile. Didn’t offer anything soft. At some point, he even stopped even forcing proper grammar because he lost himself to familiarity. To the perfectly memorized choreography. But his presence alone seemed to steady Mateo. When he corrected, he was exacting—concise. Not judging, but critiquing. Firm, but not unnecessarily harsh.
And Mateo listened. Adjusted. Tried again. With each attempt, he got a little closer. It didn’t take long for Felix to start critiquing other things, too—foot placement, shoulder tension, where his gaze landed. He didn’t explain why it mattered. Just stated what was wrong and expected it to be corrected.
“Land like cat, not like furniture.”
“You fall because you think before jump.”
“Don’t move like chased.”
“You dance like floor is acid.”
After another rotation came down clumsily, Mateo exhaled sharply and rubbed his hand over his face, frustration bleeding through his expression.
“I keep messing it up.” He complained. Felix tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“Because you think too much,” He explained flatly. “Dance first. Fix after.” There was a pause. He squinted slightly, studying the line of Mateo’s neck, the tilt of his ribs, how his knees responded to the floor. “You have good body for this.” He continued, voice almost clinical. “But you use like it’s afraid to offend air.” Mateo blinked, startled by the phrasing—and maybe a little embarrassed by how hard it landed. Felix stepped to the side, giving him room again.
“Do again. No fear this time. Floor is not porcelain. Will not break if you drop.” Felix corrected. Mateo nodded. Tried again.
Felix hadn’t even realized how long they’d been at it until the studio clock ticked past two p.m. Mateo was panting, sweat dripping down his collarbones. He looked wiped out already.
“Shit.” He laughed quietly, sinking down onto the floor with a heavy sigh. “I think that’s the best I’ve landed it all week.” Felix gave a noncommittal sound.
“Hold line two counts more. Is your anchor.” Mateo nodded.
“Thanks. Seriously. You didn’t have to help.” Mateo said, lying back on the floor and tossing his arm over his face. “And you didn’t even roast me. Which I sort of expected.”
“Why?” Felix asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I dunno,” Mateo said, laughing quietly. “You’ve got this whole ‘touched-by-god, don’t-look-directly-at-him’ vibe.” Felix blinked once. That startled him more than it should’ve. Mateo laughed, clearly not noticing the pause. “As repayment, do you want a coffee? We’ve been at this for hours. I’ll buy.” Felix hummed.
“Da. Coffee.” He’d avoided going to a coffee shop on the way here because he wasn’t too skilled at reading English, and he doubted they had menus in Cyrillic just lying around. He wasn’t about to go in and make a scene by using a translator either, holding up the line—he’d just go without coffee or make it at home.
“Alright! Then let’s go.” He said cheerily. Felix nodded. He still needed to practice more. The coffee would help him finish out the day.
[ 4 ] 𝖤𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗎𝗆 | 𝖲𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
Felix found the apartment seemingly vacant. Or rather, Hye-Jin and Devonte were off somewhere within it, hidden behind a door Felix didn’t want to open. The shower was running, someone was in it—possibly Kei, but he didn’t want to think that, so he was going with a more logical assumption: Hye-Jin and Devonte. One of them. Both of them. He really didn’t care which option anymore. As long as he wasn’t faced with a shirtless, water-covered, sentient Abercrombie & Nope ad, he’d be fine.
The apartment was dim and quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner unit that kicked on like every hour, and the shower. Felix needed it—the shower—but he was content to wait for the moment, especially since he was alone. Hye-Jin and Devonte’s pheromones were clogging up the air, but there was an undercurrent of Kei’s buried within it. If he were still here, he was somewhere distant and hadn’t re-entered the living room in a while.
Felix sat down on the floor, pressing his back to the front of the loveseat, one leg bent while the other stretched out in front of him. His shirt was still damp from rehearsal, Mateo’s faint pheromones clung to it, and his brain ached from everything he didn’t want to think about.
His phone rang. Korobeiniki—an old Russian folk song, though most people would only recognize it as the Tetris theme. He dared anyone who heard it to laugh. It was funny to him, watching the realization crawl across their faces—slow, uncertain. That dawning wait… is that…? moment. And then the twist: the least likely person in the room was the one it was coming from. That was the joke. And the power.
He didn’t look at the caller ID, but he knew deep in his bones who it was. He’d been avoiding her for days. He didn’t think he’d gone this long without talking to her or seeing her since he was ten. Felix’s family was… something. His mother came from a well-off family. His dad sucked. It wasn’t even that his mother didn’t suck. She did. It just paled in comparison to his dad. He’d shown impressive talent while taking ballet, and his mother’s family offered to fund his way through dance programs, schools, and even take care of his bills and necessities.
He’d gone to private boarding schools with all of the amenities, had spending money, and the opportunity to chase his dreams. It was fantastic for him. Somewhat because dancing was the only thing he’d ever found comfort in, and somewhat because he didn’t have to hear his parents screaming at each other. He was pretty sure that was his grandparents’ intention.
Save him from the discomfort without lifting a finger—at least not for more than writing a check. It was the most affection he’d ever gotten from any of his parents. From he was eight until he was eleven, he didn’t see or hear from any of his family unless it was time to go home for the breaks. If he could stay at school, he did. When he couldn’t, his mother would reluctantly pick him up. But when he became very good at dancing and required a manager, his mother showed up out of the blue with her, Larisa Antonova. An Alpha, a mother, and a dance manager who always knew what to do.
From there, Larisa had been the only constant in his life. She managed his career, and still managed to feel like she cared more about him than about the money she received. He hadn’t told her what he was doing. He normally would’ve. But her opinion was the only opinion that’d ever truly mattered to him. If she hadn’t thought doing this was a good idea, he wouldn’t have done it. She would’ve stopped him without even trying. He hadn’t been willing to risk that.
The phone rang again. Second call in a row. He let it ring until it hung up again, anxiety flooding through him. She was mad at him. He knew she’d be mad. Not about the scandal. But about him jumping ship and running with no notice. And for ignoring her through it. She was going to be so mad. As the phone stopped ringing, Felix hung his head. Hoping she didn’t call back. Knowing he wasn’t in the best place to be talking about this right now.
When everything in Russia felt like exile, and everything here felt like too much . Like he didn’t fit at home, and he definitely didn’t fit here. He couldn’t even go home. Back to his mother.
Once again, his parents sucked. Not because they fought all the time, but because he, the person, hadn’t mattered. He’d been left alone for years, but when he became something worth investing in—when the scholarships started rolling in and the instructors whispered that he had potential —suddenly, only then, did his parents give a shit.
Because suddenly he wasn’t just Feliks Ivanov. He was Felix Ivanov , the prodigy. The boy with the perfect turnout and a face you could build a company around.
Somewhere, beneath all of that, though—he was still young. A child. Eleven. Gaining notoriety, winning international competitions. But doing it alone. A child thrown to the wolves, with a mother who only doubled back around because he became friends with the wolves. It was then that he realized. People only cared about him because of what he could offer. Pride, they had no right to feel. Money, they had no right to touch. Notoriety, they had done nothing to earn.
Because his mother had started showing up again once he successful—just enough to remind him she existed. Enough to be photographed beside him at galas she didn’t pay for, or to be quoted in interviews she hadn’t even sat through. She’d say things like ‘I’m so proud,’ even though he hadn’t called him in weeks. And his father? Gone. Conveniently. Perfectly. Permanently. He had no idea where he was. What happened. Or even why he left. Only that he was gone. Without even saying goodbye.
His mother hadn’t called once since the whole thing went down. Larisa called him within minutes. Asking what happened, fretting over him, being—being just everything he needed but didn’t want to face. To say he viewed Larisa as his mother was putting it lightly. She’d been there through everything. Ignoring her felt wrong. But he—He wasn’t ready to face her. Not now.
By the third time his phone rang, he finally looked over. Picked it up. Thumb swiping the screen, already tensing like he regretted it.
“Zaychik. Felyen’ka. Are you okay? Where the hell are you? You’ve been avoiding me for over a week!” Larisa’s voice wasn’t sharp. It was quiet. That was worse than anger. “You didn’t tell me where you were going, but boarded a plane. Left. With no indication of where you went or when you would get back. Your location dropped off of everything I had access to.”
“I’m not dead,” Felix answered, “I wasn’t kidnapped either.” Silence. Felix stared at the wall by the window, taking in the hideous curtains that didn’t even try to keep the light out.
“You think you’re funny,” She retorted, “But I actually thought that! You don’t get to vanish without telling me where you’re going, what’s happening, and if you’re safe.” Her voice cracked like old vinyl. Not loud. Just worn out. Tired.
“I’ve spent the past three days wondering if you were hurt. If you were being blackmailed. Trafficked because the tabloids wouldn’t stop calling you volatile like—” She cut off, and Felix closed his eyes. His heart ached behind his ribs like it had been trying to speak and he kept shoving it back down his throat.
“I couldn’t tell you.” He admitted quietly.
“Why not?” She asked. He didn’t answer at first. He just curled his fingers tighter around the phone.
“Because you would’ve told me not to go.”
“You don’t know that,” She answered immediately.
“Yes, I do,” Felix responded, “You would’ve made it sound rational to stay. To stay calm and hold the line. Keep quiet and let you fix it. But this wouldn’t be fixed without an apology. And I refuse to apologize.” He let out a shaky breath. “I refuse to let Marius play the victim, apologize to him, let him keep the lead role while I’m forced back into the corps until my probationary period is over.” Felix scoffed.
“Zaychik—” She started.
“I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t—” Felix broke off. There was silence again. Then a breath. Shaky. Too close to breaking.
“You think that’s what I would’ve said?” She asked, “You really think I would’ve told you to sit pretty and apologize?” Hearing it put like that did make it sound a little stupid in retrospect. But this seriously was his first big scandal. His first serious misstep since she’d been managing him for ten years. The first time he’d made trouble. His mere existence at home was trouble, and he was sent away for it.
“I don’t know.” His voice was a little hoarse, raspy. “Maybe… I just didn’t want to find out.” Because if she did want him to go, what if she didn’t want him to come back?
“You’re all I’ve had since you were eleven.” She said softly, “I know I was just supposed to be the manager. But I stayed when she didn’t. I fought for you when no one else looked at you like you were a person. I was there during your first heat. I guarded your room in that hotel like I’d been trained to do it. You think I’d pick them over you?” Felix’s throat clenched. He dropped his head back against the couch with a dull thud.
“I didn’t think,” He admitted, “I just… got the invitation. And ran.” A long breath.
“Are you safe?” She asked, her voice softer.
“Yes.” He affirmed.
“Are you alone?” He paused, his eyes darting to the wall where he could hear the shower running.
“No.” He admitted.
“Are you dancing?” Felix scoffed.
“Always.” He replied.
“Good. Because if you stopped, I’d file a missing person’s report and tell them to search every inch of the planet.” She responded. He laughed—just a huff, but it was real. Somewhat relaxed.
“That’d be pretty funny. Don’t tempt me.”
“Don’t scare me like that again!” She scolded, “If you were in front of me, I’d pop you in the back of the head.” Felix shook his head.
“You wouldn’t,” He pointed out, “If you give me brain damage, I can’t dance anymore.”
“Jesus, I said pop, not wack with a frying pan,” She responded. He could hear her shaking her head. “I mean it, though.” Her voice was firmer now, steadier. “Next time you’re spiraling, you call me. Or text me. You don’t just disappear like I’m some afterthought.” Felix nodded even though she couldn’t see him.
“I won’t. I promise.” He responded.
“Good. Now eat something. You sound thin.” She said.
“I already am thin,” He pointed out.
“Don’t make me fly out blind and start knocking on random doors like a maniac.” She threatened.
“You fucking wouldn’t.”
“Try me, Мудак.” She responded cheerily.
“Got a lot of nerve calling me an asshole,” Felix snorted. “I was nice enough to pick up the phone!”
“After fifty missed calls, almost a hundred ignored texts, and turning off every location tracker on your phone!” She cried. “That makes you an asshole! My husband didn’t ghost me this hard, and he’s buried six feet deep.” Felix outright laughed, shaking his head.
“…I missed you, too.” He murmured softly. The silence hung there for a beat, warm but tired. Then: “I’m in California.” The other end of the line goes completely still. Even the faint sound of her breathing cut off for a moment, like he’d knocked the wind out of her.
“I—I knew you left. I didn’t think you’d gone that far.” She said, her voice quiet, careful. “You left Europe.”
“Yeah.”
“You left Russia.” He let out a quiet mhm. “For California? Are you coming back?”
“I’m enrolled in Golden Hills University. Performing Arts Division. They offered me a direct entry spot. Full ride. Housing. Studio access. International competition circuit.” She exhaled slowly as he fell silent—half disbelieving, half emotional.
“Jesus, Felyen’ka…” She murmured.
“I didn’t ask, and I didn’t apply,” He continued. “They reached out after the incident. They put it in flowery, corporate words, but basically, they’re buying my fame to bolster their prestige. But I knew that going in.” She let out a huff.
“And you said yes?” She questioned.
“I said yes,” He confirms, pauses, his eyes focused on the wall like it might crack open and let some god answer him. “Because I needed to dance. And because I’m tired of being a currency everyone else gets to spend. If my body is currency, then I’ll decide where I want to use it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked again. Softer now. Less accusation and more ache.
“Because if I heard you think it was a bad idea, I would’ve stayed.” He admitted. “I would’ve second-guessed myself. And I couldn’t.” Her sigh sounded ragged. Not angry. Just deeply, deeply relieved.
“Where are you living?” she asked.
“Student housing.” He admitted. “Special apartment complex for athletes and performers. I’ve got a roommate—” He paused as the image of Hye-Jin buried beneath Devonte surfaced in his mind, the easy, blissed out expression on his face making something in Felix tense. “—He’s… He’s fine. Cheerleader dropped me off in a pink SUV. It was horrifying.” He continued, “I think I’ve already developed PTSD from the seat covers.” She let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“You’ve always hated pink,” She laughed softly, “I thought I’d lost you. For real.” Felix frowned.
“You didn’t.” He promised.
“I was so angry. Not just that you left—but that you didn’t let me help. You’re basically my son, you little shithead. Be more considerate.” Felix looked down.
“Still am,” He lowered his voice, it came out raw around the edges. “Just… on lease to the west coast.”
“Ugh. I bet they don’t even do decent barre work.” She sighed heavily.
“They think plies are pronounced ‘plee-ass’.” Felix drawled.
“You’re lying.” Felix giggled.
“Exaggerating,” He corrected.
“I’m buying a plane ticket.” She responded,
“Larisa,” Felix groaned.
“Don’t worry. I won’t show up tomorrow. I’ll wait til you’re eating like a human again and not collapsing into a void of culture shock.” She soothed.
“That’s… thoughtful.” He drawled sarcastically.
“You bet your ass it is.” She responded. They sat in silence again. Just for a moment. Not awkward. Just… quiet.
“You… still proud of me?” He dared to ask. Quieter. Vulnerable in a way he hated acknowledging.
“Feliks Ivanov,” Her voice trembled slightly, “I was proud of you before you ever won your first award. I was proud when you learned to sew your own pointe shoes. I was proud when you stood on stage, shaking like a little leaf, but still hit every count. I’ve always been proud of you. And I’m still proud now.” Felix squeezed his eyes shut.
“Okay,” He said softly. “Okay.”
“Get some food. Then sleep, Zaychik. You sound wrung out.” Felix nodded.
“Okay. Love you.” He muttered quietly.
“Love you more.” She doesn’t say goodbye. She never has. The call ends. Felix stared at the screen for a long minute, then set the phone down on the floor beside him. The quiet doesn’t seem to press in the way it used to. It doesn’t feel so empty anymore. Just… still. For the first time, he breathes. And it doesn’t ache.
Nine days.
That’s how long it took for Felix to forget how many steps it was from the front door to the loveseat. Long enough to know which of Devonte’s ingredients to avoid, which mug by the sink wouldn’t be missed, and exactly how much hot water would be left if he showered past eleven. Hye-Jin’s heat had passed. Captain Muscles was no longer walking around the apartment constantly, and the scent of his pheromones only lingered if he visited during the day, and he didn’t sleep over anymore. Thankfully.
No longer did he have to sneak out at five in the morning, carefully avoiding the human creatine ad and his abs. Generally, they didn’t cross paths. He left early, got home late. Spent every hour he could in the dance studio. Usually with Mateo, but he wasn’t really friends with him. At least he didn’t think they were friends. He couldn’t be sure.
Nine days. Long enough for it not to feel like he was stepping out of reality every time he stepped outside of the door. But not long enough for him to sleep without checking his phone.
The apartment had been quieter lately, which suited him. He moved inside of it like a shadow with a name—soft-footed, and too tired to bother hiding. His rehearsals were brutal, grueling, which he liked . Exhaustion kept his thoughts from chewing holes in the drywall.
He was on the floor again—half-curled at the base of the loveseat, hoodie sleeves pushed over his palms, a blank notebook sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He was trying to read a textbook. Key word being: trying . He could get the general idea of what it was trying to get across, but not more than that. He couldn’t help but be annoyed.
He can execute a triple pirouette on a dime. He can read choreography like a second language. Map music into muscle memory before most of his peers finish their warm-ups. But sit him down with a dense essay on modern performance theory, and it was like wading through wet cement with weights around his neck. He could speak English. Fluently. He can argue. Snap back. Cut someone in half with a single sentence. But reading it— academic English —is something else entirely. It’s slower. Heavy. Every third word feels like it’s been dressed in a costume and asked to dance a style he didn’t know.
When Hye-Jin entered the room, Felix didn’t move. Just staring at the center of the page, the words reflected at him, mocking him. Still, he kept staring as if the page might eventually explain something to him.
“You gonna die like that?” Hye-Jin asked, walking past him, nudging him with his foot lightly. “Folded up like a napkin no one wanted to use?” Felix didn’t blink. Didn’t scoff.
“Wasn’t planning death. Sure. Add to list.” Felix deadpanned. Hye-Jin giggled.
“Your drama has no range.” Hye-Jin sighed. “And I love that now that you’re comfortable, you don’t talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Even if you drop everything but the most essential parts of your statements.”
“Why waste words? You understand me.” Felix shrugged. “Is efficient.” Hye-Jin exhaled through his nose—a quiet, fond sound that didn’t ask for anything in return.
“There’s a party tonight.” Felix gave him a small frown, not lifting his eyes from the page.
“Unfortunate,” Felix drawled.
“It’s gonna be pretty big. But chill. Devonte’s going. So am I. You should come too!” Hye-Jin said, sounding half ready to throw him out the door to force the matter.
“You say ‘chill,’ but sound like threat,” Felix responded. “Mugging faster. Less talking.”
“That could still happen. It’s in a sketchy part of town.” Hye-Jin soothed. “Come on.” Felix snorted, barely. Hye-Jin sat down on the arm of the couch above him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, you don’t have to talk. Just… show up. Take up space. Give off that mysterious loner vibe in a corner. The usual.” There was a pause—just long enough to seem like he might accept.
“…Attempt social therapy?” Felix drawled.
“Would I do that?” Hye-Jin asked with a grin.
“Da,” Felix stated. Another pause. “Big crowd. Loud music. Sounds terrible.”
“But it’ll be fun,” Hye-Jin promised.
“Fun? Yeah, fun is trap wearing tuxedo,” Felix said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all day. “Noise like hammer on skull. No thanks.” Hye-Jin shrugged, a sly glint in his eyes.
“Well, when all that noise gets to be too much, you know…” He trailed off conspiratorially, “There are always other ways to unwind.” Felix barely glanced up, unimpressed. “Just saying,” Hye-Jin continued, grinning. “Might be good to let someone fuck the tension out of you. Party or no party.”
Felix snorted, but he couldn’t deny, getting fucked right now sounded good. Too good. He was getting close to the time for his preheat, and that always made him crave it more. It was that sweet spot for him—the time before his heat, before preheat had really set in, that gave him the most clarity during it. His instinct somewhat subdued, his body just slightly more sensitive.
“If I go, I leave when bored.” Felix said, pausing for a beat, “That is warning.” Hye-Jin stood, satisfied.
“Starts at eight! Wear something that doesn’t scream ‘funeral of my last nerve.’” Felix waited a moment, letting that sink in. “What?” Hye-Jin asked. Felix shrugged.
“Don’t know how to dress for party like this. All my clothes say ‘avoid people’ or ‘battle ready.’” Felix glanced at him. “No funeral clothes. Just confused.”
“Go take a shower! When you get out, meet me in your room. I’ve got this. I can style anything and make it sexy.” Hye-Jin instructed. “Kei and Devonte will be here at seven, so I have an hour to get you ready and presentable! Don’t just sit there like you’re buffering, put some pep in your step!” Felix hesitated, the mention of Kei making him contemplate backing out for a moment.
Felix’s jaw tightened, barely perceptible, but there. The mention of the walking objectification lawsuit hit like static—brief, irritating, and sharp enough to make his thoughts skip. It wasn’t anything. Just proximity. Just pheromones. A body that fucked with air pressure and a face engineered to ruin common sense. It wasn’t personal. Just unfortunate. It was chemical. Biological. That was all.
His body noticed, sure. Responded, unfortunately. But it wasn’t worth feeding. Kei lived next door. Was a constant face he saw, not just in hallways but in the apartment he shared with Hye-Jin. Constantly. Dangerously present.
Felix wasn’t stupid enough to complicate his already fragile peace with something reckless just because someone happened to be stupidly attractive in the wrong radius. He’d survive. He’d find someone else to fuck him. His preheat would pass. And the human creatine ad would stay an unsolved variable, right where he belonged.
Felix went to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and hopping in. He only had an hour, and Hye-Jin hadn’t even started on his clothes yet, so he wasn’t going to waste time. He didn’t know what to expect from this, realistically. He didn’t have anything but dance clothes, casual wear, and dress clothing—nothing for a party that wasn’t high-class. Hye-Jin might let him out of it merely based on his sparse wardrobe.
Once he’d finished his shower, he walked to his room, flushing a little as he dug through his underwear drawer, pulling out a pair of short boxer briefs and putting them on before losing the towel. It wasn’t five minutes before Hye-Jin came walking into his room, half-dressed, grinning, his eyes gleaming with mischief like he was about to crack a code only he could understand.
Hye-Jin didn’t wait for an invitation, already moving toward Felix’s dresser like he owned the place. Felix watched, half amused and half skeptical, as he rifled through it. He looked through every drawer he had, then moved to the closet.
“Ballet stuff, huh?” He mused, holding up a sleek black leotard that looked like it belonged on stage and not at a college party, probably being held in a frat house. He looked like he’d pulled out a crown jewel, though, of some underground fashion that only he could understand.
“Is not for party,” Felix pointed out. “Is for dance.” Hye-Jin’s smile widened.
“You think these are just for practice? Or performance. Whatever. No. Two words. Secret weapons!” Hye-Jin corrected. “Fits like a glove, shows off every line you’ve earned with all that spinning and jumping! We’ll keep it simple but killer.”
“Weapons?” Felix questioned, blinking. Hye-Jin nodded.
“Put it on. Trust me.” Hye-Jin said, tossing it to him.
Felix glanced at it hesitantly—something about this felt almost sacrilegious. But he pushed his underwear down anyway and stepped into the leotard, the fabric cool against his skin. He flushed just slightly as he slipped it into place, fingers instinctively adjusting his cock so it sat more comfortably.
A low whistle cut through the quiet room.
“Damn, Felix,” Hye-Jin said, arching a delicate brow, “You’ve got the kind of body that makes art jealous.” He tilted his head, eyes unapologetically sweeping over him. “Just a warning: If you ever wear that to class, half of the room is passing out. The other half is offering to hold your leg in an arabesque just for the peek.”
Felix’s fingers paused at his hip for a moment. He didn’t look up right away.
“…Is just Leotard,” he said finally, adjusting the hem like it needed it. His posture shifted slightly—not exactly hiding, but no longer angled toward the compliment either. A faint flush crept over his ears. “Is just fabric. Body is the same either way.”
“Look.” He motioned toward the mirror, prompting Felix to hesitate—but ultimately comply. Felix glanced at himself, the flush deepening slightly. The leotard hugged his body like it had been made just for him, sculpting to the lines of his frame with quiet intensity. The crushed velvet bodice shimmered subtly under the light, its sweetheart neckline dipping just enough to highlight the soft angles of his collarbones and the center of his sternum. Thin, adjustable straps framed his shoulders, leaving his arms fully bare, while the back scooped low—exposing the curve of his spine and the tension in his posture. He’d worn it for a very specific piece, one that demanded something dramatic. He rarely touched it now. Still, he kept it, tucked away like a secret—finding it in the first place had felt like luck or fate.
Felix hated to admit it, but Hye-Jin was a little right. Now that Hye-Jin had pointed it out, he could see it, though.
“Not bad. Feel like second skin. But also feel naked.” Felix admitted, checking himself in the mirror.
“That is the point! “ Hye-Jin pulled out a mesh ballet skirt and grinned widely, like a kind about to absolutely obliterate a perfectly neat drawing with color. “Layer this over—mesh keeps it light, but everything is so form-fitting it really accentuates your curves.”
Hye-Jin handed him the skirt—lightweight, sheer, and black. Felix pulled it on, the soft mesh settling over his hips and thighs. The fabric was barely there, offering a whisper of coverage that danced with his every movement. It added a layer of intrigue, transforming the leotard from performance wear to something more enigmatic. Felix turned slightly, watching the mesh flutter, feeling both exposed and empowered.
“You look like a shadow with attitude,” Hye-Jin said approvingly. “Mysterious, untouchable, like someone might get burned if they get too close.” Felix shifted, watching the fabric flutter. It looked scandalous in this context. If he were going to the studio, it’d be different, but—but this felt like using something sacred for something scandalous— enough bare skin to catch eyes. Attention. Felix stiffened.
“This is… definitely something.”
“Scandalous,” Hye-Jin said with a wink. “You’re gonna be the ghost haunting the party. The mystery nobody can touch but absolutely everyone wants.” Felix glanced down at his clothes, then back up. Unsure. Uncertain. But Hye-Jin wasn’t done yet. “Put these on!” He instructed, grabbing a pair of black boots, making Felix frown but once again comply.
Felix slipped them on, heels clicking against the floor. The boots gave him a bit of height—a bit of edge he wasn’t used to, but weirdly liked. Hye-Jin hummed.
“Feels like it’s missing something.” Hye-Jin said.
“Meshie,” Felix muttered, going to his underwear drawer and pulling it out—an ultra crop meshie, just enough to cover the skin of his shoulders and arms—providing at least a small barrier.
“That’s perfect. Also: Necklace! Collar. You need one. Things happen. Mistakes—so just wear this so nothing happens.” Hye-Jin instructed, “Sharp and spikey. Dangerous—just like you.” He said, fastening it into place. “Now. Look. Take in my masterpiece.” Hye-Jin said, turning him to face the mirror.
The leotard hugged his body like it always had—like it remembered him. Sculpting to the lines of his frame with the same quiet intensity it had when he first wore it onstage. The crushed velvet caught the light like dusk on water, the sweetheart neckline dipping just enough to frame the vulnerable architecture of collarbones and sternum. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t even recent. It was a secret he’d kept folded into the back of a drawer. A memory in fabric.
And now… with the meshie bolero perched like smoke on his arms, the sheer skirt dancing with the lightest shift of his hips, and the collar sharp against his throat—He didn’t look just like a dancer. He looked like something summoned.
“…Look like expensive prostitute.” Felix drawled, running his eyes over himself. “But classy. Maybe rich client. Art dealer or something.” Hye-Jin snorted.
“I’ve got makeup too. Can totally give you that vibe if it’s what you’re after.” Hye-Jin teased. Felix scoffed. “Eyeliner would make your already icy blue eyes brighter. And mascara would take your unfairly long eyelashes and make them even more full and voluminous.”
“Nyet. No.” Felix said, running his eyes over his reflection. “…Already look like I charge by hour and judge your bookshelf.” He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable.
“Jinnie!” Devonte’s voice rang out through the living room. “We’re here. You ready?”
“We’re ready! Well—ish!” Hye-Jin called. Felix let Hye-Jin pull him into the living room, the boots on his feet thudding against the floor, skirt whispering with each step. He didn’t look around right away. He didn’t need to. The air shifted the moment he entered, the way it always did when attention landed heavy and fast—when eyes got greedy but mouths stayed quiet. He didn’t hear anything from Kei—not that he wanted to. Devonte whistled, low and impressed, his eyebrows climbing high like they were trying to leave his face entirely.
“Shiiit, Felix,” Devonte drawled, grinning. “You look like you just stepped off the runway and straight into someone’s very confused dreams.” He gave a slow, exaggerated once-over, then gestured vaguely. “You two are too powerful together. This is fashion terrorism. Jinnie, put on a shirt at least.”
“I’m not dressed yet,” Hye-Jin said sweetly, “I was focused on capturing Felix’s dark-ballerina-aesthetic and making it sexy. Besides—I only commit fashion terrorism when you’re there to post bail. I like attention, not reaction.” He shrugged, giggling as he tossed his arm around Felix’s shoulders. “Too bad I don’t have any of these—I can imagine the chaos we could cause if both of us were dressed like this.” He sighed wistfully, scanning Devonte playfully, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.
“Remind me why I date you when I could be partying and living it up with Lixie? No commitment, just short, choppy utterances and the knowledge there’ll definitely be fresh coffee in the kitchen when I get up for class.” He teased, making Devonte snort.
“And more hot water for late-night shower,” Felix hummed.
“See, the pros to this are piling, tey! What is your counter?” Devonte laughed, shaking his head, giving him a slow, knowing look—like he was debating whether to bite his tongue, or something else.
“You’re gonna make me believe you want a reaction,” Devonte said, stepping closer and tugging Hye-Jin toward him. “If you leave me, you’d have to make a whole new nest… Half of my clothes are in it. My blankets. I’ve had to get a new jersey twice because you stole the first two. You even stole my ugly Christmas sweater.” He drawled. “And don’t think I won’t lock you in my room just to stop the fashion crimes. My friends already want a piece of you.” Hye-Jin grinned up at him, unbothered.
“Oooh, kinky. Tempting. Will it get me out of washing dishes? If so, just do it already, pussy!” Hye-Jin teased in response. Devonte smirked.
“Nah, no dishes. You’ll be too busy.” Devonte murmured, his eyes roaming over Hye-Jin hungrily.
“Busy doing what?” Hye-Jin asked, raising a brow as if he didn’t know what Devonte was getting at—but even Felix got the message pretty clear.
“Taking my cock. Now, shut that cute little mouth of yours before I give it something better to do than irritate me.” Devonte said, firmly—but there was warmth behind it. The kind that settled in his voice when he wasn’t pretending not to adore him. He gave Felix a sidelong look, dry. “This is what I deal with, man. Daily.” Felix blinked.
“Condolences,” Felix drawled blankly. Hye-Jin just giggled, shrugging his shoulders.
“Anyway, I told you I was able to style anything—you look fantastic. There won’t be a person at the party who doesn’t want you, or wants to be you.” Hye-Jin said, happily. Felix rolled his eyes. He moved like it didn’t matter—like the way the leotard clung to him, the way the sheer mesh skirt slid like smoke around his hips and upper thighs, the way the bolero wrapped around his arms like it had nowhere else to belong—was all just fabric. Just physics. Just a coincidence.
But he felt it. The silence.
Kei’s silence.
It was sharp. A pause, the kind of still that wasn’t absence of movement but something caught. Breath arrested in his chest. Time snagged on an edge. Felix didn’t look directly at him—no, that’d be too much direct attention. He wasn’t looking for his opinion. He didn’t care. He let his eyes skim over everyone, casually, because he was just looking. Not caring .
And there Kei was. Big, golden quarterback-king crouching by the sound system, frozen mid-motion like someone had hit pause on him. His eyes were on Felix. Intense, staring. Like he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee . Like Felix had walked in wearing a lit fuse—and now the entire room was slowly counting down.
His gaze had weight to it. Heat . Kei’s jaw was tight, lips parted just barely. His eyes lifted from Felix’s boots to his thighs, traced the gauzy fall of the skirt, then dragged upwards, past his hips, over the crush of velvet, the clean line of Felix’s meshie covered arms, his sternum, then paused— paused —at the leather, spiked collar around his throat. When his gaze finally landed on his face, Felix had already averted his eyes.
But there was no ignoring it.
There was heat there. Arousal in the way his throat moved—like he was trying to swallow it down. But something else too. Possessiveness. Jealousy. The specific kind of tension that only came from watching something you wanted, and knowing it was being seen by other people, too.
Felix just looked away like he hadn’t noticed it. But he had.
“Kei, are you even on the planet, dude?” Devonte asked, breaking through Felix’s thoughts. Kei blinked, then blinked again, like it took effort to come back. His head turned toward Devonte, but not all the way—just enough to register the question. A muscle jumped in his jaw like he was physically restraining himself.
“Yeah,” He said, voice low. Rough. Like it had been drug through gravel and heat. “Just—figuring out the best route to take to the party.” Devonte snorted.
“Yeah, okay. Sure, man.” Devonte said, rolling his eyes.
“Doesn’t Felix look good enough to eat, Kei?” Hye-Jin—the goddamn menace—cooed. Kei didn’t fully look at him. Not really. Just a flicker of a glance—tight, too quick—and then away, as if the sight of him burned. Like if he looked too long, too hard, his control would snap.
“Not exactly the words I’d use.” He muttered, voice low. Uneven. “But yeah. He looks… insane.” Felix didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch.
“… Looks like high-end escort,” Felix muttered, “Charges hourly, but comes with complimentary wine pairing, and literary analysis.” Devonte cracked up, and Hye-Jin gave an approving hum.
“That is exactly the vibe!” Hye-Jin noted. “Okay, I’m getting dressed. Really, this time. So give me five minutes.” Kei didn’t say anything else. Felix just tilted his head slightly, watching Kei pointedly not watch him. But only for a second. Not long enough to give anything away. Just long enough that it could be interpreted as curiosity.
Devonte filled the silence with conversation, mostly with Kei, who seemed to have taken a vow of silence and offered little more than hums, nods, and head shakes. After a couple of minutes, Kei’s gaze returned. Heavier. Hotter. Felix tried not to notice. Tried not to feel the heat of the gaze and the stare on his skin. Tried not to acknowledge the way it made his instincts prickle and desire flood him. It would be fine. He’d find someone at the party to—to quote Hye-Jin—fuck the tension out of him. Lay this attraction bullshit to rest once and for all.
When Hye-Jin returned, he announced that they could go—and Kei still didn’t say anything. He stood, slowly, like his legs were suddenly too heavy. Like his body was reacting to something his brain hadn’t signed off on yet. Felix didn’t watch him. He didn’t have to. He could feel the shift in gravity when Kei passed behind him instead of in front. Felt the electric, silent burn of being watched too closely—like Kei’s stare had hands.
He kept his expression bored. Controlled. Like, none of it registered. But it did. So he slowed his steps just enough to let Kei pass him. But he didn’t. He hovered . Just behind him. Even when they filed out of the apartment, he noticed the quiet, barely there thing—Kei not going first. Striding ahead. He walked just behind him. Close enough to be a shadow. Close enough to see who else might be looking. Close enough that Felix could scent his pheromones—ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt.
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his instincts tremble. But he was still not acknowledging it. He didn’t look back. He didn’t have to. He could feel Kei’s eyes on his back. The way they burned, the way they caressed. It was a mix of unsettling and arousing—the dichotomy embodied the whole of his feelings toward Kei.
[ 5 ] 𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾 | 𝖤𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
The party hit Felix like a wall of cheap beer, stale sweat, and bass heavy enough to vibrate the front porch of the frat house the party was being thrown at. He paused just inside the doorway of the cramped, dimly lit house, his senses momentarily overwhelmed. Bodies pulsed in every direction, packed tightly in the living room that bled into an equally crowded kitchen. Amidst the chaos of the entryway, strobe lights were cutting through a haze of smoke—cigarettes and weed definitely, but also maybe a smoke machine. The light caught on glitter, on spilled drinks, and the sheen of sweat on flushed faces.
The music wasn’t music —it was a physical assault. A relentless thud that bypassed the ears and went straight to vibrating his bones. The whole place reeked of pheromones, weed, cigarettes, and sweat. It was total sensory overload, and he’d not even entirely crossed the threshold yet. Kei stepped closer, leaning in closer to him.
“You good?” He asked, his voice vibrating through Felix’s body as if it were louder than the music. It wasn’t. Felix couldn’t help noticing the way the pheromones leaked off of him—warm and rich and painfully arousing. Felix almost tensed, but managed to catch it, shooting Kei a look he hoped looked more irritated than he was feeling in the moment.
“Da. Fine.” Felix said coolly. Hye-Jin immediately squealed, grabbing Devonte’s hand and pulling him into the mass of bodies with a happy shout: Shots!!! They vanished into the crowd almost instantly, leaving Felix alone with Kei. Kei’s gaze was hot and heavy, sweeping over Felix again, a silent assessment that felt far more intimate than the press of strangers.
“Do you want company?” Kei offered. Felix shook his head. He had a short window of time when he could have sex without his instincts pressing in on him, and he wanted to take advantage before his preheat hit. He wasn’t here for the socialization—only to get fucked.
No one with good sense would approach him with Captain Muscles standing at his side like a steroid-fueled bodyguard. Especially not with him flooding the air with pheromones that practically screamed back off to competition. Felix didn’t want the real-life equivalent of a thirst trap in his vicinity. Besides, Kei attracted attention. Being seen with him was just asking for drama, and Felix wanted no part in it. He could imagine he had endless Callie’s lusting after him. And not all of them could possibly be literal rays of sunshine like her.
Kei’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking like he might protest for a moment before raising his hands in mock surrender. Then, with a curt nod, Felix didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to interpret, Kei shouldered his way toward the kitchen—presumably to find drinks or teammates.
Felix was alone.
He took a slow breath, the air thick and humid. He moved further into the crowd, navigating through the press of bodies with the instinctive grace of a dancer avoiding collision on a crowded stage. His outfit, so striking and deliberate in the quiet of the apartment, suddenly left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Like he’d just walked into a jungle wearing a beacon.
He felt the stares immediately in the wake of Kei’s absence as if just having the Abercrombie & Nope advertisement standing next to him was enough to dissuade wandering gazes. Whispers followed him, punctuated by low whistles and appreciative murmurs. Eyes tracked him—lingering on the curve of his thigh through the sheer mesh skirt, the defined lines of his torso in the velvet leotard, the collar around his throat. He could feel the gazes crawling over his skin, devouring whatever of him that could be seen, and it made him feel a bit off-center.
He’d never considered his outfits for dancing to be—to be this effective. He’d never noticed that he could gain this much attention just by exposing his skin. It wasn’t that he hadn’t recognized how attractive he was; it was more like he’d never recognized that other people noticed him when he wasn’t dancing.
A guy with a backwards hat and a predatory grin stepped directly into his path, making him stop short to keep from colliding.
“Whoa, baby—what are you wearing?” He slurred, leaning in too close, the smell of cheap tequila potent in the air around him. Felix scrunched up his nose in distaste. “And how do I get to see under it?” Felix didn’t even acknowledge the words, immediately pivoting on the ball of his booted foot, his movements smooth and economical, slipping past the guy like smoke. He didn’t look back or engage, he merely went and found a sliver of space that was unoccupied.
Near a bookshelf overflowing with textbooks and (hopefully) empty pizza boxes, Felix leaned back against the wall and took a moment to breathe. Relax. Refocus. He considered briefly taking off the collar, knowing it was a blinking neon light that said ‘looking to fuck’ in a house full of pheromone-fueled frat boys, jocks—hell, just alphas in general… but the pros outweighed the cons, unfortunately. It was marginally quieter beside the bookshelf, and it offered a pretty good vantage point.
He could see Hye-Jin, perched in Devonte’s lap on a sagging couch, feeding him a shot while giggling. Devonte had his arm wrapped possessively tight around his waist. And near the kitchen’s entrance leading into a dining room was Kei—standing with a group of guys who looked like they could bench press small cars. They were laughing. Shoving each other. But Kei wasn’t watching them. Wasn’t even speaking.
His eyes were scanning the crowd, locking onto Felix. Each time their gazes met, even just briefly, through the crowded, chaotic room, the heat in Kei’s eyes was unmistakable. Possessive. Hungry. It sent a conflicting jolt through Felix—irritation warring with the low, persistent hum of arousal.
Find someone else, he reminded himself. Anyone else. Get it done.
He pushed off the wall, deciding to get a drink first. Maybe for liquid courage, maybe just something to hold. Navigating to the kitchen was a gauntlet. Bodies pressed against his. Hands brushed his hips, his arms, his ass—mostly accidental, but he had his suspicions about one or two. A girl stumbled into him, her drink sloshing dangerously close to the almost a hundred dollar velvet leotard. “Sorry!!” She yelled over the thump of the music, her eyes widening as she took him in. “Oh my god, you look amazing!”
He offered a tight, non-committal hum and kept moving. The kitchen was a humid, sticky nightmare. A keg dominated one corner, surrounded by a shouting group of frat boys. Bottles of liquor and sticky mixers littered every surface. Felix cautiously snagged a lukewarm can of something vaguely citrus-flavored from a counter, popping the tab on it. He took a long gulp of it.
Chemicals and desperation , he thought, humming quietly. Not awful. But not good either.
He felt the presence before he saw the face. A tall guy with floppy brown hair and an easy smile practically materialized beside him, leaning against the counter he was standing at.
“Hey,” He said, his voice surprisingly clear despite the noise level. “You look… incredibly out of place. In the best possible way.” His eyes were warm and brown, and they held genuine appreciation, not just blatant lust. Felix hummed, raising an eyebrow and taking another sip of his drink.
“Inventive compliment,” Felix mused. The guy grinned.
“Definitely. Names Liam. I’m a theater major. Which,” He gestured vaguely toward Felix’s outfit, “Might explain why I appreciate the commitment to the aesthetic. Let me guess—figure skater? Or Ballerina?” Felix nodded.
“Da. Dancer. Ballerina,” Felix explained.
“Should’ve guessed,” Liam teased lightheartedly, “Your posture made me think figure skater, but I suppose that it’d also be helpful in ballet.” He took a sip of his own drink. “First college party? I haven’t seen you around.” Felix nodded.
“Da,” Felix responded. He didn’t feel like explaining the circumstances, so he just didn’t.
“They’re… an acquired taste.” Liam laughed. “Like cheap beer and existential dread. What brings you here?” He asked, his eyes darting down to the collar for a moment, before meeting his eyes again.
“Roommate,” Felix said. “I told him getting mugged was easier. He said I might get mugged on the way—and nothing’s more tempting than someone stealing my identity.” Liam laughed, shifting just a little closer. The scent of his pheromones hit Felix—light, airy, with the clean edge of bergamot and something faintly sweet underneath. Not overpowering. More like fresh linen kissed by afternoon sun, with just a breath of warm amber rising through it. The kind of scent that made you feel like you were being listened to, even if you hadn’t said a word.
“Identity theft is what does it for ya, huh?” He teased lightly. “I try not to break any laws, but I might consider it if you’re involved.” Felix met his gaze, smiling a little. Liam was attractive. Open. Easy to talk to—and definitely seemed to be familiar enough with flirting that it could indicate he slept around. Exactly the kind of uncomplicated hookup he wanted. His pheromones didn’t hit as hard as Kei’s, felt softer, muted, like background noise—but they were pleasant. The thought of Kei made him overtly aware that from somewhere across the room, he was watching. It triggered a constant, low-voltage current beneath his skin, far more potent than the pheromones leaking off of Liam.
Felix’s mouth curved into something a little sharper. Not quite a smirk—something lazier, more self-assured. He tilted his head just enough for the low light to catch on the spiked collar at his throat.
“Good news for you, then,” Felix said, his tone dropping just slightly. “I don’t want you to steal anything.” His eyes flickered down, then back up to meet Liam’s with that same cool steadiness—something knowingly indulgent glimmering behind them. “I just need you to follow instructions and not get attached.” The current was still there, tight and pulsing, like Kei’s stare had heat embedded in it. But Felix didn’t look. Didn’t need to. He was doing this for himself. He didn’t owe Kei anything.
Liam blinked once, then let out a low, breathy laugh—equal parts amusement and arousal.
“Shit, fiesty.” He said, dropping his voice into something huskier, more focused. “Okay. Instructions. Got it.” He leaned in just a little, meeting Felix’s gaze with a spark of heat that made the air between them feel charged. “I’m good at taking direction…” Liam added, “Especially when it comes from someone who looks like they walked out of an art house film and decided to walk all over me.” He winked playfully. “Just say the word, ballerina.” His smile was softer now, edged with hunger. Felix shivered slightly, the spike in his pheromones from arousal enough to make him feel them a little more.
Just enough for him to push the thought of Kei away—kind of.
It was an opening. Simple. Direct. Felix could take it. Step out with Liam and let things progress. Fulfill the plan. He looked at Liam, then his gaze flickered against his will toward the dining room. Kei—Kei wasn’t standing there anymore. He glanced back over at Liam, his heart skipping slightly as he caught sight of Kei leaning against the counter behind Liam, arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was locked on Felix and Liam.
The intensity was palpable, a silent challenge radiating across the floor. That gaze wasn’t only possessive now, it was territorial. A low growl vibrated in the air, though Felix doubted anyone else heard it over the music. It resonated deeply within his bones. Felix must’ve made a face, because Liam made one, and then his eyes followed the path that Felix’s traced, his easy smile faltering slightly as he registered Kei’s imposing figure and the sheer weight of his glare.
“ Oh . Uh. Friend of yours?“ Liam asked, his voice losing its earlier confidence.
“Less of a friend. More of a brooding golden retriever that wants to double as a bodyguard.” Felix drawled immediately. He shot Kei a look, born of irritation and annoyance. He took a slow sip of his drink, and the cheap citrus flavor suddenly became sharp on his tongue. The noise from the party, the press of bodies, the flickering lights—it all seemed to recede for a moment, narrowing down to the silent standoff. Liam shifted uncomfortably beside him as Kei’s glare hardened. Liam’s mouth tightened halfway between a grimace and a smile.
“Okay, wow—that is a look he’s giving me.” He stepped back a little, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were trying to shake off the pressure. “Listen, I’m all for a little fun… but I’m not trying to make any enemies—especially not…” He trailed off, his eyes shooting over to Kei. “Especially not with someone who looks like he bench presses trucks for fun.” His gaze shifted from Kei back to Felix. “Catch me some other time. When the guard dog isn’t making me feel like I’m about to become the villain in his origin story.”
Kei remained a statue of simmering tension against the counter, but amusement flickered in the depths of his eyes. The heat in his green eyes was undeniable, a promise and a threat tangled together. The primal part of him, the part Felix didn’t want to indulge tonight, responded to it like a struck gong. The rational part of him screamed complication. He glanced over at Liam, nodding, his jaw clenching slightly.
He looked distinctly like he wanted to be anywhere else at the moment. Felix couldn’t blame him, either. Kei’s glare was strong enough to have even his hair standing on end. This is why he’d ditched him when coming in—he knew he’d pose as a foil to getting laid because of the sheer intensity of his aura.
Gone was the golden retriever, replaced by an apex predator dead set on him . It irritated him, made him feel unnecessarily heated, and made the velvet and mesh feel less like armor and more like a target he couldn’t shed. Instinct screamed—the uncomplicated option suddenly feeling inadequate in comparison, pointless.
“Good instincts,” Kei said blankly, more observation than a true compliment. The words were smooth as silk, but beneath them was steel: a warning, dressing up as civility . He tilted his head slightly, not even sparing a glance in Liam’s direction. His eyes fixed on Flix, but his commentary was unmistakably meant for the other alpha in the equation. “You strike me as the kind of guy who knows when he’s standing somewhere he doesn’t belong.” He paused for a beat, “That’ll keep you alive.”
He didn’t raise his voice or make an outward threat. Just quiet, absolute certainty—like he wasn’t issuing a challenge, but rather, was speaking natural law. His expression didn’t change. That was the most unnerving part. The steadiness of it. The certainty. Like Kei had already won, and Liam was just being allowed to walk away. Even Felix could feel it: The line in the sand, the sheer force of will behind it.
Kei didn’t have to bare his teeth. He was the bite.
Liam flinched, stepping back and passing Felix an apologetic glance before retreating. Felix sighed heavily, meeting Kei’s gaze with clinical detachment, even as his body buzzed with arousal. Kei’s gaze was burning with an intensity that felt like a physical touch—possessive, demanding, and simmering with low, dangerous territoriality.
“Felix,” Kei’s voice was a low rumble, cutting through the thumping bass. It wasn’t a greeting, not really. It felt more like a verbal claim. Felix watched Liam flee, a muscle ticking in his jaw. That sliver of uncomplicated escape, the potential relief from the tension coiling tighter and tighter with him, had just been snatched away. By him . Felix turned his full attention back to Kei, his blue eyes going glacial.
The heat of Kei’s gaze, the possessive dominance radiating off of him, sent a treacherous, unwanted thrill down Felix’s spine, a direct response to the raw power on display. But it was drowned out by a surge of pure, incandescent irritation. Kei leaned in slightly, the scent of ozone, spruce, amber, and salt enveloping Felix, more potent than any cheap beer or sweat.
“Having fun?” Kei questioned—a challenge, laced with sarcasm and an underlying demand for an answer. Felix didn’t blink. He met Kei’s burning intensity with a flat, unimpressed look of his own.
“Was,” He stated, his voice clipped and cold. “Before rude interruption.” He deliberately let his gaze sweep over Kei, a slow, assessing look that lingered on the alpha’s clenched jaw, the tight line of his shoulders under his shirt, the barely contained aggression vibrating through his frame. It was a look devoid of the heat Kei clearly wanted to see. A look of cool appraisal. Of judgment.
“Problem?” Kei growled, the word vibrating with tension as he shifted, blocking Felix’s view of the rest of the room.
“Do you have a problem?” Felix retorted, holding his ground, the spiked collar around his throat feeling suddenly like armor. The sheer audacity of Kei to stride over and scare off the first person Felix had considered was infuriating. It was an assertion of control Felix outright refused to grant him—even if he was basically walking goddamn temptation.
“Yeah. I do have a problem.” Kei said icily, “You know what you’re doing.” Felix scoffed, a dismissal as potent as a slap to the face. His eyes held a new, dangerous glint. A spark of pure, stubborn defiance.
“Want to play guard dog? Cock-blocker? Fine.” Felix said, stepping closer, his voice low and even. His eyes narrowed, sharp with quiet warning. “Play stupid games,” he drawled, the corner of his mouth twitching like the ghost of a smile, “Win stupid prizes.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t back up. Just let the silence hang—cut-glass and deliberate.
Felix pushed off the counter, his movements fluid and deliberate despite the tight space. He didn’t try to push past Kei; not only was he physically outclassed, it’d be an acknowledgment. Instead, he turned his back on him completely, presenting the elegant lines of the velvet leotard, the curve of his spine visible above the low back, the sheer skirt flowing against his thighs.
It was a calculated insult—a demonstration of utter disregard. He scanned the pulsing crowd again, his gaze sharpening, discarding the drunk, loud, and oblivious party-goers. He was looking now. Searching. Not for the same thing as before—ease of dynamic, physical relief, or even someone comfortable with no strings attached. He was hunting out of pure spite.
At this point, anyone with a halfway decent face and pheromone profile would do. Kei’s interference hadn’t doused the fire of his desire; it’d poured gasoline on it—mixed it with pure, stubborn spite. The determination solidified within his bones, cold and hard and unwavering.
If Kei thought he could dictate who Felix spoke to, who he fucked , he was sorely mistaken. Felix would find someone else tonight. Someone attractive, willing, and conveniently not the walking pheromone machine breathing fire down his neck—and he’d make sure Kei knew it. The party noise crashed back into his ears, but Felix stood, poised and controlled, a dark, elegant storm recalibrating its target.
The hunt was on, fueled by a fierce, personal challenge. Felix moved through the thrumming mass with the precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel, his icy gaze dissecting the crowd. Noting the people who looked at him, who didn’t, and taking inventory. His focus was absolute, searching for a new, suitable candidate—his silent vow hanging heavy in the smoky air. It was clinical, now. Detached.
His eyes landed on someone—a guy with silvery hair, standing at a beer pong table situated near the DJ booth. He practically screamed Alpha. Attractive face, sharp cheekbones, confident smirk, muscles literally everywhere. He didn’t think about the fact that he still wasn’t as built as Kei. He refused to acknowledge the human incense stick even existed. Potential. This guy had potential. Everything about him screamed non-committal frat boy with energy to burn and pheromones to match.
Target acquired .
Felix approached, the mesh skirt whispering against his thighs with every move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His presence, the stark elegance of his outfit against the grimy party backdrop, collar, and pheromones he purposefully let slip out was an invitation enough. He positioned himself nearby, leaning against a support beam, letting the pulsing lights catch the crushed velvet of his leotard. And he waited. Watched the game of beer pong as if he cared about the outcome. He didn’t. He was just staying close enough to catch his attention.
As expected, the guy noticed. His head turned slightly, from one side to the other, nostrils flaring as he tried to narrow down the source of the pheromones he was smelling. It wasn’t enough to heighten anything—just enough to show willingness. Interest. And when his eyes landed on Felix, they scanned over him with exactly the level of objectification he was seeking right now. Scanning his bare legs, his thighs, hips, and waist, slowly trailing along his body until he reached the collar. There was a spark in his eyes, definite interest.
“I’m out, guys,” The guy said, waving his hand dismissively as he turned and walked toward Felix, his gaze narrowing in on him like he was the one doing the hunting—not the other way around. Felix leaned into it, played along. He could play a role better than anyone else, and this was nothing short of stubborn vindictiveness fueling him.
He stopped in front of him, raking his eyes over him with desire burning in his eyes. He was everything Felix was hoping for, realistically. There was not a single ounce of restraint anywhere on his broad frame. He seemed like the kind of guy who never heard the word no, because he’d never even had to ask. He wasn’t like Kei—he didn’t function as gravity, his face wasn’t stupidly asymmetrical, and he wasn’t the kind of hot that Kei was, where it was hard not to stare… but he was hot.
“Damn baby, didn’t think angels wore collars,” The guy said, his voice loud enough to carry over the bass but low enough to feel like he was playing intimate. “You trying to kill someone tonight?” Felix’s lips twitched, a slight smile pulling up the corners of his lips—playing the shy, docile omega.
“Do you always lead with your outside voice, or am I just lucky?” He teased lightly, tilting his head slightly to feign embarrassment—but it was strategic. Bringing attention to the collar and the source of his pheromones all at once, practically dangling himself in front of him like bait. The guy laughed—boisterous and unapologetic, the reckless kind of laughter that took up space.
“Lucky,” The guy said, grinning like he’d just won something. He leaned in closer, crowding Felix’s space like it was his by default, voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial. “And if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I’m going to be the lucky one.”
The scent of his pheromones strengthened slightly. A spike in arousal. Cedar smoke and cracked pepper, layered over sun-warmed leather and the faintest trace of burnt sugar. The kind of scent that is a reckless promise —one-night-only danger in cologne form. It doesn’t pull like Kei’s gravity—it pushes , dares him to bite first.
Felix played coy, giggled lightly, glanced up at him through his lashes. Almost daring him to push. Inviting it. He let the giggle trail off into a soft, breathy sound—something just shy of demure. He shifted his weight, letting one of his knees brush against the guy’s thigh… accidental , if one were naive, but Felix wasn’t .
This was a carefully choreographed dance, one he didn’t need hours of practice to master—only spite and irritation and stubbornness. His fingers toyed with the hem of his mesh skirt, subtly bringing attention to his thighs.
“Start thinking,” Felix said smoothly, his voice dipping low, sultry-soft but not quite sweet . His eyes gleamed, half-lidded, but watching carefully. Assessing every twitch of interest on the guy’s face like it was a script he’d already memorized. “Though I’ve found thinking gets in the way of doing .” There was heat now, real and dangerous, simmering under Felix’s tone. Not just flirtation, intent . But his smile was still gentle, coaxing. The perfect omega fantasy, served with faux submission and wrapped in velvet and spikes.
The guy didn’t wait for permission—just let his eyes roam again, openly, shamelessly, his hand bracing the beam beside Felix’s head like he needed something to hold to keep from touching him outright.
“Shit,” The guy muttered, voice roughened now, husky with want, his eyes dragging over Felix like he was sizing him up. Not delicately, hungrily . “You say that like you’re offering something I’d be stupid to turn down.” His grin sharpened, all boyish arrogance dipped in testosterone and leaking pheromones like a furnace leaks heat. His hand flexed against the beam above Felix’s head, but he didn’t touch. Yet . It was the kind of restraint that screamed temporary.
“I am ,” Felix responded sweetly, fighting back the cringe that tried to surface from how fake it sounded to his own ears. He sounded like Hye-Jin to himself, the sweet way he talks when he’s trying to appeal to Devonte’s instincts—sugary, honeyed, all submissive and quietly cloying. Rhett’s pheromones were unfurling more deliberately now, heat laced with electricity—alpha arrogance turned physical. Like he wanted to mark Felix with his scent alone, and smother out the other scents clinging to him.
“You wear that outfit like you want someone to ruin it.” He said, voice dropping low, almost into a growl. “You’re basically gift-wrapped, and saying shit like that—gonna get me to act up.” He tilted his head slightly, leaning just close enough that Felix could feel the heat of his breath brush the curve of his cheek. A calculated invasion. “Tell me to back off now, sweetheart,” He murmured, all mock politeness and dark promise, “Otherwise, I’m gonna assume you want me exactly where I am.” His eyes locked onto Felix’s with that unmistakable challenge— do it. Say yes. Let me ruin you. The game had shifted, but only because Felix allowed it to. The guy thought he was winning.
He didn’t know how lucky he was. Felix wasn’t someone who’d typically go for someone so— ostentatious . He preferred class, a gentle approach, subtlety, negotiation, charm— Liam . Kei had pushed him here by running off the option he preferred. He’d been so stupidly entitled. They’d barely even spoken. Barely. He had no right to try to keep him from having sex. Who the hell did he think he was? Felix was so irritated that he could screech.
Kei storming around like he owned him—chasing off hookups like it was his goddamn right. And his body? Of course, it responded. Because it was stupid. Weak. Not because he liked it. Not because some twisted part of him felt safe when Kei looked at him like that. Not because Kei chasing off competition without even lifting a finger was hot . No. It was just adrenaline. Just instinct. Just… Just biology.
“If I were going to do that,” Felix said with a teasing smirk, “I would’ve done it already.” The guy’s smirk widened, his hand reaching up to cup his side, warm fingers splaying against the velvet, and Felix shivered—a real reaction to the touch. His scent spiked, this time in response to the touch, and not intentionally. He wasn’t thrilled that things were progressing this far in such a public space, but it was relieving that his body was reacting this way. His thumb moved in a slow arc against the dip of Felix’s back, deliberate enough to make it clear he felt the scent spike, and liked it.
The guy’s grin widened—slower this time, more like a predator who’d caught its prey. His hands stayed right where they were. One braced against the support beam just above Felix’s head, the other broad and warm on Felix’s lower back. The press of his palm was steady, suggestive without rushing . He was boxing him in like he belonged there.
“Names Rhett,” He said, his voice low and edged with amusement. His breath brushed Felix’s cheek, hot and close, his pheromones seeping out more aggressively— arousal , Felix noted, his heart speeding up with excitement. “Figured I should introduce myself before I get you alone on my mattress.” This wasn’t what he’d wanted, exactly, but if the end result was the same… or better , then Felix had no problem with the change in preference in this instance.
Felix let the silence stretch for a moment, let the weight of Rhett’s words hang between them like heat. He kept his eyes half-lidded, lips parted just enough to look a little dazed—just enough to play the part. And it was only halfway performative now, there was real arousal beginning to bleed through him. Slow and steady, nothing like the sharp spike Kei incited, but this was better. More controlled. His body didn’t feel three steps ahead of his mind with Rhett like it did with Kei.
“Felix,” He drawled, low and smooth, like a secret worth keeping. “Make sure you remember it when I’m gasping yours.” His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, smooth, soft, inviting. He let the words land, watching the flicker of arousal in Rhett’s expression—the flash of something darker. Hungrier. Perfect. His grin shifted, slow and razor-edged, like he’d just been presented with a challenge he fully intended to take on.
“How could I?” Rhett said, his voice dropping slightly, roughening—gravel dipped in honey. His hand flexed slightly where it rested on Felix’s back, pulling him the tiniest bit closer, as if the space between them was driving him insane. “It’s the name of the pretty little omega who’s gonna be begging me not to stop.” His gaze dragged over Felix’s face, brazen and unbothered, as if he was already imagining it—like he’d already figured out how this ends.
For a moment, Felix couldn’t help the pulse of discomfort that hit him. He wasn’t scared. This guy talked a big game, but he could tell he was more talk than action. He was aroused. He wasn’t even all that off-put by his personality. It was what he’d expected, and there was something comfortable about that. He didn’t have to think about what he needed to do to make Rhett happy. He didn’t have to think about whether or not he was looking deeper into his words and actions. He just knew. Rhett wasn’t.
He was actually more pleased about his personality than he’d thought. He was clearly clever—at least clever enough to have a sharp tongue. He was strong, his scent was appealing, he was attractive, and his touch felt good. He wouldn’t even be thinking about this if— fuck , the human creatine ad. Why was he so stuck on this?! They’d barely talked!
Felix didn’t back down. He shifted forward just enough that their hips nearly brushed, letting the press of Rhett’s palm anchor him. His pulse was a drumbeat now, pheromones warming and unmistakably receptive, curling through the air was the kind of need that didn’t beg. It promised. And yet, his mind was still lagging behind and caught up in Kei’s bullshit. He was playing a role, sure —but it was familiar. A role with purpose. He wanted to get fucked tonight. Hard enough to forget literally everything else… him included. Him especially. If he had to lower himself to get some frat boys’ attention, he’d do it to serve his purpose. It wasn’t like either of them had stakes in this, and while he’d intended to do this when his instincts were lighter, he wasn’t against indulging them.
The confrontation with Kei made his instincts vibrate. The stupid, traitorous reaction complicated his plan but didn’t dissuade him. He wanted something to erase the tension, even if it returned soon after.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Felix let his lashes lower as he let his voice slip into something silkier, sweeter. He shifted closer again, letting his body brush against Rhett’s—an intentional glide, soft and electric. His fingers found the edge of Rhett’s waistband, lingering there, playful and bold. “Maybe I like giving people reasons not to stop.” He tilted his head, exposing more of his throat, his collar catching the light again.
A breath snagged in Felix’s chest. Not because of Rhett, though Rhett was still close, his warm, steady hand comfortable at the curve of his back. It was because the air shifted . Dense. Sharp. Electric. He didn’t have to spot him or scent him to know— Kei . He’d found him. His body reacted before his brain caught up. A jolt of adrenaline, a jolt of desire, crawled up his spine like a cold hand. He hated it. Hated that he liked it more than Rhett’s touch on his body. Hated that it made the faux submission to Rhett feel rudimentary.
He hated that somewhere, in the back of his mind, the deepest, darkest part of it—he’d wanted him to find him. That he’d been anticipating this moment more than the promise of an orgasm. That he’d wanted Kei in any capacity. And yet, he had . He’d been anticipating Kei storming over like some testosterone-fueled behemoth and ending it swiftly, with all of the audacity of an immovable object. The entitlement of someone who’d never had to ask because he already knew whatever he wanted was his. It was infuriating, it was attractive, it was the most annoying thing Felix had ever personally witnessed, and yet every instinct in his body screamed when he looked at him.
“Step away,” Kei said, calm and clear. Not loudly—but he might as well have screamed it. The room responded. The space around them was tensed, the kind of calm and cool that comes just before the storm hits. Rhett didn’t budge. His hand remained on Felix’s back, thumb idly stroking through the velvet, slower now. Taunting .
“You talking to me?” Rhett asked, without looking. Then, he turned slightly, slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His gaze dragged over Kei, lazy and assessing. “Funny, don’t see a leash or bite mark.” Kei didn’t blink.
“He came with me,” Kei stated, his tone leaving no room for arguments or questions. Rhett’s smirk twisted, teeth flashing.
“Yeah?” He looked over at Felix, his face close enough that he could feel his breath on his cheek. “Funny. Kinda seems like he wants to leave with me instead.” Felix didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. To a point, Rhett had a point; he did want to leave with him. It would be just that simple—easy, emotionless sex. No strings, no complicated next-door-neighbor awkwardness, no commitment. Once and done. No further temptation encountered. A transaction that ends when he leaves, and doesn’t impact anything deeper than adding a notch to his theoretical bedpost.
Kei took a step forward. A clean, silent threat. Still, Felix couldn’t speak. Couldn’t . His throat was tight with adrenaline and something worse. Anticipation . His body felt like it was buzzing from the pheromones clogging his nose—a combination of Kei’s and Rhett’s. Kei’s pheromones overwhelmed his senses on their own, and adding Rhett’s into the equation just intensified the reaction tenfold.
“You need to move your hand.” He said calmly. Dangerously . Rhett met his stare. Didn’t move.
“You always this territorial, or just when you’ve lost ground?” Rhett questioned. Felix felt the pulse of Kei’s pheromones like a blow to the chest—pressure and gravity, dominant and furious. Claiming . He didn’t touch Felix. He didn’t touch Rhett. But it didn’t matter. The force of him—his intent —slammed into both of them. Felix shuddered, his head swimming as Rhett’s pheromones hit his system, too.
Kei’s eyes didn’t leave Rhett’s. His body remained unnervingly still, a predator locked in place. Not for a lack of power, but because every muscle was strung tight with control.
“I don’t lose ground.” He said, every syllable a quiet snarl wrapped in silk. “I give space.” His voice was low, like a quiet thunder beneath the bass, cutting clean through the heat and scent clinging in the air. His gaze slid, just barely, toward Felix—not softening, but shifting . Possessive in a way that didn’t ask permission, didn’t need to. “And I take it back when I decide it’s mine again.” It wasn’t said to Rhett. Not really. It was for him. Felix . “So, unless you’re ready to find out what happens when someone touches something that doesn’t belong to them— walk away .” His voice was colder now. Focused on Rhett.
Felix’s heart thudded hard against his ribs, his legs trembling slightly. This wasn’t part of the performance. This—This pressure, this collision of pheromones and heat and alpha stubbornness was real. He could feel Kei’s restraint like a storm held behind glass, and Rhett’s bold, easy confidence pushing forward without hesitation. The crowd around them felt miles away. The music dulled to a heartbeat.
Neither was backing down, and it sent a sharp spike of anxiety shooting through Felix. Rhett—He leaned in, just enough to make the threat implicit. His shoulders relaxed, grin still carved across his face, body coiled with the challenge being presented in front of him.
“You talk like you’re in control,” He said casually, his eyes narrowing, “But I don’t see a claim mark anywhere on him. And everyone knows what a collar means. Doesn’t seem to me like he’s yours to take back.” Felix was tensed, his breath caught somewhere between dread and arousal—the pheromones . The air was thick with them, Rhett’s, dangerous and reckless, Kei’s heavy and seething. Drowning his senses and making his body feel like a sparked fuse.
This wasn’t even about him anymore. Not entirely. This was alpha shit—pride, dominance, and the primal need to win . He could feel it crawling along his skin. Kei’s smile—if it could even be called that—was the most terrifying expression Felix had ever seen him make.
“If you’re that desperate to find out what’s mine,” He said, his voice dipping low and lethal, “We can take this outside.”
“Okay, whoa—” Devonte’s voice cut in like a blade of reason through the curtain of heat, pheromones, and overwhelming pressure. He stepped between them with practiced ease, one hand on Kei’s chest, and the other held out in Rhett’s direction like a referee at a prize fight. “Easy there, cavemen. If you wanna throw dicks around, go arm wrestle in the backyard. You’re hurting him.” He nodded toward Felix.
Rhett’s smirk twitched as his eyes slid to Devonte, amusement curling at the edge of his lips. Kei didn’t even pretend to acknowledge him—his gaze remained flat, unreadable, a thin mask over something far more dangerous. Neither moved. Neither backed down.
“Reign it in and look at what you’re both doing to him .” Devonte snapped, his hand reaching over to smack Kei in the back of his head. Kei blinked for a second, and then as if on cue, both of their gazes turned to him. It felt like a physical blow.
Their attention, their pheromones—colliding in his lungs, in his bloodstream. Rhett’s was sharp and smoky, untempered desire and challenge. Kei’s was pressure, dark heat, and dominance so potent it felt like gravity had shifted around him. Felix’s breath hitched, shallow and fast, his knees nearly giving out on him. He wasn’t just scent drunk—he was drowning. His throat felt tight, raw with unspoken words he couldn’t think to release. His skin was too hot, the collar too tight.
He was shaking now, barely, but enough. His vision swam at the edges, his body caught in the crossfire of something that felt too intense to be survivable, though nothing was physically hurting him. His body sagged back against the beam, his hand clenching it for balance, fingertips whitening as he gripped it desperately.
His posture shifted almost imperceptibly—his nostrils flaring. Rhett’s brows knitted together slightly, the first crack in that cocky detachment. But it was Devonte who moved.
“Hey—” Devonte’s voice was cut again, sharper this time, tone no longer even pretending to be light. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but it needs to stop . Now. He’s not a rope in your pissing contest. He’s an omega—and he looks like he’s about to pass the fuck out.” Devonte stepped in further, his gaze sharp enough to keep both Kei and Rhett in place. Devonte didn’t crowd him. “Let’s go. Jinnie’s worried.” He said smoothly, shooting Kei a look that was full of disbelief. Devonte led him out from between them, his arm half stretched out behind him like he was going to physically catch Felix if he needed to.
Kei didn’t take his eyes off Felix. Neither did Rhett.
[ 6 ] 𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 | 𝖥𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
The night air had teeth ; it bit at his skin, but still did nothing to calm him down.
The temperature had dropped, but Felix barely felt it through the haze of lingering pheromones and anger. His skin was still prickling—residual frustration, humiliation, and arousal—he couldn’t even separate them anymore. It was all bleeding together. His boots hit the pavement with deliberate force, sharp and staccato. He’d told Hye-Jin he just wanted to be alone. He’d wanted to go home, fuck himself with a dildo, and pointedly not think about—about someone . He who looks like he’d fit perfectly on the cover of Weightlifting! Weekly .
Hye-Jin, the saint that he was, had finally let him go with a soft press of a scented wrist against his spine and a whispered, Don’t let him follow you if you don’t want to be followed . Felix had accepted, and Devonte walked him out to the street. Of course, Captain Muscles had to follow them.
Felix had ignored him. While he was still irritated that he’d interrupted his attempts at hooking up, he could concede that it’d been justified but stupid of him to provoke Kei that way. Kei was being an asshole. Too possessive, too territorial, especially when he didn’t have the right to even feel that way about him. But he clearly had. Felix had pushed all the right buttons to trigger his instincts. And he’d known he was triggering them. He’d known he was poking the metaphorical bear. As much as he hated to admit it, both of them had gotten carried away.
That didn’t change anything; Kei was still annoying. More muscle than brain. A golden retriever with a bite. He was still beyond pissed. But—almost resigned. Throughout both encounters, one thing became clear to him: other scents didn’t hit as hard. Not Liam’s scent. Not Rhett’s. Before, he would’ve been dripping slick if a guy that smelled that good was standing that close to him. Touching him. Because he was attractive. He had a good body. His scent was arousing. His touch felt good . His personality was a little more than Felix preferred , but he was a smooth enough talker that Felix could overlook that. Easily.
He just couldn’t stop thinking about Kei . His annoyingly nice face, his scent, his body—the way everything in him screamed strength . Felix hated it. He hated it. He did . But… by the the Kei stepped in, he’d been anticipating it. Silently. Stupidly. Fuck, he knew he was being stupid . This draw he felt to Kei was so irritating. Every inch of his body reacted, ached to be touched, to be—to be fucking—goddamn it.
And of course, Kei followed him from the party. His footsteps echoed behind him. Steady. Close. Predictable. Not getting too close, not crowding him. He left enough space between them that if Felix weren’t all too aware of who it was that was following him, he’d be irked.
“Are you stalking me now?” Felix snapped without turning around. “You following me all the way into my bedroom or just to my front door?” Kei let out a low hum—just loud enough to be smug.
“Depends,” Kei admitted. “Are you inviting me in?” Felix rolled his eyes.
“Are you always this smug after cockblocking someone?” Felix drawled sarcastically.
“You call it cockblocking,” Kei responded, “I call it stopping you from doing something stupid . Anyone with half a fucking braincell could see he was out of his depth. And that you were settling.” Felix scoffed.
“Oh, right ,” Felix responded. “I forgot you’re the expert on what I want.” Kei didn’t even blink.
“I never said that,” Kei stated. “I pointed out that you, an intelligent, hardworking, stubborn ass primadonna was about to sleep with some frat bro who couldn’t handle you if he had a roadmap and step by step instructions.”
“Oh, look at you,” Felix said, his voice light and vicious. “You put together a whole sentence and flattered me in the same breath. I wasn’t aware golden retrievers could multitask.” He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes sharp enough to cut. “I wasn’t looking for a fucking challenge. I was looking for an orgasm.”
“If it’s just about getting off, I’ve got hands, a mouth, and a dick. Besides, let’s be honest—I’ve got better stamina than that frat boy ever could.” Kei’s smile was sin wrapped in charm.
“Oh?” Felix drawled, venom sweet in his voice. “And what exactly would you do with all that stamina, big guy?” He tried to laugh, but it came out breathless. “You offering a demonstration, or are you just hoping I’ll take your word for it?” He still didn’t turn around, but he slowed his steps. Kei slowed too, keeping the distance between them carefully. Preventing his pheromones from hitting him—smart, but Felix kind of wished he was drowning in them presently. That’d make what he was considering in the moment Kei’s fault, instead of something he wanted.
“You want an orgasm?” Kei asked, his voice velvet over steel. “I’ll give you one. Two. Twenty. However many it takes to make you say my name like a prayer and forget every hookup you’ve ever had.” He let that settle before adding, “You think you want someone soft, but what you really want is someone who can take every sharp, bratty edge you throw at them and make you melt.” Kei’s voice dropped slightly, rougher now, sending a spark of arousal shooting straight through Felix. “I won’t just handle you. I’ll hold you down, fuck the fight out of you, and make you feel how much you’ve been silently craving it.”
“You think I’m craving you?” Felix laughed, bitter and breathy. A little shaky because as much as he wanted Kei to be wrong… he wasn’t . Even annoyed to the point of near insanity, his body still wanted Kei. Every word out of his mouth only appealed to his instincts more. “God, you alpha douchebags really do think the world orbits your cocks.” He slowed again—almost daring Kei to close the distance. To push. “Newsflash: I’ve gotten off just fine without you.”
“Fine being the key word,” Kei responded, his voice cool, steady. Not showing a reaction, if he had one, to Felix’s taunt. “Fine is the equivalent of mediocre in this context. You say you got off fine , but I don’t want it to be just fine . Fine is forgettable white noise, lost in the background. You deserve more than that.” His voice was dipping into something quieter, darker—like a secret wrapped in heat and promise . It had heat blooming in Felix’s lower abdomen, a fire burning hotter than the heat in the Sahara.
“You’re going to miss the turn,” Kei told him, as if he hadn’t just implied— fuck , Felix wanted to punch him. He was too composed, too calm, too seemingly unaffected. Kei moved closer, not enough for his pheromones to hit him, but closing enough ground between them that it was clear they were together. Slowly, like a predator giving its prey time to run—even when they both knew it wouldn’t.
“I don’t want to just make you cum, Felix,” Kei continued as they turned down the street Kei had indicated, as if he wasn’t playing provacatuer and GPS at the same time. “I want to make you fall apart. I want to hold you through every shake, cry, and curse you try to bite back. I want to feel your nails clawing into me because your body can’t take it, but your mind can’t let it go, either.”
Felix’s thoughts were a fucking mess. The worst part wasn’t that Kei was talking like a walking wet dream—slow and certain, like he’d already read the script before Felix ever even got to see it. The worst part wasn’t even the raw, molten desire that curled in his gut every time Kei opened that goddamn mouth of his. No, the worst part was that he liked it. Liked the low heat in Kei’s voice, liked the idea of nails and teeth and tears and begging and being ruined until his own name felt like static in the background.
Liked it so much he almost missed the goddamn turn.
The worst part was, the pheromone rush from earlier had already ended. Hye-Jin wouldn’t let him leave until it had passed. He wasn’t being affected by pheromones or heat or outside forces. His instincts really wanted this. Wanted Kei . The fucking smug bastard. And he knew it, too. His distance wasn’t just to keep him from being influenced by pheromones again. It was to prove his point. To show Felix his reaction wasn’t merely pheromone-based.
“You’re real fucking proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Felix asked, his voice lower, threaded with the desire he couldn’t fully shake. “All that poetic bullshit— white noise and you deserve more ,” He mocked, but it came out breathy, not as biting as he wanted it to. He kept his eyes firmly planted forward, not wanting to turn to face Kei. To admit that he was fucking lost and horny and couldn’t remember what direction to turn and had a hard time reading English so the streetsigns were basically useless to him. “You rehearse that in the mirror, or does poetic seduction just come naturally when you’re trying to talk your way into someone’s bed?”
“It’d be easy if that’s all I wanted—just getting into your bed isn’t enough,” Kei admitted, not sounding apologetic in any way. “I’m not here to be easy. I want to make you ache, I want to make even pain feel good. I want your nails digging into me while you shoot verbal bullets at me until you can’t figure out how to use your tongue anymore.” Kei paused for a moment. “You say you don’t want a challenge. But you do. You don’t want to play submissive. You want to be submissive. But only on your terms and only with someone who earns it… who deserves your submission.”
“And what, that’s supposed to be you?” Felix asked, stumbling over the words, voice rough and raspy. “Fuck… you’re just—just impossible.” Kei hummed his acknowledgment.
He hated that Kei could be like this—smooth, in control, saying the filthiest things with the kind of soft, reverent tone that made Felix’s body buzz. It made him feel wanted . Not just desired. Wanted . Like he was something sacred, not a conquest, not a tool, not currency. Like Kei wasn’t just planning to fuck him, he planned to follow through. Worship him while taking him apart down to the barest parts of himself.
And god, he wanted it. He fucking wanted it.
Even if his pride screamed at him to punch Kei, to shove him into the nearest tree and tell him to fuck off, every inch of his body was buzzing with desire. He was leaning toward the Abercrombie & Nope ad like a plant bending toward the sun. He was so fucking pissed about it. Pissed that Kei knew how to speak to his instincts in a language he wasn’t able to tune out. Pissed that every step Kei took behind him without closing the distance made his body ache with anticipation.
He could practically see it, feel it. His body bowed under Kei’s weight, thighs trembling, face pressed into the mattress as his voice broke on something halfway between a scream and a sob. Not delicate. Not gentle. All that strength he held back, unleashed as Kei fucked him like a storm breaking lose. Hands gripping so hard, bruises formed beneath them, mouth on his scent gland, leaving behind marks that wouldn’t fade for days. Fucked open and held there , gasping for air while Kei growled filth into his ear. Telling him how tight he was, how good he was, how fucking perfect he looked ruined and wrecked, how sweet he was when his smart mouth was reduced to slurred curses and shattered moans.
And Felix would fight it—God, at least he’d try. He’d scratch and snarl and bite out something mean through clenched teeth, and Kei would just pin him harder , fuck him deeper , drag the pleasure out of him like it was a punishment . Every thrust wrecking him a little more, and Kei wouldn’t stop until Felix stopped pretending he didn’t love it.
Until he broke down begging. Not for mercy, but for more . More pain and pleasure until the ache in his body, in his throat, in the stretch of his hole was all he wanted . Until every bruise felt like a brand, every word out of Kei’s mouth made him clench, and his own name was gone—replaced by Kei’s, like it’d been carved into his being.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
He was so, so, so fucked.
“Yeah, that’s supposed to be me .” He said, his voice soft but vicious, his smile turning sharp, feral in the dim light of the streetlights. He didn’t reach for him, he didn’t step forward. He didn’t have to. His voice dragged over Felix’s nerves like a threat, a promise , one that made him want to the very marrow of his bones. “Because you don’t have to water yourself down so I can keep up with you,” Kei stated, as if it were a simple fact he was certain about. “I’ll see what you need even when you’re too proud to say it.”
“Right here,” Kei said smoothly, motioning for Felix to turn. “The complex is just down this road.” Felix nodded, glancing around. He vaguely recognized it, but it looked slightly different in the pitch blackness of night when no lights were shining and all of the houses were blanketed in darkness, versus the early morning hours when the sun was rising.
“I’m the one who’ll pin you down and make you feel it—every sensation, every second, every touch, until your bratty little mouth forgets how to work.” Kei leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something darker, addictive . “You think I’m impossible—but I’m just the first person who hasn’t flinched when you bit . I bite back, Felix. And even as much as you struggle to deny it, you and I both know you love it.”
Felix’s breath stuttered, his chest rising like he was trying desperately to gulp down something thicker than the air that surrounded him. His hands clenched at his side as if the pain from his nails digging into his palms would be enough to stab through the arousal—but they were useless. It was useless. And that pissed him off even more. Damn this stupid—fucking—he didn’t even have the ability to come up with an insult that felt strong enough.
It was painfully obvious Felix had underestimated him. Not to say that was a bad thing—Felix hadn’t pictured him being anything more than muscle and alpha. Using his secondary gender to get away with being subpar in other ways. Kind of begging to hear something along the lines of ’ yeah, he’s hot—so what? One time, he asked me if avocados were vegan. He said, “Wait… but like… aren’t they, technically, eggs?”’ But he wasn’t stupid. Well, he was— stupidly observant!
How’d he even figure any of this out? After Hye-Jin’s three-day heat, Kei had left. He’d only been around him for five days . FIVE!! Felix could cover up any emotion he had easily. He was nothing if not performative. He could hide his emotions from a robber trying to steal his wallet—he’d punched Marius in the face so hard he broke his nose while slicking into his dance shorts. No one had ever managed to see past the performance. No one. He couldn’t rationalize it to himself.
“Fuck you,” Felix hissed, but it cracked halfway through. It wasn’t defiance or victory. It was the sound of someone cornered by something they couldn’t fight off—something they weren’t sure they even wanted to fight off. “You—You don’t get to talk like you know me. You don’t get to look at me like that—Like I’m already yours. Like you think you own me.” He took a step forward deliberately, but then took another step back—like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to run or if he wanted to close the distance between them and drag Kei down with him. “You don’t get to make me feel this way.” Even as he said it, his body betrayed him.
His weight tilted toward Kei like he was caught in Kei’s gravity, redrawing his center around him. His mouth parted, caught between yelling and saying something better left unsaid—something needy, feral, helplessly, hopelessly his. Kei’s eyes darkened, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—half challenge, half promise. And Kei was calm, but his eyes were edged with something fierce, magnetic .
“I’m not making you feel anything. I’m pointedly avoiding getting close to you to keep my pheromones from influencing you.” Kei pointed out. Casually. Calmly. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m holding the mirror up for you so you can see what you won’t acknowledge.” Felix growled quietly, shakily, his back tensing slightly. He won’t acknowledge it for a reason. He wasn’t acknowledging it for a reason. He knew what happened when he wasn’t what everyone else wanted him to be.
He’d been performing his whole life. Since he was a kid, he’d learned to act like his parents’ fights weren’t because of him—like they didn’t shake him, didn’t leave bruises on his sense of safety. He went to school with a smile, played normal while everything inside him splintered. When they sent him off to boarding school, he learned to pretend that being forgotten didn’t ache. That coming home to a house filled with silence and blame didn’t cut deep.
The only time anyone had ever cared about him—really looked at him—was when he was pretending to be someone else. So he’d gotten good at it.
Polished the performance until it was seamless—until the mask stopped feeling like something he wore and started feeling like skin. He became whatever people wanted in a moment. Professionally, he was sweet. Silent. Talented. Provacative. Brilliant. Obedient. Romantically, he was whatever his partner wanted him to be. Whether it was sweet and docile and easy, or playfully dominant—the only things that never changed were that he was wearing a mask, and that he wanted no strings . Fully non-committal. He played every part so well, people forgot that there was something beneath it.
Maybe, in a way, he’d forgotten too. Because if he ever stopped—if he slipped, and showed the real him—he wasn’t sure what would be left . He wasn’t even sure who he was without the roles put in place. Without the attention, the admiration, the control. It was easier to live in other people’s expectations than sit alone in the silence of his own. Easier to be what they expected than to risk being forgotten. He could take being loved for a lie. Being appreciated for what he could offer. Being cared about for things that he pretended to be. All of that was easy. It hurt less than being ignored for the truth.
“I’m not trying to own you,” Kei said, low and rough, like the words were dragged from somewhere deep. “Ownership? That’s too easy. That’s a leash, and I don’t want you leashed. I don’t want you forced to come to me.” He explained, his voice dipping, dangerous . “I want you crawling back on your own. I want you to choose me when it burns. When it’s too much. I want nothing else to be enough . I don’t want to own you, Felix.” His gaze was heated, intense on Felix’s back. “ I want to ruin you for anybody else .“
Felix froze. The words hit something low in his gut—something hot, blistering, shamefully aroused. He hated how easily they sank into him, how they lodged beneath his ribs like a secret he’d been keeping from himself. His hands curled tighter, trembling, like his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or fall .
“God, you’re such a fucking bastard,” He said, but it came out breathless. Wrecked. Like he couldn’t even summon the venom he meant to lace it with. He turned halfway, just enough to glance at Kei over his shoulder—eyes wide, pupils blown, expression caught between fury and something rawer. Needier. Feral.
“And you’re stubborn as all hell,” Kei countered easily. “I’d expect nothing less—watch your step,” Kei said, making Felix’s head turn quickly, narrowly avoiding tripping over the curb as he tried to walk up toward the apartment complex. “We’re here.” He stated, as if Felix needed the announcement to know that. It was a loaded statement. One that came with questions.
Are you going to run from me? Felix wanted to. Kei was a threat to every wall he’d ever built around himself.
Are you going to slam the door and pretend this never happened? He should . The walls were in place for a reason, and he wanted it to stay that way.
Are you going to make me leave when we both know you don’t want to? He should want to! He should. Fuck, fucking hell. Where did this guy get off saying something so nonchalant when he knew it was a loaded fucking statement.
What are you going to do? Let me in, or push me away. Felix wanted to scream. He didn’t know. He was so horny. Every word out of Kei’s stupid fucking mouth had hit something inside of him that made him feel about feral. He wanted—fuck, he actually wanted Kei. He wanted to see if he was serious. He knew he was. But he wanted to know for sure. Know what it’d feel like for those hands to touch him.
Felix stood on the curb like it might bite him if he moved. His breath shuddered out of him, shallow and sharp, and he refused to turn around this time.
“You’re such a fucking prick,” Felix said, quieter now. Like maybe if he said it softly, it wouldn’t sound so much like a confession. The words stayed stuck in his throat after that. His fists stayed clenched at his sides like maybe if he dug his nails in deep enough, he’d ground himself. Stop the way his body was already answering Kei like it belonged to him. Like it had been waiting for this. Like it wanted this. Wanted Kei . He hated it. He hated how bad he wanted Kei to touch him. To keep going, push his limits until he broke down and begged for it.
“I know,” Kei acknowledged. Felix laughed, a shaky, broken thing. Half-hollow.
“You think I’ll crawl? Coming running? That I’ll let you—” He cut himself off before ruin me could leave his lips, as if speaking the words aloud would make it real. Realer than it already was. He turned sharply, eyes flashing. “Fucking—Fucking fine. Come up. You think you’ve got the balls to make me beg—prove it. Fucking prove it, you goddamn shithead.”
A challenge. A dare. A white flag he pretended was a weapon.
“I’d be delighted,” Kei responded, running his eyes over him with a primal look, his posture shifting as he stepped forward, closing the distance and invading his space like it belonged to him, his hand coming up to rest on Felix’s lower back, a mirror to how Rhett had touched him earlier. Only this time, it burned. Not painfully. The kind of burn that made his breath catch. The kind that made his body ache with emptiness.
Finally, Kei’s pheromones hit his senses, dousing him in them, ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt. He couldn’t help shivering a little, his body acutely aware of them now that Kei was closer than close—now that they were sharing air. For a moment, he forgot they hadn’t even entered the complex yet.
“You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me tonight,” Kei murmured, his voice molten, scraping low against Felix’s ear. His hand slid a little lower, fingers splaying across the small of his back—not groping, just claiming space. Like his touch belonged there, and he had every right to burn his fingerprints into his skin. “You wore this damned outfit,” He continued, pulling back just enough to rake his eyes over him. Slowly. Shamelessly.
His gaze dragged from the velvet stretch of the leotard, to the soft sway of the sheer mesh skirt, the tease of skin visible beneath it—not that it actually covered much of anything anyway, with how short it was—then stopping at the collar around his throat, the glimmer in the depths of his eyes practically burning his skin from the intensity of the look.
“You wore this like a fucking invitation. I’ve never had such conflicting emotions over a goddamn outfit before.” He admitted, his hands slipped into the elastic waistband of the skirt, settling low, edging dangerously close to Felix’s ass. He couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his chest, anticipation coiling in his abdomen. “This leotard is fucking killing me. It hugs every curve of your body like it wants me to look.” His thumbs dragged under the waistband of the skirt, not pulling—just there, threatening—and Felix could feel every molecule of air between them spark hotter.
“Can’t help but notice the way it cuts in here,” Kei continued, his palms sliding along Felix’s hips. “Makes your waist look even smaller, shows off every line of your back, your legs— fuck . It’s criminal how much skin this thing shows.” He broke off with a quiet, strained sound in the back of his throat, like the words themselves were too much. “Jesus.”
“And the skirt? And this little scrap of fucking nothing?” His voice was softer, rougher, with a kind of reverent frustration. He laughed once, low and bitter. “This barely constitutes as clothing. It’s more like bait. And don’t get me started on the collar.” He growled, his hands flexing on Felix’s hips before sliding down, pressing over the curve of his ass through the leotard. Not hard. Just enough to make it clear what he was thinking. “You knew what it meant. You had to. You wore it anyway. The first guy was tolerable but the second one— fuck , the minute I saw his hand touching you, I wanted to break it. It took everything in me not to.”
“You’ve got a hell of a way of showing restraint,” Felix snorted, his voice softer now. Rougher. Kei smiled slowly, dangerously. All sin and temptation.
“You haven’t seen me unrestrained… not yet .” Kei countered. The words hit Felix like a knock to the back of his head. Arousal zinged through him, sudden and brutal, liquefying his resistance. His body tightened around the ache blooming low in his abdomen—sharp, wet , unbearable. He could feel the slick, this time a noticeable amount pooling at his entrance, humiliating proof of just how hard the image hit: Kei pressing him down, weight pinning his hips, cock thick and heavy as it spread him open, the stretch of it brutal, merciless. Knot dragging against the rim of his hole as it tried to force its way inside—too much, too big, locking him around it while he writhed, panting, shaking, utterly undone.
His breath stuttered. His thighs ached to spread. His whole body was suddenly aware of itself—of the emptiness , of the hunger , of the place inside of him that was made for this . Made for Kei. His nipples hardened against the velvet of the leotard, hypersensitive. He clenched his fists, trying to stay upright when all he wanted was to fall to his knees, bare his throat, and let Kei ruin him.
All his body cared about was the promise in Kei’s voice. The threat. The heat. It didn’t care that this was going against everything he had worked to disguise. It just wanted the relief. His whole body was tight, the ache sharp and slick pooled between his legs, raw and desperate. Kei’s hands rested against his hips like a claim, steady and sure, grounding him in the sensation, the heat .
“Yo, Kei!” Someone called, and Felix tensed. He’d been so caught up in—in whatever this even was, at this point. Was it flirting? Was it foreplay? Felix didn’t know, really, it felt a bit like both somehow. It was dizzying that he couldn’t even name what they were doing because he was just so caught up in it. “You planning to give the neighbors a show, or are you gonna take it upstairs?” Felix flinched, Kei’s grip tightening on his hips possessively as he blinked, realization crossing his face. Kei’s lips twitched into a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Nah, we’re going up,” Kei responded, his eyes not leaving Felix’s. “Just a little caught up in… conflict resolution.” Kei’s fingers flexed on Felix’s hips, like he was reminding himself he was still touching him, still had him. Still claiming him.
Felix couldn’t help but snort at his statement and shake his head. He couldn’t laugh—not without admitting he found it funny, and he refused to do that. Somehow, sex felt less intimate than admitting that Kei had any good traits at all, even though it sounded ridiculous. Felix didn’t take admitting he was wrong easily, and he’d already done so once today. He wasn’t quite in the mood to do it a second time. Besides, it could just be a split second of cleverness, not a frequent one. At least that’s what he was telling himself.
“Well, save a little resolution for the bedroom, man,” The guy said, laughing lightly as he patted Kei on the shoulder. “And don’t get so lost in those pheromones you forget we got conditioning at 7 am, Captain!” He teased as he passed them.. Kei’s grin sharpened, a terrifyingly— begrudgingly —hot expression on his face. A mix of pride, self-satisfaction, and confidence that made Felix’s blood heat up. He couldn’t be sure if it was arousal or anger, maybe it was a mix. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t worry, Jaylen,” He called back over his shoulder, tone easy but threaded with heat. “I’ll be up in time to run laps around you.” Then, a beat later—his voice lower, meant just for Felix, warm and dark and laced with promise: “…Assuming I let either of us get any sleep at all.”
“You’re so fucking insufferable,” Felix complained, bringing his hand up to press it to his forehead, only a fraction of how irritated he was pretending to be. He hated that he wasn’t furious . But Kei—he was—ugh! He couldn’t even think of an insult in the moment. His touch was burning into his skin, even through the leotard, his body hyperaware of how close they were, versus how close it wanted to be. “Just get upstairs before I change my fucking mind.” He said that. He wished he meant it. Instead, it was just a poorly executed last stand, like going down in a blaze of bullets and chaos rather than surrendering and signing the peace treaty.
It was shameful. Pathetic. But he couldn’t surrender without a fight. Not to Kei. He refused him the right to easy submission. He was such an asshole. Hot. Stupidly hot. Stupidly well built. A fucking brick wall wearing human skin. He hated how much he liked that. How safe it made him feel. The part he hated the most was that he was trembling, his body aching, craving , slick was coating his expensive, practically one-of-a-kind leotard, and as much as he wanted to fucking hate it, he was leaning into it. Wanting it.
Felix’s jab hung between them, half dare, half plea. Kei’s grin twisted sharp, dark with arousal and amusement.
“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Kei said, voice low, barely more than a growl. The growl vibrated through Felix’s body, his heart stuttering in his chest as he tried to determine how to respond to such a bold statement. He wanted to call his bluff, tell him to fuck right on off and take his annoying ass face out of his vicinity—but that’d mean Kei wouldn’t touch him. Because he knew without even questioning it, if he sincerely told him to fuck off, he would’ve.
That was the scariest part. Kei could tell he was bluffing. Could tell he wanted him to touch him. Wanted him to fuck him. It was infuriating. Without breaking eye contact, Kei shifted, one of his hands falling from Felix’s back, the other sliding to the small of his back. The touch was quiet but commanding—possessive in a way that made Felix’s body heat up and his heart skip. Before he could work out something to say, Kei was already guiding him into the complex.
He led him straight to the elevator, pressing the button for the elevator with his knuckle, never letting the steady pressure on his back falter. The door slid open, and Kei pressed him inside—guiding him both gently and deliberately, like there was no question who was in control, like Felix had already been claimed and this was just the first step in proving it. In the dim elevator, Kei’s pheromones were all he could smell. Warm and electric—ozone and dark spruce with an undercurrent of amber and salt—heady and thick in the confined space, curling through Felix’s lungs like smoke. It short-circuited every coherent thought he had, left his body flushed and trembling, thighs tight, slick blooming hotter between them with every breath he took.
Kei knew. He knew Kei knew. He knew Kei could smell it, because he could smell it. He’d been off his suppressants since coming to the states, and the ones available here weren’t nearly as strong. He hadn’t had any problems before where he reacted this strongly—but no one’s pheromones he’d been exposed to had hit like this . Like a punch to the central nervous system. It was infuriating, and it only served to make him wetter. Needier. More feral.
Kei turned, eyes dark and locked on him, hand still resting possessively against his spine. Fingers tracing slowly along the waistband of the skirt, the touch was way too light to have ignited every nerve beneath his skin. He couldn’t help trembling, slick leaking out into the fabric of his leotard, and though every brain cell he had screamed to punch Kei for having so much goddamn audacity, every instinct in his body was drawn to him in the same breath.
He was really too much of a masochist.
[ 7 ] 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 | 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the floor they lived on, the quiet chime sounding far too civilized for the heated, intense mess of feelings burning just beneath Felix’s skin. Kei’s hand didn’t move, still pressed firmly to the small of his back, like a brand, like a reminder . It wasn’t forceful. It felt as though the touch was less for Felix than it was for Kei. He wasn’t afraid Felix might change his mind and bolt. It was like he just knew he wouldn’t. Like the ocean knows to follow the tides and the moon knows to stay in Earth’s field of gravity.
He might’ve bolted. Might’ve. If his legs weren’t already shaking. If he weren’t soaked through and aching. If Kei’s scent wasn’t dragging across every one of his frayed nerves like a lit match. He didn’t. He could’ve. But he didn’t. He was acutely aware of the fact that he could’ve surrendered. Backed out. Saved face. He could’ve . Kei was an arrogant asshole with more muscles than common sense, but nothing about this was coercive.
He’d been pushy. He’d said the filthiest things. Appealed to every desire Felix had masked and hidden behind walls made of impenetrable steel—and yet, it’d never come across as coercive. It was as if it were a carefully calculated dance, that only they knew the choreography to. He didn’t have to ask to know if he told Kei to fuck off and meant it, Kei would. That was the worst part.
Kei wasn’t influencing him to do shit. He was, as he’d so pointedly said, holding a mirror up. Giving him a chance to see what lay beneath the surface of his facade. Because he wore it just a little too well. So well he couldn’t see past the facade when he looked in the mirror on his own. It was a piece of him, a part of him, that was strong enough to eclipse everything else if he let it.
The elevator doors slid open, and Kei guided him forward, fingertips digging in just enough to lead him. It made something in his body buzz, the omega in him purring from the sign of ownership. His apartment door was in the middle of the hall, too far and not far enough, somehow. Felix barely managed to dig his keys out of the bag Hye-Jin had forced into his hand upon leaving. Since he didn’t have pockets, Hye-Jin had held on to his keys. Hye-Jin actually had pockets(even if those pockets belonged to Devonte, technically), so he’d let him carry his bag back to hold the keys in it so he didn’t have to carry them the whole way. His phone was also in it, too.
The lock turned with a soft click, and Kei didn’t wait—he reached past him, pushed the door open, and steered him inside with a steady, grounding motion. Felix stumbled in a few steps, breathing shallow, heart hammering in his chest. The door shut behind them with a quiet thud, final and unmistakable. The air felt different here.
His apartment—his safe place—was suddenly charged, the heat of Kei’s presence soaking into the walls like humidity. He didn’t even hear Kei move at first. Just felt him—closing in, slow and certain, until he was right in front of him again. The hand on his back slid higher, up his spine, warm and possessive even through the fabric of the leotard. Felix’s eyes fluttered shut despite himself. He hated this. How easy it was to melt into it. How much he wanted more of it.
He tried to speak—say something biting, something cold and distant—but all that came out was a shaky breath and a muttered, “Don’t.” It didn’t come out sharp enough. Not even nearly. It sounded more like please don’t stop than back the fuck off . Kei didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence stretch between them like a wire pulled taut.
Then, softly, with little fanfare, Kei leaned in. Felix could feel his breath against his neck, the collar blocking it from the most sensitive spot, but even so, it was warm and unbearable. Felix let out a shaky breath.
“You’re slicking,” Kei murmured into his ear, the words making Felix’s throat go tight and his face flush.
“I know .” Felix admitted breathlessly. “Whatever you’re about to say—just. Just don’t.” Kei hummed.
“Do you want me to leave?” Kei asked, a final offer for him to back out. To say no, I changed my mind. To walk away. He probably should’ve taken it. But he wanted—fuck, he wanted Kei to touch him. He wanted to see if Kei could truly do what he said he could. He wanted to know for sure if he could—fuck. He actually, truly wanted him. The goddamn prick. He fucking knew it. He was too smug not to know it.
“I want you to shut up,” Felix admitted, his breath shuddering. “I want—I want you to just—” He cut off.
Kei didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. Just let the weight of Felix’s words hang between them, suspended in the air like a thread of lightning waiting to strike. His hand stayed where it was on Felix’s back, anchoring him, but the tension in it shifted. It was less like he was being held and more like he was being cradled . Like he knew exactly how much Felix was unraveling, and he wanted to soothe him. It was humiliating. It was irritating. It was warm. It was soft. It was soothing. In a way that he’d never allowed himself to be soothed. Then, finally, he leaned in closer. His mouth brushed just behind Felix’s ear—not quite touching skin, not quite pulling away.
“I don’t want to take anything from you,” Kei murmured, his voice coming low, quiet, and devastatingly steady. “Not unless you give it to me.” The words were a promise. Not a tease. Not a seduction. A vow . And it wrecked Felix more than any of the filth Kei had been spewing since they left the party. Kei’s hand slid down his back, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of Felix’s spine through the velvet leotard until it settled at his waist. Still waiting. Still giving him that last second to change his mind.
Felix didn’t move—didn’t breathe, didn’t flinch —but he gave a barely imperceptible nod. A silent plea. A wordless agreement. He couldn’t put the words on the tip of his tongue out into the air, he couldn’t . Because it would be a total surrender. It would be feral, needy, instinctual nonsense he couldn’t put into words because he’d never be able to look at himself in the mirror again if he went down that easy. Kei exhaled, slow and sure, like his pathetic excuse of a response was all he needed.
In a fluid motion that felt less like possession and more like reverence , Kei bent his head, dipping his face into Felix’s neck. Taking a long, slow, deliberate inhale, before pressing a kiss just above the band of the spiked collar.
“Then let me touch you,” Kei whispered, his lips brushing against Felix’s neck just along the edge of his scent gland, eliciting a soft, breathless noise to escape from Felix’s throat. Yes, yes, yes, touch me, fuck me, ruin me, knot me, claim me— Felix thought it. He wouldn’t say it. He wasn’t running either, wasn’t fighting anymore. But Kei didn’t touch him further. Just kept his hand on his back and his lips near Felix’s scent gland. It felt like calculated, vindictive torture more than anything.
He’d been so pushy earlier, talking circles around his instincts, but now—now he was just teasing him. Giving him just enough to keep him trembling and aching and desperate, but not enough to give him relief from the tension flooding through him.
“Just do it,” Felix bit out, frustration bleeding into his tone, his body strung tight like a piano wire. He wanted those hands to do something. Anything as long as sensation followed it. Kei leaned back, his hand leaving Felix’s back, coming up to cradle the back of his head, tilting it back so that their eyes met.
“You’re so stubborn,” Kei muttered, but it didn’t sound like an admonishment—it sounded like praise . “So pretty. Smell so good,” he added, his voice gone lower, rougher now, like it scraped against the inside of his throat. His thumb traced Felix’s cheekbone, reverent—but there was an edge to it. Like his restraint was being pushed more than Felix’s, somehow. Felix shivered, heat pulsing in his stomach, slick and shivering, humiliated but desperate. He felt like he was vibrating apart under the weight of Kei’s scent, Kei’s touch, Kei’s fucking patience.
The world around him was slowly dissolving with his restraint, the air in the room so thick it felt heavy, but the way it filled his lungs felt comforting. Everything was slowly being tainted with Kei’s touch on his body, Kei’s pheromones coating his nerves, Kei’s lips dipping dangerously close to his lips. Excitement boiled beneath Felix’s icy demeanor, his body melting into Kei’s touch, his eyes heavy and lidded. Kei leaned down, his breath warm against Felix’s lips, his other hand coming up to rest on his hip, fingers splayed against the velvet and mesh.
“I’m gonna lose it,” Kei confessed, voice gravelly and deep, smooth but warm. “You smell like fucking temptation and need. Tell me to stop and I will . But I can’t keep waiting like this. I need doors between us to keep this up.” There was something comforting about the fact that Kei was having a hard time containing the desire, too, now. Suddenly, it didn’t feel quite as weak to be shaken.
It was almost as if seeing Kei’s struggle to maintain composure gave him permission to not be steady himself. Before, he’d been the only one fighting instinct. Now, it was an even playing field. Stupidly hot, stupidly built, stupidly strong Kei was affected. He was struggling with his own composure. Because of him . Suddenly, his mind was catching up with what his biology already knew, could feel the tension in the air, the need, the desire. Not just his own. Kei’s . Hot and heavy, bleeding out into the air around them, restrained but only just.
“Either touch me or get out so I can handle myself,” Felix dared to bite out, his gaze sharpening as he glared up at Kei through his lashes. He smirked, slow and sharm, the kind of expression that was sharp enough to cut glass. “I thought you were going to ruin me ,” His voice dripped with sarcasm, although his voice was breathy, even as slick dampened his thighs. “It’s cute how you act all calm and in control, but you’re the one on the verge of insanity right now. Maybe you’re all talk and no action. Should’ve known a football player would choke at the one-yard line.”
“Hah,” Kei laughed, rough and amused, but his eyes were molten. “You talking like that made me almost forget you’re the one with slick running down your thighs. Keep talking shit like you’re not trembling for it,” Kei’s smile was razor sharp, deadly but pleased , “You wanna see action? Fine.” Then he moved.
In one smooth motion, he closed the distance and crushed their lips together—not gentle, not sweet, but searing . A kiss that landed like a slammed door, swallowing the rest of Felix’s sass and replacing it with breathless heat. Kei kissed him like he was claiming territory, like the waiting had been it’s own kind of foreplay, and he was starving for this. For him . His hand tangled in the back of Felix’s hair, holding him there, tilting his head just so. The other remained on his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
There was no patience in it. Only promise.
It was all hunger and teeth and molten desire. His back hit the wall before he even registered motion, Kei pressing in like a storm breaking over him. Felix moaned into it, his hands clutching at Kei’s shoulders, his body already arching for more, giving in entirely despite everything in him that screamed don’t! And Kei—Kei devoured him like he’d finally been given permission to burn.
Their mouths moved together with desperation that bordered on violence—tongue and teeth, heat and friction. Kei kissed him like he wanted to leave marks. Like he wanted to memorize the shape of Felix’s mouth from the inside, out. And Felix was already shaking, slicker than he had ever been before, and was trembling beneath the weight of how fast everything was spiraling out of his control.
Kei’s thigh slid between his legs with a precision that made Felix gasp, made his hips stutter forward without permission. The velvet fabric of his leotard was soaked through, and the fabric of Kei’s jeans scraping against his inner thighs should’ve been painful or at the very least, irritating, but he couldn’t help pushing his hips forward against it anyway. Kei’s hands moved, touching everywhere, one sliding up his back through the clingy fabric, rough fingers skating up above the fabric to run up between his shoulders. Felix jolted from the direct contact, his fingers digging harder into Kei’s shoulders.
“Fucking—Kei,” Felix breathed, wrecked and furious with himself over how wrecked he sounded. His breath caught when Kei’s mouth broke from his long enough to press wet, rough kisses down the sharp angle of his jaw, his throat, his collar—mouthing over the edge of the spiked band like it was a challenge, like he liked being denied access to the soft skin beneath it.
“You think I won’t ruin you?” Kei muttered against his neck, voice frayed and gravel-deep. “You think I’m bluffing ?” His hands gripped tighter, dragging Felix up, flush against him, pinning him with nothing but heat and desire. Felix bucked instinctively, his body betraying him, grinding into Kei’s thigh with a filthy, slick sensation he couldn’t help moaning from. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t hide, couldn’t be cool about it. Kei groaned in response, low in his chest, the sound dangerous— feral.
He grabbed Felix’s wrists and pinned them above his head in one smooth, controlled motion, making Felix suck in a sharp gasp as his back arched off the wall. The smirk Kei gave him was slow and wicked, sinful , all teeth and cockiness and pride mixed together. His pupils were blown wide now, nearly black, barely held together by the thin ring of gold that glowed around the edges.
Felix froze. For a split second, his breath caught in his throat, something primal and low curling in his stomach. That gold shouldn’t be there. Kei’s eyes were green , not gold. He didn’t know a person alive with gold eyes. No Alpha he’d ever fucked or even just known had eyes that did that. That changed. Not like that. It looked like fire, banked and waiting. His body responded before his brain could sort it out—hips twitching forward, scent spiking warm and sharp, a flicker of slick already heat-tacking against his thighs. Want tangled with fear, and it made his knees tremble. His pulse drummed against Kei’s fingers where they pinned his wrists.
He leaned in again, lips brushing Felix’s cheek, then his ear.
“I’ve barely touched you,” Kei said, his voice a low, devastating rumble, “And you’re already so wet for me.” Felix flushed, shaking his head, his eyes widening.
“D-Don’t—” Felix tried to snap.
“Say it?” Kei somehow shifted closer. “Make you admit it?” Felix didn’t retreat this time, he held his ground, even just barely.
“This doesn’t mean a fucking thing,” he warned. Kei laughed. He had the audacity to laugh . And what’s worse? Felix wasn’t even turned off by it. He wasn’t even angry about it. It only turned him on more .
“Sure,” Kei said, his voice all smug warmth. “Just like the way you’re shaking doesn’t mean you want me.” His hands slid, slow and deliberate, dipping beneath the waistband of the mesh skirt, gripping into his ass with warm, strong hands. “Just like this soaked little leotards just coincidence and the sweet little grinding against my thigh is purely biological. “ His breath brushed the shell of Felix’s ear. “You say it means nothing. But your body hasn’t stopped screaming touch me since before we left for the party.”
Felix’s jaw clenched. “Shut up.”
“Tell me to shut up all you want,” Kei’s voice dropped to a low, urgent growl, thick with need and something rawer, more feral . “But you’ve already made your choice. If you didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be here. Whether you admit it or not.” Kei shifted his thigh, purposefully applying just the right amount of pressure to his cock and his hole through the layers of fabric to make sparks dance behind Felix’s eyes.
“I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Felix had no doubt about that. It should’ve come across as arrogance, but it didn’t. It came across as certainty , and Felix felt the promise marrow-deep and burning hot. Kei didn’t bluff. He didn’t posture. Everything about him, from the weight of his gaze to the heat of his hands screamed intent . Controlled, focused, devastating intent. “I’m gonna give you everything you’ve been craving, in every way you’re too ashamed to admit you needed.” The hand around his wrist left, both of Kei’s hands settling on his hips, his thumbs dragging over the sharp jut of bone in a way that made Felix feel shaky.
Felix couldn’t help how his hips tipped forward, heart hammering like it might break through bone as he shuddered. He hated how much he wanted it. How right it felt to be cornered like prey, like a prize . But more than that, he hated how much his body was craving it. Maybe a tiny piece of him was angry. Angry because he could feel the experience behind the touch. Knew it wasn’t only instinct, it was skill .
He knew Kei had done this before—touched like this, coaxed soft bodies into easy submission, learned what sounds meant don’t stop and what gasps meant more . This was hunger, and instinct, this was a battle of wills and etrition. But it wasn’t just hunger—it was practiced, confident, earned. And that made Felix’s blood burn like acid. Because it wasn’t fair how fast his knees weakened under his touch. How fast his mouth felt dry, his thighs parted, his breath caught, his body ached to be filled.
It made him want to bite, to fight , to prove he wasn’t just another slicked-up conquest Kei could easily consume. Because Felix wasn’t easy. He was anything but. All fire and determination and rage wrapped in a cute, unassuming package. And even if Kei ruined him as he claimed he could, Felix was bound and fucking determined to drag him into the wreckage with him.
Felix grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, the soft fabric digging into Kei’s neck, and shoved him back. Kei didn’t flinch. His eyes lit up like someone had struck a match behind them—a sudden, hot flare of heat and hunger and something dangerously close to reverence.
“You’re gonna fight me every step of the way, aren’t you?” Kei laughed, resting his weight against the back of the loveseat. “God, I’ve never had this much fun before. Say it, Felix. What you’re thinking. Because I’ve got no fucking clue.”
Felix’s lips curled, not in a smile—something sharper, meaner. His fingers stayed fisted in Kei’s shirt, knuckles tight, like letting go would mean surrendering more than just ground. His cheeks flushed, his breath shallow, slicking pooling hot and humiliating between his thighs.
“I’m thinking you’re way too good at this—too good at making me hate how much I want you.” Felix snapped. “I’m thinking you’re someone who’s never actually earned what they claim.” A lie. A big one. Neither of them believed it, and he knew it. Still. His body didn’t get the message. It still leaned toward him, begging even as his pride screamed, and showed it in the tremble of his body and the way his lashes fluttered low, unable to hold Kei’s gaze for more than a second. “I’m thinking, “ He pushed on, quieter now, voice scraped and raspy, “That if your mouth was half as good as your hands, I’d be crawling already.” That one? That was probably true.
Kei pushed every button he had, and some he didn’t even know existed in the first place. Kei smirked, his body shifting forward again, hand settling on his waist—slow, sure, spreading a hot, heavy sensation beneath it.
“You wanna see how good my mouth is?” He murmured, voice thick with promise, low enough to vibrate in Felix’s chest. His fingers dug in tighter on Felix’s hips, grounding him in place. “All you had to do is say that, brat.” Before Felix could respond, Kei dropped to his knees like it was instinct. Like he already knew exactly how Felix would taste, melt, and plead, and planned to irrevocably prove every filthy promise he’d made.
Kei moved. Not rushed. Not explosive. Just inevitable . Like this was always where they were going to end up. Like all of it—every fight, insult, and second of unbearable tension—had been the foreplay for this one breathless moment. Felix’s hands were shaking, a fine tremor running through his fingers. His pulse throbbed in his wrists, in his throat, in his groin as Kei’s fingers trailed up his thighs, between his legs, erring dangerously close to the slick mess Felix was attempting, albeit poorly , to hide.
As if to mock him, the closer Kei’s hands got to the mess, the more the heat bloomed in his abdomen, slick leaking to the point he could feel it on his thighs, the leotard doing little to contain it anymore. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d gotten that worked up—sometime between the kiss and rubbing himself on Kei . It was sticky and undeniable, and the moment Kei’s fingers hit it, he inhaled deeply, his pupils blowing wide.
“You’re fucking soaked ,” Kei muttered, fingers pulling the snaps on the leotard easily, his eyes roaming over his newly exposed skin with a kind of possessive hunger that made Felix’s heart stutter. “God—Everything about this fucking outfit pissess me off and turns me on.” Felix twitched, his knees bending, hands catching on the wall to balance himself as one of Kei’s hands moved, pulling his leg over his shoulder.
“Don’t—” Felix managed, voice low and brittle, thin as glass. “Don’t make it weird.” Kei laughed quietly, as if he were torn somewhere between awe and amazement, his head shaking. The gold in his eyes flared—flickering like molten light, primal and consuming—and Felix’s breath caught, body tightening in response before he could stop it. Felix almost snapped at him to hurry, but before he could, Kei’s hands were already touching him again. Calloused, hot, rough palms sliding up to grasp his ass, dragging his hips closer to his face. He didn’t say anything, to his credit. He just breathed in, slow and deep, a soft inhalation against Felix’s skin, and leaned in.
Felix felt the heat of his mouth before the first touch—just a whisper of breath against slick skin, before Kei’s tongue snaked out, running along his taint with slow precision. Felix jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his entire body tensing as pleasure rushed through him.
The first drag of Kei’s tongue along his entrance was obsence—flat, slow, dragging upward over his rim in a filthy, possessive glide. He was too wet. It was too much, too fast, but Felix had never wanted anything more. His body jerked in response, a breathless, high-pitched sound catching in the back of his throat like a trapped bird before he could bite it down. Kei groaned into his skin, like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Oh fuck—you taste— shit —” Kei was trying to talk but Felix didn’t want him to talk, he wanted him to focus .
“Shut up!” Felix demanded, his voice breaking on the edges, rough as torn silk. His thighs trembled where Kei held them open, in place, the mesh fabric of the skirt fluttering at the back of his thighs. “I swear to god—just shut up or I’ll break your fucking nose.” Kei didn’t even hesitate, burying his face in deeper, one of his hands sliding up from Felix’s ass to the small of his back, arching his hips more.
Slow, wide circles around Felix’s slick hole followed, Kei’s mouth moving at his entrance like it was something holy. Like Felix’s body was an altar he’d been dying to kneel at.
Felix choked on a groan, his cock twitching against his stomach, a frantic, needy pulse against his skin. Slick dripped hot and thick down the inside of his leg where it struggled to support his weight, and Kei was lapping it up, starving for it, like his slick was a drug he couldn’t quit.
“You seriously smell unreal,” Kei murmured, nosing in closer, licking right over the rim of his hole. “So fucking soft—how are you this fucking sensitive?” Felix couldn’t speak for a moment, his entire body focusing in on the sensation . Just enough to make him feel breathless, needy, feral, but not enough to stop the burning in his abdomen, the emptiness spreading through him like a disease. Felix’s spine locked with a carefully calculated motion of Kei’s tongue, and his head fell back against the wall with a thud, torn somewhere between rage and cumming.
“Say one more fucking thing—” Felix bit out, but Kei interrupted him. Of course he did.
“I could rim you all night. I’d fuckin’ live down here if you let me—bratty attitude and all.” He whispered, deliberately pushing. Deliberately hitting buttons. Felix snapped. He shifted his leg down off of Kei’s shoulder, hands settling on Kei’s shoulders before pushing, roughly. Shoving.
Kei’s back hit the floor, head thumping lightly against it with a thud, but the grin that stretched across his flushed, slick smeared mouth was pure fucking satisfaction. The dangerous gleam of it resonated deep in his eyes, and he went to open his mouth but Felix didn’t give him a chance to start running his mouth again. He stepped forward and sank down over Kei, carefully shifting his weight so that his hole was over Kei’s mouth, figuring it’d be the best, and easiest way to shut him up.
Kei groaned like he’d just won the lottery. His hands flew to Felix’s thighs again, gripping into the sensitive skin like it was his . Kei’s teeth sank into the soft skin of his inner thigh—achingly close to his scent gland. Shivers raced down Felix’s spine. A reminder: even like this, even with Felix taking control, Kei still owned the rhythm. Still had the power.
“Shut up,” Felix growled, breath ragged, hips grinding down into the heat of his mouth. “Just—shut up and let me—” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t think.
Kei didn’t waste any additional time, he devoured .
His tongue was greedy, filthy, thorough—like he meant to undo Felix one lick at a time. His tongue pressed into him with enthusiasm, dragging his tongue up and over the slick mess of Felix’s rim, slow and purposeful, letting the taste coat his mouth before he did it again, deeper . Felix’s thighs quivered under Kei’s grip, a moan leaving his mouth, his cheeks flushing.
He didn’t mean to gasp, but the breath caught sharp in his throat as Kei latched on with more intent, more pressure. The wet heat of Kei’s mouth pressed against his entrance, tongue circling in practiced, maddening spirals. And Kei— God, Kei groaned into his sensitive skin, like he was the only thing that’d ever tasted right. Like this wasn’t just sex, it was sustenance. And fuck, it felt like it.
He tilted his hips down, unintentionally grinding against Kei’s face in his effort to chase the pleasure—and Kei took it like a gift. His hands shifted, moving from his thighs to his ass, thumbs spreading Felix open as his tongue pressed in harder, flicking at the rim before plunging in again. Deeper now, fucking him with slow, devastating strokes.
Felix saw stars .
He bit back a noise, a broken sound caught somewhere between fury and euphoria. The slight stretch, the intense heat, the unwavering attention—it was too much. Kei was rimming him like he was starved for it, like he’d deserved to starve for it, and was making up for lost time.
“God, you’re—” Kei breathed against his slick hole between thrusts of his tongue, voice ragged, hoarse, lips brushing against him softly, “You’re so fucking open for me—so sweet—fuck you’re melting on my tongue—” Felix slapped a hand over his own mouth, desperately silencing the noise that escaped him as much as he could, seething.
“Shut the fuck up,” Felix whined, the pleasure inching just a little too high for him to manage anything more biting. But Kei only moaned louder in response, licking in deep, tongue pressing against the tender, sensitive skin of his rim that made Felix’s whole body jerk. It sent another gust of slick spilling out of him and into Kei’s mouth. It coated his chin, the slick press of their skin as Kei’s tongue traced his hole, feeling obscene even with the pleasure swimming in his skin. Kei growled, he just growled, like it was the exact reaction he’d been after.
Felix trembled, rage and pleasure blurring together at the edges. Kei’s tongue pushed deeper. Felix’s rim spasmed around it, the stretch wasn’t even nearly enough. His body felt like it was aching, desperate for something bigger than Kei’s tongue. Something that promised depth and fullness. He wanted it. Fuck, he wanted it. Felix spasmed, the ache unbearable even as his body clenched down greedily, hungrily, his entire body screaming more, more, more .
His thighs were shaking, a violent tremor. His hand grasped desperately at the back of the couch to steady himself, his thighs shaking with a violent tremor. Kei just kept fucking fucking going—like he were air. Like his slick, shaking, swearing mess of a body wanted the only thing that mattered. He hated how much he loved that. Hated how unsteady it made him. Felix whimpered. Actually whimpered. Humiliation scorched him from the inside out, even as his body spiraled toward the edge of release.
His cock throbbed, untouched, forgotten, twitching with every drag of Kei’s tongue. It pulsed once—then again—and then, the building pleasure attacked. Pushing him straight over the edge into his orgasm without hesitation.
It hit with the weight of a thousand-pound boulder. His whole body snapped tight, muscles seizing, his hands grabbing desperate fistfulls of Kei’s curls as his cock painted his thighs and the wooden floor with hot, messy streaks of cum. Slick spilled over Kei’s mouth as Felix ground down with a wrecked cry, body locked in full-body tremors. His vision swam, stars flashing behind his eyes as his head lulled.
It didn’t stop. Kei kept going. Licking him through it, fucking him open with his tongue as Felix came harder than he ever had in his entire life. The pleasure was slowly twisting into something brutal —too raw, too much, too consuming—and Felix couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe . Couldn’t move . His thighs spasmed around Kei’s head, every nerve ending lit up and flaring, overstimulation crackling like static beneath his skin.
He lets out a hoarse, strangled cry, half gasp, and sob, his hips jerking down into the sensation as Kei held him there, relentless, his tongue still working slow, reverent circles into the mess he’d made of Felix’s body. Felix’s nails bit down into Kei’s scalp, and Kei moaned in response, devoured him in response. Until Felix was on the edge of shattering again, light and heat and humiliation crashing down over him in one unbearable, euphoric wave.
Then, finally, finally, it was too much.
Felix shoved off with a curse, collapsing beside him on the floor, shaking. His chest heaved, each breath a gasp. His thighs were slicked and trembling, hole throbbing desperately, wet and desperate, still leaking. His thighs were sticky with slick and his hair was clinging to his temples with sweat. The scent of pheromones hung heavy in the air, a soothing mix that somehow made the fire in his veins feel pleasurable instead of painful.
Kei lay next to him on the floor, panting, looking like he’d just tasted heaven and hadn’t decided to come back. There was silence. Just their breathing, the ragged gasps slowly evening out. Then, Kei opened his damn mouth again.
“You seemed like you enjoyed yourself,” Kei teased, maddeningly calm. Felix glared at the ceiling heatedly.
“I did all of the fucking work!” Felix declared breathlessly. A lie. Kei’s tongue had been moving even when he was stuck motionless at the end. Kei knew that. He turned his head, grinning slow and wolfish, his eyes still blown wide holding a triumphant glint.
“I’ll remedy the situation immediately,” Kei said, prompting Felix’s heart to skip a beat. Or three. He didn’t look at him. But he also didn’t say no. He felt slightly pliant in the wake of his orgasm, not ready to ceasefire at all, but now he felt more in control, at least to a slight degree. His release had taken the edge off, made him feel all loose and soft and soothed. And Kei only waits a second. Only long enough to ascertain whether or not he’s going to say it, say no , before he moves again.
He’s up and over him in one smooth motion, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he can still taste him on his tongue—and he probably can. Slick coats his lips, his chin, the curve of his throat. And he doesn’t even seem to care. Not with Felix sprawled beneath him, boneless and scowling, and so fucking slick he was sure he looked wrecked without even being fucked.
Kei braces himself with a hand planted beside Felix’s head, the other slipping down to his waist, working the button on his jeans with a practiced motion. He pushed his pants down around his thighs, shifting forward, using his hand to lift Felix’s leg with a gentle, steady hand on the back of his thigh. He hoisted it up over his shoulder. Then, his hand slid between them, not teasing—just there, hot and firm, guiding his cock through the slick mess pooling at Felix’s hole.
He doesn’t push in yet. Just presses , rubbing the thick head in slow circles, spreading him open again and again before stopping just before he could press inside.
Something—something catches .
Felix startles—just a twitch, not fear, but a reflex. There’s a sensation, a weight he didn’t— wouldn’t —expect. A tiny pull. Something metal. Not sharp, not unpleasant. But undeniably there. It slips against his rim with the next roll of Kei’s hips, and then drags, slow and hot and fucking impossible to ignore. Felix shivered, his eyes snapping omeg.
“The fucks that?” He snapped, torn somewhere between just fucking push it in and what the hell are you doing with your life . He was too sheltered by institution to get the purpose, to truly understand. And it felt too taboo, he genuinely couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was feeling. Kei doesn’t answer with words. Just slides his cock down again, slow and unhurried, letting it drag through the slick. Sensation flares . A soft scrape, not from skin. From something harder. Cooler. Smoother .
“Kei—” Felix hissed, shuddering slightly from the feeling of Kei’s cock dragging along the rim of his hole.
“ Two frenum piercings,“ Kei says at last, his voice low, dark, laced with satisfaction. “Just beneath the head. You’ll feel them.”
“I—” Felix starts, then loses his breath on the next stroke. Because he does. Not just the heat of Kei’s cock, not just the blunt pressure against his rim—but the way the bars pull. The way they catch then slide , forcing him to be acutely aware of the glide against his skin with each shallow rut of Kei’s cock against his hole. It’s too much texture, too much drag, too much sensation— and Kei hadn’t even pushed inside of him yet.
“You’re fucking insane ,” Felix manages to rasp, his chest heaving. Kei’s mouth curves into an impossibly soft smile.
“Hmm, I’m sure you think that,” Kei acknowledged, “But if you think I’m insane, wait until you feel it.” Then he really starts to press. The tip catches, drags, and pushes . Felix’s body tightened in sheer reaction, the primal mix of panic and hunger colliding in his stomach before his head could process it. Slick leaked out of him, coating the head of Kei’s cock in his slick. His hips jerked slightly, once, involuntarily, the stretch threatening to undo him.
“Relax,” Kei murmured, his hands settling on Felix’s thighs, firm, grounding, warm . Rubbing soft circles just beneath his knee, coaxing. Soothing. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Felix glares heatedly.
“I swear if you—” Felix swallowed, “If you try to treat me like I’m some small, breakable thing you have to go easy on, I’ll literally never forgive you.” He bit out. That’s all it takes.
Kei pushes in, slow and merciless.
“You feel those two bars?” Kei muses, “They’re my signature. My way of marking you slow and steady before I’m knot deep inside of you and you can’t move.” Felix jolted, a breathless sound catching in his throat as his hole fluttered in confused acceptance, his whole body jerking involuntarily as the piercing worked its way inside of him. It wasn’t just the stretch—it was the drag, the impossible friction of metal riding over nerve endings made too raw and sensitive by desire.
“There’s the first one,” Kei murmured, low and molten, his eyes locked on Felix like he could feel every tremor of his body. That strange, glowing gold still ringed his pupils—unnatural and hungry, like a predator too close. “You’re already twitching. What’s the matter?” Kei taunted, a rhetorical question, a smirk pulling up the corners of his lips. Felix hated that he was. Hated the way he couldn’t stop the way his thighs clenched, the way his hips were rolling, seeking more in the same breath that he tried to flinch away from it.
Kei didn’t rush. He pulled back, let the first bar scrape just lightly inside of his rim, then pushed forward again—slow, unbearable, intentional .
“Ready for the second?” Kei asked, his voice a whisper above a growl. Felix swallowed roughly, his lips parting, but nothing came out besides air—high and unsteady. It didn’t matter. When he didn’t protest, Kei smirked, sinful and prideful. “Yeah, you’re ready.” Kei didn’t wait. The second bar pushed in. Felix gasped, his back arching off of the floor in a tight bow. His hands clawed at the wood flooring.
It wasn’t pain. Not exactly. Just too much. Too much texture, too much precision, too much weight. Too much of Kei , inside him, stretching him open not just with his cock, but with metal and possession. Kei leaned in, breath ghosting hot against his neck.
“That’s both. Right where they belong,” He said, voice thick with satisfaction. “Just like you .” Felix shuddered. Outright gasped. He rocked in shallow thrusts, letting Felix feel every micro-shift of his body. The weight of the bars as they dragged against his walls, grinding in a way no bare cock ever could, reminding him of exactly what Kei was doing to him. What he was leaving behind in him.
And Kei hadn’t even pushed in all the way yet.
The sensation doesn’t lessen as Kei goes deeper—it builds . The bars were low enough that they didn’t just stretch his rim, they grind over his nerves, settle heavy just inside of him, the pressure—Felix can already feel how they’re going to wreck him. The mention of Kei’s knot made his body clench with need and realization.
He still had Kei’s knot to contend with. Fuck. Fucking fuck . He was going to be wrecked. It wasn’t a question anymore. As if Kei were picking up on the realization Felix just had, a slow, steady smirk crossed his face, satisfaction glimmering in his gaze.
“Yeah, my knots still waiting—promising to lock you down so tight you forget your own name.” Felix claws harder at the floor. Tries to breathe. Tries not to lose his mind. Kei pauses, only just over halfway inside of him, chest heaving above him, eyes locked on Felix’s face. “Still with me?” Felix doesn’t answer. He clenches . Purposefully, intentionally. Relishing in the choked groan it elicited from Kei’s mouth.
“Fuck,” He mutters, head falling forward. “You’re— tight . You’re so— fuck .” Felix bares his teeth, flashing a defiant look up at him.
“You started this,” Felix accused, managing to find his voice in the brief, momentary stillness. Kei smirked in response, pulling back just an inch. The bars scrape again.
Felix shudders, a full-body tremor. His cock throbs, untouched, smearing precum against his lower abdomen, and while he isn’t anywhere near ready for an orgasm, his body doesn’t know that. His instincts howl . Everything in his body tightening, clawing for more, furious at the pace, ravenous in its desire for it to break.
Kei sinks in another inch. It’s painful how slow he’s going, making him feel every inch of his cock as it slid inside of him. It’s maddening. Intense. The kind of too much that made him want to clench down and cum and fuck . Felix’s hands jerked up, fingernails clawing at Kei’s shoulder, clenching his teeth.
“I didn’t know people did this shit,” Felix admitted, whispered, like it’s a confession scraped raw from his chest. “Pierced… for this. “ He shuddered, his hole clenching around Kei’s cock desperately, his voice going low and hoarse. “You think this—this fucked up piercing shit—is gonna break me?” Felix taunted, voice low and sharp. “Good luck. If you wanna wreck me, you’ll have to actually earn it.”
Kei’s hips shift, and he thrusts . Not hard. Not fast. Deep . The kind of motion that fills every inch of space, touches every raw nerve, and makes pleasure spark off behind his eyes. The piercings scrape against his inner walls, and Felix’s mouth falls open, wordless and shaking. That’s when he’s certain . When he knows. He’s not winning this round.
He’s not winning. Not at all. But definitely not cleanly. Not without bite marks, bruises, tears, and shaking by the end. Not without being bent around the sound of Kei’s voice in his ear, telling him how good he’s taking it, how sweet he feels around his cock, how made for it he is.
Kei rocks forward.
And Felix breaks—
—but not into the all-encompassing relief of an orgasm.
Not yet.
Just the slow collapse of pride, the raw, desperate realization that this was going to fucking ruin him, and that he’s going to let it . Wants to let it. Wants to feel every dragging thrust, every push of those fucking bars, until he can’t think about anything but Kei buried inside of him.
He knows this is just the beginning. Kei is barely getting started. And Felix is already trembling for it.
Kei doesn’t give him a second to breathe. To collect himself. The next thrust comes in an unassuming way—just as slow as the one that came before it. No mercy, no rhythm, just pressure. Weight . The kind that splits him open, grinds his insides into heat, and makes him choke on the sounds he tries to bite back. The bars on Kei’s cock catch again—drag slowly, deliberately. Relentless across his prostate, and Felix jerks, back arching off the floor in a motion too raw to be called graceful .
“Shit—” He gasps, eyes widening, pupils blown, “Fucking— shit —” And Kei just hums . A low, cruel sound of satisfaction, almost gentle if it weren’t for the way he keeps going . Keeps pushing in deeper, until Felix feels full. Too full . Breathing gets harder. Thinking gets impossible. But if Kei had’ve stopped, he would’ve had to punch him right in the fucking nose.
“Still think I’m all talk and no action? Still think I’m not good enough to earn it?” Kei’s voice rumbles low above him, a soft rasp of smugness and hunger and desire. His eyes roam Felix’s face ravenously as if writing his expression to memory. “You’re trembling like you’re already about to beg.”
“I’m not,” Felix lies, and it’s probably the biggest fucking lie he’s ever told and he doesn’t even feel an ounce of shame. Kei’s grin turned sharp.
“No,” Kei agrees, voice thick with something dangerous and sharp and heated, “ But you will be .“
Felix’s body betrays him before he can throw back another snark. His rim flutters, clutches around the stretch of Kei’s cock, and he’s so slick he can’t think. Another humiliating gush of it escapses as Kei pushed his hips forward, making a soft, wet sound when he bottoms out, hips pressed to Felix’s ass, his steady weight a cage and a brand all in one. Felix chokes. Every inch of him cleches around the weight inside of him, the bars, the width, the fucking heat of Kei’s cock.
The thick swell of his knot hasn’t even begun yet and Felix already feels wrecked. His cock pulses between them, untouched, and he hates —fully, viscerally—hates how close to an orgasm he felt. Hates how much he loves it. And Kei just doesn’t move after that. Stays buried to the hilt, his breath ragged above him, the muscles in his back tight under Felix’s nails.
“You feel that?” Kei asks, like he doesn’t already know the fucking answer. His hand moves to Felix’s stomach, palm broad and firm as he presses —and Felix screams. It isn’t loud. It’s shattered . A sound that tore its way from his throat, barely a whisper. But it says everything: the stretch, the barbells grinding deep inside of him, the helpless shudder of his cock on the wet mess of his own lower abdomen. He’s so close . And not even close to ready.
And still—he could break like this.
“That’s me. Right there. Every inch of me, filling you so deep I can feel you trembling inside,” Kei’s voice is reverent, almost tender. Felix grabs his wrist. He means to shove it off, but what he does is hold it. Shakes under it. Grinds into it with a guttural noise like he needs to feel it again. Kei’s eyes roam over him with a slow, predatory hunger, gold gleaming like wildfire barely restrained—feral and focused, zeroed in like he could devour every reaction Felix gave him and still need more. And Kei moves. Not hard, not brutal. Firm. A steady pull, a grind, a drag—that lets those piercings catch again in all the worst, best ways.
Felix whimpers , the sound ripped straight from his lungs. Breathless. Shaking. Because Kei is close to pulling out, and he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want it to end, even as it threatens to consume him. He was edgy, needy , and Kei was leveraging his ability to drag it out to a level that made Felix feel out of control in the most intoxicating way he’d ever felt before. He can’t help it, he bucks his hips, his heels scraping at the floor in a desperate attempt to incite movement, wrath, stimulation—literally anything that might get Kei to speed up his movements, even just slightly.
But Kei just lingers with the head of his cock inside of him, the first barbell pressing against the rim of his hole. Felix felt hectic, desperate, his body tensing, desperate for motion, for fullness, for too much sensation that still wasn’t enough. Felix was slowly unraveling, growing more and more desperate for Kei to just fucking rail him. Getting twitchy, the ache inside him spreading to every molecule composing his being, getting ready to fucking grovel for it, because fuck, fuck, fuck he needs more. Needs to cum, to be fucked, brutally, ruthlessly, pushed to the edges of his limits.
Moreover, he wants to beg, but his tongue stayed stubbornly heavy, his mind torn between pleading for what he obviously wanted and a pathetic attempt at saving face. And as if Kei knew he was grappling with it, fighting against surrender, he just kept him there with just the head of his cock inside, and the metal warning resting against the rim of his hole acted as a teasing reminder of what he needed .
He opens his mouth to demand motion, to demand anything as long as it promises an orgasm, but before he can manage to work his tongue to debase himself, Kei moves . Thrusts back in, in one smooth, certain motion.
Felix breaks again. With a sob this time, muffled into Kei’s shoulder. And Kei fucks him through it, slow and grinding and punishing—the kind of pace meant to draw out the desperate ache until Felix doesn’t know where it starts and ends. His body clenched down. Seeking, slicking, desperate. He needs.
Motion . Fullness . Something . Anything. Just fucking more .
“Don’t worry, baby,” Kei says, low against his ear, “I’m gonna take my time, get you ready for my knot before it sinks into place.” It’s not a threat, it’s a promise, one that makes something spark low and deep in Felix’s stomach, desperate . “I’m gonna fuck it into you at the very end, when you’re overstimmed and desperate for it. I want you to beg for it. To want it more than air.” Felix can’t answer, not with words.
So he rocks into it, gritting his teeth and baring them. Keeps taking it, dragging his nails down Kei’s back like he can brand him back. Like he can hold on and not fall apart , when he was already on the verge of it anyway.
Kei pulls out again and thrusts deeper. Felix cries out—not a sob this time, just pure need. Raw, feral, aching desire , as slick gushes around the base of Kei’s cock and he shakes and shivers. Trembles. His legs wrapped tight around Kei’s waist, everything inside of him open and full and aching and desperate.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Kei tuts, his voice deep and warm and wrapping around his eardrums like it belongs there, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now. You’ll cum when I say to.” Kei scolds lightly, the kind of lightness that inherently felt like a challenge, like weakness . But his thrusts get faster, sharper. Just a little. Just enough. “ Not before.“
Not yet? Fuck, not yet. He couldn’t cum yet? He was torn somewhere between desperation and agony at the words, even though they didn’t actually prevent him from cumming. He knew, somewhere in his head, he still could cum. But—he cut himself off before he could actually think what he was about to. That he wanted permission . Wanted praise . Wanted to be good .
Felix doesn’t beg. But he’s startlingly close to it. His hips twitch. His eyes glaze. His cock pulses, untouched and weeping where it rests on his lower abdomen. He doesn’t even need friction—he just needs more . More pressure. More weight. More of those eyes. More of Kei splitting him open from the inside out. More of that smug fucking voice and the cocky fucking look. More of his goddamn cock, the piercings on it dragging across every nerve that he had and some he didn’t even know about.
“You feel good, baby?” Kei asked, cooed , the softness of it shocking Felix’s system. Every cell in his body was vibrating with pleasure and desire, and he was fucking gone for it. Kei cooing at him normally would’ve made him bristle. He would’ve snapped, at the very least, made it clear he didn’t get to treat him like that . Because he knew that kind of softness would make something small and ignored inside of him melt. Thaw. He didn’t want that; he didn’t want to open himself up to someone. That softness made a forbidden word flicker in his skull— please —before he strangled it in pride.
Like this, he didn’t care. He’d been able to up and leave Russia because the only person he cared about there was Larisa. If he cared about Kei—if he cared about anyone , then losing them would hurt. Losing them would feel just like when he was a kid being dropped off at boarding school for the first time. The realization that he was alone again , after getting close and accepting what he’d never been allowed to have, would hurt. It’d be worse . Because now he didn’t know what he was missing. Now it was just normal to be touch-starved, distant, and lonely. That was the baseline. If something else became baseline, and everyone left him, it’d—it’d hurt . More than the loneliness did.
“Clearly!” Felix snapped, fighting back a moan as Kei’s hips shifted forward again, his thighs trembling from the force he was exerting to keep from clinging onto him any more than he already was. His thighs burned, a shaky ache that said he’d been held open too long, mercilessly, but he wanted—he wanted— fuck . More.
“You wanna cum?” Kei asked, his hand moving to the inside of his trembling thigh, spreading his legs more, eyes roaming over him hungrily. As if he wanted to write the sight of him slicked up, shaking, and collapsing to memory. Felix doesn’t say yes, but he makes a noise, a whine, a wordless plea. He wanted to cum, yes , but admitting it felt like admitting defeat somehow.
“Say it,” Kei panted, each thrust building the rhythm now. Relentless. Heavy. Deep. Pleasure burst through him like an electric current, his body spasming, fingers clenching on Kei’s shoulders as if he could somehow anchor himself in the sensation enough not to fall apart. “Say you want it.” Felix shakes his head stubbornly.
“I want you to shut up and fuck me!” He gasped, gritting his teeth. And Kei laughs . Like he’s not seconds from snapping. As if Felix’s defiance is the hottest thing he’d ever encountered. Kei thrusts into him again. Hard, this time. Deep and certain and mean . Purposefully attacking his ability to maintain any semblance of control. And Felix isn’t even mad. He just jolts, a loud cry being punched from his throat as pleasure rocks him to the core of his being.
“So then you don’t want to cum?” Kei asked, not stopping or slowing down—if anything, he was being more intentional with it. Pushing him right to the precipice but stopping before he could fall over it. Over and over, again and again. It isn’t enough. It’s not enough—he needs more, more, fucking—God, he wanted to scream. To punch Kei right in his stupid fucking perfectly asymmetrical face. But more than that, he did want to cum.
He needed to cum. His entire body was sensitive and twitchy and edgy and he wanted to fucking cum. Every movement of Kei’s cock inside of him only sent the overwhelming pleasure skyrocketing. Each barbell skimmed his insides like cold chain links being pulled through velvet. He wanted to sink into that feeling, beneath that feeling, let the pleasure win out over his pride, but to give in meant to surrender. To give up. To stop the battle and admit Kei won . It felt like a double-edged sword where no matter which direction he took, he lost either way.
But the pleasure—it was a lot . He couldn’t think past it, let alone about anything other than it. He wanted, more than anything, to cum. For the pleasure of cresting the peak and letting him shatter on the down-swing. He wanted— fine , fine, fucking—fucking fine.
“I-I do,” Felix managed to get out, breathless, his nails biting down into Kei’s shoulders. “I do.”
Kei’s breath caught on a ragged, hungry sound, the words seeming to punch him in the face harder than Felix ever could’ve. Kei leaned in, going toward his neck, nuzzling behind his ear, lips dipping down to press just over the band of the spiked collar around his throat.
Even with the collar in place, his instincts should’ve screamed Danger! Danger! Danger! at this stage. When his scent curled thick through the air, full of want and desire, receptiveness , instinct usually kicked into full gear and made him weary of such motions—but when Kei did it, something different sparked beneath his skin. Not fear, not distaste, desire .
Felix shuddered, turning his head to give Kei more access to his throat thoughtlessly, his thighs wrapping desperately around Kei’s waist as he arched slightly into Kei’s chest. Kei groaned quietly, his teeth scraping against his skin in reward. It wasn’t enough to mark him, far from it, actually. But it was enough to make every cell in his body vibrate in reaction to the tingling the feeling set off.
“Good boy,” Kei purred, the words vibrating against Felix’s skin, “Say it again, baby.” Felix’s pride flickers, but it’s a dying matchstick against the tsunami of sensation Kei sent rippling through his body. Kei’s hips roll, a deep, relentless grind; the first barbell drags over his prostate, and then the second, making him shudder. His voice breaks on a whimper that could’ve been any word at all—he didn’t even know anymore.
Kei’s palm slides up Felix’s thigh, calloused thumb skimming the hyper-sensitive crease where leg meets groin. He presses—firm, possessive—holding Felix in place while his cock pulls out just enough that the metal of the first barbell kisses his rim in a slow, lethal scrape.
“Tell me, precious,” Kei’s voice was coaxing, soft as velvet and just as suffocating. “Tell me you want to cum.” Felix’s nails clawed into Kei’s shoulders deeper, a desperate anchor, a desperate leverage.
“I—” The words get stuck; his throat too tight, lungs too full of molten desire. Kei’s next thrust is sudden, brutal, burying inside him to the hilt. Felix cried out, the sound shredding the air around them.
“You feel that?” Kei purred against his skin, teeth scraping just a bit rougher, eliciting a needy whine to escape his throat. “Feel every inch of me inside you?” Felix nods, a frantic, desperate motion.
“Yes—yes—fuck—!” He sounded so desperate, even to himself. A sliver of him flared, a sharp stab of recognition. He was too overstimulated, too desperate, to even register the fact that he should be embarrassed. All he wanted was the pleasure, the heat, the intensity.
“Then ask, baby,” Kei pulls back again, a movement of pure, slow torture, barbells dragging like cold chain links inside him. Slick seeps out, obscene and hot and humiliating, coating both of them in it. Felix’s cock twitches, one spasm away from losing himself to an orgasm. Untouched, shaking, leaking, he was right there, and he didn’t have to ask because Kei wasn’t purposefully edging him anymore. He was giving him the option for both, providing enough stimulation that he could cum without pleading, but still leaving room for him to beg for it.
It was a small mercy, one Felix was simultaneously grateful for and humiliated by. Even as he tried to steel himself to just sink into the inevitable, his brain scrambled around aimlessly, instincts screaming to beg . To show how good he could be for Kei, how sweet he was capable of being. How pliant and easy and soft and—fuck.
He knew it, he was collapsing, falling in on himself, surrendering. And he wasn’t even able to be angry about it. He was begrudgingly impressed. He’d thought his shields were impenetrable, his ability to act normal flawless. He thought, in a way, that he didn’t need this. He was above it. He’d never felt cared about before, so why would he need or want it now, when he could take care of himself? But—But there was a tiny part of him that he’d been snubbing out for years, suffocating, that wanted to be cared about. It’d always been weak and easy to ignore, but right now? It was the part that was taking control.
“Please,” Felix finally gasps, the word ripped raw from somewhere he never lets anyone near, “Please, Alpha—let me, let me cum .”
“Good boy,” Kei’s eyes flare, his voice soft, feral, tender all at once. He shifts his grip, one hand sliding between their bodies. Warm fingers wrap around Felix’s desperately leaking cock—not teasing, not stroking. Just firm, perfect pressure in time with the next punishing thrust. “Cum,” Kei commands, and Felix detonates.
His orgasm hits like lightning—white heat, blinding, spilling out of him in thick ropes across his stomach and Kei’s fist. His entire body tensed, locking in place as he convulsed and pleasure ricocheted from his prostate to his brainstem. The barbells grind inside of him exactly as his body clenches, magnifying every pulse of release until his vision blurred at the edges and the world dissolves to nothing. And even then, Kei still doesn’t stop .
He rides the contractions of his body out, stroking his cock through each wave of his orgasm, cock pressing deep, deep, deeper—bars scoring Felix’s hypersensitive nerves so the crest of the orgasm peaks again, sharper, edging on pain. And even still, Felix just sobs, slick flooding around the base of Kei’s cock, thighs shaking and body twitching, lost in total sensory overload.
Through the blur, the only thing he can focus on is Kei’s eyes—glowing gold, blazing with hunger and pride like he’s watching something sacred unravel. That molten stare pins him in place as much as the hand still wrapped around his cock, holding him there while he comes apart.
Only when Felix’s body goes limp—trembling, twitching with the aftershocks—does Kei ease the thrusts into a slow roll. Felix twitched slightly, lips parting on a gasp, the action of shifting pace making the sensation hit harder in the wake of his orgasm. The first thing Felix noticed as he came down was the slight swell at the base of Kei’s cock. His knot . Something in Felix’s brain sparked, like the knowledge his knot still had to catch was foreign to him when he was certain he’d already had this realization before. But it sent a spark of pure omega satisfaction spiking through him.
Knot . Knot. Knot —his instincts screamed, every roll of Kei’s hips allowing him to feel how it had thickened just enough to stretch Felix on every stroke without locking. A promise. A threat. A claim … and the thought of being sealed there— locked —felt like terror and home colliding in his ribs.
“That’s it, baby,” Kei murmured, lips brushing Felix’s temple, still stroking Felix’s softening cock in his hand. “Such a good boy.” Felix can’t answer, can hardly even breathe —so he lets the truth show in the way he melted against Kei, fingers leaving Kei’s shoulders to curl weakly at the nape of Kei’s neck. Steadying, grounding himself in the surrender. In the comfort.
“Ready for more?” Kei asked, his voice dropping to velvet over steel. Felix couldn’t think to answer. His wrecked, bliss-hazy laugh doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all he can manage when his tongue feels heavy and thick, and Kei’s cock is still hard, knot teasing the rim of his hole, still buried deep, and Felix is already clenching, ready for the next wave. “Hmm?” Kei hums, forcing his response—and Felix whines a little.
“Da,” He managed to get out, finding it easier than trying to formulate an English response, even on the downswing of sensation. It comes out high and whiny, even still, and Felix can’t even feel ashamed of it. He’s just melting into Kei like he belongs there.
“Good boy,” Kei praised, nuzzling into his neck. “Let’s see how many times I can wreck you before my knot locks. Sound like a plan?” Felix moans in response.
Felix’s moan fades into a trembling, shaky exhale as Kei shifts away from him, pulling out with unbearable slowness—each barb of the piercings catching on overstimulated nerves, dragging the raw edge of sensation down the length of Felix’s spine.
“No, no—” Felix breathes, but it’s not resistance. It’s need . Already. Already, his body’s clenching around nothing, walls fluttering in search of fullness, of warmth . He’s too out of it to process anything beyond that. Beyond empty . “A-Alpha—Kei—Alpha—” He tries to piece together a plea, a demand, something, anything, that’ll get Kei back inside of him.
“I know,” Kei soothes, his voice soft and soothing, his palm sliding up Felix’s abdomen, a soothing pressure. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay.” He does. Felix knows that, deep in his bones. But it doesn’t stop the ache when he fully withdraws. Sensation seared in the space he left behind, slick and needy and gaping. Felix shudders from the sudden exposure. From the sudden emptiness. From the lack of sensation. Cold air kisses his slick-soaked rim, and he tenses, pressing his cheek to the floor.
“Face down,” Kei says quietly. The instruction hits something inside of him that usually would’ve bristled, but instead, it melted . His body was shaky, but he obeys. It’s instinct now—his hips lifting shakily, ass tilting up, thighs spread wide enough that they tremble from the strain. And still, he arches for it, his hole still open, dripping slick, well-fucked and pulsing, aching for fullness. He can’t bring himself to look back. But he doesn’t need to. Kei groans, low and deep behind him.
“I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now,” He murmurs, the words thick with hunger and desire. “Wrecked and dripping, begging for my cock without saying a fucking word.” Felix’s nails scrape the wooden floor as he bit down on a whimper and failed to disguise it. The weight of Kei’s body returns a second later—his chest pressing down along Felix’s spine, hips nestling back into the mess between his legs with practiced ease.
His cock nudges back inside of him with ease, the wet glide of slick making even the barbells on the bottom of his cock slide in without issue. It was making the stretch feel too good , too much, too real, but somehow not real enough. Felix keens—sharp, high, raw—and Kei’s hand snaps up to cover his mouth.
“Shhh,” Kei breathes, “Can’t have the whole building listening to your sweet little cries, baby.” Felix moans under the palm of Kei’s hand, the heat of it anchoring him, scent sinking deep into every part of his brain. It’s only then that he realizes he’s been so consumed by Kei’s pheromones that getting them this close to his nose made him realize they were still there, making that scent everything he’s ever wanted.
The combination of ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt—a scent that was usually so overpowering it could make alphas flee, wrapping around him with the same kind of softness of the snow blanketing the earth in winter back home. That sweet, warm scent, all Alpha and skin and his —the scent of being wanted , the scent that makes his knees weak and his cock twitch and slick leak and heart stutter.
I love this scent, his body whispers, mine, mine, mine—my alpha —and it hits so hard it makes him sob behind Kei’s hand.
“You love that,” Kei growled softly, rolling his hips forward. “You love it when I shut you up and fuck you like this, don’t you?” Felix nods his head frantically into Kei’s hand, teeth grazing the edge of Kei’s palm. “Say it.” Kei murmurs, slowing the rhythm to one cruel grind at a time. The barbells scrape across Felix’s prostate again, each one punching the air out of his lungs. “Say what you love.”
Felix tries. He really does. But all he could manage is noise, now, breathy, sobbing gasps against the palm of Kei’s hands, punctuated by the wet slap of skin against skin and the obscene noises of his slick with every thrust. He’s so wet, so needy, so lost, he can’t even fathom why he’d resisted this so hard in the first place.
“Can’t even speak anymore?” Kei questioned, tone softened with amusement and pride and something softer, more reverent. “Already made you cum once, and you’re still clenching around me like you’re desperate for it. Greedy little omega, aren’t you?” Kei presses his cock in deeper, the slow, punishing grind sending a sharp wave of pleasure through his body. His breath catches, words tumbling out unbidden, raw and urgent.
“Пожалуйста… Альфа, не останавливай…” Felix was a little surprised, admittedly, not only that he managed to speak, but with the ease with which he’d done it. Forming English statements wasn’t nearly as easy for him as it felt in the moment. He was a little too out of it to realize his plea; please… Alpha, don’t stop wouldn’t be understood by Kei—he was running on autopilot, desperate for relief and release and too comfortable not to lose himself in the moment.
Felix’s eyes flutter shut, his cheeks burning, but the words are the only way to express the desperate need curling tight in his chest. He doesn’t even notice the switch—only the way Kei’s scent and touch consume him entirely.
“That’s my good boy,” Kei praised, his voice low and thick with hunger as his hips rocked forward, each deliberate thrust causing the metal of his piercings to scrape teasingly against the sensitive walls of his hole. The sharp, rhythmic pressure from the metal sent jolts of pleasure through Felix’s body, making him clench tighter. “Are you getting close again? Wanna cum for me?”
Slick mixed with the weight from the piercings in a dizzying rush of sensation, and Felix’s breath hitched, ragged and uneven, chest heaving with desperate need. His fingers clawed at the wooden floor, nails scraping soft as a hot flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. Every nerve ending burned alive, the ache pooling fiercely and urgently, pulse roaring in his ears.
“Да… пожалуйста… Альфа, дай… дай мне… я больше не могу…” The words tumbled free with ease, too lost in instinct to realize, even as his voice cracked on the last syllable. He was begging without shame, Yes… please… Alpha, give… give it to me… I can’t take it anymore… every consonant thick with desperate need. His plea dissolved into a tremor of slick, helpless sounds as he rocked back into Kei’s next forward grind, body straining for permission he was no longer capable of asking for in English. And he was too lost to even notice, let alone care.
“Go ahead,” Kei whispers, nonplussed, “Cum for me again, baby. Let it out.” And fuck, that’s all it takes.
The orgasm slams into him without warning, fierce and devastating—his whole body convulsing, cock twitching helplessly, untouched, as cum spills on the floor beneath him. His hole clenches around Kei’s cock so hard it drags a rough groan from his chest, the barbells caught up in the rhythmic spasms of his body. Kei’s hand never leaves his mouth, holding him steady through the storm of it—through the unbearable, blinding overstimulation that starts as soon as the peak crests.
Kei doesn’t stop moving. He fucks him through it, gentle only in theory , his knot pressing harder against Felix’s rim, each grind sending out new trills of pain and bliss. Felix can’t breathe. Can’t think . His thoughts collapsed into sound, scent, heat, and Kei. Kei. Kei. He’s wrung out and shaking by the time his orgasm fades. His limbs feel like jelly, his mouth slack, a soft string of broken whimpers fluttering against the palm of Kei’s hand.
Kei lowers his hand slowly, letting Felix breathe. Letting him sag bonelessly onto the floor. Then, Kei leans in close, mouth brushing the curve of his ear, voice like rough silk.
“Still with me?” Kei questioned.
“Да,” Felix moans faintly in response. Kei hums quietly.
“Mm,” Kei pressed a kiss to the tip of his ear gently. “You smell so fucking perfect.” The praise shoots straight to the instinct part of his brain, making him purr contentedly. Felix had always taken the strongest suppressants available when he lived at home; his scent was slight even during his heat cycle—he’d never been complimented about his scent before, not like this .
It feels so warm. Like being seen , being accepted. It was dizzying in the aftermath of an orgasm.
Even limp, Felix could feel the stretch, the pressure, the slow, insistent swell of Kei’s knot pressing tighter, thicker, almost ready—and he wanted it. Wrecked and sobbing and shaking as he is—he wants it.
“Альфа,” Felix whispers, shakily, sloppily, his voice hoarse and ruined, “Lock, I—I want it—” The words tumble from his mouth, a slur of words he should’ve filtered, but he was too strung out on the pleasure to even contemplate. He is too gone to realize the words that left his mouth, the meaning behind them. Begging for a knot was nothing new. That was one thing.
He didn’t just want the knot; he wanted the after . The soft touches and gentle whispers and praise, and being held—he wanted the lock. And that should’ve been terrifying. It should’ve made him run screaming in the opposite direction. Instead, he shifts weakly, pushing back against the swell of Kei’s knot desperately, his head swimming with pleasure, with overstimulation. He’s so far gone, so far gone, and yet he can’t think beyond the presence of Kei’s knot and his overwhelming desire to be full of it. Kei’s groan sounds like pure hunger.
“Oh baby,” Kei murmurs, his hips rocking in slow, claiming rolls. “You ready?” Felix moaned weakly, shuddering, wrecked, pliant, soft in ways he was unaccustomed to—arched into it anyway. He’d never been more ready for a fucking knot in his life.
Kei’s knot pressed against Felix’s rim, swollen and pulsing, the pressure building with torturous slowness. Felix’s breath hitched in his throat, eyes fluttering shut from the exquisite agony and bliss warring beneath his skin. He was so overstimulated, every nerve ending in his body burned like wildfire, laced with a raw, deep ache that demanded surrender. Kei’s hands settled on either side of Felix’s head, caging him down into place as he shifted, pressing Felix’s chest flush with the floor.
Felix’s hands moved, gripping Kei’s wrists, nuzzling his face into the scent gland that rested on the left one, purring quietly as he melted down onto the wooden floor like it was soft and comfortable. Like he had nowhere else he’d rather be. Kei’s scent was steady, unyielding, grounding Felix in the chaotic storm of sensation. All he could focus on was instinct. Knot. Kei. Alpha. Scent. Mine.
With a deliberate, agonizingly slow grind, Kei’s knot began to push past the tight, trembling ring of muscle. The first inch was a jagged edge of pain—sharp, exquisite, a searing brand of pleasure interlaced with discomfort. Felix gasped, his back arching, the sensation rippling down his spine like an electric current. His fingers scrabbled at Kei’s wrists, nails biting into them hard enough to make Kei hiss, as if the grip could somehow hold him upright through the overwhelming stretch.
Inside, Kei’s piercings caught against his prostate, the cool, unforgiving metal scraped in deliberate, slow strokes, sending slivers of sharp, burning ecstasy twisting through Felix’s body. The piercings scraped lightly with each tiny, grinding movement of Kei’s knot—a cruel, delicious torment that teased every hypersensitive nerve like the stroke of a masterful artist. Felix’s cock twitched beneath him, precum leaking freely, slick, hot, and sticky as his body trembled and ached.
His hips bucked weakly, chasing the maddening blend of pain and pleasure, desperate to ride the mounting wave that threatened to consume him. The slow swell of Kei’s knot pressed deeper, thick and unyielding, stretching Felix’s hole open with every millimeter. It felt like it was taking forever, every second dragging out like he’d hit .05 on the playback speed. But when it sank into place—when the weight of his knot settled firmly, heavily, possessively, filling him with a fullness so intense it felt like being filled with molten fire and cold steel all at once.
Felix’s ribs strained as he fought to breathe through the intense squeeze, the barbells pressing firmly right on his fucking prostate, pressed against it hard enough to make him shiver. Shake. His entire body trembled, limbs loose and pliant, muscles spasming around the impossibly large knot and the absolutely sinful piercings that were shaking him apart at the seams. His nails bit down into Kei’s wrists, clawing them roughly as he shook.
“That’s it, baby,” Kei praised, his breath fanning his ear, warm and ragged, voice a low, hungry rumble. “That’s it, so perfect. Hold on to me.” Felix whimpered a broken sound that escaped his lips as his hole clenched reflexively around Kei’s swollen knot. The spasms rippled through his body, squeezing the piercings and sending razor-sharp shocks through his flesh. Every inch of Kei’s cock was coated in slick, but the cool metal piercings pressed sharp and relentless, pulling flickers of sharp overstimulation that sliced through the mounting pleasure like lightning.
His brain felt hazed, fractured under the weight of the overstimulation, every sensation magnified—the grinding swell inside of him, the hot press of flesh to flesh, the cold bite of metal against his inner walls, the scent of Kei’s pheromones thick in the air, intoxicating and primal.
“Блядь— Kei —” Felix’s breath hitched in broken gasps, voice ragged and raw, as Kei’s hips rolled in slow circles, grinding his knot against his inner walls. Each forward movement was dizzying, so pleasurable it was too much . But he wanted more of it, more until he was full of cum. He wanted to feel it as it filled him, the warmth and heat, his entire body screaming for it. Instincts craving it.
Kei’s hips pressed deeper, somehow, the weight of his swollen knot sealing inside Felix with possessive heat. Every slow, grinding roll dragged fiery waves of pleasure and aching stretch through Felix’s body, his muscles fluttering around the thick swell as if trying to hold on and let go all at once. Kei’s breath hitched low and ragged, his hips stuttering with need. The piercings caught and scraped inside Felix again, sending a jolt of painful pleasure through him. Felix’s body twitched desperately, his head shaking, scent thick in the air, all pleading and sweet and content.
“Such a good boy,” Kei’s voice was thick with desire as he growled it. “Wanting it so bad, hm? You’re mine.” His hands tightened around Kei’s wrists, clawing desperately as he trembled and nodded. Every rock of Kei’s hips was slow and deep, the knot stretching and pulsing inside of Felix’s hole, each movement pushing them both closer to the breaking point.
Felix’s breath hitched with every thrust of Kei’s hips, the knot filling him perfectly, and still he begged—soft, desperate sounds, wordless pleas, leaking out as the need for Kei’s cum overwhelmed every thought. A groan rumbled deep in Kei’s chest, his hips picking up the pace, each grind pressing his knot and the piercings harder against his inner walls, setting fire to the wild ache already burning there. The scent of Kei’s pheromones thickened around them, intoxicating, pulling Felix down into a haze of lust, desire, and submission.
“I’m gonna cum for you, baby,” Kei rasped, voice breaking with raw desperation. “Gonna fill you up so full you’ll never forget who owns you.” The words struck something inside of him that made the instinctual part of his brain light up.
Felix cried out, the sound half-feral—torn from somewhere deep in his chest. All he could do was feel . Feel, and need . So deeply and thoroughly, he didn’t know how to handle it. His body convulsed around Kei’s knot, clenching down in a series of desperate, involuntary spasms, like his instincts were trying to milk every drop before Kei had even cum. His head tilted back, mouth parted, eyes glassy with overstimulation and desire, the scent of his own slick and pheromones spiking sharply in the air.
Yes, yes, yes, every nerve screamed for it. His hips rocked helplessly beneath Kei, chasing the heat, the fullness, begging to be bred, claimed, filled so completely he’d never be able to forget it. Something inside of him broke open, then—some last threat of resistance or shame or fear—and all that was left was his alpha , and the wild, shaking need to be locked .
Felix let out a shuddering cry, Kei’s cum flooding him—hot, thick, filling him entirely, slick and warm as it spilled deep inside of him. Felix’s hole clenched instinctively around the knot and the warm flood of cum, his body trembling with the overwhelming pleasure and the fierce, aching satisfaction he felt from being claimed so thoroughly.
Felix shattered. Everything blurred. His orgasm ripped through him like a live wire—sharp, white hot, and devastating. His body seized, muscles locking around Kei’s knot as his cock pulsed, untouched, cum painting the floor beneath him in messy streaks. Wave after wave of pure, burning pleasure wrecked him. His cry dissolved into a broken sob, the sound ripped from his throat as his body convulsed, caught between the brutal stretch of the knot and the molten rush of cum filling him so deep it felt endless.
Every nerve was aflame, every thought gone . All that remained was heat, the slick pressure of Kei locked inside him, and the wrecked, mindless bliss of being ruined just right. Felix melted into the floor, into Kei, into the moment—utterly undone, utterly owned, utterly full.
Felix sobbed, trembling in the aftermath, wrecked and sated, knotted and held in the intimate claim of Kei’s heavy knot, the piercings pressing sharp kisses against his prostate with each pulse of cum that filled him. He was lost. So lost in Kei, in the sensation, in the perfect, aching fullness of being claimed. Feeling adored , as soft words were whispered in his ear. He couldn’t even make out what the words were; just that Kei was saying something in a tone that made every instinct in his body settle.
[ 8 ] 𝖱𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 | 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
Felix isn’t moving. Not really.
He’s breathing hard, his soft body twitching with little aftershocks of pleasure. His legs spread and back arched, face pressed into the hardwood floor, body melted beneath Kei as if he belonged there. Completely bare, slick, and wrecked , the scent of happy omega pheromones seeped into Kei’s system like a drug. Kei let out a content hum, his knot still locked deep inside of Felix, every slight pulse of cum as it fills him drags a soft, gasping sound out of Felix’s mouth that’s not quite conscious.
He looks ruined, beautiful, and utterly vulnerable. His dyed blonde hair was a disaster, wet with sweat and flying in every direction. His lithe, firm body was undeniably soft, pliant in the aftermath of the intensity. His usually guarded expression completely softened, replaced by the softness of an omega satisfied. His usually stiff body completely melted, composure erased, holding onto Kei in a sweet, desperate cling, even as out of it as he was.
Kei shifted slightly, tugging his arm out of Felix’s weak grasp to inspect the marks where Felix’s nails had dug in too deeply. Felix let out a grumpy huff, his hand trying to locate the arm Kei had pulled away, his eyebrows drawing together when the attempt proved impossible. Kei slid down over his back, his free arm curling around Felix’s waist, the other moving to wrap around his shoulders, carefully maneuvering them over onto their side.
Felix let out a whine from the tug of his knot, his hole clenching desperately around the base of it as if he thought he was going to pull out. Kei let out a soothing hum, his hand sliding along Felix’s abdomen over the velvet leotard, up to his throat where the collar rested, his face pressing in behind Felix’s ear. Felix let out a weak moan, his shaky hands reaching up to wrap around the wrist of the hand by his collar, tugging the hand up to his face, pressing his nose into it with a shaky, soft inhale.
Felix melted again, purring with contentment, his tongue snaking out to run over his palm—and Kei can’t help but laugh, his nose pressing against the back of Felix’s head. He’s not laughing at Felix, but more in an I can’t fucking believe this way. He’d known Felix was a brat, that beneath his bristles and words that cut like knives, he was just like this—soft, open, sweet—and he’d further known he was repressing his instincts, but this was beyond what he’d expected.
When Felix’s defenses fell, he went soft like there’d never been any bristles or barbs in the first place.
“Good boy,” Kei murmured, relishing in the open whimper it elicited from Felix, his teeth scraping at his palm like he wanted to bite into it but couldn’t quite work out how to. “Such a good boy, so sweet and soft. Perfect.” Felix let out a soft, blissful moan, his tongue moving, tracing his palm more, edging toward his thumb. Felix bit into the fleshy web of Kei’s hand, a soft whimper escaping his throat.
Kei tried his best to limit the slight jerk of his body in response, but couldn’t fully keep it from happening. Thankfully, Felix didn’t seem to notice, having taken to licking over the bite with an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face.
Beautiful, Kei can’t help but think. And he is beautiful.
Felix is the kind of beautiful that makes people stare too long, then pretend they weren’t looking at all.
He’s not tall—maybe five-seven on a good day—but he carries himself with precision and the presence of someone who knows exactly how to take up space. Every inch of him is cut with the kind of lean, fluid strength only years of intense training can give: wiry muscle wrapped in silk, all elegant lines, and coiled control. His body is made for movement, but even in stillness, it’s impossible not to notice him.
His skin was pale with a faint golden undertone, smooth and dewy, flushed right now from heat and exertion. Even the way the sweat clings in a fine sheen at his temples looks too perfect . His face is almost unreal in its symmetry—sharp cheekbones, delicate jaw, lips full and flushed a soft, bitten red. Right now, they’re parted, a little chapped at the edges, wet with spit from mouthing at Kei’s hand. His lashes are long and black, fluttering weakly against the tops of his cheeks, his brows furrowed in that faint, pretty frown he wears when he’s too out of it to pretend he’s not affected.
His eyes fluttered open—gunmetal blue, cool and cutting when he’s present, but glazed and glassy now, rimmed red at the corners from the sobbing earlier. They’re almost luminous in the low light cast by the moonlight, framed by the mess of his hair. Wild and sweat-dampened, platinum dye faded at the ends, disheveled and soft, with dark black roots blooming like ink beneath it. It’s a stark contrast—both icy and dark, sharp and vulnerable, all at once.
But what really hits Kei is the way he looks now, post-everything —cheek pressed against hardwood, arms and hands soft and trembling, hips tilted just slightly to keep himself locked, slick all over his thighs and leotard. The way his back rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths against Kei’s chest, the way his body twitched occasionally from the aftershocks. The way his faint, purring hum vibrates low in his chest, instinctive and unthinking. Completely, utterly undone. Devastatingly beautiful . Like a fever dream turned reality—wrecked, owned, and glowing in it.
Kei doesn’t move for a long time. He’s still knotted, so he had an excuse—but it’s not what really keeps him there on the uncomfortable hardwood floor. His knot was down enough; he could probably pull out just fine, even if it’s a bit early . It’s the way Felix’s fingers are coiled tight around his wrist, fingertips biting into nail marks, his nose buried in Kei’s palm like it’s oxygen. Like he needs it. Like it’s home .
And somehow, it kinda felt like it.
The apartment was warm, dim, silent, except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator and Felix’s occasional, soft little noises—contented sighs, twitchy exhales, instinctual purrs. Every time Felix breathes in, Kei can feel the little shiver that rolls down his back, the way his body tries to melt further into him, as if any space at all was too much .
He’s so soft like this, so sweet. The sharp, vicious little dancer turned pliant omega—all plié and profanity usually, but now… Now , he’s glowing.
Even with his mouth parted, lips slack with exhaustion, his tongue just barely peeking past them as he breathes around the curve of his palm, Felix is devastating. He’s not even licking anymore, just breathing, just letting Kei’s scent fill every fragile corner of his senses. And it makes every instinct in Kei’s body react— respond to Felix like it’s law—primal, unshakable. The urge to protect, to claim, to sink deeper into the warmth and never let go thrums hot beneath his skin.
His scent all over Felix feels right , necessary, the same way silence follows the final note of a requiem. There’s a feral sort of sweetness in the way Felix breathes him in, unguarded, trusting, like he’d rather be here than anywhere else, like Kei is home , and it sets off something deeper than rut , deeper than desire . His instincts didn’t just want to stay inside of him; they wanted to keep him soft like this, safe like this, forever.
Kei presses a kiss to the back of Felix’s head, then another. Kei’s free hand strokes lightly up Felix’s abdomen again, over the leotard—slow, steady, thumb-dragging soft circles into velvet-covered skin. Felix sighs into his palm like it soothes him, his hips giving the barest twitch against Kei’s hips like he wants more. Not sex or stimulation. Just more . More warmth, more contact, more scent, more presence.
And God—Kei gives it. All of it, without hesitation.
He’s not sure how long it’d been when he heard the sound of keys jingling at the doorknob. Kei’s instincts snap like a live wire because Hye-Jin is home , Devonte is almost certainly with him, and Felix is a literal mess. He’d be livid if either of them saw him this— uninhibited.
Kei moves without thinking, kicking off his shoe so it would wedge under the door as whoever opened it pushed—just enough to jam it and buy himself a couple of seconds. He couldn’t fully stop it; the lock had clicked, and the handle was turning, so he had to act fast. They’re right in front of the door. Hye-Jin didn’t have blankets around the house, and Felix was too much of a mess for that to be an option anyway. Kei shifted his weight, rolling them over just enough so that Felix was pressed between the floor and his body, covering as much of him as he could.
Felix doesn’t stir beyond the soft, instinctive noise he makes when Kei shifts, a faint whine of overstimulated nerves and protest. His body curls tighter without waking, slick and heat-warm beneath Kei’s body and against the cold hardwood beneath him, as if it were soft as a mattress. The scent of pheromones lingered thick in the air, their position less than ideal, but it’d do to preserve Felix’s pride when he came out of this.
The door opens an inch before catching on the rubber sole of his shoe. Kei’s heart punches in his throat, but he forces himself to remain calm, knowing if his pheromones spike with an emotional shift, Felix’s would too.
“—Jinnie, are you sure you didn’t leave it at—” Devonte’s voice cuts off, confused. He pushes harder, the door rattling. “Kei, man, quit throwing your shoes wherever—” He stopped entirely, a pause. A beat of silence.
“What’s wrong?” Hye-Jin questioned, closer now, firmer. Less casual. Protective. There is no answer from Devonte, just the creak of the door shifting another inch before catching hard against Kei’s shoe again. Then, silence. And in that silence, Kei knows the worst part isn’t the door being blocked. It’s the scent. The air is thick with it—their pheromones a thick haze that tells a very specific story. One Felix was probably not all that keen about having told. Especially—Especially now .
“Kei,” Hye-Jin says again, lower this time, more controlled. “Open my front door, right now!” Kei doesn’t. He can’t . Because his body is curled too tightly around Felix, whose soft breath tickles the inside of his wrist. Still out of it, still clinging, still wrecked . He can’t let Jin and Devonte see him like this.
“Not yet,” Kei responded, trying to keep his voice from disturbing Felix as much as he could. “Just—Just give me a few minutes.” There was a pause.
“Is he okay?” Devonte questioned, sounding uncertain. “Felix.”
“He’s safe,” Kei promised. “Uhh… kind of feral, actually. I dunno how long it’ll last.” He admitted. Another silence. Longer this time. He can feel it, the weight of their concern pressing in through the inch of open door. They know. Of course, they know . Even if they hadn’t heard it or seen it, the scent was enough. But no one says it directly.
“Safe,” Hye-Jin echoes, voice clipped. “Kei, you’re lying right inside my living room door on top of a passed-out omega who happens to be my roommate and new best friend, and I can smell him from here. Open this goddamn door before I castrate you with my blender!”
“I can’t!” Kei snapped, earning a whimper from Felix. Kei shifted enough to run his hand up Felix’s side, nuzzling into the back of his head. “It’s okay, baby, just relax. You’re okay.” Kei murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to the spot he was nuzzling. “This would be a lot easier to discuss in like an hour!” Kei tried to rationalize.
“You better open this door before I start rethinking every choice that led me to letting your horny ass into this apartment.” Hye-Jin snapped, “Come on! Let me check on Felix—!”
“Jinnie,” Devonte cut in, “Do you sense distress in Felix’s pheromones?” Hye-Jin made a scoffing noise, but he remained silent for a beat.
“…No,” Came his begrudging response.
“Something happened,” Devonte acknowledged, “But this conversation needs to be benched. Just until Kei gets him into bed. Then…” Devonte trailed off for a moment, “Then I’ll get to the bottom of it.” Felix begins to stir before any of them move.
It’s subtle at first. A twitch in his fingers where they’re curled around Kei’s wrist. A stutter in his breath. The faintest clench of his hole around Kei’s almost deflated knot, instinctive and slow, dragging against the rough texture of the hardwood below him. His nose shifts deeper into Kei’s palm, nuzzling once, twice—his brows knitting like something in him is unsettled, confused.
Then the whine comes. Fragile and broken, like a thread being pulled too tight. His whole body flinches in response, a ripple of overstimulated nerves firing in a way that made his hole tighten around Kei’s knot with an unconscious clench. He breathes in sharply, then hiccups on the exhale, like the air tastes wrong.
“Felix,” Kei murmurs, voice low and close against his ear, trying to soothe without startling him. He pressed his palm more firmly to Felix’s chest, thumb brushing in small, steady circles just under his ribs. “Shh, it’s alright, baby. You’re safe.” Felix whimpers again, more alert now. His lashes flutter, clumping slightly together from sweat, and the sharp edge of a frown draws across his brow. His voice comes next—cracked and hoarse, barely more than a breath.
“Слишком… слишком много голосов.” His lips barely move, and the words sound so foreign that Kei can’t determine what they’re meant to be. Kei shushes him gently, curling around him more protectively.
“It’s Jin and Dev. They’re home.” Kei murmured, “They’re not inside, so they can’t see you, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Felix doesn’t respond with words, just burrows tighter into Kei’s hand, his breathing stuttering as the tangle of scent and exhaustion threatens to overwhelm him again. But his eyes crack open—gunmetal blue, glassy, and red rimmed, flickering weakly in the moonlight. On the other side of the door, there’s a sudden beat of silence.
Felix tensed when Hye-Jin spoke again: “He’s waking up .” All anger gone, replaced with something more restrained. Worried. Devonte didn’t speak, but Kei could feel the tension in the air shift.
“Felix,” Kei whispered, nuzzling into his ear gently, “Do you want me to let them in? Or do you want me to keep them out?” Felix doesn’t answer immediately, he just presses his cheek into Kei’s hand, trembling slightly as he tried to blink back into awareness.
“Нет… не пускай их…” Felix breathes, the words shaky, like they hurt to say. He buries his face deeper into Kei’s hand, barely holding himself together. “Pосто… только ты…” Kei couldn’t understand a word of what he said, except the thought Нет meant no , which was only half helpful in determining the desired path. Both questions could be answered with that.
“I don’t think he wants you to come in,” Kei admitted.
“An hour.” Hye-Jin snapped, pulling the door with a violent tug. “Then your ass is grass.” The door shut with a surprisingly quiet thud, which left Felix contentedly nuzzling in Kei’s palm. Kei sighed. An hour didn’t feel like long enough, but he’d take it.
Kei closes Felix’s bedroom door behind him with a click that feels too sharp, too final. It slices through the silence like a verdict. He turns back to the living room, where Hye-Jin and Devonte are already waiting—still dressed from the party, but the shine long since worn off. Devonte’s jersey is half unbuttoned, clinging to his skin from sweat, and Hye-Jin’s mesh top glitters faintly under the overhead light, but there’s nothing soft or tired about the way either of them was perched on the couch.
The air stinks of stale beer, pheromones, and the bitter edge of adrenaline. And beneath it, Felix and Kei’s pheromones linger in the air, the ghost of pleasure and surrender clinging to every corner. Hye-Jin doesn’t move. His arms are folded tight, the muscles tensed in his slender arms, his chin jerking toward Kei like a blade.
“You’ve got ten minutes to convince me not to turn your designation from Alpha to Eunuch.” Kei doesn’t flinch, but he does look tired—like the weight of the night is finally pressing down on him now that he’d settled Felix and closed the door.
“We walked back from the party,” Kei explained, voice low and rough. “I was careful. I kept my distance. I didn’t touch him. Didn’t even get close enough for my pheromones to touch him until he said yes.” Kei continued, Devonte shifts his stance, arms crossed but looser than Hye-Jin’s. Watching. Measuring. Kei exhales through his nose once. “I didn’t force anything. I know this looks bad, especially me blocking the door—I know what you’re both thinking, but I didn’t. I swear.” He scrubs his hand over his face, then looks up, gaze steady. “He wasn’t drunk—not on liquor or pheromones. He knew what he was saying.”
The silence that follows his words isn’t relief, it’s tension stretching thinner. Devonte is still and says nothing. Not yet. Hye-Jin studies Kei like he’s peeling him apart molecule by molecule.
“And he explicitly invited you in? Into the apartment, and into his bed?” Hye-Jin questioned, his voice deadly calm and cool.
“Yes!” Kei promised, “Specifically, he said something like, ‘Fucking fine. Come up. You think you’ve got the balls to make me beg—prove it.’” Hye-Jin’s eyes narrowed at that. Hye-Jin didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, but something in his jaw flexed.
“Yeah,” He said slowly, “That does sound like Felix.” His arms dropped from their folded stance, but not fully out of ease. He looked tired now, but still sharp-edged. “Pissed off. Proud. Snarky.”
“Bratty.” Devonte chimed in.
“Da. Exact words.” Felix’s voice cuts through the thick silence, sharp and clipped. “Was horny. He had tools. I used them. No regret. Sex was good.” He smirked, folding his arms over his chest, eyes daring all of them to challenge him. The silence that follows feels louder than the click of the door earlier.
“And you wanted it?” Hye-Jin questioned. Felix hummed.
“Da. Shame came free with bad idea.” He sighed heavily, as if the admission hurt. “Now he is pillow. I steal.” The living room goes still—as if time itself was checking to see what’d come next. Everyone in the room was shocked, Kei included. Kei swallows. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he steps forward. The protectiveness and exhaustion in his eyes soften, turning into something warmer.
“Kidnapping, huh?” He murmured, voice low and amused. He reached out his hand. “Your pillow awaits,” Felix smirked, holding up a single finger, not taking the hand yet. Felix raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. His finger still hovers, teasing, like he’s holding Kei’s patience hostage just for the fun of it.
“Do not get cocky. I use you as furniture, is not compliment.” He muttered, stepping in anyway. “Is your luck I feel generous. Save from beating.” He plants his hand on Kei’s chest, giving him a slow once-over, like he’s appraising a luxury item that barely passes inspection—and then he leaned in. “You want come? Then bed is in there.” He commanded, gripping Kei’s shirt in his fist and pulling. “Big, scary alpha? Hm. No. Just soft place to lie down.”
Kei lets out a low huff of laughter, something between amused and helpless, but doesn’t resist at all.
“Of course,” Kei draws, the grin on his face only half contained as he lets Felix pull him toward his bedroom. “Firm support. Memory foam. Built for maximum comfort.” Felix snorts, actually snorts, but it’s softened by the way his delicate fingers trembled slightly where they fisted his shirt.
“Talk too much. Waste air.” Felix mumbled under his breath.
“You like it,” Kei murmured back, stepping forward enough to follow in step beside him, his arm wrapping around Felix’s shoulder. Felix doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t push him off, either. He just exhales, long and slow, like he’s contemplating his life decisions with the kind of resignation of a man on his deathbed accepting childhood mistakes.
Kei jogs onto the field at 7:02 am like he didn’t just fuck someone into the floor six hours before, then spent the rest of the night being used as a pillow by a bratty but way too pretty omega that clawed his shoulders, back and wrists to hell and back and bit his throwing hand. Shirtless. Laces on his practice jersey undone, draped over his shoulder like an afterthought. The early September sun doesn’t burn off the dew as fast as the early June sun, and it clings to Kei’s skin in a soft sheen.
The marks are impossible to miss. Some rake down from the tops of his shoulders, dragged downward with unmistakable desperation. They curve just slightly as they trail, suggesting Felix’s hands had slipped, repositioned, clenched again. The symmetry of it is obscene. Too neat for the instinctual haze they’d both been wrapped up in. Too intimate to ignore. Others drag forward, toward his chest—those are the deeper ones.
His wrists bear subtler damage—half-moon nail marks encircling each like bracelets. They scream: held on for dear life . The kind of grip that spoke of overwhelming instinct and desperation. And then there’s the bite. It sits perfectly over the fleshy part of his throwing hand, right where the web between thumb and index meets the tendon. It’s dark, fresh, swollen at the edges. Not just a superficial scrape—that one had pressure . Teeth. Maybe a hint of omega possessiveness behind it.
And Kei? Kei is glowing. A little too self-satisfied. Still high off the happy omega pheromones he’d been surrounded by when he woke up forty-five minutes ago. Felix had woken him up with a pillow to the face and some biting remark about owing him for dry cleaning his expensive, one-of-a-kind leotard.
Kei jogs the last few yards to the sideline, calves flexing with every stride, and drops his helmet beside the stack of practice bags. Breath clouds once, twice in the cool dawn, then settles. Across the painted grass, the rest of the offense is gathering—half-awake giants stretching hamstrings, slapping shoulder pads, talking shit like it’s a currency. Kei glanced over to his left as a familiar whistle caught his attention.
“Damn, Captain came in raw this morning.” Jaylen, barely finished taping his own wrists, angles a grin at him, eyes roaming over his shoulders. “That pretty little omega had some claws, huh?” Kei doesn’t slow his stride.
“You could say that,” Kei hummed, rolling his wrist once in a lazy circle so that the bite flashed dark against sun-lit skin. He kinda liked it, actually. He’d definitely been aiming for his scent gland, not his hand, though. Not like it’d cause any harm if he had bitten it, the only place that matters is the main scent gland in the neck. The others being bitten just caused a release of pheromones and a jolt of pleasure for the recipient, but he’d missed the one in his wrist by a wide margin. He was pretty deep in omegaspace when he did it, so the miss was understandable.
The memory of Felix licking at the bite flickered through Kei’s head, a sweet, soft expression on his usually stone-cold face. It was a sign of vulnerability, a sign of trust, a sign of satisfaction—and it made pride bloom in his chest. Jaylen’s eyebrows shot up as he ran his eyes over his shoulders.
“Pretty sure there’s no need to say it.” A soft whistle follows the line of scratches toward Kei’s chest. “Man, that’s artwork. I couldn’t see much of him last night, but he didn’t look like the feral type. Gave off more of like a he’d fall with grace, kinda vibe.”
“He’s not,” Kei answered, bending down to tighten a cleat. “He just grew claws for the occasion.” He started working his shoelace one-handed, his dominant hand balling into a fist to check the bite on his hand. Doesn’t seem to hurt , he noted, tensing the muscles in his hand quickly.
“Claws and teeth, apparently.” Jaylen’s grin doubled when Kei finished tightening the knot single-handed; his dominant hand still flexing, testing to see if any certain movement would cause pain. None had yet, at least not anything unbearable. “Gonna need that throwin’ hand today, Cap.”
“Morning, Cap’n,” Sean rumbled, “You look… well-rested.” His eyes flickered to the marks on Kei’s shoulders.
“Slept like a baby,” Kei responded, leaving out the part where he’d slept like two hours on a queen-size bed that felt like a twin because of how Felix decided to sleep practically on top of him. It hadn’t actually been uncomfortable in the slightest— but it hadn’t allowed him much sleep. Felix wasn’t in omegaspace by the time he’d pulled him back to his room, so he’d been all sass, sarcasm, and accidental seduction. Talking about how it didn’t mean anything, while pushing him onto his bed, with every intention of using him like a mattress.
“Lively night?” Derek questioned, running a crisp out-route drill, before stopping dead. “Whoa, Man. Kei. Your hand.” He pointed at the visible bite on his hand. “That’s a bite. On your money maker . What happened?”
“Bite’s on the webbing, not the seam. It’s fine.” Kei slapped him on the shoulder, straightening, shoulders stretching wide. The movement makes the rake marks pull, skin tightening over muscle in a way that almost displays the marks—like he wants them seen. A second whistling—shriller, authority-laden—cuts through the chatter. Coach Armstrong strides across the grass, clipboard shoved under one arm, sun still low behind him so his shadow spills long and imposing.
“Warm-ups ended sixty seconds ago! Matherson. Shirt on. Helmet.” He doesn’t slow, but his eyes flick to the scratches, lingering a half beat, before flickering down to his hand. He stopped dead in front of him, ignoring the surrounding players. His expression wasn’t panic, just fond, professional irritation . “The bite,” He stated flatly, pointing a thick finger precisely at the bite mark on the webspace. “Explain that placement.” Kei met Armstrong’s steely gaze, the smirk still faintly present even as he tried to temper the coach’s focused intensity.
“I had a good night?” Kei questioned. Armstrong narrowed his eyes. “Fine, look—omega enthusiasm. Instincts. Superficial.” He flexed his hand again, demonstrating a full range of motion without pain. “No functional impairment.”
“Good.” He stated, lingering for a moment, “Letting an omega sink their teeth in you is fine and expected. But protect your assets. That hand is important. Go to Riez. Have him sterilize it. Get it taped. Compressed. Covered. Don’t care if your omega mistook it for a chew toy mid-swoon. My QB doesn’t fumble.” Kei didn’t need to reply, and Armstrong didn’t wait for him to. He turned his glare to the team. “What the hell are you lot gawking at? Are ya a bunch of high-school brats? Ain’t ever seen some goddamn scratch marks? Moose, O’Connell—sleds, now! Chen, run the damn post corner until you puke! This isn’t a damn fraternity mixer. Snap to it!”
Kei swings the practice jersey off his shoulder, drags it over his head in one smooth pull, leaving the laces dangling loose so the neckline stays open enough to let the scratches on his shoulders stay visible. Jaylen snorts.
“Subtle, man.”
“Run your route clean and maybe the coach won’t make you vomit before seven-on-seven,” Kei shot back, but the edge was friendly. A slap lands on Kei’s back—Devonte, arriving with his helmet tucked to his hip.
“Morning, lover boy,” He drawled, his voice pitched low enough for only Kei to hear. “Jinnie says Felix wants a Venmo request before noon or he’s mailing the bill to your parents.” He paused for a minute. “Didn’t ask how he’d find them, but somehow, I don’t doubt it.” Kei can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.
“Tell him I’ll hand-deliver cash—and a new leotard,” Kei responded.
“Don’t promise high couture if you can’t back it up.” Devonte’s gaze tracks the bite on Kei’s hand. He whistles under his breath. “That placement is… less than ideal.” Kei shrugged. “Look, Man… what happened at the party? With you and that frat boy? S’not like you to do stupid shit like that. And getting so lost in it, you didn’t realize your pheromones were flaring.”
“I don’t really know,” Kei admitted, “I was just—Felix—Hell, man, I don’t know. I can’t rationalize it. I just know in the moment, every instinct in my body screamed from seeing another alpha around him.” He let his head fall back. “Suddenly, all I could focus on was him and that guy’s hand. I didn’t mean for it to turn into a fight. I swear.”
“Well, I stopped the fight before it could happen,” Devonte said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you gotta learn to keep a cool head even when some frat boy with less personality than a Wendy’s chicken nugget lays hands on him. Even if you do end up dating him.”
“You’re on-again-off-again with Jin—how do you handle the… the off-again times? When he’s got someone else, and you just gotta stand off to the side and let it happen.” Kei asked. Kei’s words hang in the air a moment too long—half swallowed by the crisp morning air, half-lost beneath the shouts of drills resuming across the field. Devonte doesn’t respond right away. He looks at him, takes in the bite mark, the scratches, and the untouchable, carefree Alpha who’s always led the team like a stormfront, suddenly sounding unsure .
“I don’t handle it. Not really.” Devonte’s voice is quieter now. Not hushed, but settled. Lived in. “I just survive it. Let it punch me in the gut. I fake some laughs, pretend it’s all good, and wait it out. Hope it cycles back around.” Kei doesn’t move. Doesn’t really even breathe. “So far, it always has. And I’m glad, because I’ve never been more miserable than when Jinnie wasn’t mine . But while I wait, I swallow it. Bleed it out. Either way, I don’t ruin what he’s got with someone else just ’cause it’s not me.”
The last part lands heavy—because Devonte knows that he almost knocked that pricks head off with his fist. Because Devonte knew him before Felix, and he’d never had to say anything so obvious to him before. He claps Kei once on the shoulder, lighter this time.
“He’s not with anyone now,” Devonte said, “He doesn’t seem like the kind to do serious. And neither are you. But…” Devonte sighed heavily, “But I think it could work. So… don’t fuck it up trying to act like some kind of possessive douchebag.”
Then, he’s gone, jogging toward the linebackers like nothing just cracked open.
[ 9 ] 𝖣𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 | 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
Felix doesn’t walk into the studio; he owns it. He’s minutes late, and while for almost anyone else that’d be normal, Felix was more than just punctual when it came to dance. He was usually there before the studio was even open, patiently waiting—but not today. He’s still slightly flushed from the sun. The kind of sore that makes every extension sharper, every line longer.
He’s wearing black rehearsal tights and a sheer, sleeveless leotard that catches on the soft sheen of sweat across his chest. His warmup wrap is barely hanging on. He doesn’t fix it. He likes the way it shifts when he turns, and he’d been unable to help not to notice Kei’s gaze running over him as he’d tied it in place. The night before him was still fresh in his mind, and—well, maybe he just liked torturing Kei.
Matteo doesn’t say anything about the obvious difference in his behavior—but he can tell there’s a reaction. Tayler, another dancer in the corps, hadn’t said anything either. Felix had even offered him a greeting when he came in, which usually didn’t happen. But Felix was feeling good, maybe a little too good. The mirror catches him mid-plié and he looks— glowing . It’s not the overhead lighting or the cut of the leotard. It’s deeper than that.
It’s in the set of his jaw. The looseness in his hips. The fluid sharpness of his port de bras. It’s in the kind of silence and stillness that follows a good fuck, a good fight, and a good night’s sleep—though he hadn’t managed much of the latter. He’s satisfied, and it shows . Matteo watches him from across the floor, barely trying to hide it. Tayler, leaning against the barre, clocks it too—an amused grin tugging at his lips. But it’s Matteo who looks like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t realize existed until now.
Felix doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He crosses to the center, resets the music, and starts the phrase from yesterday—only this time, he inhabits it. He drops into the movement like it owes him rent, a precise recklessness, controlled destruction. Everything about it is technical, but none of it is polite. He tears the space open, eats the music alive, and spits it back with lines so sharp it hurts to watch. When he stops, his breathing is audible—but not harsh. More like claimed air, stolen for his own use. He lets the silence stretch.
He doesn’t look at Matteo or Tayler. But both of them are staring. Hard.
“Jesus,” Tayler finally mutters, “Did you sleep at all?” Felix doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even flick his gaze toward Tayler. Just moves back into fifth position, arms relaxed at his sides like the tension’s been wrung clean from his body. “You’re glowing.” Tayler continues, with that amused curl of voice only a seasoned omega could get away with. “Like post-honeymoon glowing.”
Felix still says nothing. A single eyebrow arches—barely. He tries not to acknowledge the shift in his own outward appearance and personality. The way he’s softer, undoubtedly, not unguarded or changed just… relaxed . Like the human creatine ad had fucked the stress right out of him. His gaze slides over Tayler in the mirror, sharp and lazy all at once. Tayler grins, hands up in mock surrender, and pushes off the barre.
“Alright, alright. Saint Felix dies with his secrets.” Matteo, across the floor, hasn’t moved yet. Felix can feel his stare. It’s not exactly subtle. There’s something earnest and sharp behind it—like Matteo’s trying to decode him. Felix meets his gaze in the mirror for half a second, then breaks it, smooth and deliberate, as he begins the combination again.
This time, he doesn’t just devour the music; he toys with it. There’s a subtle stretch in the timing. A barely there hold at the peak of his développé that lets the silence sing. The port de bras flirts the edge of the classical line, but never quite obeys it. Everything is Felix’s own. Sharp when it should be soft. Loose where it should be controlled. He dances like the phrase was written for him , and everyone else is just lucky to be watching. When he finishes, Tayler exhales a low whistle.
“Shit,” Tayler murmured.
“Can you… Do it again?” Matteo finally speaks. Felix pauses. Turns. Tilts his head slightly, the way a cat might when you’re holding out your hand. Matteo swallows. “I mean—only if you’re good. I just. I—I want to see the phrasing again.” The studio is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the last ghost of breath leaving Felix’s lungs. He nods once. Then repeats the phrase.
This time, it’s not about him. Not about teasing. It’s a lesson. Still sensual, still unrepentantly Felix—but there’s a precision to it now. A teaching edge. And Matteo watches. Not just with awe this time, but with hunger. Quiet, raw want . Not like Tayler’s teasing curiosity. This is the kind of attention that latches onto every detail like it means something. Like it could be learned. When Felix stops, he hears it. They held their breath.
“Again?” He asks without looking at him. Matteo nods. Felix resets the music. His muscles are already singing—but it’s a good ache. A necessary one. Something about being watched like this doesn’t exhaust him. It charges him. And if Matteo keeps staring like that? Well… he might make a dancer out of him yet.
Felix doesn’t count the repetitions. He doesn’t need to. Time warps in the studio, slow and thick like honey. The lights stay the same, diffuse and steady, but the entire room tilts, just slightly, around the axis of his control. One phrase comes another, then another, and another. The air grows warmer. Not hot , but close. The kind of warmth that settles in your chest and makes it just the slightest bit hard to breathe.
He finishes the combination a seventh, maybe twelfth time, and his lungs pull air in a sharp but steady rhythm. The floor hums beneath his feet, a low echo of muscle memory and wood, the smell of resin and sweat binding to his skin. He’s lost the warmup wrap early on. At some point, it slipped off entirely and now rested in a coiled heap near the barre. Tayler must’ve moved it, or maybe it fell when he pushed off the floor too hard during the last jeté. He’s not too sure.
Matteo has barely moved. His body shifts—forward, backward, arms crossing and uncrossing—but he stays rooted in place, eyes locked on his every movement as if he can memorize it. The hunger in them has grown quiet now, more focused, less startled. It’s no longer the sharp bite of want , but the low drag of need —unhurried, absorbing, utterly devout.
When Felix turns from the mirror this time, he doesn’t ask. He just nods once, precise, chin lifting in that same feline way it had earlier. Tayler hits the button, and the music loops back around.
Even after what had to be thirty repetitions, the combination doesn’t grow tired. It deepens. Sharpens. Softens. Each time he threads the phrase together, it takes on a new edge. A new breath. A different texture of the same control. There’s nothing rote about it. He’s not even practicing anymore. He’s exploring in a way. Testing how far he can stretch the phrasing before it snaps—how much weight he can give each movement before it sinks too deep.
He loses track of where Matteo ends and the mirror begins. It’s all just one thing. A perfect distraction from the complicated, but satisfying swell of emotions flooding through him. Everything from contentment to dread, and the vast, endless possibilities between them, because he had surrendered to Kei last night. He’d given him access to the parts of himself he never wanted to see sunlight, and he didn’t know how to take that.
He’d let Kei in. Not just literally, into his house and his bed and his fucking body , but deeper than that. In his head. In his mind. In his instincts. It was still fresh, and he was still left a little buzzed off the pheromones and connection and sense of fulfillment. And he didn’t like that. Well, he did. But he didn’t like that he did. He hated it.
Any form of dependency was too much, even if it was just utilizing some Alpha jocks cock and knot for something worthwhile. He wasn’t ready to admit that he liked the idiot that cock was attached to. And what kind of sexual deviant would do something as extreme as piercing—even as he thought it, he felt his cheeks heat up. A sudden flicker of memory, the feeling of the piercings on the underside of Kei’s cock rubbing his prostate in that dizzying way they had the night before.
In an effort to keep from slicking into yet another leotard, Felix pushed the thought away like it had venom. At some point, Matteo crosses to the center. Not to join him, but he’s close enough that Felix feels the shift in the air. Sees the tremor of breath held tight in Matteo’s chest. Felix finishes the sequence again, this time with the silence held deliberately longer than the music called for.
He lets the absence of sound speak. The trailing lines of his arms fall, slow and aching, to rest at his sides. His feet shift to fifth position again, perfectly aligned. Even the stillness has tension.
“I don’t get how you’re doing that,” Matteo’s voice cuts into the silence—soft, like it’s afraid to break something. Felix blinks, and tilts his head. His skin glows faintly with sweat, collarbones gleaming beneath the sheer leotard like they’ve been dusted in something molten.
“Doing what?” Felix queries, his voice coming out low and controlled.
“Making it different every time,” Matteo exhaled. “The moves are the same, but it—it…” He trails off.
“The emotion feels different,” Tayler chimed in. Felix doesn’t smile, not with his mouth. But his body answers, a subtle lift in his right shoulder, a slight deepening in his spine. Amusement written in posture.
“It’s not choreography,” Felix said finally, “It’s language.” Matteo shifts, closer again. Only a step, maybe two. His eyes never leave Felix’s.
“So teach me how to speak it.” And something inside the room tilts again. Felix doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he raises his arm, slow and deliberate, not to guide Matteo, but to test him. Two fingers brush the skin of Matteo’s forearm, the contact featherlight. It’s not a correction, it’s an invitation. His eyes flick to Matteo’s shoulder, then his hip, then down. Matteo follows or tries to. His movement is clumsy in comparison, too taught , too thought out .
Felix steps behind him, not touching now, just there. The space between them shimmers, thick with awareness.
“Thinking too hard,” He speaks again, voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know how not to,” Matteo explained. Felix hums.
“Then don’t.” Felix said, “Just turn brain off entirely. Better result.” Then, his hands do touch. One at Matteo’s waist, one at the back of his shoulder. Light pressure, nothing forceful, but it still grounds Matteo. Felix guides him through the first position into the next, and continued on. His voice staying low, rhythmic, metered like breath .
It’s not instruction, it’s pulse. It’s life and death, it’s hope and despair, it’s win and lose—just emotion . Everything, and still somehow nothing . The technique is only a part of it. You have to be able to rip your heart out and dance in the carnage of it. To find the beauty in the wreckage of your own shattered psyche.
And Matteo begins to follow, not perfectly, but with something like instinct. Like maybe he’s learning how to stop moving like a robot and start feeling the moves. They don’t notice Tayler leaving. They don’t notice the shift in the light outside the windows or the way the sun dipped low enough to cast gold across the floor. Time doesn’t pass—it bends .
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
When the studio door opens again without a warning, Felix doesn’t flinch—but the other guy does. He glances up, too fast, too alert—and just that is enough to shift the air. Kei steps inside with the kind of easy command that doesn’t ask permission. Kei’s still flushed from afternoon practice, hair damp at the temples from his after-practice shower, and a white hoodie is slung over his shoulder, an envelope of carefully counted hundred-dollar bills in one hand. More than enough to cover the dry cleaning bill, Felix had asked about.
At least he hoped it was because, for over a grand, he could just buy a new leotard. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even need half of that. Okay, maybe he was seriously underestimating the price of a leotard, a name-brand shirt from Off-White is anywhere between a hundred to three hundred dollars—but Kei didn’t have any idea for a baseline to draw off of here.
The second he catches sight of Felix, something in his posture eases. When he takes in the sight of Matteo beside him, something in it doesn’t .
“Afternoon, Ballerinas,” Kei says, voice low and good-natured as he steps inside the studio. “Someone wanted dry cleaning money for a super fancy leotard.” Felix doesn’t even turn around. He’s still standing in fifth, chest rising slow with the afterglow of movement, the fine sheen of sweat catching across his collarbones beneath a translucent leotard.
He looks radiant in a way that doesn’t invite compliments—it dares you to keep up. It shows off every curve of his body, somehow even more perfectly than the one he’d worn the night before. The sheer material gave ample opportunity to admire the delicate lines of his collarbones and the gentle arches of his shoulders.
“You’re late,” Felix says coolly, “Said Venmo. Not cash like drug deal.”
“Venmo’s so impersonal, and at noon, I was listening to my sports psychology professor drone on about bullshit.” Kei teased, carefully avoiding making a face at Matteo. He didn’t want a repeat of the party, and besides, he had a feeling he didn’t need to worry about him. He might’ve had his eyes on Felix, but Felix was all in on the dance, not the partner.
“Sounds like misery,” Felix said, keeping his voice flat, but Kei didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced toward the mirror, roaming over him without turning his head. Kei crosses the floor, casually holding out the envelope for Felix to take it. Felix shifted enough to face him, reaching out to take it from him, his fingers grazing Kei’s for just a split second before turning back around, his cheeks lightly flushing with color. “Thanks for the money to fix what you destroyed,” Felix drawled, as if he wasn’t flushed just from the slight contact.
“Wasn’t entirely my fault, now was it?” Kei asked playfully. Felix scoffed.
“Your fault. Maybe I send bill to your parents. Teach manners.” Felix snarked. Kei just lets out a quiet hum, his gaze flickering down—just briefly—to the elegant stretch of Felix’s back, the shift of muscle beneath sheer fabric, the slight redness slowly seeping down the back of his neck.
“I’ve definitely done worse than rack up a dry cleaning bill,” Kei said, thinking back to his cocky, reckless teenage years—like the time he drove himself to the secondary gender clinic in active rut at eighteen. Not his smartest moment—he knew that now—and the consequences came fast: one icy turn, one snowbank, one crushed bumper.
His parents had lost it . Not in an angry way—in the oh my god, you’re fucking stupid, I don’t know how you survived past twelve kind of way.
They were both Alphas, and while Alpha females could get pregnant by other Alphas, it was rare. He was their firstborn and hard-won. So when the call came in about the accident, they’d gone full nuclear: protective, panicked, and absolutely done with his teenage bullshit. He’d learned real quick what a stupid idea it was to drive when in a rut, and his baby—a Range Rover Sport, jet black with a custom interior his parents had insisted on—got plowed into a snowbank halfway to the clinic, when he was rut drunk and way too sure he could drive in the snow. Hell, at the time, all he cared about was not suffering through the burn of his rut without his suppressants.
Being born to two alphas ensured he was an alpha, and it was because he inherited the genes from both sides that he was more affected by his secondary gender than a normal alpha was. Everything hit harder . His rut, pheromones, instincts. He’d been in misery during his rut until he’d found the right medication to mitigate it. None of the over-the-counter stuff had ever helped him; he had to have prescription-strength stuff to make an impact at all.
He’d explored other options, specifically having a partner for it, to spend it with. Sexual release is really the only way to handle a rut—but no one had ever managed to keep up with him. He was holding back either way, at least alone, he knew the only thing he was a danger to was the freshly washed linens. He didn’t have to stress or worry about losing control. He could just lock himself in his room and not come out until it passed.
Kei glanced away from Felix, turning his attention to Matteo. Even as he tried to suppress his instincts, the quiet somehow felt louder. Kei doesn’t stare, he doesn’t need to. But he does register every detail. The way Matteo’s standing too stiffly now, arms crossed in a way that reads way more defensive than relaxed. The faint rise in his scent, not heat, but the kind of charged focus he’d learned to recognize in other people. Desire . Denied, unspoken, or unclaimed—still there.
“Hey,” Kei offers him a small, civil nod. Matteo nods back, too quick.
“Hey,” He responds. Felix moves to the side, casually sipping from his water bottle, not missing a beat. Kei just lets the silence settle for a moment.
“You two working on something?” He asked out of curiosity. He was irritated by the guy, but he was tolerable. Definitely a beta, his scent was barely there, and he’d not even flinched from the pheromones when he walked in. He wasn’t even on his radar as competition. Mateo opened his mouth to answer, but Felix answered first.
“Saving world. One bad turn at time.” Kei smiled faintly.
“Sounds advanced,” Kei mused. “Will you be getting out before dark?”
“Da,” Felix responded, finally glancing back over his shoulder. “To both. He try. I notice.” Matteo’s shoulders inch up like he’s trying not to react, but the tension in his frame is loud, especially for a beta. Kei’s gaze flicks to the edge of the mirror, taking in the sight of Matteo’s eyes locked on Felix—hungry, reverent, a little wrecked. Not from exhaustion. From something else.
Kei steps just a little closer to Felix, slow and steady. Not enough to really call it an intervention. Just a show of intent.
“You been glowing like this all day?” Kei asks, his voice soft enough that it shouldn’t sound territorial. It kind of does, but it wasn’t his intention, at least. Felix lifts an eyebrow, unbothered.
“Why you care so much? Nervous miss out, yeah?” Kei grins.
“Terrified.” Kei deadpanned. “It’s why I came all the way here instead of dropping the money off at your apartment.” That much was the truth. Not only did he have a key to the apartment because he was a metaphorical guard during Hye-Jin and Devonte’s mating cycles, but Jinnie was home already. Devonte was with him. He could have just saved the gas and dropped the money off there. But he’d wanted to see Felix again, and this was a good enough excuse.
Felix doesn’t blush; he just sips again, steady as ever, save for the slight spark that flickered in his eyes and the spike of pheromones that made it obvious to him he wasn’t angry or upset.
“Inefficient,” Felix murmured, but Kei doesn’t miss the way he glances back up at him in the mirror when his eyes glanced away. Kei grins, and then for the first time looks at Matteo with real weight. There’s nothing threatening about it. No baring of teeth or line drawn in the sand. But it is the kind of look that says I know. I see you . Not suspicion, not warning, just a certain fact.
Matteo shifts under it, eyes dropping fast. Felix claps the water bottle shut and tosses it back onto his bag.
“You done, quarterback?” Felix asked coolly, turning to Kei.
“Thought I’d stick around. Give you a ride home.” Kei says smoothly. “Unless this is private.” Felix shrugs, all lazy indifference, but there’s a flicker of something in the depths of his eyes that makes something pull in Kei’s chest. A softness he was desperately trying to hide behind walls of ice. But now that Kei had seen that softness, he could recognize it clearly.
“It’s not.” He states, like it’s no big deal. But Kei knows it is a big deal, because the Felix from forty-eight hours ago would’ve chased him out with a pointe shoe.
“Cool,” Kei walks to the bench and drops down onto it with a loose sprawl, legs wide, arms stretched across the backrest like a king sitting on his throne. Matteo is quiet, but Felix seems none the wiser. He resets the music. The moment stretches long and taut as a string before the first note cuts in. But the tension hasn’t left the air. Not really.
He doesn’t bother to say anything to Matteo because he doesn’t need to say it out loud. The way he leans back, loose and relaxed, commands space. His scent carries, ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt, distinctly alpha. He doesn’t try to be oppressive; he keeps his pheromone production as low as he can. Just enough for it to tickle Felix’s senses—just enough to be grounding.
Felix dances again.
And this time, Matteo watches differently. Not just with awe , but with awareness. Because there’s no mistaking the way Felix’s eyes flick toward him on the bench every so often. The way he flushes just the lightest bit when his eyes meet Kei’s. The way his glow seemed to shine just a little bit brighter under Kei’s gaze. Or the way Kei watches Felix in return; like he’s memorizing every breath and expanse of Felix’s performance.
And Matteo knows—Just like Kei knows.
He’s not the only one wrapped up in Felix’s gravity.
And he doesn’t mean to stare. Okay, maybe he does. Just a little. How the hell is he not supposed to look? Felix moves like gravity’s optional. Like, even the laws of physics take one look at him and fold. And every breath, every step , every controlled extension of his limbs is deliberate, precise. An artistry so sharp it should hurt to watch, but Kei’s entranced anyway.
The sheer leotard isn’t doing Kei any favors. It covers barely enough skin to leave him guessing, and clings to his body like it was made specifically to follow the curves and edges of his lithe frame. Even more than that—it feels like it was designed for him, for the express purpose of showing off every devastating line and angle of his body. His back, all smooth muscle and tight control, glows under the studio lights. Each flex, shift of weight, motion of his body, ripples down to the narrow taper of his waist, and the sharp definition of his legs. The fabric catches the light and shadows just enough to make Kei’s brain short-circuit.
Felix turns, weight over the ball of his foot, one leg snapping out in an arc so clean it doesn’t look human. The movement alone is enough to make Kei forget how to breathe momentarily. There’s sweat at Felix’s temples, collarbones gleaming under the sheer fabric, his chest rising and falling like he’s burning from the inside out.
And Kei can smell it. Feel it. Faint and teasing. Not heat, not slick, but that same bright, high-wire tension that Felix wears like a crown. Like every part of him is alive and electric, and completely untouchable. Kei knows he’s not supposed to think it—not supposed to let himself linger too long on the way the leotard shifts with each arch of Felix’s back, or how his thighs tense and glide as he lands in another perfect line. But the image is branded into the back of his skull like hieroglyphics in caves. Burned behind his eyelids like it planned to haunt him later.
He doesn’t need to let his mind go there. He doesn’t want Felix to know how much he wants to touch. It’s not all about sex—Kei knows that. He wants Felix for more than just sex. He just needs him to know that he sees him.
And he does. God, does he see him.
Not the projected image he displays, but the real him. The him that’d sank into his arms in omegaspace, feral in almost every way, biting his hand, and licking it as if to soothe him from discomfort. The him who clung on like he was afraid of an inch of separation between them. That he doesn’t just see him, he accepts him.
Every inch, every breath, every impossible, infuriating curve of movement. He saw it all.
Matteo wrapped up dancing around seven, but Felix kept going until nine. Kei hadn’t minded, having enjoyed watching the way his body moved. Kei had suspected it the night before, but Felix had some serious stamina. He was almost relentless, the way he moved. Never showing a sign of fatigue or discomfort either way.
Inside the car, the city lights blur past the windows, smeared into streaks of gold, red, green, and white light against the dark of the night sky. The engine hums a steady rhythm—steady enough to hold the silence between them comfortably.
Kei drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console. The white envelope with the dry cleaning money sits crumpled in the cup holder between them like an unspoken contract. Felix stares out the front window, watching the road slip past, shoulders entirely relaxed, but eyes sharp beneath heavy lids.
Kei doesn’t speak.
Not because he doesn’t want to—but because he’s worried that when he opens his mouth, everything might come out of it. The way Felix looked in that sheer leotard. The way his body moved like it didn’t belong to gravity. The way Kei hadn’t been able to stop imagining the feel of Felix’s spine beneath his palms, sweat-warm and sharp with tension, every muscle drawn wire-tight, waiting to be soothed.
He swallows. He flexes his fingers lightly against the wheel, grounding himself in the cool smoothness of it. Focus, Man, he pushes, but it’s hard when the only thing he wants to focus on is sitting less than a foot away—silent, brilliant, glowing from the inside out like something out of this world. Felix hadn’t just danced . He’d performed . Like his skin was made of music. Like the laws of nature bent a little around his body to accommodate his tempo.
His silence was like a live wire running against his nerves. The AC blasted cold, yet the air between them shimmered—a fever-dream haze where his light lived. He gripped the wheel harder. Just a little. Just enough to feel the leather. Leather. Reality. Distance. Like the distance between what he knew Felix wanted, and his ability to discern how to give it to him, with the great wall of Berlin erected in ice between them.
He had to have been exhausted by the end. But he’d danced through it like it couldn’t touch him if he just kept moving. Maybe panting the slightest bit, but barely even that. His moves didn’t shake. And Kei had just sat there, slack-jawed and awed, trying to look like he wasn’t completely fucking ruined by it.
The envelope crumpled in the cup holder between them draws his attention again. The money wasn’t important. It never had been. He’d pay triple the damages if it meant Felix would look at him like that again—like he wanted him. Like Kei hadn’t been a jackass at the frat party. Like he hadn’t fucked him into his living room floor because he’d been too caught up in the pheromones to move him. But God, his pheromones were so intoxicating. Once he’d gotten the okay to touch him, everything else had bled away, and all he wanted was to touch .
He chances a glance over at Felix. Felix’s head is still turned toward the windshield, face lit red from the traffic light they’re stopped under. He’s not tense. Not really. But he’s not exactly soft, either. His expression is unreadable, but Kei knows that’s not indifference. That’s defense . That’s you saw through my walls, now you’re gonna suffer for it . Felix isn’t casual. He’s contained.
“Take picture,” Felix drawled, “Lasts longer.” His eyes flickered over to him, the ghost of a smirk pulling up his lips.
Kei huffs a breath that barely qualifies as a laugh, but that’s what he’s calling it. Not quite embarrassed. Not quite deflecting. Mostly just… caught . His fingers twitch on the wheel again, as if they might lift in surrender. They don’t, because he doesn’t let them. He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. It’s pointless to now, anyway. He knew he was looking. Of course he did. Because who wouldn’t look? At least once.
Instead, he lets his gaze linger for a second longer than he should, like he’s committing Felix to memory. Not the cheeky smirk, or the flawless skin—but the moment. The tension hiding beneath Felix’s drawl. The weight in the silence. And the fact that Felix had broken the silence at all.
“Yea, don’t need one,” Kei finally muttered, voice low, a little hoarse, “Don’t think I could forget if I tried.” He looks away first, back to the road, the light shifting to green and bathing them both in motion.
But that line… it wasn’t flirtation . Not fully, though it was convenient enough that it came across that way. No, it was honest . Dangerous. Because what Kei wants to say is worse.
Something more like:
I can still hear your moans echoing in my brain.
Maybe:
I still remember the way your body melted into my touch like it belonged beneath me.
Or even:
I can still taste you on my tongue after all fucking day.
Instead, he shifts gears, easing them back into the city’s bloodstream. One hand still on the wheel, the other inching just the slightest bit closer on the console. Close enough to almost brush Felix’s. He doesn’t touch him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. Because he wants to. And the wanting’s not exactly all that subtle anymore.
The drive back to the complex is usually a short one, but tonight, it felt longer. Not that Kei was complaining, though. He didn’t know how often he’d manage to run into him, despite them being neighbors. He couldn’t wait for Jinnie’s next heat so he’d have an excuse to stay over again. Before, being the resident on duty guard for Jin and Devonte’s mating cycles was merely practicality. Now it served as a key to just a little more time in the same space as Felix. Even if he were being ignored and avoided the whole time.
As Kei parked in the parking lot of the complex and cut the engine, a faint fog settled on the windows from the warmth inside the car. Felix was leaning back, arms crossed, head resting against the seat, completely still. He’d not even unbuckled yet. Kei glanced over at him.
“You ready to go in, or…?” Kei questioned. Felix didn’t answer right way. He exhaled slowly, as if weighing something that was already decided.
“You have practice tomorrow, da?” He questioned casually. Too casually, considering he hardly ever had a good thing to say to him.
“Yeah, early,” Kei nodded, a little wary. Felix hummed, as if that confirmed whatever plan was brewing behind those gunmetal blue eyes.
“You drive anyway.” He muttered, prompting Kei to raise an eyebrow.
“Okay…?” Kei blinked, as if to prompt him to elaborate on whatever he was thinking. Felix turned his head toward him, expression calm—deceptively innocent—like what he was about to say absolutely wasn’t an elaborate set up Kei was supposed to walk blindly into.
“So, is convenient then. You drive me to studio. Pick me up from studio.” Kei’s raised eyebrow couldn’t go higher. He frowned, trying to piece together what was happening even as he lived through it.
“Wait—you want me to be your driver?” Kei questioned. Felix shrugged, completely unbothered.
“Da,” He said, slower, softer, like it was no big deal. “I stay more if no have to walk dark alone.” Kei let the words hang in the air for a moment, tilting his head slightly.
“You don’t strike me as the skittish type,” Kei pointed out, and Felix shrugged.
“Not,” He confirmed, “Am lazy, though. You like bodyguard. I utilize.” That landed softer than Kei expected. He caught himself glancing away for a moment. Kei huffed a laugh, short, low—mostly just an exhale through his nose, but it still counted.
“Bodyguard, huh?” He muttered, turning the word over in his head like it felt better than he expected. He gave Felix a sidelong glance, one corner of his lips twitching upward. “You didn’t seem to like me being your bodyguard at the party.” He pointed out, making Felix huff.
“Da, didn’t,” Felix stated, his lips curling, not quite a smile—more like he was amused that Kei had even thought to ask. “Is different now. Before, you demand. Was big asshole. Trying fight cute idiot. Now, I demand.” Kei shook his head, grinning despite himself.
“You’re unbelievable,” Kei laughed, leaning his head forward to rest on the wheel.
“I take that as da,” Felix replied, “If lucky, I wear tight pants.”
Before Kei could say anything, he was already opening the car door, stepping out like he hadn’t just rerouted his entire week in eleven words or less. And Kei just watches him go, wondering how the hell he got roped into this so easily.
[ 10 ] 𝖳𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 | 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
Kei had always been good about waking up early—it kind of came with his job description. He always had 7am conditioning during the week, so he was usually up at five thirty on the dot. Still, his body didn’t love being up at five am this time. Especially not since he’d only gotten about four and a half hours of sleep in is system. He’d barely made it through a full REM cycle before his brain started running Felix loops again.
If lucky, I wear tight pants .
He’d dreamed about that. Unfortunately.
Well . Only unfortunately because his sheets now had to be washed, and he’d had to take a cold shower to avoid walking around his apartment before the sun had fully risen with his cock at half mast. The rest of him wasn’t really complaining. Not even now, climbing into the driver’s seat of his car with a protein bar between his teeth, wondering if Felix would actually show up. He didn’t have his number, so he couldn’t text. Jin hadn’t texted him, and Devonte hadn’t mentioned it either. He hadn’t confirmed anything. He hadn’t even told him what time to be ready to leave at.
So now he was just sitting in his car, cool morning air biting into his skin, eating a protein bar, and waiting. He shut the door and turned the heat on low, letting it run enough to heat up slightly. He wasn’t cold, but he worried Felix might be. It was probably—definitely—stupid to worry about that, he lived in fucking Russia, and it snowed there. Definitely wasn’t any danger of snow this morning. He couldn’t think of a time since living in California that it’d ever snowed.
Kei sat for about five minutes before the front doors of the complex opened, and Felix emerged like the morning owed him something. He was wearing a black mesh long-sleeved leotard, the fabric sheer enough to show the subtle lines of muscle beneath it. It clings to his slender body like a second skin, high cut at the hips and scooped low in the back to expose the fine line of his spine. The sleeves end at his wrists in delicate thumb loops, a stark contrast to the pale expanse of his hand.
He’s tied a charcoal wrap around his waist, teasing the line of his hips and showing off his curves like he’s daring everyone in the universe to look at him. It’s the kind of accessory that’s very clearly meant more for effect than any real functionality—light mesh, fluttery, translucent—just long enough to tease his upper thighs. It hangs loosely, shifting with every step, every stretch of his leg or tilt of his hip, revealing more than it conceals. And then there’s the matter of pants . Or rather, the lack thereof. No tights. No pants. No shame. Just skin and line, and strength. Every angle of his thighs exposed, every flex of motion visible from hip to toe.
He’s just wearing a pair of tennis shoes—as if he were merely traipsing around in cargo shorts and a loose tee shirt. His bag was slung over one shoulder, headphones looped around his neck. He was still tying his hair up as he walked, long fingers deft and quick, his gaze roaming over the idling sports car like he didn’t recognize it. The absurdity of the contrast was almost dizzying. There’s something both deliberate and careless about it. Like he dressed for heat in the fall. Not modest in any way. Like he knew he looked good, and didn’t give two fucks about who watched him.
“Ostentatious,” Felix hummed as he opened the door. The cabin light spilled across the black mesh of his leotard, painting lattices of shadows on his torso. Kei tried— failed —to swallow the punch of arousal that spiked in his chest. He cleared his throat instead.
“It’s functional,” Kei said, deadpan, sliding the protein bar wrapper into the cup holder. “Six point two liter V-12 is plenty practical for city traffic.” Felix slipped inside, one bare thigh brushing against smooth leather. He shut the door with a soft click, then ran his eyes slowly over the stitched dashboard, the carbon fiber trim, and the analog chrono in the center stack.
“ Practical ,“ Felix echoed, his mouth tilting. “Is that word you use when something costs too much?” Kei flicked the vent closed on his side, and dialed the seat warmer to high on Felix’s.
“Give it five minutes. You’ll be worshipping practical.” Kei teased in response.
“I doubt.” Felix buckles in, crossing one leg over the other, and the wrap skirt flutters against his quad. Kei’s peripheral vision is now ninety percent skin, ten percent threat to his self-control. He sets the car in gear and eases out of the lot.
Two blocks later, the cabin is a hush of engine purr and soft climate control. Felix’s bare kneecap bobs with the beat of whatever track he’s listening to in his headphones. Kei keeps both hands on the wheel, thumbs barely moving.
“You didn’t text,” Kei finally says. Felix let out a hum.
“Couldn’t,” Felix drawled with a shrug. “No number.”
“You knew Jin’s got it,” Kei pointed out, “Plus Devonte was over until midnight.”
“Would rather risk no ride than involve Hye-Jin.” Another shrug, sharper. “Too optimistic. Too loud. Is tedious.” Kei huffs a laugh at that.
“Guess I’m the lesser evil, huh?” Kei mused. “You still need my number. I’ll give you it, so let me know when you are ready for me to come. Then you can dance as long as you want and not worry about me sitting around waiting.”
“Hmm,” Felix unlatched one headphone and left it dangling. “Get coffee?” He phrased it like a question, but Kei knew it was more of a demand. Kei signals right.
“Got it.” Kei mused. “Already planned on it.” Felix lifted a brow, amused.
“Good,” Felix hummed, “Psychic. Saves breath.”
“Experienced,” Kei corrected, “And you need fuel.”
“I have tea,” Felix responded easily.
“Leaf water?” Kei drawled, “Is that in any way comparable to coffee?”
“Da,” Felix responded easily. “Still want coffee.” He was silent for a moment, then, quietly, “I take number.”
“I’ll buy coffee,” Kei offered in response. Felix hummed and sank down in the seat, glancing over him.
It took fifteen minutes to make it to the coffee shop, tucked in between a yoga studio and a dry cleaner. The storefront was mostly glass, warm light glowing against the early morning gray. A few tables were scattered outside, but no one was sitting there this morning. The temperature wasn’t too low, but it was still low enough to keep patrons from utilizing the space. Kei killed the engine, pulled the keys, then glanced sideways. Felix hadn’t moved. He was still curled low in the passenger seat, one knee pressed up against the dashboard, chin resting lazily against it like a bored cat in a stray beam of sunlight.
Of course, his wrap had shifted again—of course it had—and his thigh was bared to the sky, and the sightline of every passerby they happened to encounter.
“Cold?” Kei asked, even though he knew the answer already. Felix lifted a brow.
“Not Russian winter,” He denied, but his shoulders curled just slightly in response to the temperature shift now that the car wasn’t running anymore. Kei rolled his eyes, popped his door open, reached behind the passenger seat, and grabbed his varsity jacket off the shelf. He slid out of the car, shutting the door behind him, and walked around it. He opened the passenger door and held out the jacket.
Felix blinked at him, then at the jacket. It was ridiculous, honestly. Deep red with gold striped cuffs and leather sleeves, the college’s massive embroidered logo on the chest, and his name stitched into the back in bold, block letters. It smelled strongly of pheromones, morning sweat, and the scent of the stadium—turf and grass, sweat and leather, faint metal, concessions, and cold air.
Felix got out of the car and slid into the jacket, lips twitching like he might laugh but didn’t. He stepped back and ran his eyes over himself for a moment, taking in the sight of the loose and oversized jacket, the sleeves dangling down past his palms. He didn’t zip it. Of course, he didn’t, because apparently, part of this deal was Felix cock-teasing him to hell and back. But he tucked his hands into the pockets and stepped out away from him with far more grace and sophistication than should’ve been legal.
He looked small in it. But not defenseless. Dangerous somehow. Like a knife wrapped in school spirit. Kei pushed the car door shut and exaggeratedly motioned for Felix to walk in front of him. Felix did, the waistband of the varsity jacket brushing the backs of his thighs with every step he took. As they reached the door of the coffee shop, Kei reached around Felix, pulling the door open and letting him step inside first, before ducking in behind him.
“Smells like burnt syrup,” Felix muttered under his breath, his nose wrinkling up slightly. “Is unpleasant.”
“Welcome to early morning college-town coffee,” Kei said, putting his hand on Felix’s lower back to usher him around a table he nearly stumbled into. “Careful, can’t dance with a broken leg.” Kei teased, pushing him lightly toward the back of the line. The line was rather short, just two people ahead of them—thankfully. Maybe he needed to get up at four thirty instead of five.
He was sleepy, already, just thinking about it.
The regular barista who worked the morning shift on Wednesday through Friday smiled at him when he entered, but when her eyes landed on Felix, her expression shifted ever so slightly. Just enough to make Kei aware of it. Ah, right. He forgot his biggest flaw is his biggest asset—his face. He knew it was thinly veiled jealousy—because Felix was radiant, and Kei’s attention was on him . They’d always exchanged mundane, boring small talk as she made his coffee because he came in alone. He’d never thought anything of it, until he saw the flicker of jealousy in her eyes.
They weren’t exactly subtle. The bite mark on Kei’s hand told a story—bruised deep, still faintly red around the edges. Not fresh, but not old either, and the claw marks visible on his wrists cemented that story in reality.
“What do you want?” Kei asked, stepping up behind him, pretending not to notice. If Felix said nothing, it was probably fine. And if he wasn’t fine, he’d have a bratty omega riding shotgun, but that didn’t feel like much of a punishment at the moment. Felix glanced up at the menu over the kitchen, then squinted.
“Ridiculous font, is impossible to read,” Felix said after a moment. “Looks like cooked noodle.” The coffee shop was small—indie, overpriced, and smug in the way only successful local coffee shops could be. Handwritten menus on chalkboard slates. Edison bulbs in wire cages. A glass pastry case that looked like it held secrets instead of food. He supposed that made sense, it wasn’t like Kei could’ve read any of the signs in Russia. Granted, he couldn’t speak Russian—but even so. He was a regular here, he already knew what he was getting before stepping in the door.
It was a little surprising that he was struggling with reading the menu, though. He was so well-spoken, Kei would almost believe he was a born English speaker… His current English is broken, but it’s more intentional. Like he’s just not wasting the time to think out what he’s saying, because he’s thinking too fast, or he doesn’t care enough to try. When he speaks fluently, it’s almost perfect . Either way, though, when he talked, his accent was— something .
Something Kei didn’t have the privacy to think about at the moment. Flickers of Felix rambling off Russian sentences when he was sinking into omegaspace hit him right in the fucking cock. Kei fought the urge to physically shake off the thought. Right. Not the time. He shifted his stance, the waistband of his warm‑ups suddenly too tight.
“I think it’s handwritten. The curse of chalkboard cursive,” Kei said easily, humming. “What do you normally get?” Felix shrugged, straightened, finally peeling his eyes away from the menu.
“Something not sweet. Strong.” He paused for a moment as if deliberating. “Milk. Not much. And that.” He pointed toward an almond biscotti drizzled with dark chocolate. “Is not healthy, but is good for mood.”
“That’s half the menu. Do you usually get iced or hot coffee?” Kei asked, making Felix shrug.
“Iced.” Felix said, “No like hot. Tastes burnt.” Kei nodded, humming.
“Vanilla? Cinnamon? Caramel? Chocolate?” Kei fired off.
“Vanilla and cinnamon. Caramel and chocolate. Only together.” Felix answered. Kei raised his eyebrow at that, but nodded.
“How sweet is too sweet? We talking no sugar or six sugars, and you’re just immune to low doses?” Kei questioned lightheartedly.
“No sugars. But still sweet.” Felix responded. “Manager always ordered.” Kei raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment.
“Okay,” Kei said, shifting slightly away from Felix. “Wait here. I’ll order. Anything else?” Felix shook his head. Kei nodded, then went up to the counter, greeting the barista with a nod of his head. She usually always spoke to him first. “Good morning, Chloe.” She smiled brightly.
“Good morning! You want your usual? Large iced Americano, light on the ice. Splash of oat milk and an Almond Butter Rice Cake?” She questioned, to which he nodded. “…Anything else I can get you?”
“Medium vanilla dark roast cold brew on ice, light on the vanilla… one cinnamon cream shot. Top it with vanilla cinnamon cold foam. Make the foam dry, half-sweet, and light on the milk. Just enough to foam. No sugar added. And an almond biscotti with dark chocolate drizzle.”
“Are you paying for it together?” Kei nodded. “$25.19 is your total, today. Card?” She asked, and Kei nodded. He didn’t actually carry cash—he’d gone to the ATM to get the money he’d given Felix for dry cleaning his leotard. He swiped his card and typed in $14.81 into the tip prompt before quickly typing in his PIN. Her brows twitched at the number—too exact, too memorable. His eighty-one-cent tyranny: Thanks for the foam. Lose the glare.
Kei glanced back over his shoulder, eyes wandering to Felix for a brief moment. Felix had wandered over behind him, leaning against the wall beside a tall stool. He looked calm, not bored, exactly. But calm in a way Kei hadn’t seen before, as if the edge of the morning hadn’t touched him yet.
“On your way to, uh, practice again?” Chloe questioned, her usual brightness in place now that Felix wasn’t standing beside him anymore, as if the proximity between them made everything better. Kei nodded, unable to help comparing her behavior to Felix’s. Felix never tried to charm anyone. Didn’t soften, didn’t smile unless it served him. Chloe smiled too much. And only when the threat wasn’t standing right beside him. Undeniably, he favored one over the other.
Smiles were cheap with a face like his, and there was no shortage of willing, easier omegas that Kei could’ve had—Chloe was just one of the many. Whereas Felix… Well, he knew his appearance played a part. He wouldn’t say Felix was shallow, just more— selective . Even his pretty face wasn’t enough to melt the exterior without sex involved. But more than that, with dual Alpha genes, he’d always been the direct center of attention. Everyone just… fell in line behind him, usually. He couldn’t help mentally clocking the irony of the whole thing.
He could have anyone he wanted, easily, and yet… He was sleep deprived from both waiting on a text that never came, and unsolicited wet dreams about a Ballerina that somehow had him in a fucking chokehold. Somehow, it felt a little comical.
“Always am,” He responded easily, his eyes flicking over to Felix, “First stop’s the performing arts building, though,” Kei added casually, like it wasn’t the most important part of his morning. As if he weren’t aware of what she was asking. As if she was’t trying to minimize Felix’s presence. It was a desperate attempt to bring the focus away from the pretty little Russian firestorm lingering behind him and back onto the everyday routine. One that Kei wasn’t falling for, even if he’d make it polite.
He highly doubted being rude to underpaid baristas would look good for his reputation, and he wasn’t willing to lose his sponsorships over something stupid like this. He’d been stupid at the party. He’d totally lost sight of the fact that fighting was against the NCAA guidelines, school guidelines—yadda yadda, all white noise he hadn’t really cared about when he saw that hand on Felix’s back.
The bites and scratches weren’t a problem at all for his image—if anything, it benefited him. On pretty much anyone, marking is generally common. On an Alpha, it was more than just common; it was expected . Adding in the dual alpha genes, his face, and his physique—they only added to the sex appeal, didn’t take it away. If anything, it even could draw in omegas, who knew what those marks meant in the heat of the moment.
Kei definitely needed to be up by four thirty, though. Felix’s drink took more time than his, so he’d need to allot for more wait time in the morning. He was sure Felix’s drink was a nightmare to a barista, so he’d tipped well. Chloe wasn’t a highly skilled barista with decades of experience who would have an easy time whipping that up, so he was subtly acknowledging her efforts.
Chloe was mostly quiet after that, and Felix was looking over the striped cuff of his jacket with bored disinterest, but he didn’t miss the way Chloe glanced over at him a couple of times. She was clearly trying to find an opening to say something, but didn’t know what to say, let alone where to slip it in. And, it wasn’t like he disliked Chloe. She was nice, just not someone he’d ever even considered as a possibility.
It took a little over six minutes for Chloe to get the drink right—long enough that Kei had finished half of his Americano just standing there, weight leaning into one hip. Felix hadn’t said anything or even moved much, but he stayed stubbornly still against the wall, playing with the striped cuff of Kei’s varsity jacket. Kei wasn’t even sure he’d call it fidgeting. Just—drawing attention to the fact that he was wearing it. He played it casual, like it was an accident , but Kei could see the subtle traces of deliberacy.
When Chloe finally boxed the pastries and slid Felix’s drink across the counter, Kei stepped forward to collect them.
“Thanks,” He said easily, smiling kindly at her. He didn’t miss the glance she sent toward Felix—measured, carefully, but curious . Still trying to figure out if this was one-night-only or something more . Kei didn’t offer clarification. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain how long this would last. He wanted it to be more. Felix was just… complicated. Hard to understand. He wouldn’t be certain what this could turn into until Felix signaled it could be more.
Kei took the time to take a straw out of the straw holder and ripped off the bottom of the wrapper, placing the straw into the cup and leaving the tip of it still covered by the wrapper. He turned toward Felix without glancing back, extending the cup without a word. Felix stopped playing with the sleeve of his jacket, taking the cup with a nuetral expression, taking the wrapper off the straw before bringing it to his lips. He took one slow sip, his lashes dropped low, both demure and assessing.
A beat of silence passed, and then another. Kei opened his mouth to say something, but Felix spoke first, cutting him off.
“Da,” Felix finally said, his voice cool, smooth. “Is acceptable.” Kei huffed a laugh, just under his breath. Of course it was. Felix looked back at the drink again, then up at Kei with a sharp, unreadable expression. “I like. You order it tomorrow, too.” Felix didn’t even blink as he said it. Like he hadn’t just cut the ribbon between them and tied it around Kei’s throat instead.
It wasn’t a request. There was nothing soft or sweet about it. No blush or a thank you, just a simple directive, slipping between his teeth like a knife. Claiming, assumptive, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all. Kei could feel the meaning beneath it, even if no one else would’ve.
Because he could see the glimmer in the depths of his eyes, the way he stepped just the tiniest bit closer, as if to imply something he didn’t want to put a definitive name to. He could see it in the way Felix was watching him, almost projecting the exclusivity, something a little too pointed in the line of his jaw, the way his fingers curled loosely around the cup like he hadn’t just staked a flag in the sand. He could’ve said something smug. Could’ve teased him. But he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded, lips twitching slightly. It wasn’t obedience, exactly. But it was close enough.
“Sure,” Kei agreed, “Tomorrow.”
Felix turned without another word, happily sipping on his coffee as if he hadn’t just entirely ruined Chloe’s day with a few calculated words. Kei held the door and followed behind him as he walked out of the coffee shop, the box with the pastries in it tucked carefully under his arm, grinning to himself like a goddam idiot. Because even if Felix wouldn’t admit it, he was staking his claim in a sophisticated way, as if he were playing chess while everyone else thought the game was checkers.
The varsity jacket swayed with his steps, kissing the back of his thighs, and Kei couldn’t help but notice how nice it looked on him. He looked way too good with Kei’s name across his back. T he door shut behind them, bell still trembling, cinnamon foam sweet on the air. Kei inhaled—tomorrow already tasted better.
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
Upon showing up at the studio, Felix was in high spirits, sipping his coffee and wearing Kei’s varsity jacket like it belonged to him instead. He was, admittedly, a little ashamed of himself. He’d told Kei to be his driver the night before, which was stupid. He was acknowledging the Abercrombie & Nope ad too much, letting him slip into the cracks of his walls. Letting him matter . And that irritated him immensely. Because even if he hated to admit it, if Kei hadn’t of been waiting for him, he would’ve been upset.
He didn’t even know why. Or rather, he didn’t want to admit to why. Because naming it felt like giving it power and ignoring it felt like burying his head in the sand. But he was more keen on blissful ignorance in this case. At least then he can act like it didn’t matter when this whole thing blows up and shit hits the fan. He didn’t expect the attention to last. He didn’t want it to. He didn’t .
He didn’t like the way it felt when Kei had guided him around the table in that way-too-aesthetic coffee shop, or the way he’d taken his time in getting his order right. Well, partially . It wasn’t what his manager usually ordered for him—but he genuinely wasn’t even sure how Kei could’ve guessed what it was anyway. Because he didn’t really know what Larisa ordered, just that he consistently liked it. He’d answered as in detail as he could, going based on taste.
And what Kei had ordered him was actually better. The coffee—it didn’t taste burnt. He couldn’t explain the difference between it and what he usually got, but he actually liked the coffee this time. He’d ordered it like it was easy, cold brew, or whatever word it was that he’d used to describe it. It’s like the quiet cousin of coffee—looks intimidating but whispers instead of shouts. Tastes like nature: damp forest, dark honeycomb, and cocoa dust. Makes him feel grounded, not wired. The vanilla was just enough to be a highlight. Just enough to take the sweetness to the perfect, minimal level.
The kind of sweetness that makes him hum in satisfaction. There was two sides to this. He knew he shouldn’t be towing the line like this. He should push Kei out, move from the apartment, and never let him get close enough to him to ever see past his walls again. He should steel himself against it because the only sure thing was, when he stopped running, when he stopped hiding, the mask fell. The ache intensified, the years of loneliness feeling like a chain pulling him beneath the water.
And it was in that soft, vulnerable spot that Kei threatened to invade. Because when Kei touched him, when his scent surrounded him, the barrier melted. The gaping wound in his chest ached, and Kei’s touch soothed away all the sharp edges, and for a moment, he felt like more . More than the currency of his abilities, the mask he wore, or even the awards on his wall—he felt like something soft, something protected, something cherished . Not for what he offered, but for what he was when everything else was too distant to matter.
He didn’t know what he was thinking. Getting rides from Kei. Letting him anywhere around him now that they’d slept together. And the worst part was, Felix had even wanted Kei to look at him. He’d wanted to feel the heat in Kei’s gaze as his eyes trailed his skin. He’d been tossing and turning and trying to convince himself not to wear the showiest dance clothes he had. And then he had still gotten up and done it anyway. Stupidly. Like an idiot .
And Kei’s reaction had been satisfactory. He seemed to have the biggest reaction to his waist and thighs. Probably some dumb alpha instincts nonsense. Normally, he’d never do something so—so—audacious. At Lavrentiev, everyone had practice outfits. They matched, and alterations to the outfit were forbidden. Outfits like this were strictly for performance. He’d never even realized how many of them he had until Hye-Jin had said they were secret weapons.
After seeing Kei’s reaction to the first one, the one he wore yesterday, and the one he wore today, he thought that was a very true statement. He’d been eyeing my legs out of his peripheral vision the whole drive , Felix thought, smiling a little to himself. He liked the way he’d struggled to keep from looking. And his jacket was warm. He was pointedly not acknowledging the fact that he mostly just liked the scent clinging onto it. It was annoying how much he liked it.
It felt like something warm, something safe , like something familiar . He hated that he liked it, and the jacket was so gaudy and capitalist. An aggressively frivolous design. Way too big for him. Smells like grass and dirt and bad decisions.
Felix barely registered that he was alone until Tayler snapped his fingers twice. Felix shook his head, blinking once at the two familiar shapes near the mirrors—Matteo stretched out lazily on the floor, and Tayler, looking less than psyched to be up this early, nursing a protein shake like it might give him the will to live another day.
“Well Damn ,” Tayler grinned as soon as he caught sight of Felix. “Look who showed up in varsity sportswear. Didn’t know you could hike a football. Guess the more you learn.” Felix didn’t flinch, but he pulled Kei’s varsity jacket around his frame a little tighter.
“Was cold,” He stated, as if he wasn’t scenting himself with it even as he spoke. As if it didn’t mean anything at all. “Testosterone-Fueled Behemoth gave me jacket.” Tayler let out a short laugh.
“Suuure,” Tayler drawled teasingly, “Just cold. Nothing to do with those deliciously strong pheromones leaking off that jacket.” Felix felt something jab in his chest, annoyance, irritation—he didn’t like that Tayler could smell the pheromones. They were Kei’s. And Kei had given him his jacket. So by extension, they were his. It wasn’t possessiveness. He didn’t care about Kei’s scent turning Tayler on. He just cared that something lent to him was getting attention he didn’t want it to. Yeah.
It was beyond stupid. A flimsy rationalization that, even he could acknowledge, was a stretch. But, he’d seen people die on hills for stupider, so he’d stay the course and go down with the ship.
“You jealous? Want borrow next?” Felix questioned, arching his brow.
“Hell no!” Tayler snorted, grinning, “You think I’m stupid? You’ve got that scent-hazed look that says you’ll beat me with a barre if I touch it.” He paused for a moment, considerately. “Does smell good, though.” He noted, smirking as Felix’s eyebrow twitched slightly. Matteo still hadn’t said anything yet. He was still stretching, face turned toward the mirror, but his eyes flickered toward Felix in the reflection. Just once, quick. Felix caught it but didn’t comment.
Still, it came across as unusual. He didn’t mention it, but he noted it. The subtle way Matteo’s mouth tightened around a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The way his stretch slowed just slightly when Felix passed behind him. It wasn’t loud enough to be a problem, but it was noticeable. Felix took off his tennis shoes and slid the jacket off, folding it and setting it on the floor with his dance bag, pulling out his point shoes, and sitting down on the floor to put them on, taking a tip of his coffee as he sank down. Tayler’s eyebrow raised more.
“He bought you coffee, too?” Tayler asked, curious now, rather than teasing.
“Da, is good,” Felix said, noncommittal, tilting his head toward the mirror, gaze flickering over his reflection, somewhat missing the way the jacket covered his exposed skin now that Kei wasn’t there to gawk at him. Tayler laughed under his breath and tossed a teasing click of his tongue in Matteo’s direction.
“Told you, they’re a thing. You owe me fifteen.” Tayler said, smirking as he crossed his arms, his protein drink still clasped in his hand. Matteo just gave a half smile.
“Guess you were right.” It sounded tight. Felix ignored it. He couldn’t be bothered to care right now. He had too much going on in his own head to worry about what was going on in someone else’s life. And if Matteo’s problem was what he thought it was, he’d rather ignore it. Because he was already battling feelings for Kei. The last thing he wanted to deal with was some unrequited love triangle invading his safe space.
[ 11 ] 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 | 𝖱𝗎𝗇𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
Felix hated how quiet the inside of the car felt. Not because there was no sound—there was plenty . The low purr of the V-12 engine, the subtle and quiet rush of air through climate control vents, the barely there shuffle of leather whenever either of them shifted in their seats. The cabin of Kei’s absurdly smooth, stupidly expensive sports car felt like the inside of a well-protected cavern. The pathetic little half-shelf thing behind the seats was a slew of unopened protein bars, sports tape, a knee brace, a stick of deodorant, water bottles, and a sports bag that was carefully balanced atop the protein bars, sports tape and knee brace, and acting as a block to keep the water bottles from flying everywhere.
Practical , Kei said, which almost made him snort. There was nothing practical about it. Wouldn’t it be possible to at least put things in bins rather than just throwing it all everywhere? Surely there had to be a way to utilize that space with a touch more organization. He hated it.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly fair. Felix didn’t necessarily hate the disorganization. He hated that it felt normal to be amongst the disorganization. Two days.
It’d only taken two days, and somehow, already, this—this—whatever this is—feels like a part of his day. Sliding into the leather seats already prewarming for him, Kei waiting for him and messing with the heat to keep it from getting too hot, but still keeping him from feeling any of the outside chill. Kei stopping at the coffee shop and getting him coffee and biscotti every day. Paying, every time. Dragging Kei’s massive varsity jacket around his frame like it was stitched with nicotine and need, sipping from half-sweet caffeine from a perfectly ordered coffee that he didn’t even know the name of.
A routine. Something he was familiar with. Comfortable in. Something that he could tolerate. Usually. Right now, he fucking hated it. He liked it. He wanted to run from it. He wanted to melt into it. Fuck, he was so stupid, but the scent of Kei’s pheromones made everything feel okay.
He hated this routine because it was with an alpha who smelled like ozone, dark spruce, and an undercurrent of amber and salt, who never complained no matter how irrational he acted, and accepted his half-formed answers. He never looked tired. He never looked bored. And worst of all, he hadn’t pushed .
Felix hated that more than anything. Because maybe, somewhere in his head, he wanted him to push. Just a little. Just—touch him. Let his hands do what his eyes already attempted. He’d been dressing up, reveling in Kei’s attention, but since the first time, he wasn’t pushing. And that irritated him too much to even put into words. Because he’d been all but dropping himself in his lap and he hadn’t fucking made a move. He wanted to punch him for having the audacity to look like that and exist in his air space when he wasn’t fucking touching him.
The jacket swallowed his form. He pulled it tighter around his body anyway. It still smelled like Kei. Too much like Kei. His pheromones, grass, dirt, sweat, cologne—a sickly, addicting scent that made the logical side of his brain feel a little distant. The scent had barely even faded after two days of Felix wearing it. Almost constantly. Pretty much constantly. He took it off while dancing for practicality purposes, but… he had even slept in it the night before like some lovesick idiot.
But the scent made something in his chest unfurl and then his brain immediately tried to lock it down. His pre-heat. He was in it. He knew the signs. He’d been through it before, but it felt different this time. His skin felt too tight. His hips ached in low, pulsing waves. Rose twisted into sugar under heat, cinnamon slick with need, charred vanilla dragging smoke through syrup—his scent was thick now, sharpened and ripe, impossible to ignore. And He’d known that.
He hadn’t admitted to himself that he wanted Kei to notice. To scent him. To react. To take the question out of his hands so he didn’t have to admit to what he wanted. So he didn’t have to admit to wanting Kei . And the quiet… doesn’t just allow Felix to think about what’s happening… or rather what’s not , it forces him to feel.
Every purr of the engine vibrates in his bones like the growl Kei’d let out when fucking him. Every shift of leather is phantom fingers on his thighs, his hips, his back—every part of him tingling and begging for touch. He could feel Kei noticing it today. Not outwardly reacting, at least not too noticeably, though he did notice the tent he was pitching at several points… but noticing . Subtle sideways glances. Adjustments to the temperature in the car. Cracking the window on his side. That silent, infuriating concern that felt like it had teeth.
“I’m not dying,” Felix snapped into the window, arms crossed, cheek pressed to the cold glass.
“Didn’t imply you were,” Kei’s voice came out soft. Mild.
“You’re hovering,” Felix snapped.
“Driving,” Kei corrected.
“You’re watching me while driving.” Felix scowled.
“Eyes are on the road, Princess,” Kei teased. Felix scoffed.
Felix didn’t answer that. He could see Kei’s reflection in the side mirror—focused, calm, annoyingly steady. The kind of steady that made Felix feel inherently unsteady , like every hairline crack in his composure was suddenly neon-lit and on display. He shifted in the seat, the jacket swishing against his bare thigh. He hadn’t worn pants again. Just another mesh wrap, high cut, layered over a leotard with mesh windows peeking down his back in an arrow formation. It was scandalous for him to use his dancewear like this, but—it wasn’t for comfort. More for Kei, because he knew he’d look. And because he knew Kei would try not to. But fail.
He hated how much he liked watching Kei’s composure waver.
Felix shifted again, the varsity jacket slipping just enough to fully expose his thigh. He caught Kei’s hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror out of the corner of his eye, eyes flickering gold as he took a slow, steady breath and a smirk pulled Felix’s lips up into a smirk.
“Funny,” Felix said slowly, quietly, voice low but sharp, “I always thought drivers were supposed to keep their hands busy. Guess you waste talent.” He let the words hang in the air between them, eyes flickering toward Kei, the unspoken implication thick in the air. Kei glanced over at him, surprise crossing his face as a slow smile tugged at his lips.
“Talents for the road,” Kei said low, voice steady and warm. Rough with arousal. “But I’m not opposed to a little… hands-on navigation once we arrive.” His eyes flicked to Felix’s bare thigh briefly, then back to the road, calm and teasing all at once.
When they pulled up in the parking lot of the east wing, where the dance studio was, Kei eased the car into the back lot of the building, engine purring low. At this hour, the place was all but deserted—only soft dawn light and a wedge of shadow hugging the brick. Felix could practically feel the privacy humming beneath his skin. He’s so horny, every cell in his body was buzzing and all he wanted to do is melt into the scent curling through his brain and coating his central nervous system.
When Kei finally cut the ignition, the sudden stillness felt alive. Felix’s pulse kicked, heat blooming deep in his abdomen. Pre-heat had sharpened every sense, the faint leather scent of the interior mixing with Kei’s ozone, dark spruce, amber, and salt, making his breath hitch. All he wanted was touch, to feel the heat of Kei’s hands on his body. Felix slid Kei a sideways look, lashes half-mast.
“You said once we got here,” Felix reminded, voice velvet rough. Kei’s answer was a slow smile and the soft click of the driver seat releasing. He shifted over the center console, too broad for the tight cabin, one knee braced awkwardly in the footwell, shoulders nearly brushing the roof. Felix felt the air change as he loomed over him: Kei’s pheromones deepening, rich and dark like spruce after rain. No bite of caution, no sharp retreat. Just desire.
Felix’s own scent swelled in response—It sweetened in the heat—rose turning sultry, cinnamon sugared sharp, charred vanilla like fire in syrup. Not just a scent. A pulse. A lure. Yet he still rolled his eyes, bracing his hand on the handle on the door as he reclined back in the seat. For a moment, Kei’s eyes just ran over him hungrily, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do or how he wanted to touch him.
“Gonna gawk, or are you actually useful?” Felix taunted, hips tilting just enough that his mesh wrap rode up higher around his hips. Kei’s gaze tracked the movement, eyes glowing gold, tracking him with feral hunger. Felix burned a little beneath the gaze, the omega in him trembling beneath them as if they were speaking to his instincts.
“Someone’s feeling mouthy this morning,” Kei responded.
“Hands are free to shut me up,” Felix arched a brow, the words knife-sharp but the slick trying desperately to leak into his leotard said more than any challenge he could present. Kei didn’t bother with further commentary. He reached out and untied the wrap skirt, his deft fingers finding the hidden snaps of the leotard and popping them open. The warmth of the cabin air kissed Felix’s flushed skin. Felix pulled the varsity jacket up, hooking it under his arms with the bottom of his leotard—he had no intention of washing the jacket until the scent faded and he had to wear his leotard today.
“Careful,” Felix drawled, even as his thighs fell wider against the dash, “Wouldn’t want to stain fancy seats.”
“Leather wipes down,” Kei murmured, his voice gravel-rough. He trailed two fingers through the glossy, wet heat slicking Felix’s entrance, growling low under his breath when Felix’s body clenched in silent, aching demand.
The slight touch only amplified the feeling of emptiness spreading through him. Felix swallowed back a curse, his teeth biting down into his bottom lip, almost desperate to silence himself. The cabin felt way too small for the way his heartbeat hammered in his chest. Kei’s shoulders boxed him in, one hand braced on the window, the other pressing against his hole as if they might press inside. Felix pushed into Kei’s hand at the first feeling of Kei’s finger pressing inside the sensitive ring of muscle—no fight, stretch—just liquid heat, Felix’s body all but sucking his finger in.
“Thought alphas were supposed to multitask,” Felix snarked, “One finger? Fucking pathetic.” Felix clenched his hole around the finger, biting down the noise that tried to escape him with a shaky breath. Kei and all his fucking audacity to look like that in fucking sweats and a workout shirt.
“Still running your mouth? Even with slick on my leather seats?” Kei mused, his voice low, maddeningly calm, even as his golden eyes roamed over him, as if he could devour him with sight alone. Felix stiffened beneath him—not in protest, just a snap . A response to something crackling and primal jolting down his spine. His breath caught in his throat, eyes locking onto Kei’s glowing ones like they were a predators in the dark.
The gold wasn’t just strange—it was weird . Unnatural. Alpha eyes glowing is one thing, especially when aroused, but this was different. Kei’s weren’t glowing , they were a totally different color. Gold, molten, and entirely focused on him . It should’ve made him recoil, but his body burned in response to them like they hit something primal. Every instinct screamed alpha , screamed strong , screamed mine . His muscles coiled tight without permission, thighs twitching open wider like his body was offering itself.
And it was . He was . Melting, trembling, fucking desperate. His fingers curled around the fabric of the jacket surrounding him. He hated that this felt like surrender. Hated that his hole leaked more slick from just being looked at like that. From the hunger in those eyes that felt sharp enough to see everything. His scent poured out of him in response, humiliatingly sweet—rose syrup wilted by heat, tangled with cracked pepper and smoldering cinnamon, undercut by the bitter-sweet burn of charred vanilla. It seeped through the car and clawed into the air between them. Kei didn’t even move, and still, Felix trembled.
Heat sensitive and aching like this, the look on it’s own made him want to beg. He hated that. Almost as much as he liked it.
“Hurry,” Felix whined, letting his tongue slip slightly. “I’ve got practice,” He said, in an attempt to cover it. To hide the need bleeding into his words behind something sharper. Felix was desperate for Kei to touch, he wanted—fuck, he wanted Kei to plow him. Practical my ass, he thought, scoffing. There wasn’t even enough room in this goddamn thing to comfortably lean back, let alone have sex. Just taking his finger felt like acrobatics.
Kei slid a second finger inside of him, knuckles grinding the burn into pleasure. Felix’s head thumped back against the seat, heat spreading through him, sharp and bright. Kei was too good with his hands—each thrust of his fingers calculated, practiced—fucking dick . And it pissed Felix off.
Not just because of how good it felt, how easily he melted beneath it, but because it meant he’d done this before… a lot . The calm, confident rhythm, the way he knew exactly how to press and twist to make stars dance behind his eyes—that kind of skill didn’t come from guessing. It came from experience . From numbers . Too many, probably. The thought made something twist in his chest, something sour rise in his throat. He didn’t want to picture Kei touching anyone else like this. Making anyone else feel like this. It made something flicker in his brain, something small and ignored and feral, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Felix sucked in a breath between his teeth, then let it out in a choked sound as Kei curled his fingers and dragged them just right, pressure grinding perfectly against a spot that made his vision spark.
“ Fucking—fuck ,“ Felix moaned, legs twitching farther apart, his hips pushing into Kei’s hand. The seat creaked beneath the strain, slick dripping messily across his thighs, down onto the leather. He didn’t care, couldn’t give a single fuck. Not about the current state of his composure, or the leather that’s going to smell like his slick for weeks— months . Anyone who sits here will smell him. Know . They’d have to know. And that means, if he brings another omega in here… they’ll know .
That made something sharp pierce through him, excitement, adrenaline, possessiveness—all, or maybe he just couldn’t read his own emotions anymore. He’d been lying to himself for so long, he couldn’t even know for certain anymore. But what he was certain of is, that feral little voice in the back of his head, whispered mine, mine, mine .
Either way, his body was too far gone to care, instincts screaming yes, more, deeper . Every nerve ending felt like it was being lit up from the inside, his hole clenching down around Kei’s fingers as if it thought they could knot him. He was so sensitive during pre-heat, it felt so good. Every inch of his body thrummed from it. And Kei’s touch only made it feel better , somehow. More frantic.
Kei didn’t slow. His fingers only drove in harder, thumb shifting to press over his perineum, applying just enough pressure to make his eyes roll back as a third finger teased the wet rim of his hole. Teasing him with just enough promise to make his thighs tremble and hips try to rock. Because he wanted it. Really, he wanted Kei’s cock, but he wanted to make it to the studio as early as possible, too.
This was all Kei’s fault. For smelling good, for looking like that, for taking care of him, and making him feel safe . Stupid fucking biology, stupid fucking alpha, stupid fucking car—!
“God, listen to you,” Kei growled, voice gravelly, low in his throat. “You’re soaking fucking wet, Baby. So fucking ready.” Felix whimpered, thighs trembling as his knee knocked into the dash. Slick leaked freely, wetting Kei’s fingers, dripping to the leather below him in warm rivulets. The scent filled the cabin—spiced rose and salt-bright ozone tangling together in the air until he could taste it on his tongue. Feel it in his brain.
Good , it smelled good . Like home. Like safe . And it shouldn’t feel that way, but it does, and he hates that it does, but he still brought the hand clutching the varsity jacket up to his nose, inhaling the scent of pheromones on it as if he weren’t already suffocating in them. Kei slid the third inside, then immediately crooked his fingers, expertly locating his prostate as if he’d done it a thousand times, and pressed .
Stars burst behind his eyelids, a broken moan slipping from his lips before he could choke it back. His hips push down instinctively, chasing the pressure, slick gushing around Kei’s fingers in a wave of unbearable heat. Every nerve ending felt exposed like an open wound, sensitive, aching, and he hated how fast he was unraveling. How easy it was for Kei to take him apart like this—with nothing but his fingers and those maddening, intense eyes. The way they made his omega preen with satisfaction was enough to leave him complacent, though.
Because even if he logically wanted to run from Kei, put so much distance between them that the feeling of his touch on his skin can only haunt him like a dream—he doesn’t . He doesn’t run. Not because he couldn’t . But because there was a part of him that… begrudgingly… maybe, kind of, liked Kei centering his orbit around him . Taking care of him, buying him coffee, even rearranging his evenings to come get him from the studio. No matter how irrationally he behaved, Kei never lost his patience. He kept expecting to wake up and Kei be gone already, but three mornings in a row he’d waited.
“Oh, that’s it,” Kei rasped, “Pretty little show off.” Felix whimpered in response, his head shaking desperately. Embarrassed. Horny. Desperate. He wanted to cum. He wanted Kei’s pheromones to bleed into his skin and wrap him in a cocoon. He wanted to take Kei’s knot, feel those stupidly insane piercings pressing deep inside of him.
Felix wanted to call him a dick, tell him to fuck off. But he leaned forward more, his golden eyes sweeping over him with the kind of unrestrained hunger that should’ve felt intimidating, but instead, every part of his body trembled from it. He melted into Kei’s hands like streams of melting snow.
“You’re gonna be squirming through practice,” Kei practically growled, “Thinking about how good my fingers felt stretching you open.” Felix’s whole body tensed at the taunt, heat detonating beneath his skin, spreading outward like molten lava. Kei’s fingers never stopped moving in that ruthless rhythm: Three knuckles deep, curling and grinding against his prostate until sparks danced behind his eyes. Slick gushed out around the stretch of his fingers, and Felix’s muscles clenched frantically, as if trying to drag Kei’s fingers deeper.
“F—Fuck, Kei—” The sentence broke on a ragged gasp. His hips jerked helplessly, thighs trembling so hard it kind of hurt. He shuddered, his legs trying to squeeze shut around a sharp jolt of pleasure, his head swimming even more as Kei’s hand shifted from where it was bracing him on the window, pinning his leg against the car door. Holding him open so that he couldn’t hold Kei’s hand in place. The scent of Felix’s pheromones thickened—rose syrup scorched with cinnamon and vanilla, ozone, spruce, amber, and salt surfacing beneath it—until Felix could feel it coating his tongue.
He hated how much he liked the way the scents curled together, the way they melted into one. It felt like surrender. Like the pepper and cinnamon from his scent was sharpening Kei’s ozone into icy blades that cut deeper, the roses thorns softening against the fucking spruce. Worst was the charred vanilla melting against Kei’s amber until it felt less like armor and more like a wound weeping gold. Kei’s salt made his own spice cling to that glacial storm, desperate. Like his body was begging for the freeze.
It smelled like being unraveled . Taken apart. Pieced together. Like his defiance was just another thread Kei could pull. And the bastard probably knew it—knew Felix’s heart stuttered when the scents fused together, knew his pulse hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. And even though he hated it and it made him angry, it forced him to realize that even his hatred smelled sweeter when drowned in Kei.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Kei rasped, voice low, deep, wrecked . It seemed like his voice was caressing Felix’s skin; it was so warm and enticing. He wanted him to whisper it into his ear, feel his teeth scrape his skin, fuck, he wanted this car to be larger and to be surrounded by Kei, full of Kei, his cock, his knot, his cum. This wasn’t nearly enough to satiate the ache that rested low in his abdomen, the one that craved depth , more.
Felix’s eyes fluttered open, then slammed shut again as Kei’s fingers curled just right—pressing deep , grinding with unrelenting pressure right against his prostate. His entire body jolted, thighs spasmed, muscles locking tight and twitching against Kei’s grip where his leg was pinned in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hide , couldn’t pretend he wasn’t slowly, but surely, sinking just a little deeper into Kei’s touch, his grasp .
And the worst fucking part was, he didn’t even think it’d be bad to sink into Kei’s grasp. Let him consume the parts of himself he hated, let them be claimed by the fire that trailed behind Kei’s touch, turning his blood molten in seconds. Let Kei take him apart, throw out the broken pieces, and hold what was left like it mattered. Like he mattered. The thought made his throat tighten, his breath hitching with a tremble. He was in pre-heat. Now wasn’t the time to think about that.
He was sensitive, physically, emotionally . His walls were never more flexible than when a touch as soft as freshly fallen snow felt like a blow to the nerve endings beneath his skin. Softness hurt . Not in the way of a too rough grip, or a smack, but rather, like knives on skin. Because that softness was temporary. That safety fades. Hours turn to days and days turn to weeks, and when it’s all said and done, he’s alone, trapped in his display case, dancing to a tune only he can hear.
And it was irritating, because even now —when he’s shaking, wet, thighs sticky with slick and the seat beneath him a testament to his shame—Kei was looking at him like he wanted more. Like he wanted to consume him. Looking at him like he was something desired, wanted , not something pretty to keep on a shelf.
And Kei—fuck, Kei was watching everything . Breathing it in like it fed him. His scent was soaking the car in a wave of ozone cracked ice, threaded through with spruce, salt, and something deeper. Something animal . It didn’t just mix with Felix’s scent, it dragged it out, swallowed it down. Rose and cinnamon turned molten, clinging. Vanilla sweetened into smoke. Everything inside Felix screamed for more, even as he clenched down on Kei’s fingers, chest heaving every breath tasting like sweet surrender.
Felix gasped through clenched teeth, his thighs trying to jerk wider without permission. The slap of slick echoing in the tiny space of the car felt vulgar, felt obscene , but Felix couldn’t focus or even try to pretend he had the upper hand. Not with Kei, three fingers deep, and being fucked within in an inch of his life as knuckles caught just enough to punch little bursts of light behind his eyes.
Felix’s back arched off the seat, Kei’s fingers curling to hit his prostate again—again—again— fucking —Felix felt the slick leaking out around his fingers, heard every slick squelch, and hated how his hips kept rolling into it, chasing every thrust with open, desperate, thoughtless hunger.
“That’s it, baby,” Kei purred, the words warm and honeyed, thick with desire and something maybe a little more primal, “Gonna be a good boy for me and cum on my fingers?” He asked, as if he wasn’t already aware of how close Felix was. As if he couldn’t tell , when he definitely could. As if his fingers weren’t thrusting into him with enough force to make his head spin and his eyes roll back.
Felix didn’t— couldn’t —answer. His voice had long since been stripped away by the overload of sensation—but Kei’s fingers, pitoning in deep and dragging fire over every nerve. His body was well beyond his control, hips jerking, hole clenching with every thrust, still seeking the lock. Desperate for it. Slick dripped in hot, messy rivulets, definitely coating the seat beneath him and Kei’s palm . He hated how silently pleased it made him, how not only would Kei’s car smell like him, but so would his hand. He’d be smelling him all day, through practice in the morning, and all his classes.
Everyone would know . Know that Kei was his , even if he wouldn’t consciously admit to wanting Kei in any capacity. Like this, though, everything was bleeding into instinct, and instinct screamed a single word, over and over, with every inhale of Kei’s pheromones: mine .
At the same time, Felix hated how wet he was. How close he was. How Kei had brought him to this point without even pulling his fucking cock out, because what the actual fuck ? But Kei knew , too. Kei knew he was close; he could feel it in the way he trembled, clenched, in the way his breathing was hitched and high and shallow. Kei had to know . He had to know what effect he had on his body, his composure. He had to. More than that, he enjoyed it.
Felix choked on the next forward thrust of Kei’s fingers, his teeth biting down into the varsity jacket, shuddering as pleasure washed over his every nerve ending. It was too much, but still didn’t feel like enough. He wanted—he wanted more, more than fingers. He wanted his knot, wanted to be full. Wanted to be trapped beneath him, because that was the only way he could feel like this and not think about how much it’d hurt when Kei pulled away from him.
“There it is,” Kei growled, the hand on his thighs squeezing harder, just microscopically. “Don’t fight it, baby. Lemme see.” Felix’s lips parted, his eyes wide and glassy, his teeth sinking down into the fabric harder as it hit.
His orgasm crackled through him like lightning, sudden and shattering . His body locked, mouth open on a silent cry before sound tore free, raw, hoarse, steeped in need. His cock pulsed out line after line of cum, untouched, getting dangerously close to his leotard, the wet sound of it against his abdomen eclipsed entirely by the obscene gush of slick around Kei’s fingers. It wasn’t even until the cum landed on his lower abdomen that he even remembered it existed. Everything in his body was centered on Kei’s touch. The only places that mattered were the ones burning beneath Kei’s hands.
And Kei didn’t stop. Not even through the aftershocks. His fingers kept thrusting into him, coaxing more and more from him, stretching the stimulation out until Felix was whimpering, squirming in overstimulated tremors.
“Kei—Kei—Keiii—!” Felix whined, his head falling back against the seat as the thigh Kei wasn’t pinning stuttered closed around his forearm, his hips pushing into the touch desperately despite the overstimulation wringing through his cells and making everything spark beneath his skin.
“Good boy,” Kei praised, his voice deep and rough, his fingers finally sliding free at last, slick shined and dripping. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time, his hungry eyes roaming over him as if he wasn’t finished yet. And with a flick of Felix’s pleasure-blurred eyes, he knew he wasn’t. His pants were tented, a screaming neon sign that made his brain melt a little, desire flooding through him from the sight of it alone. He fought back the instincts screaming at him to lean forward, nuzzle into it, beg for it—he fought it, with trouble, but managed to hold some semblance of propriety, even if it was shallow in the aftermath of—of everything .
“Jesus,” Kei muttered, watching Felix like he’d never seen anything as beautiful as him, shaking, overstimulated, covered in cum and slick and pheromones. “You’re fucking perfect when you cum.” Felix couldn’t summon the energy to glare or roll his eyes. It was taking everything he had just to exist in this moment, trembling, thighs twitching as he tried not to slide further down in the now definitely ruined leather seat. His head lolled to the side, the cool of the window glass doing little to soothe the flush burning across his skin. His body was wrecked—open, dripping, used—and every nerve felt raw, lit up, still clinging to the aftershocks with a kind of desperate, dizzy ache.
One hand clawed weakly at the seat beside him, the other still curled around Kei’s varsity jacket and the crumpled edge of his leotard, holding them like a lifeline. The scent of them was everywhere—amber and salt, rose and char, sharp spice and ozone—wrapped so thick around him that it might as well have been stitched into his skin. His own pheromones clung to every surface, thick with sugar and heat, but all he could feel was Kei. Kei, everywhere.
And he was just sprawled out, wrecked in the passenger seat of a totally impractical sports car that smelled like sex and pheromones and alpha . The worst part was, Felix wasn’t even trying to come back to himself. Not really. He just sat there, ruined and buzzing, letting the wreckage settle around him. Letting the scent soak into his lungs like it was air.
Everything in his body screamed alpha , screamed mate , screamed more, s creamed again, screamed breed —and Kei? Kei was already reaching into the back seat and digging through his sports bag, pulling out a towel to clean him with. As if it were just routine, common, normal . As if he hadn’t just fucked him within an inch of his fucking life in the parking lot of the east wing. As if he weren’t about to go into the studio smelling like slick and sex and Kei .
Even as collected as he appeared, his scent was heavy and thick in the air, strong and overpowering. His control was strung tight like a piano wire, maybe more contained because he wasn’t in his pre-rut right now—but it was a challenge. It was relieving that even if he seemed like a brick wall, he was more like a glass window under pressure—flawless, but one crack away from shattering.
And what shook him most was, he wanted it to shatter . He wasn’t afraid of the onslaught that’d follow. He wanted to relish in it. That part made the rational side of his brain scream in terror, but the aching emptiness in his chest felt emptier somehow. He was, quite literally, poking a bear until it attacked. Anticipating the attack.
And Kei didn’t smirk, he didn’t gloat. He just moved with a tedious sort of restraint, running the dry towel over Felix’s slick thighs, his scent sweeping closer, thick and warm even under the tension still tightening the edges of it. Felix flinched—not in discomfort, but from need . His breath caught the moment Kei’s fingers lightly ghosted over the inside of his thigh.
“You gonna be okay?” Kei asked, his voice low but careful, his thumb swiping a line of slick from the bend of Felix’s knee. He didn’t even want to think about how he got slick that far down his legs, while basically sitting—he didn’t . So of course, he had to.
And Kei, he didn’t sound like the alpha that’d just finger-banged him into a stupor a minute ago, all rough edges and heat. He sounded like the one who waited in the parking lot, adjusting the temperature and turning on the seat warmer before he’d even come out of the building. The one who bought him coffee every morning since starting to drive him to the studio and who’d deciphered his coffee request better than his manager. The one who lent him his jacket and hadn’t questioned it when he kept it. The one whom he didn’t have to perform in front of, because what was the point if he saw through it anyway? Sure he still tried, but that was more pride than necessity.
Kei made space for him without demanding anything in return. He’d just completely wrecked him, got fuck all in the way of stimulation, his cock hadn’t even been pulled out, and yet he was tending to him anyway.
Felix, dizzy and hazed and desperate as he was, nodded. It was all he could manage in the moment, with words trying to crawl their way up his throat. Stupid words, like fuck me through my heat , like hold me down and knot me, like breed me, claim me, make me yours. And Felix actually kind of wanted that. Not actually, in the case of breeding, but right now, biology was screaming a little too hot-and-heavy. He was on birth control, it wasn’t a possibility.
Kei didn’t say anything else. Just kept moving, unhurried and maddeningly gentle, wiping him clean with a kind of softness that made Felix want to crawl out of his skin. His thighs twitched with every careful stroke, the mess of slick and cum disappearing beneath Kei’s hands. He tried to think it didn’t mean anything. That he’d just wanted to burn off some of his sexual frustration before dancing. That he was just in pre-heat, and was cock-dumb and pheromone drunk. He wanted that to be the case.
But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to Kei. He didn’t want to acknowledge that Kei was treating him like something worth caring for, because then that opened doors. That cracked holes in walls. Then, the light seeps in, and everything feels warm and fuzzy—until the winter hits again, and he’s just shivering and lost in the abyss of his own shattered expectations. Kei dropping the towel down onto the seat beneath him made him let out a quiet noise. He didn’t want to admit it was disappointment.
“Seat’s fucked,” Felix muttered, his voice raw and rasping as Kei tugged the leotard in place, without Felix even attempting to do it himself. Kei let out a sound that could’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so strained, carefully snapping the leotard’s clips as he raked his eyes over him. Scanning him. As if he was trying to ensure he’d cleaned him well enough to disguise what had happened, even as both of them knew that was impossible.
“Leather wipes down,” Kei responded, almost sounding a little breathless. “Even if it is fucked, it died a hero. I’ll give it a monument as repayment.” Felix snorted as Kei slid his hand between his legs again, grabbing the towel to wipe the seat so that he could sit down again.
Felix swallows down a shaky noise as Kei wiped the last smear of slick from the seat and eased back so that Felix could let himself sink into the seat comfortably. Every inch of his body protests. His quads shake like he just finished a brutal set of grand pliés. The fabric of his leotard feels unforgiving against oversensitive skin. He drew the varsity jacket tighter around him, for balance more than warmth, inhaling the scent of Kei’s pheromones off of it to steady himself.
He was attempting to hide it, but the smirk that teased the corners of Kei’s lips told him he wasn’t very good at it presently. Kei’s gaze tracks the tremor of his thighs as Felix tries to move, get out, totally forgetting the wrap skirt he’d put on.
“Easy, there,” Kei murmured, tugging the wrap skirt out from behind him as he tried to shift the varsity jacket down how he wanted it. “Need a hand?”
“Stop hovering.” Felix rasped, but there was no real heat behind it. His voice still drags, rough and thick with post-orgasm daze. He reached for the door handle, slightly missing once, before cursing under his breath and getting it on the second try. The cool morning air floods in, shocking him enough to make him blink slightly out of his haze.
The parking lot was still quiet—just the distant hum of a voice or two around the front of the building. Tayler and Matteo. The back entrance of the east wing loomed ten paces away, brick flushed pale in the early morning light. Felix swung his legs out, boots scraping on asphalt. He stands and immediately lists sideways slightly. He caught himself on the car, and before he could even blink, Kei was out of the car and walking around it.
Kei’s arm slid around his waist before gravity could embarrass him further.
“Shut up. Fuck off,” Felix muttered preemptively, gripping at Kei’s forearm. A fresh rush of slick threatens, his body stuttering somewhere between spent and ready for round two , at the simple feeling of Kei’s strength bracing him. Felix forced himself to still, to steady, inhaling once through his nose, and then he stepped clear of the car. Kei kept his palm at the small of his back until he was certain Felix was balanced.
“Text when you’re done,” Kei called after him, “Don’t overdo it. Call me if you need an earlier pickup than usual. I’ll bring food.” Kei continued as if he wasn’t storming away with his pride in shambles. “Be careful.” Felix rolled his eyes, but the motion was too lazy to be sharp.
“Fuck off! Protein bars don’t count as food, jackass.” Felix called back to him, opening the door and storming inside. Taking just a split second to collect himself, he held the door open. Not because he wanted to stay in Kei’s sightline as long as possible. Definitely.
Behind him, the car door thunks shut and the engine kicks over. Kei pulled out of the spot and stopped at the edge of the building, eyes running over him, headlights washing a strip of asphalt half gold.
“I’ll be waiting,” He called, his voice steady, desire thinly veiled beneath it. “Be careful, princess. Don’t actually break a leg.” Felix snorted, forced his chin up, and walked into the east wing. The hallway is still and cool, the scent of resin and disinfectant, a stark contrast to the humid, pheromone-drenched cocoon of Kei’s car. As the door shuts behind him, he draws one last shaking lungful of Kei’s scent from the jacket, lets it burn deep and sharp in his chest, and heads straight for the dance studio.
And if his thighs quiver on every relevé today, if every plié makes the memory of Kei’s fingers inside of him, if every turnout made the ache in his hips spike, no one else had to know.
[ 12 ] 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 | 𝖡𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
The clang of steel plates was dull under the buzz of industrial lights and the rhythmic huff of breath and effort. Kei racked the bar, exhaling heavily, sweat beading along his brows. He wasn’t winded, but he was twitchy. Unsettled. Like his skin didn’t fit right. Every fiber of his being felt charged, as if an invisible current ran along his nerves, just beneath the surface, ready to spark off.
The remnants of Felix’s pre-heat pheromones clung stubbornly onto him, like an invisible shroud weaving through his clothes, his hair, his skin, and sinking in deep. It was a heady mix of spicy sweetness and raw heat, dense and thick with the familiar tang of slick that no amount of scrubbing could fully erase. Every inhale was a jolt. Every breath tasted like the lingering promise of heat and sex. It was pure, unadulterated hell. Temptation was baked into his skin like a brand.
He flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the buzz crawling beneath his skin, but it only pulsed stronger, reminding him of the intensity of the morning. The way Felix had trembled and shook, soaked and raw and utterly undone, the way he’d held his jacket up to his face as if he couldn’t get enough of his pheromones and wanted to drown himself in them. The way his thighs trembled as he got out of the car, and the proud, slightly shaky steps he’d taken toward the studio.
He’d been trying so hard to look unaffected, it’d honestly been kind of cute.
But there was nothing cute about the way Kei had wanted to pounce on him. He’d held it back, barely, but by the end, he was struggling. Felix was really a little too reckless. He had to have known that he was in preheat. He had to. And he’d given him no warning, so he could take a stronger dose of his suppressant or anything. He had his number this time, too. He could’ve told him.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t control himself. Felix had still taken his own suppressants. He’d probably not even known that Kei was more sensitive to pheromones than most alphas because he was a dual-gened alpha. It wasn’t like he thought Felix was trying to force him to act. It was more like… he was inviting him to.
It really seemed like he’d been trying to get him to act. His movements were just—more deliberate. More intentional. But god, he smelled like fucking heaven. Kei had felt the weight of it, both the scent and desire, Felix’s voice ringing out Kei—Kei—Kei as if he’d gotten stuck on repeat. It had sharpened his senses and made the world feel simultaneously too bright and too close .
The cold steel beneath his palms felt grounding, but only just. He’d taken a suppressant, and it wasn’t time for his rut yet, so he should be fine. He wasn’t too worried about it right now. All he wanted is to burn off some of his pent-up energy because while Felix had painted the leather seat of his car in slick, he’d not gotten off. He’d thought about jerking off in the locker room, but that was a level of ferality he wasn’t about to surrender to.
Around him, his teammates grunted and shuffled, but Kei’s focus fractured in invisible waves, pulled by the scent that seemed to seep through his pores. He forced himself to take a slow, steady breath, centering the chaos that threatened to unravel him. Yet, even as he pushed down the heat with every lift, the slick scent wove through his senses like a siren’s call—untamable, persistent, and deeply his .
He’d washed his hands. Five times. Scrubbed under his nails until they stung. Still, it clung to his skin as if it were woven into the fiber of his being, soaked into the cotton stretch of his sweatpants. He’d discarded his workout shirt before even coming in, not wanting the scent of it to be too distracting. Rose and cinnamon, scorched vanilla. A hint of black pepper. The kind of scent that didn’t just smell like heat, it tasted like it, too.
It didn’t help that he liked it. That even now, breathing it in made his body zing in ways he couldn’t work off with deadlifts.
“Yo,” Devonte called, nodding toward him as he walked past with a pair of kettlebells. His tone wasn’t casual. It was that particular brand of Devonte particular but subtle concern, that translated to you good? without asking out loud. Kei grunted back. Grounded. Mostly.
“Did you just come straight from hell, or…” Jaylen’s voice cut through the space behind him. “You smell like sin and satisfaction.” Kei didn’t turn. Just reached for his towel and wiped down his forearms.
“Morning,” he said. “Glad you’re enjoying the atmosphere.”
“That ain’t atmosphere, bro. That’s Grade-A omega slick in the air.” Derek whistled low, walking over with a foam roller in hand. “Cap, you got someone napping in your car? Or did you fuck ’em stupid and drop ’em off in class still leaking?”
“Tsk, tsk,” Jackson drawled, looping an arm around Derek’s shoulders with a grin. “Shame, Cap. What kind of example are you setting for the new recruits? They’re gonna think the bench press is for mating season.”
“Didn’t fuck anyone,” Kei said flatly, grabbing his water bottle. Technically true. He hadn’t. Not in the traditional sense. No knot, no orgasm. Just fingers, and a trembling omega soaked in slick, clinging to his jacket like it was a buoy holding him above water. Jaylen raised both brows, grinning.
“Okay, but that wasn’t a denial. I’m just saying. Second time this week you walked in smelling like you’re the reason someone’s walking crooked.” Jaylen pointed out, lighthearted.
“Wasn’t meant to be,” Kei replied easily, lifting his towel to rub the sweat from his jaw. He didn’t offer more, and that alone told them plenty. Laughter broke out across the group—Jackson howling, Derek muttering “fuckin’ knew it” under his breath. Devonte gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Y’all need to shut up and let the man lift.” Devonte intervened, shaking his head as if he weren’t hiding a smile behind his water bottle. Sean showed up then, still towel-draped and vaguely annoyed, pulling out one AirPod.
“Dead serious—who’s scent-bombing the weight room? Shit smells like someone popped heat suppressants after it was too late.” He deadpanned, “Are there any omegas in the weight room? Or is this one of you pheromone-infused giants leaking your late-night conquest into the communal airspace?” Devonte didn’t even blink.
“Wouldn’t be me. My omega doesn’t slick on school grounds.” Devonte responded.
“Nah, he just steals two jerseys and clings onto you like a second skin… sometimes. “ Derek followed up with. “Or did he burn them the first time y’all broke up? Or the twelth?” Devonte lifted an eyebrow, slow and unimpressed.
“That’s funny coming from a guy who cried the night his ex-girlfriend left a hairtie in his truck.” Devonte fired back. It got Jaylen and Jackson both laughing, Jaylen nearly dropping his dumbbell mid-set.
“Yo—she left three!” Derek shot back defensively. “She did that shit on purpose. Scent marked the whole interior the night before I went home for winter break like a damn territorial housecat.” Even as he said it, his eyes shone with pride.
“Let’s not forget you banging her in the back seat,” Sean said, entirely deadpan.
“That’s true,” Jaylen cut in, “And you didn’t even try to air it out,” Jaylen said between laughs, “We had to ride back from away games with the windows down in December, man.”
“We live in California. It’s basically fall in December, I don’t think you were in danger of freezing a nut off.” Devonte interjected.
“Worth it,” Derek declared, no shame in sight. “My truck smelled like Omega satisfaction for four months straight. You don’t just air out a claim like that. You celebrate it.” Sean made a look like he’d tasted battery acid.
“And you celebrated by turning the cab of your truck into a goddamn biohazard on the biological level,” Sean replied. “Congrats. Truly. Invite me next time, and we can christen the back seat with a crisp Heineken when you’re done.”
“Couldn’t be me,” Jaylen said lazily. “Beta girlfriend, remember? No scent, no heat. Just vibes and handjobs.”
“Tragic,” Derek muttered, dramatically solemn. “Can’t relate.”
“Man’s out there preserving scent like it’s vintage wine,” Jackson snorted.
“Fuck right on off,” Derek grinned, “At least someone wanted to scent me. All you’ve got is a fleshlight and a PornHub account.” Jaylen wheezed, doubling over with laughter so hard his dumbbell clanged off the mat.
“Damn! Man said fleshlight —” Jackson barked out a laugh and threw his towel at Derek, who swatted it away with a smug shrug, still proud and unbothered. Kei just shook his head, stretching out his shoulders with the easy flex of someone used to tuning out chaos. After a couple of seconds, Jaylen straightened, wiping away the tears still brimming at the corner of his eyes.
“Okay, Gladiators—let’s end Derek’s greatest hits. Cap’s up next on the confession stand,” Jaylen pointed a chalk-dusted finger in Kei’s direction. “Ten seconds to tell us whether the mystery omega is a student, faculty member, or plot twist: if she’s that barista from that coffee shop who always spells your name wrong on the cup. Key instead of Kei.”
“A. student. And also, D. None of your fucking business,” Kei mused, his eyebrow twitching a little.
“Oh, come on, bro,” Jaylen responded, “Are you seriously telling me you don’t go for the artsy but clumsy barista type?”
“What about that cheerleader? Callie, right? The real pretty blonde one that sends Kei fuck me eyes every time she passes him on the field during games?” Jackson chimed in.
“She’s way too energetic for Kei,” Derek refuted, shaking his head. “Nah, man, dudes not into the cheery type. Whoever it is has to have an emo side to keep up with Cap’n’s stilt.”
“So we’re thinking poetry major with a trauma tattoo and a playlist full of Mitski? Sounds on-brand.” Sean drawled, rolling his eyes. Kei didn’t justify that with a response, because Felix didn’t seem like the kind to listen to Mitski, and he was pretty certain he would’ve clocked a tattoo if he had one when he was changing him into pyjamas the night they had sex. Also, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been practically flaunting his skin ever since, inviting Kei’s gaze to devour him with all the subtlety of a zoo escapee wearing a sign that read look at me .
“Exactly the vibe I’m thinking,” Jackson agreed, pointing at Sean like he’d just hit the lottery. “Probably wears black eyeliner, reads banned books for fun, and smells like rose, vanilla, and poor decisions.”
“She bites her nails,” Derek added confidently, “But only when she’s nervous about their vibe shifting or astrology nonsense. Kei’s the human embodiment of a wistful sigh—his omega’s gotta match that energy.”
“I’m not wistful,” Kei muttered under his breath, towel around his neck as he adjusted a plate on the barbell. No one acknowledged the protest.
“Bro,” Jaylen chimed in, seriously, leaning forward. “You literally stared out the window of the car for an hour after we lost that scrimmage last October. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there, like you were narrating your own tragic backstory in a voiceover.” To the left, Derek took his place on a bench, stretching out across it like he had all day.
“His quarterback energy doesn’t lie,” Derek said, “The man’s callin’ plays in bed too.” Sean made a grunting noise.
“I don’t appreciate that mental image,” Sean said flatly. “Too early. I need more caffeine before I think about any of you hulking humanculi getting your knots wet.”
“But you are thinking about it,” Jackson ribbed.
“More focused on my own, actually,” Sean shot back.
“I always forget you’re an alpha,” Derek mused, “You give off major beta-with-alpha-complex vibes. You not pretty enough to reap the benefits, man?” Sean scowled.
“You’re one to talk,” Sean snorted, “You look like you inherited every bad gene your parents could offer.”
“I don’t seem to have any problems getting my dick wet, so I can’t look too bad. At least my personality isn’t comparable to a cactus,” Derek fired in response. “Tell me, were you born with that stick up your ass, or was it inserted later?”
“Inserted,” Sean replied without missing a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But, the last guy had better rhythm than you probably would.” That earned a holler from Jackson and an audible choke from Jaylen, who dropped his chalk mid-set.
“Damn!” Jaylen wheezed, “Sean, man, damn .” Derek’s grin spread, lazy and shark-like.
“So you’re into rhythm, huh?” He mused, almost playfully. “I’ll keep that in mind when you finally admit you need a good fucking to work the kinks out.” Kei couldn’t help snorting at that. Sean didn’t blink. Didn’t posture.
“If I ever fall so low, put a bullet in my head when you finish,” He drawled, “I’d rather die than live with the shame incurred by lying with someone who reeks of booze and skankery.”
“I’ll try to remember that when you’re staring at my ass in the locker room,” Derek responded, making Sean snort.
“Even an idiot with a single brain cell burning under pressure can have a single good trait,” Sean said easily, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek’s eyes gleamed, leaning forward like a predator scenting blood.
“So you have noticed, huh?” Derek teased, “Don’t worry, big guy, I’ll bend over extra slow in my jock strap next time I’m changing in the locker room.” Sean rolled his shoulders, giving him a completely blank and expressionless expression.
“I’d rather watch paint peel,” Sean said, his voice velvet flat. “At least paint has layers.”
“Ouch,” Jackson stage whispered. “Layers, Sean? We getting artsy in here?” Jaylen fanned himself dramatically.
“Someone get Derek the aloe,” Jaylen chimed in, “That burn looks painful.” Derek only chuckled, but the sound had teeth.
“Layers, huh?” Derek mused, “Funny coming from the human spreadsheet. Bet if I kissed you, you’d still be calculating ROI on oxygen.” Sean cocked his head as if he were confused.
“Are you implying you have the mental and physical fortitude necessary to get close enough to kiss me? Please, I’ve seen you during practice. You barely hang in.” Sean was swift to respond, “Besides, if you ever kissed me, I’d be too busy scheduling your ambulance ride to Santa Sierra General. Efficiency is my trademark.” Kei laughed under his breath, shaking his head. Devonte set down his kettleballs with a clank.
“Oh no, they’re at it again,” Devonte sighed heavily.
“Think we should rent them a hotel room and lock the door?” Jackson mused. “Let ’em work it out like everyone knows they want to?”
“We’d have to pay for the damage those two feral idiots inflict on the hotel room,” Kei responded. “It’s cheaper and easier to throw them in the sparring ring and lock the doors.”
“My bets on Sean,” Jaylen cut in. “Bros fuckin’ stacked.”
“Derek’s a little masochistic fuckhead,” Jackson replied. “He’d definitely give in as soon as he gets pinned. Besides, the only one here strong enough to take down Sean is Kei.”
“You think I’d let him pin me?” Derek scoffed, “Please. The only way I’d let him pin me would be if I wanted to see what he’d do if I let him think he won.”
“If I pinned you,” Sean said without even blinking, “It wouldn’t be for fun . It’ll be because I’m deciding how many vertebrae to leave intact.” His voice came low, level, and clipped like a blade being drawn. His statement earned him a hoooooooly shit from Jackson and a strangled half wheeze from Jaylen, who didn’t even try to hold the pretense of lifting the barbell anymore.
“Flirting or fighting, guys?” Jaylen questioned, “I’ve seen hardcore pornos with less buildup than this.”
“Right. Unless you want to speed run a one-way trip to Coach’s office and a season on the bench, kiss and make up, boys.” Kei interjected, reaching for his water bottle again. “I’m cool with y’all having your fun, but next time you break a locker, I’m assigning your laps. How does seventy sound?”
“That’s tyranny ,” Derek bemoaned. Devonte didn’t even look up from where he was rewrapping his wrist.
“That’s precision in punishment,” Devonte drawled. “The weakest skill equates to the best punishment.”
Kei was seconds from opening his mouth to corroborate Devonte’s statement when the doors to the weight room opened and Felix came barreling into it with the kind of barely contained fury that could only be breath-taking when wielded by someone with a face so pretty it could melt God’s heart and a body so tempting even a monk would stare. And everything stopped . Immediately. The clatter of plates, the thumping bass of rap from somebody’s phone, the barked crosstalk of over two dozen alphas—it all snapped off like a breaker had been flipped. A moment caught between breaths for every unmated alpha in the room.
And Felix just stood there for a moment, face blank, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Kei. He walked toward him, coat swinging, hair slightly damp from sweat, a storm front in luxury tennis shoes with something in Cyrillic across the outside and barely appropriate clothing. Kei’s red-and-gold varsity jacket hung loose on him, falling off one delicate shoulder, sleeves swallowing his wrists and the palms of his hands. Beneath it, the same graphite black leotard that he’d been wearing earlier. So tight it looked like it was vacuum sealed, high cut at the hips, with large mesh windows on either side, showing off the lithe muscle beneath it.
His wrap skirt was still in the passenger seat of Kei’s car, and that just left one thing to gawk at— legs . Long, muscle-etched dancer legs, long and smooth and hopelessly distracting. Not just was he dressed like total fucking temptation; but he smelled like it too. Pre-heat had strengthened his pheromones, thickened them, sweetened them.
And every alpha in the room froze—mid-rep, mid-breath—lungs locking so hard a few bars clanged back onto safety catches. The scent rolling off of Felix wasn’t a hint , it was proof . Felix’s pheromones—sweet rose syrup layered over cracked pepper, scorched vanilla and cinnamon, undercut by ozone, spruce, amber, and salt—Kei’s pheromones.
Derek’s grin slid three notches wider, Jaylen’s dumbbell hovered mid-curl like a prop in a bad mime routine—even Sean’s habitual scowl hiccupped. Jackson actually whispered holy mother of— and trailed off as if he’d forgotten the rest of the words.
Felix clocked the silence, his gaze roaming over the faces of the guys surrounding him with a self-satisfied smirk, his head tilting to the side the slightest bit as if he were sizing them up. After a moment, his gaze settled back on Kei, his hip poking out as his hand settled on it beneath the hem of the jacket, showing off the perfect line of his hip. He looked like sin carved out of marble and taught to pirouette.
He planted himself five paces from Kei—who was suddenly hyper-aware of how much of a gut punch Felix’s pheromones could be . When he’d left him at the studio, he’d not smelled nearly this strong. Felix tapped the toe of his tennis shoe on the rubber floor, creating a rhythmic tap-tap-tap .
“Hey, Captain Muscles! I’ve been texting you for thirty minutes,” Felix said snappily, his eyes narrowing a little. “It’d be much appreciated if you could retrieve my heat suppressants from your floorboard.”
“How’d they get there?” Kei questioned, somewhat confused. Felix shot him a look as if to ask, really?
“They fell out when you dropped me off at the studio,” Felix responded, his voice heavy with irritation. “And I didn’t realize until thirty minutes ago. Coincidentally, which is when I needed to take them.”
“On it,” Kei responded, getting up and walking over to his sports bag, digging through it for his keys. Felix arched an eyebrow.
“Also, one of those awful protein bars and a bottle of water.” Felix continued. “Since you’re going to your car anyway. And I have a twenty-minute walk across campus to look forward to.” A strangled wheeze escaped Jaylen’s throat.
“That’s a goddamn war crime, walking in here like that,” Derek muttered. Sean just stared, eyes calculating with the smallest twitch at the edge of his lip: predator recognizing prettier predator with a different skillset. Devonte cleared his throat, completely unaffected.
“Play nice. He bites.” Devonte chimed in.
“Only if they ask nicely,” Felix flashed a grin that was both devastatingly beautiful and somehow sinister. Kei brushed past, fingers grazing Felix’s waist in a silent promise. He didn’t move, but his eyes went half-lidded, pupils expanding at the contact—enough to make everyone in the room acutely aware of how not interested he was in anyone else in the room.
“Two minutes,” Kei promised quietly.
“Hurry,” Felix muttered, his teeth worrying his bottom lip for a brief moment, eyes darting up to meet his. “It reeks in here.” He was careful to keep his voice low enough for no one else to hear him, and while he was trying to make it sound like disdain, Kei could imagine it was more like the scent of pheromones is overwhelming.
“You want to walk with me?” He questioned. Felix shook his head. Kei nodded, lingering for a split second before bolting to the door. He barely even registered the sound of the weight room door clicking shut behind him. He’s already jogging, keys tight in his grip, tennis shoes slamming the pavement as he clears the sidewalk in three bounding strides. The fall air hits him like a smack—it’s cool, clean, and blessedly, devoid of pheromones. Even so, he can taste Felix in the back of his throat like he were right at his scent gland.
Suppressants. Focus, dumbass, Kei thought to himself as he rounded the far corner of the building, skidding on the loose gravel near the parking lot. He’d parked in the back row, between two sedans he’d not seen move since last October. He unlocked the door, opening it, before dropping to his knees and searching the floorboard for any sign or semblance of a suppressant pack.
He dug around for a moment, between the seat and the console, under the rug in the floorboard, the storage space in the passenger door—but turned up no result. He leaned forward, letting his head hang, mind racing a mile a minute. He exhaled roughly. Think, dumbass! Is my brain decorative?! The cars so small— he scanned the interior again, then leaned further in, pushing his hand deep beneath the passenger seat.
His fingers grazed something soft, rectangular square—like an incredibly chocolate bar. Kei tugged it free: the foil pack, half-warped from the heat of the floor but sealed tight, his eyes running over the black and gold package with Felix’s name in an elegant scrawl across it. There . The sight of it sent relief flooding through him so fast it made his heart stall.
Suppressants in one hand, Kei reached onto the shelf behind the seats, fishing out the only protein bar he had that he thought Felix might eat, and a bottle of water from his stash. It was warm, but not hot . Good enough. He didn’t want to waste time going to a vending machine when Felix needed his suppressant. He slammed the door shut and took off at a sprint—sneakers skimming the pavement as he cleared the lot and rounded the corner. The weight room doors loomed ahead, still closed, a barrier he wished didn’t exist when his stomach felt tight and his instincts were snarling under his skin.
Every head in the room turned when the weight room door opened, Kei stepping back inside under intense scrutiny, heat suppressants in one hand, a protein bar and bottle of water in the other. Felix was still waiting.
He’d barely moved since Kei left him—still standing in the middle of a room full of alphas wearing almost nothing and seeping mating pheromones as if he’d not noticed a single one of them. The varsity jacket still hung off one delicate shoulder, the dark leotard clinging to every elegant line of his body like paint, his arms crossed over his chest loosely, as if the whole room weren’t gravitating around him. Kei crossed the space between them in a few strides, handed over the bar and the water first. Felix took both like he was doing him a favor.
Kei held up the suppressant pack, letting Felix see it before passing it over.
“It was pushed way back under the seat.” Kei admitted, “Must’ve got kicked under there earlier.” Felix pursed his lips, popping the blister pack out of its case, taking two of the pills and popping them in his mouth. He opened the water bottle and took a sip of it, swallowing down the pills. “You’re good for now?” Kei checked, putting his hand on Felix’s back lightly. Felix nodded, letting out a huff.
“I’m good. Dunno about your friends though. They seem to be buffering.” He mused, flicking them an amused glance. “Don’t be late picking me up. I’m getting out at 6 instead. Bring chocolate. Dark chocolate and caramel.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” Kei answered, voice pitched low so only Felix could hear it. “Noted. Dark chocolate with caramel. Anything else?” The warm weight of his palm on Felix’s back lingered just a breath too long—enough to anchor himself, and enough for every alpha within earshot to clock the intimacy behind the gesture.
“A coffee. And a biscotti.” Felix responded. Kei nodded.
“Text me if you think of anything else.” Felix’s mouth curves into something small and satisfied, dangerously close to an actual smile. He capped the water, tucked the protein bar into the pocket of Kei’s varsity jacket, and straightened to his full, deceptively modest height. The jacket slid another inch down his bicep, exposing a sliver of dusky skin. No one dares to react.
“I will.” He glanced around the still-reeling group of alphas Kei had been encircled by before he’d shown up. “…Appreciate the hospitality. I… think?” He says to the room at large, tone sugar-laced venom. “I’m gone. Don’t forget my sweets tonight, or I’m making you sit in the studio for an extra three hours. Just cause I can.” And then he was walking out before Kei, or anyone else, could respond, disappearing just as suddenly as he’d shown up.
The door clicked shut quietly behind him, but it seemed to echo in the silent weight room like a gunshot. For a moment, no one moved. Not a clink of plates, a beat of the music—even the air seemed to hold still, heavy with rose-slicked pheromones. Jaylen was the first to breathe again, and as soon as he did, he barked out a laugh so sudden it made Sean flinch.
“Well,” Jaylen mused, dagging the word out like he was still trying to recover his equilibrium, “Holy shit. Dude smelled like a wet dream laced with cyanide.” Jaylen muttered, glancing over at Derek as he snorted.
“What happened to beta girlfriend?” Derek questioned, halfway sounding distracted. “I think I just met my soulmate.” Sean scoffed.
“In your apparently misguided dreams, maybe,” Sean muttered. “Either way, save your delusions for when you’re jacking off.” Derek didn’t get the chance to respond to Sean, though, because the clatter of weights gained a semblance of rhythm once again, punctuated by Jackson’s shaky exhalation.
“Holy mother of Christ,” He breathed for the third time, staring almost blankly at the dumbbell rack as if it would somehow answer whatever bullshit question he was tossing around in his head. “How is someone that —?” He broke off as if he didn’t have the vocabulary necessary to complete the sentence. He made a disgruntled face, making a vague, encompassing gesture that nearly knocked over a water bottle. “The face? Those legs? The—all of—I—I need a cold shower.” Derek began re-racking a plate that he hadn’t used, still looking decidedly dreamy.
Derek’s fingers fumbled the edge of the plate before he managed to settle it onto the rack, his eyes glazed over with the kind of dumbfounded awe Kei had only ever seen aimed at championship trophies or luxury supercars—not another human being.
“I think my soul packed a suitcase and left my body,” Derek said, dazedly, “That was like seeing the Virgin Mary in booty shorts. I dunno how to take it.” Jaylen snorted.
“You wouldn’t know the Virgin Mary if she drop kicked you to the 100-yard line wearing black fishnets and stripper heels,” Jaylen said.
“I’d say we all just encountered the devil instead,” Sean said, sharp and low, flipping his towel over his shoulder. “Temptation like that comes with a lost soul, work, and probably copious amounts of debt. He looks expensive . And Pretty.”
“Oh, expensive is an understatement,” Jackson breathed, still not moving from where he stood. “That leotard fit like it was vacuum sealed to him. Had to be custom. And I didn’t even know that there were shoes with Cyrillic on them. I own about every tennis shoe available, and I’ve never seen those .”
“He’s from Russia,” Devonte cut in, “It makes sense that half of his shit has Cyrillic on it. That’s the least notable thing from that little display.”
“Right,” Kei agreed, not missing a beat. “The most notable part was that all of you need to re-up on your suppressants. If he’d been in full heat, you’d all be fucked. Devonte and I would’ve had to lock you in the locker room before someone forgot how to spell ‘consent.’” Devonte snorted, half-laugh, half-serious.
“If he’d been in full heat, you would’ve lost your fuckin’ mind.” He jabbed a finger at Kei. “Forget locking them up—you’d have been ripping throats out to protect your claim.” A beat, then softer: “Not judging. If it were Jinnie? Fuck the NCAA. Jin over football, every time.”
“Did you see the way the jacket slipped? The burning hatred and contempt in those eyes? All that sass and attitude, but so pretty it doesn’t even matter.” He clutched his chest dramatically and smirked a little. “I really think I met my soulmate. Kei, buddy, pal, captain… Introduce me?” Kei shot him a look so chilling it could’ve flash-froze hell.
“I’ll introduce you to the ER nurse tasked with giving you sponge baths when I break your hands, and no one,” Kei responded, scowling. “Besides, he’d pick your bones clean, Derek.” Sean snorted as Kei slammed another 45 onto his bar, the crash making Jaylen jump.
“I’d had him the napkin.” He deadpanned. Jaylen still hadn’t moved from his spot, the forgotten dumbbell at his feet on the floor. He ran a hand over his wavy, hair, his expression one of profound existential confusion.
“Fair enough,” Derek said slowly, running his eyes over Kei. “I’d be possessive too. That omega is a fucking masterpiece. A walking, talking fire hazard, dripping temptation.”
“My lizard brain is still trying to crawl back into its cave,” Jaylen muttered, “Why come in here like that, knowing the weight room would be full of Alphas?” Kei didn’t have to answer that one, Devonte chimed in before he could even think to answer.
“He didn’t stroll in for applause. Kei had his suppressants in his car. Walking home alone, mid-pre-heat, with pheromones that strong?” Devonte cut in sharply. A grim shake of his head. “This was the lesser evil. Besides… an unsuppressed omega goes toward comfort. He probably only halfway consciously came here, because he knew Kei was here.”
“He could’ve walked with him, then?” Jaylen pressed. “Anything would’ve been better than just standing in a lion’s den waiting for the slaughter.”
“I don’t think he could’ve,” Sean cut in. “He looked pretty calm on the surface, I won’t lie. But he was practically oozing anxiety. I’d say he was probably on the verge of going into full heat, and the only thing keeping him in check was the potential danger.” He hummed, tilting his head to the side calculatedly, “The performance was good enough to fool you homunculi because your brain and dick can’t function in synchronization…” Sean trailed off. Devonte nodded.
“And he knew Kei would scorch the earth if anyone breathed wrong near him. Knew I’d lock his ass in the equipment cage to protect him from you .” He eyed Kei. “Smart move, scenting him on the way out. His pheromones said ‘fuck me’ . Yours said ‘touch and die’ .”
Kei didn’t point out that he’d not intentionally scented him—at least not for that purpose. His instincts had been running on high, and everything had narrowed down to Felix . What he needed, what he could do. He hadn’t wanted to leave him alone, not smelling like that and surrounded by a bunch of Alphas that could scent exactly what Kei could… but he’d not really had a choice. Felix wasn’t in any condition to be walking around in the first place, so he hadn’t pushed him.
“He effectively grabbed all of you by the balls, weaponizing my pheromones and Devonte’s presence,” Kei interjected, glancing over at the lot of them, raising an eyebrow. “He’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for. He knew nothing would happen when I turned my back, because of the hailstorm you’d all face when I returned. And even if you did try something, Devonte is right there. Jin would castrate him if something happened to him.”
“Jin would castrate both of us,” Devonte said. “Now, enough of the pointless chatter. Shows over. Get to work. We got a game this Friday, and if you, Sean, what is it you call them?”
“Hulking homunculi,” Sean echoed, smirk sharp as a blade. Devonte’s smile turned glacial.
“If you hulking homunculi cost us the win this Friday because you’re blue-balled and brain-dead?” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a threat, a guillotine hanging over their throats, “Kei tells coach we need unscented two-a-days all week next week.” Even Kei couldn’t help shuddering at that threat. He hated unscented practices—there was nothing worse than not being able to sense how close someone was to him using pheromones. “You boys gonna enjoy seeing each other that much?” Jackson groaned.
“I already ain’t got time to shit with the door shut, man!” He complained.
“Try me,” Sean cut in, already re-racking weights. The rest of the team scattered like startled crows. Alone, now, Devonte turned his attention to Kei, all humor vanishing.
“You are getting Felix later,” Devonte said, leveraging a weight pause. “Double your suppressants before you lock yourself in the car with him.” His gaze didn’t waver. “And if you plan to entertain, give me an hour to evacuate to Jin’s.”
Kei’s knuckles whitened on the plate he was putting on the barbell he planned to lift to burn off some steam before later. Double dosing didn’t mean shit when Felix smelled like that— like roses blooming in a furnace. Devonte turned to leave, before pausing.
“Kei,” His voice lost its edge, replaced by something low and graveled. Kei’s hands squeezed tighter on the barbell plate, somehow, cold iron biting into flesh. “If you think you’re hitting your rut early, pull over. Don’t be that idiot again. If your control starts to slip in that car? Pull. Over.” Each word felt like a hammer strike. Kei froze. “You crawled out of that wreck with broken ribs, glass in your hair, and your rut-fever still burning while snow melted on your back.” He paused for a moment, “Just pull over,” Devonte repeated, the command rougher now. “Text me coordinates. I’ll find you.”
He left before Kei could speak. Before the memories could haunt him like a ghost.
Devonte’s warning dragged him back to that Vermont winter. Eighteen, rut drunk, and white-knuckling his Range Rover Sport through a blizzard toward a gender clinic. Snow had sheeted the window, but all he could feel was the burn of his rut coursing through his veins. It had been so miserable, then. Every second in his own skin felt like torture.
And it only got worse— one black ice turn. One snowbank swallowing jet-black paint. One crunch of custom leather meeting pine. Now, in sun-scorched California, the ghosts still lingered. His parents’ silent, but overwhelming terror. The dual-alpha genes meaning his rut will always hit like a semi truck. Years of failed suppressants and discomfort as he tried—and failed —to find any way he could make it more tolerable.
Here, snow may not fall—but the fever from his rut still came. He could run from the snow. He couldn’t
run from biology. All he could do was mitigate it as much as he could.
[ 13 ] 𝖲𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 | 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗈𝖼𝗈𝗅
𝖪 𝖤 𝖨
Kei pulled his sports car to a slow idle roll in the studio lot, parking in one of the half-shaded spaces beneath one of the trees in the parking lot of the east wing. He kept the engine running, the A/C on low, his windows preemptively rolled down so there was absolutely no chance for Felix’s pheromones to fog the car up. He’d specified he was getting out at six, which was significantly earlier than usual, but Kei was still ten minutes early.
Kei wasn’t bothered by the earliness—if anything, he was relieved. The last thing he wanted was for Felix to overwork himself and send himself into his heat before his body was ready. It wouldn’t be a pleasant experience for Felix, whom likely would suffer the ill effects of a forced cycle, and it’d make getting him home safely about damn near impossible.
He didn’t even know if the double dose of suppressants he’d taken already would be enough to hold him through his preheat pheromones, much less actual heat pheromones. Heat pheromones were like a biohazard for him; they waged personal attacks against his central nervous system. And Felix’s scent… well, it was strong . Strong enough to transfix an entire weight room of Alphas on rut suppressants, and Kei was biologically predisposed to pheromone sensitivity and heightened instincts.
This wasn’t just poking a bear, this was locking himself in the cage with the bear and someone that looked and smelled like absolute temptation. This wasn’t just waiting for the bear to attack; this was daring it to.
Kei eyed the cold brew in the cupholder beside him, Felix’s preferred cold brew dark roast cinnamon vanilla disaster already beginning to sweat through the plastic. It was so absurdly complicated Kei actually felt pity for the people having to make it—but that was kind of Felix’s whole shtick. Somehow, he’s the hardest person in a room to talk to, but you still can’t help wanting to talk to him. It’s abundantly clear he’s intentional with it, freezing everything out that’s a threat to his solitary life.
And yet, here Kei is. Idling in the parking lot of the east wing, preparing for a pheromone attack in his own car, staged by the prettiest person Kei had ever seen, whose scent wrapped around him like a wildfire he wasn’t ready to fight. An angel dressed like sin and practically radiating delicious, absolute feral desire.
Medium vanilla dark roast, specifically cold brew. Light vanilla. A single cinnamon cream shot. Vanilla and cinnamon cold foam. Dry foam, specifically, half-sweet, light milk. Just enough to foam. No sugar… and of course the almond biscotti with dark chocolate drizzle. Felix hadn’t even given him proper direction on what he wanted; he’d been more than just vague. It’d been deciphering a code. One, Felix expected him to understand.
The biscotti and dark chocolate caramels were neatly placed in the paper bag from the cafe in Felix’s seat. Untouched. He’d remembered everything Felix rambled off earlier that morning, even after multiple classes, after 7 am conditioning. At least today was weight-lifting day. His arms ached faintly from the morning’s lifts. His knees too. Not that he could feel anything right now over the slow coil of tension tightening his gut. But he’d gone all out, so he’d be physically exhausted when he picked up Felix. Less strength means easier to defend against if he did happen to lose control of his instincts. His size was a problem enough. He didn’t want to be full strength when it happened.
Jin should probably drive him tomorrow. Kei didn’t know if this would be sustainable. He supposed he could be worried for nothing. He could hold his head just fine. He could barely scrape by. Either way, that’d be a miracle, one Kei didn’t know if he could replicate two days in a row. The closer he got to his heat, the stronger his scent would get. Kei didn’t want to be locked in this car with him when his heat hit. He didn’t want to do something stupid.
But he was already doing something stupid, just by showing up. He could’ve texted Jin. But he’d wanted to see Felix again. He’d needed to after this morning. After he came to the weight room and left, he was alone. He’d walked back to the studio in the east wing from the north wing where athletics were held. Thirty minutes at the shortest, and that’s for Kei, who could probably walk a mile a minute if he really tried. He’d needed to see for himself that Felix came out of it alright, and made it back okay.
He’d spent the rest of the day worried, and while he’d sent Felix a few messages throughout the day, he hadn’t responded to any of them. He didn’t know if he should be worried, or if he was just busy dancing because he was prone to engrossing himself in it so much. He could’ve been ignoring him to prove a point—Kei had unintentionally missed his messages, too. And his texts were actually important. His heat suppressants.
When he had Felix squirming in the passenger seat, his suppressants must’ve gotten knocked out of his dance bag. Or maybe they were in the varsity jacket he’d had pulled up—it very easily could’ve fallen out and beneath the seat. It very well could’ve ended in disaster if Felix wasn’t Felix . Felix had been the one to initiate technically, though. In his calculated, teasing way. Opening the door, but disguising it as a window to crawl through.
Kei held his breath as the doors to the west wing pushed open with a dramatic flair. He didn’t move, waiting patiently as Felix stepped out into the golden spill of dying sunlight as if the sun shined only to be a spotlight on him. Kei stayed calm, from nothing but pure determination alone. Felix headed straight for his car, barely even looking.
His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to the nape of his neck in a way that looked effortless, even though Kei knew he’d just come out of rehearsal. His gait was loose-limbed, but still graceful—just loose enough to pass for casual if it weren’t for the razor-edged precision behind every movement of his body. He didn’t just walk. He carved space, commanding attention without asking for it.
And he was wearing that . The same kind of barely there, almost fully exposing outfit he’d been wearing for days—leotard, tennis shoes, Kei’s varsity jacket. It clung tight to his body, practically a second skin, high-cut at the hips with mesh windows, teasing Kei with just enough skin to make him remember when his hands had rested over where those windows now rested. Revealing muscle and movement and too much , but still far from enough.
Kei’s breath hitched, and he pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth for one long, solid second. He looked expensive. Sean and Jackson had been talking about it earlier, now Kei couldn’t help but notice it himself. Even his shoes looked expensive—clearly high-end, probably designer, with Cyrillic scrawled like graffiti across the side in bold blocky text. Clean white marred by street-flair rebellion.
He looked like the kind of mistake you meant to make. Like a warning label you ignore on purpose.
Felix didn’t rush—he moved with the kind of calm precision he always did, even when Kei could see the flush of his heat faintly on his cheeks. And he said nothing, didn’t react, just moved straight toward Kei’s car, eyes fixed forward, a flicker of something unreadable coiled in the line of his shoulders. Kei unlocked the passenger side without commenting, and Felix pulled the door open and slid in beside him like he belonged there.
The scent hit Kei in full this time. Roses and heat. Nothing like when he’d caught it in the locker room earlier. He’d been to caught up on Felix’s distress to get aroused by it then—but now? Now, no such emotional barrier was in place. And it was dangerous, a sugary time bomb wrapped in designer dancewear and a varsity jacket. Slow building spice, sweet at the core. Kei’s body reacted immediately: skin tightening, stomach coiling, throat suddenly dry as the Sahara despite the glass of ice water he’d downed before leaving the apartment earlier.
“You remembered,” Felix muttered, reaching forward to grasp the cold brew Kei had gotten him. Kei nodded.
Of course he remembered. He’d spent the past three days speed running his thoughts of Felix practically every hour. He also ordered it every morning for him, on the way to drop him off at the east wing of the college where the preforming arts building was. Felix knew that, so Kei could deduce that he was referencing the coffee-in-the-afternoon side of things. Because Felix was usually so late getting out of practice that he probably immediately needed to go to bed when he got home to repeat the 5am dance studio routine again.
Kei seriously didn’t know how Felix found time to dance day and night and still do school. Granted, he wasn’t sure what he was studying. Maybe he barely had classes, or did everything on the weekend. Kei knew his daily schedule, like drop off and pick up times, but he didn’t know what happened in the interim.
Felix picked up the drink without saying thank you, but the first sip he took was quick, like he’d been wanting it all day and finally had it.
“How was the rest of the morning after you were late taking your dose? Did you manage to take it in time? Obviously you made it back to the studio. Did anyone bother you on the way?” Kei questioned, almost immediately. Felix hummed.
“Better,” Felix admitted. “Never this late before. I calm down after taking dose. No big deal.” But it was a big deal. To Kei . He’d been stressed all morning about whether someone had traced his scent, or if Felix had gone into full heat early. “No one bothered me. I wear guard dogs jacket, people avoid like plague. Happy for it.”
Felix was calm, he didn’t seem mad, or upset in any capacity. He physically looked fine. There was no trace of pheromones on him that weren’t familiar, recurring with every pickup. He didn’t seem distressed. Everything seemed fine. So Kei nodded once. That was enough. Kei put the car into drive and backed out of the spot, glancing around the parking lot cautiously.
Kei was halfway down the street when he heard the sharp, chipper blare of the Tetris theme ringing out through the silent air of the car. Kei glanced over at Felix, the source of the song, blinking.
“Is… Is that… Tetris?” Kei asked, and Felix just quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say obviously, before hitting the button to silence his ringer.
“Is absurd. Everyone react different. Funny.” Felix said stoically. As if he wasn’t ignoring his phone by talking to Kei. Usually he had three modes, bratty indifference, judgmental observations, or vow of silence. Kei raised an eyebrow at that.
“I see the humor,” Kei admitted, unable to help noting the truth in that statement. Tetris was such a familiar game—everyone knows about it, even if they’d never played. They’d recognize the sound, even if they didn’t know where it was from. And the fact that it was coming from Felix —who looked like the most diverse song in his playlist would be an instrumental of Chopin, or a slowed-down remix of Swan Lake—was honestly kind of hilarious.
Kei huffed a laugh under his breath and shook his head, focusing back on the road, but not without one more sideways glance over in Felix’s direction.
“You pick it ironically, or…?” Kei prompted, half-amused, half-curious. Felix shrugged, settling deeper into his seat, shifting his phone around as if willing it to stop ringing without him having to interact at all, as if even silenced, it was crawling on his nerves.
“Is alarm,” Felix explained, “Makes me want stop it, so I answer phone. Works.” Kei barked out a laugh, genuine this time.
“Genius or unhinged,” Kei responded. “Never know which it is with you, but I’ll figure it out eventually.” Felix snorted. Felix visibly relaxed as the phone stopped ringing, his head falling back against the seat. Only for the Tetris theme to ring out a second time. He let out a long tortured sigh and glanced over at Kei before swiping his finger on the screen and answering the call.
“Hello,” He said, short and simple. “Da, am fine. No, don’t need.” Felix paused for a moment, the faint hum of a womans voice teasing lightly in the silence. It wasn’t loud enough for him to understand her, or even gather whether or not she was speaking english to him. He assumed she was, though—Felix was speaking English in response. “Ew. No. Am fine on food. Will order delivery.”
Felix was silent for a couple minutes as the woman talked, his gaze roaming over the street they were driving on like he was looking for a distraction as the woman prattled on about something he looked bored by.
“Da, Nyet. You panic too much. Plane can only go so fast, not worth waste of trip. You get in when I’m done.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t need babysitter.” Another beat of silence, then: “Nyet, not alone. Am on way home, got ride. Guard dog, fancy sports car. Da, is. Nyet,” Felix’s eyes shot over in his direction, then back on the road.
So the nickname wasn’t reserved for just when Felix was teasing him. Great . He didn’t know who this person was, but clearly, they’d have an unbiased opinion about him when he’d never even met them. Granted, Felix wasn’t really wrong . As much as he hated to admit it, he’d play the part if it was necessary to protect Felix. And Felix knew that, at least Kei was pretty certain he had to.
“Nyet, not doing that,” Felix said, his voice shifting, tightening—smoothing into something half professional, half deflecting. “I’m not letting you do that, either,” He muttered, “Nyet, refused. I still don’t like. Da, I hold grudge. He can get bent.”
Kei raised an eyebrow at that. Whoever the he was, was braver than him—he loathed to think about the possibility of pissing Felix off that much. Felix was already a wall of ice and spikes. Imagining him actually icing you out? Kei could practically feel the chill already starting just from thinking about it.
“Da, I ate.” Felix muttered, even though Kei was sure he definitely hadn’t. He couldn’t picture him making time for it, when he was dancing. “Nyet, not dead. And I told you I’d take the vitamins.” He paused for a moment as the woman spoke—still a quiet murmur, too low for him to make out. “Nyet, you don’t need to do that. Don’t.” He snorted. “Is just cute jock. No need to do anything like that. Nyet. No, Da. Da. I know.”
Kei shot him a sideways glance in response, raising an eyebrow. Felix shrugged as if to say problem? Kei didn’t actually have a problem—but, he was well aware of what Felix was doing. Minimizing the situation. He would have to be stupid not to, given everything. He didn’t begin to know how to put a label on what they were, even fuck buddies didn’t fit despite them having had sex before. It was complicated. Beyond his ability to articulate the situation…. so he knew summarizing to someone who he assumed was probably a parent or sibling would be impossible without too much information being given. Still, just a cute jock? He thought he liked Captain Muscles better than that.
“Larisa,” Felix grumbled, “Is annoying when you worry more than me. Is fine. No need to worry. I take suppressant. And birth control. Da. Nyet.” Kei said nothing, but the name caught. Larisa. He didn’t know the name. Didn’t even know what her role in Felix’s life was. He’d never heard Felix mention her. But the way he spoke into the phone said everything—exasperated fondness, habitual, if denied, softness, a thread of vulnerability that he’d normally never let show when he was looking someone in the eyes. He shot his gaze over to Kei again as if he could feel Kei thinking about him.
“I don’t. Nyet. That is why I not tell you.” The woman began rambling again, and Felix frowned, rolling his eyes as he averted them from Kei to look down at the cuff of his varsity jacket. “Go sleep. Is late in Russia. I be fine. Not even in full heat yet. Overdramatic.” Kei could agree with the last of that statement—full heat? No. Fully intoxicating even so? Definitely.
“You don’t need to,” Felix said, scowling lightly. “He just driver to get home, not going to implant his seed.” Felix snorted, dramatically slamming his head back against the leather seat. Kei tensed slightly, his fingers gripping on the wheel slightly. That’s an even better implication than the guard dog statement. Still… Kei couldn’t help thinking about it with Felix’s scent clogging up his brain.
Even with the windows down, it felt suffocating. He’d had girlfriends. Boyfriends. Omegas and their scents were always… hard to mitigate for him because of his dual alpha genes—but very much doable. Especially when not in rut. Felix’s scent, though? It triggered every mating instinct he had, in ways no other scent ever had. As much as he wanted to deny it, the thought of implanting his seed , as Felix had so eloquently put it, had never been more appealing ironically.
Felix’s scent was so fucking intoxicating. It was hard to focus when he was this close and smelling like—like that . It felt like a trap. But don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t afraid of Felix—he was afraid of himself. Afraid of the way Felix made self-control feel like a punishment instead of a virtue. Kei knew what Felix needed on an instinctual level. He could make assumptions on what he needed emotionally based on his behavior. But his repression was Kei’s repression, and he was suffocating in it just the slightest bit. At least right now, when his scent was screaming mate me, breed me, fuck me, touch me, claim me … !
Kei desperately pushed the thought away, his thumbs drumming on his steering wheel almost anxiously as he sat at a red light. It gave him too much time to sit, to let the scent sit in the air and cloud his brain up. When the car was moving, it wasn’t as bad, but it was still there, just being vacuumed out of the car.
“Da, is Alpha. Nyet. Am fine. He bought me coffee. Is better than yours.” Kei smirked a little, unable to help himself. He knew, though, that she was probably more than just a little worried about the Alpha thing even with Felix trying to down play the whole thing. Why wouldn’t she be? He was in pre-heat, he was a dancer, and he was locked in the car with an unknown Alpha that absolutely could get him pregnant. Kei knew from being an athlete what kind of downslide could come from something like that—like pregnancy.
He’d seen it before—strong athletes getting pregnant, having to miss practice time and games, then slowly fading from relevancy. He could imagine the same would be problematic for a dancer. Probably even more so.
“Da, was thinking about it. Know no one else.” Felix muttered, eyes glancing back over to Kei for a moment. Scrutinizing, before he hummed. “У симпатичного качка классный член.” Kei heard the wheeze the woman let out in response to whatever he said startlingly clearly and Kei briefly worried if he should call a doctor—that didn’t sound normal. “I’ll be fine. Will call you later.”
“No, I don’t need condoms,” Felix said, sharper this time. “Seriously—I’ll be fine. Really. Again… Birth control. Suppressants. You don’t need to worry—Nyet, you are not flying out here. Go to bed, it’s late in Russia. I’ll throw your heels into the pacific.” Kei snorted quietly, and Felix smirked slightly, rolling his eyes as if he found Kei’s accidental and forced eavesdropping funny. “Da. I promise, I’m okay. Even if I don’t, I have everything I need. And Jin is more of a gatekeeper than you know.”
“I love you, too.” Felix muttered, with a sigh that sounded like it cost something to let out. Kei didn’t look at him, knowing that he couldn’t because Felix would immediately throw the ice wall back up and it felt like it’d taken forever to get it to even partially melted. He kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other flexing just once at his knee. The call ended without a goodbye. Just Felix’s final muttered admission.
I love you . The words weren’t meant for him. He knew that. It was too soon for that, anyway. But something about the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth made Kei want them aimed at him. Not now, necessarily, it’d feel too… soon to be real . But, later? Six months from now? A year? That’d be when the words began to feel like more .
“I wonder if I cut pay, she go away.” He muttered under his breath, shoving his phone into his pocket.
“Your mom?” Kei asked, raising an eyebrow. His mom called him twice a week and if he didn’t answer, it was hell to pay.
“If I cut pay to mom, its guaranteed phone call. Would like to avoid.” Felix snorted. “If I wanted mom to go away, I’d just send more. Nyet. Manager, always like that. She is like mother, but with investment.” Felix paused.
“Seems just like my mom,” Kei laughed, shaking his head. “You literally pay your mom? I thought you were joking.” Felix nodded, his eyes darkening a little.
“She is pain in ass.” He retorted. “I give money to make comfortable so I can live my life.” It sounded so cold, in a way. Like worrying about her was an obligation he had no desire to meet—and yet there was something in the tone of his voice that made something in Kei’s chest ache. He knew it wasn’t his place to press. Felix’s finances were none of his concern. But he wasn’t really worried about the money. He would send his parents money if they needed it—though they never had .
Both of his parents had plenty of money, he had a designer sports car at eighteen with custom leather interiors. His first car. Their gifts were overly ostentatious, always had been. They spent more of their money on him than they did on themselves. Despite having a scholarship, being a D1 athlete, and having money from sponsorships they still wanted to pay for everything.
“This is first heat where manager can’t bring me things,” Felix said, as if to distract Kei from his earlier admission. Kei pretended it worked with a quiet hum. “And she usually runs background check on heat partner, if I have one.” Felix paused for a second, “Were she to do one on you, what would she find?” Felix’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“D.U.I. at eighteen, resulting in a major car accident,” Kei offered easily. “Wasn’t drunk or high, just looking for suppressants and crashed my car.” He paused for a second. “I was the only one injured. Learned every lesson I needed to.” Kei winced a little, but didn’t look at him. Didn’t pressure for a particular response. He didn’t know what he was really hoping for with such blunt honesty. He probably should’ve said something easier. Something like, just a D.U.I. years ago. Something that didn’t feel so—he didn’t know what the word would be.
Truthfully, he didn’t know if that’d even show on a background report given it had been quite a few years, and he’d never been prosecuted. He’d faced no real punishment, either. He’d been hospitalized, his parents had handled everything for him, then. But he didn’t want to lie to Felix, either. Right now, things were—they were complicated . And Felix wasn’t generally the forgiving type. A lie now could end things before they even began.
“Hm,” Felix murmured, “Is stupid mistake. Not inherently violent, though.” He mused for a second, as if debating something. Kei finally glanced over at him, recognizing the tone of his voice. The same one he used when he’d got Kei to start driving him to the studio. Too casual. Too sweet . The kind of tone he used when he wanted something.
“Nope, just stupid,” Kei agreed, as if he wasn’t highly suspicious, glancing over at Felix out of the corner of his eyes. “Why?”
“My heat should start tomorrow,” Felix stated, his phone screen flicking on as his eyes scanned the date. “Or at least over the next couple of days.”
“Yeah,” Kei said, slowly. “I was thinking about that. Maybe it’d be better for Jin to drive you for a few days as you get closer to your heat. Obviously you won’t be going to class or practice during it, but—” Felix raised an eyebrow at that.
“Nyet,” Felix immediately disagreed. “I won’t need a ride the next few days.” Kei’s eyebrow raised higher.
“Then…?” Kei trailed off, not certain if he wanted to guess what Felix was leading him to.
“I imagine you’d feel all broody and over protective if I found an alpha to fuck me through it.” Felix stated. “Even before we fucked, you were possessive.” Kei’s hands tightened a fraction on the steering wheel. Not enough to make the leather creak, but enough to anchor himself against the spark that raced along his spine from the mere thought. Felix’s voice was still too casual. Measured. Like he was trying to toss a lit match onto kindling just to see what would burn the fastest.
Kei didn’t— couldn’t afford —to take the bait. At least not visibly. But his jaw ticked slightly, the muscle fluttering once before stilling again. He let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes forward on the road, but the silence between them felt wired. Charged with the static hum of desire and pheromones and unspoken need . Felix’s voice was sweet, careless, but Kei knew better. He knew the way Felix tested boundaries. Pushed, just to see what would make him flinch.
“Is that what you want?” Kei asked after a second, his voice deceptively careful and calm. Low. “Some random Alpha to fuck you through your heat?” Felix smirked lightly, as if he were seeing through the facade without even trying. He didn’t answer right away, as if he were considering the words carefully. His gaze flickered over to Kei again, sharp and assessing.
“Maybe,” Felix admitted, “Wouldn’t be hard. There’s no shortage of easily enticed Alphas on campus,” Felix muttered, “Big hands. Sharp teeth. Don’t ask questions. Don’t get attached.” He waved his hand lazily. Kei didn’t speak. His grip tightened once more on the wheel—this time, enough that the leather did creak. “But,” Felix added, quieter, almost thoughtful, “I suppose I’d have to clean my room if I did that. And I’d have to lock the door. You get a little… irrational when you smell me slicking.”
Kei’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, now. The sound of the leather creaking under his grip filled the brief silence like a warning, low and tight. His jaw worked once, the only other visible sign of the way Felix’s words sank in, slicing through restraint and scraping along the bone deep ache he’d been pointedly ignoring since the moment Felix started slicking into his passenger seat.
It was the you get a little irrational that did it. The knowing tone. The practiced, razor sharp arrogance that Felix wore like a stage costume—but Kei had seen what was underneath it. He’d seen what Felix looked like when his voice wasn’t laced with barbed wire and bait, when his mouth fell open on soft, desperate little noises and his thighs trembled from overstimulation. When he’d melted like warm butter beneath him, clawing at his wrists desperately as he sank into the pleasure with full, feral abandon.
Kei had to force himself to breathe again.
Kei did look at him, then. Not a glance, not a flicker. A full turn of his head, slow and deliberate, like a warning siren just starting to rise. Felix held his gaze, lashes low, deliberately blank in expression.
“I’m not irrational,” Kei pointed out, his voice edged in gravel. “You were slicking in my passenger seat, soaked and in preheat, looking at me like you wanted me to lose control— and you not only provoked it, you relished in it.” Felix’s lips twitched.
“And you didn’t?” Felix murmured teasingly, “You’re very disciplined for an alpha. Should I reward you for your hard work?” Kei’s head turned, his hand shifting to the gearshift, gripping it hard enough his knuckles paled.
“You testing me?” He asked. “Is that what this is?” Felix hummed considerately.
“No,” Felix answered easily, his voice light but not playful anymore. “I already know how you react. I’m just deciding if I want to let you.” Immediate silence encompassed them. The air hanging between them turned heavy immediately—too hot for the A/C to chill. Kei could feel his own scent thickening faintly, rich with a territorial edge, something he couldn’t entirely control.
He could control it with distance. He could put distance between them. Have this talk over the phone, as impersonal as it was. He could do what he’d done the first time. Walk behind him, so far back his pheromones wouldn’t touch him. But they were locked in the car. The windows were down, but Kei knew it made no difference for him, so it probably made minimal difference to Felix, if any at all.
“You don’t play fair,” Kei muttered, tightly. Felix exhaled a soft breath, almost a laugh, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
“I don’t know how,” He admitted, suddenly—quietly. Honest. Kei glanced over at him again. Slower. More carefully this time. The soft edge in Felix’s voice—it wasn’t a game. Not entirely.
“You want me to stay with you during your heat?” He asked, more gently now. “Is that what you’re asking me to do?” Felix didn’t answer immediately. He looked back at his phone, screen still dim in his lap. Felix bit his lip, his eyes darkening as he lowered his gaze, his breath hitching slightly.
“…Yes,” Felix admitted quietly.
Kei had asked him. He’d wanted some kind of admission—sarcastic, disguised, half-deflected, anything. Just something real. Proof he wasn’t imagining the tension between them. But somehow, hearing that soft, stripped-down yes felt like a gut punch. He wanted it. And yet, it still hit him like instinct answering instinct. Like a biological siren wailing in his blood.
“That’s all that needed to be said, then,” Kei murmured, voice low. He flicked on the signal and turned sharply into the parking lot of the apartment complex. He pulled into a spot and pulled out his phone, pulling up the coaches number.
“What are you doing?” Felix asked, confusion lacing his voice. Kei glanced over at him as he began typing out a message to coach.
“Letting coach know that I won’t be to practice or games for a week, or so.” Kei explained as he quickly typed out the message. “Did you want to do it in your room, or in mine? Devonte can evacuate the apartment at a moments notice, so we’ll have privacy at my apartment. Jin will be less likely to leave his apartment because his nest is there.”
“Jin is protective, annoying. He yaps like chihuahua. Your room.” Felix admitted after another moment of silence. Kei smirked faintly. He could co-sign that. Jinnie had threatened to make him a eunuch the first time he and Felix had sex— technically not a joke, considering how close his knee could’ve come to vital anatomy. From the outside, that first encounter had probably looked bad. Kei didn’t blame Jin for jumping to conclusions. Still, Jin wasn’t quick to forgive. Or forget.
He’d let him into his space. An Alpha that wasn’t his Alpha. He’d been the metaphorical gate-keeper, watching over Devonte and Jin during their synced mating cycles to prevent them from mating each other too soon. He had stood in as human pillow more than once for Jin while Devonte showered. Jin had let him in his space, his nest, his heat . Even if it wasn’t sexual between them, that required trust . And Jin didn’t have the privilege to ask questions—as an omega.
“Okay, I’ll text Devonte. He’ll stay with Jinnie.” Kei said easily. Felix let out a shaky breath, his head turning to glare out of the window for a moment. “He’d probably like an excuse anyway, given that they’ve been fighting and that always happens before they break up for a bit.”
“Feels like trap. Is too easy.” Felix grumbled. Kei just shook his head. It was anything but easy. Felix admitting that he wanted to spend his heat with him was something he’d never imagined even being possible right now. Felix was so high strung, so antsy—he figured he would want to put distance between them now more than ever. Granted, when he’d lost his suppressants, he found his way to Kei. His suppressants had fallen out in his car… but Felix had no way of knowing that for sure. While it was illegal to steal suppressants, some assholes still tried, and succeeded sometimes.
It made sense they’d fallen out in his car… but Felix couldn’t know for sure. If they hadn’t—if they’d been taken—then coming to Kei like that wasn’t just desperate. It was dangerous. He’d stormed into a room full of Alphas on the brink of hitting an early heat. It could’ve been more than just a tragedy if the suppressants hadn’t been in the floorboard of his car. It was a dodged bullet. A miracle he couldn’t expect twice.
He needed to protect Felix. Protect Felix, not just from other Alphas, but from himself as well.
He’d seen plenty of omegas through their heat. Felix would be no different. He just had to be even more cautious than usual because of his scent. He needed a collar. A thick one. Not the flimsy little aesthetic thing he’d worn to that party. Just in case. He needed—fuck, what did he need? Usually it was easy to know, he was perceptive enough to pick up hints and take context clues, but Felix was practically a blank canvas. He didn’t show what he wanted externally, and he rarely communicated what he wanted openly.
Would he need space for a nest? Kei hadn’t actually had a partner for his cycle in a hot minute, so he didn’t have the ideal set up for it. But Felix was very private about everything. He might want the closet, in which case, that’d be fine. Nesting. Felix probably needed to. Wanted to, even if he was too embarrassed to indulge in something that felt so vulnerable.
With Felix, just getting a clear yes for sex was like pulling teeth. He’d provoke, insinuate, even invite , but never outright call it what it was. He just—everything was mind games. Kei didn’t like that part of Felix. He accepted him as he was, beautiful, intense, prickly, even manipulative when he wanted to be—but he didn’t like the mind games or mental gymnastics he had to try to accomplish just to meet him halfway. He wished it was a little easier, but then, part of the fun was how hard Felix made him work for it, ironically.
Kei was self aware enough to know he could have just about anyone he wanted. It wasn’t about that. This was something more . Something deeper. Felix felt like the moon pulling the tides—something deeper than simple attraction. Every instinct in his body drew him in to Felix, even as Felix pushed him away more with proximity.
He’d never imagined that Felix would invite him to share his heat. That’d not been something he’d thought would happen this soon. He’d hoped it’d happen in the future. But… he’d never thought Felix would want him there now. Sure, he lived in his jacket lately, but Felix was complicated. He didn’t say what he meant; he meant what he didn’t say. It made Kei feel like he was constantly playing emotional charades—guessing, hoping, and bracing for backlash.
“Do you need anything from the store?” Kei asked curiously, a million things running through his head that he could potentially see being useful , but nothing stood out as Felix . Maybe he was over thinking this a little. But Felix was trusting him with his heat. He’d handled many before, he should be capable of holding his thoughts together and setting up a damn gameplan like he had in the past. Now? All he could think about is Felix’s scent.
“Nyet,” Felix responded. “I have all the necessary things to sustain during my heat.” He grumbled, his eyes narrowing where he stared out the window of the car.
“You have the necessary things? To sustain?” Kei asked, shaking his head. “You aren’t just sustaining if you’re spending your heat with me. What do you prefer to eat at the apartment? You can’t live off biscotti and cold brew, so tell me.” Felix shrugged indifferently.
“I give Jin grocery money and he purchase everything,” Felix responded after a moment of silence. “Signs in store are unhelpful. Vague. And what is difference between no sugar added, sugar-free, and unsweetened ? All should mean same thing, but am under impression is not. Is like being gaslit by muffin.” He paused for a moment then scoffed. “And why can I buy computer, off brand hand bag, and depressingly awful tea in one building?”
Kei blinked, paused for a moment, letting that sink in to his brain. The absurdity of American megastores suddenly reframed entirely through Felix’s exhausted, Russian accented bewilderment. Gaslit by a muffin, huh? He almost laughed, but the underlying frustration bleeding into Felix’s voice snuffed it out. This wasn’t just Felix being difficult. This was a genuine, daily friction that Kei had never considered. His own life ran on meal-prepped containers and sports nutrition labels that he could decode in his sleep. Felix could easily navigate ballet studios and icy comebacks, but a grocery store aisle was his Kryptonite.
“Do you feel up to going grocery shopping?” Kei asked, curiously, shifting gears just slightly. He’d like to take Felix to get snacks and food for his heat, as he doubted, seriously, that he’d want to eat exactly what Kei did. Kei followed a pretty strict diet, all things considered, as his lowest calorie days are thirty five hundred calories and meant to maintain his physical conditions for constant practice and games. “We can get snacks. Things you’d actually want to eat during…” He trailed off, not wanting to trigger pre-heat anxiety by stating the obvious.
Felix’s head swiveled back from the window, a flicker of something wary in his light blue eyes. Heat prep wasn’t just suppressants and condoms, though his grip did tighten on the wheel of his sports car at the memory of the phone call that’d just taken place. Fuel mattered. Especially for an Omega facing the metabolic marathon of a heat cycle. Especially for this omega, who seemed to view food as optional on busy days, and an inconvenient afterthought every other day.
“Why? Jin handles it. Don’t need to.” Felix questioned. Kei raised an eyebrow.
“Because Jin isn’t handling your heat. Because Jin’s place isn’t mine. And the food you have there won’t do any good for you over the next week if we’re staying at my apartment.” Kei paused for a moment, considerately. “You can’t live off biscotti, cold brew, and orgasms for a week straight. My diets…” He paused, thinking of his fridge stocked with lean proteins, complex carbs, and enough electrolyte powder to salt a majory highway. “My diet’s optimized for a 260-pound QB taking hits. Not for….” He gestured vaguely at Felix’s dancer-lean physique. “Basically, there is a such thing as too much protein.”
“I don’t eat a lot during my heat,” Felix admitted after a moment, “The scent sensitivity makes me have food aversions. Is annoying to deal with. Rather not.”
“That’s a common symptom of heat, and it’s not annoying—it’s torture. For you, not me.” Kei responded, “But I still can’t let you go hungry and thirsty. You need something , even if it’s something small. Scent is a big part of the aversion, right? Is there anything you usually can hold down?” Felix shrugged.
“Is short list. 1. Water. 2. Flavored water.” Felix responded. “Occasionally, low-fat plain yogurt.”
“Okay,” Kei responded. Definitely not enough , but it was something to go off of. “What kind of flavor do you usually put in the water? Is it fruity? Is it mint? Some other herb plant? Cucumber? Strawberry?” Felix hummed in response.
“Cucumber, da. Strawberry? Nyet. Is too sweet, scent gives me headache.” Felix responded. “Mint is gross. Like toothpaste.” Kei nodded, turning his head to make sure no one was behind him as he started to back out of the apartment complexes parking lot.
“I’ll go in with you. And I’ll pay. But we have to stock up. Even if you don’t get much, I need stuff.” Kei fibbed, trying to think of a list of things he could claim he needed that Felix wouldn’t immediately see straight through. Toothpaste was one thing—something not mint, apparently. He didn’t know what options there were in that department. He would figure it out. Just like he’d figure out Felix’s scent aversions.
[ 14 ] 𝖣𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 | 𝖣𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾
𝖥 𝖤 𝖫 𝖨 𝖷
Felix hated this place. The fluorescent lighting was too bright, the air too frigid, and the layout felt deliberately designed to make him feel like he was forgetting something important. Americans called this confusing maze a grocery store , but to him? It was more like an unholy trinity of drugstore, department store, and warehouse. Too many aisles, too many things stacked too high, extra shelves at the ends of aisles that only add to his confusion, and the smell of disinfectant battling processed sugar in every aisle.
He followed Kei down the main stretch, tugging the sleeves of Kei’s varsity jacket down over his palms, expression tight. His body had been buzzing all day, practically vibrating from heat—and it wasn’t even the full crash of it, not yet, at least—but it was enough that his skin already started crawling from the wrong scents. Food, cologne, pheromones, even the scent of soap was overstimulating right now. And it was more than just annoying. It felt like self-sabotage.
Everything made his stomach churn. Kei glanced down at him, pushing the cart with one hand, the other having settled on his lower back as if the touch would be enough to ground him against the external chaos surrounding him. And the worst part? It actually kind of did. It wasn’t just his touch doing it, though. Being this close to Kei made other scents feel less obtrusive. Still irritating, still too much , still enough to make his stomach churn, but he wasn’t actively throwing up yet.
Back in Russia, when he was alone during his heats, he did these trips a week in advance. He made a list, and followed it religiously. If he ever was forced to do it this close to his actual heat, he made his way through the grocery store and avoided the aisles that were scent heavy, donning a face mask he wished worked like a gas mask. It was stressful, overwhelming, but he managed to get through it and save his dignity each time. Now? He was depending on an Abercrombie & Nope ad to guide him. He could’ve scoffed at himself, if it weren’t for the way everything in him felt somewhat settled by the scent of his pheromones.
But even that felt like biological betrayal to him. Because why did it have to work? Kei had to have some flaws somewhere to counteract all of his everything—his scent, his touch, his physicality. There had to be some limit on his abilities, and yet, Felix had yet to come across one.
He never lost his patience no matter how difficult Felix was. He never got angry no matter how much Felix pushed him. Kei kept showing up no matter how irrationally he behaved. Part of him kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to do, or say, the wrong thing and everything fall apart. Because anything that felt too good to be true, usually was , and Felix was used to being deemed too much . A burden, even on his own parents. Larisa handled him well, but he paid her to tolerate him.
Even if she said that wasn’t why , he still felt like it was . Even if he knew logically that Larisa was more of a mother to him than his own mother ever had been… but even so, he couldn’t trust it. Not fully , at least. He trusted her for most things. Everything. But staying .
And then there was Kei. Calm. Solid. Annoyingly steady. His scent was a biohazard on a major scale, half the school would’ve thrown their underwear at him if he looked at them the right way. And for some stupid reason, he was here with him instead. Leading him through a grocery store with the same kind of ease he displayed with everything else he did. It was infuriating. It was steadying. It was annoying. And Felix hated it. Almost as much as he liked it.
“I am not child,” Felix muttered, mostly to himself, as Kei spared a second glance down at him. Kei quirked up a brow and glanced toward the shelf in front of him, scanning over the products like he knew what he was looking for. Felix, though? He could make assumptions on what things were based on the pictures on the label, but his struggle with reading English made deciphering the labels feel a little like complex equations. Were he willing to sit down and really put effort in, he’d figure it out—but he wasn’t willing to stand in an aisle for three hours to read a single package.
Even if that was a bit of an exaggeration, he still couldn’t justify standing in the aisle long enough to grasp what he was reading. For starters, he didn’t know what half the shit on the label even meant. Half of it sounded like something from a chemistry book, and the other half looked like someone had thrown a bunch of letters into a random order and added a number after it like that made it mean something. And maybe to someone else, it did mean something. But to him? Nyet. No meaning.
Kei led him down a couple of aisles, picking things off the shelf that couldn’t have been for him. He’d die on that hill, before eating something as gross as a rice cake. No matter what picture was on the bag. And Kei seemed to know that, too. He wasn’t asking for his feedback on what he was getting right now—he actually had needed stuff from the store, Felix realized. He almost let out a relieved sigh. At least he wasn’t the sole reason for this trip.
It wasn’t until they reached the drink aisle that Kei turned all of his attention to him once again.
“This one?” Kei asked, holding up a box of cucumber flavored electrolyte packets. “Or would you rather cucumber lime? Lime can be calming, but if you’re averse to fruit then it’s not going to help anything. You can put these in water.” Felix reached for it slowly, reading the label carefully. The words no artificial sweeteners were in bold, but below it, a paragraph of tiny text listed half a dozen ingredients he couldn’t pronounce, let alone recognize.
“Is… okay.” Felix muttered, dropping it into the cart. “Is better than fake pink juice.” Kei chuckled lightly, but didn’t press.
“Do you have a preferred brand of water?” Kei questioned, his gaze running over the bottled water. “I have a lot at home, but I just buy whatever so it’s just whatever I came across first.” Felix shook his head. He didn’t have a preferred brand of water. Here at least. His brand of water back in Russia was Святой Источник, holy spring , and he usually got the Tarragon flavor. If they were out of it, he’d go for sea buckthorn… “What kind do you normally get for yourself?” Kei rephrased the question.
“If you find, I buy you memorial in Russia,” Felix snorted. Kei raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds like a challenge.” Kei stated, smirking. “I can have almost anything overnight shipped. Try me.” Felix raised an eyebrow at that.
“Святой Источник,” Felix replied. “Is water brand from Russia. Have Tarragon flavor, and is very good.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his face turning so that his nose was closer to the collar of the jacket, cleverly using the posture to discreetly inhale Kei’s scent off the jacket. “Sea buckthorn is good too, but never first choice. Always ugly stepsister.”
“Hm,” Kei murmured, “Can you drink it during your heat? The flavor?” Felix nodded, raising an eyebrow. Surely, Kei couldn’t make that happen. He’d spent hours on the internet looking for it personally, and nowhere he had found online was in California. “Then I’ll find it, if I have to send Devonte to Russia. Can’t promise it’ll be here in the morning, but it’ll be here soon . Before your heat is over.” Kei paused for a second, “In the mean time… select a brand for your water until it gets here.”
“You select. I don’t know.” Felix denied, his eyes scanning over the multiple different packages of water bottles. It was all water, so why did they all have to look so different? There was marketing lingo on all of the packages, and he didn’t have the energy to try to read them all himself.
“Well, do you like Alkaline water? Or sparkling?” Kei questioned.
“Святой Источник is spring water,” Felix explained. Kei nodded, reaching out and grabbing a package of water off the shelf, scanning over it. Evian.
“This one is spring water. It’s really smooth and I’m pretty certain it’d be the one you liked the most.” Kei explained as he put it into the cart, grabbing a few other single bottles from different brands off the shelf. “Arrowhead is slightly more alkaline, but you might like it regardless. It’d be good for heat dehydration if you did. Deer park is cheap, but I already have a 24 case of that at home so I’m not going to get more now… Poland springs is more crisp, so I’ll only get one. You can try them all out. I’ll order more if you like the Arrowhead or Poland Springs water. Walmart does delivery.”
Felix looked away. All this effort—for water. For him . For something that would taste almost right when he was too far gone to argue anyway. Hell, earlier today, Felix had taken one of his disgusting nutrition bars and a bottle of water that tasted like a nickel was in it—it wasn’t even cold . Just stored in the car. And that’s how Kei drank it. So why was he even worried about all of this anyway?
Felix hadn’t even thought about it then. He’d just accepted it. The only person who’d ever catered to him like this was Larisa—Or people who wanted something from him. He knew what came after acts of kindness. Everything was a transaction, just with pretty wrapping paper to make him feel safe. And he wanted to roll his eyes. Wanted to say something like It’s just water . But the words wouldn’t come. They didn’t really feel true anymore.
His arms stayed crossed, but his fingers curled inward, pressing half-moons into the sleeves. He swallowed, the motion tight, like something bitter had bloomed in his chest. Kei finished loading things into the buggy and reassumed his position beside him, his hand settling on Felix’s lower back as if it belonged there. Felix’s breath caught, silently wishing he could feel the heat of Kei’s palm sinking into his skin, even with the varsity jacket wrapped around him like a security blanket.
“Got water. Do you want anything else? There are a lot of flavors for water, even negating the fruit ones. Do you want to pick one out? I’ll help decode the ingredients list.” Kei offered, “I do that shit on the daily, I take Nutrition for Athletes for one of my electives.”
“Cucumber is only good one.” Felix said softly, and Kei nodded, grabbing a few more boxes of the cucumber flavor off the shelf.
“Got it,” Kei was already moving to the next item. “Yogurts probably in the back corner,” He mused under his breath. Felix allowed himself to be guided toward the yogurt blindly, his attention caught on the signs above the aisles. He narrowed his eyes at Ethnic Foods , trying decide what made one food ethnic and another one not. Did American’s not realize that almost everything was Ethnic in one way or another? He glanced down the aisle and spotted instant borscht in a jar, sitting beside taco shells and soy sauce packets. He almost snorted.
“…Is insulting,” He muttered. Kei turned, raising an eyebrow.
“What is?” He questioned, glancing around. Felix gestured vaguely.
“This. The categorization of culture like novelty flavor,” Felix snarked. “As if pasta isn’t mostly Italian or Asian and somehow that doesn’t count, but god forbid we put pickled herring next to the ranch dressing.” Kei hummed quietly as if he were thinking about something. His eyes squinted as he glanced down the aisle Felix was referring to, a considerate expression crossing his face, as if he were thinking really deeply about something.
“Yeah, that’s fair.” Kei acknowledged. Felix blinked, surprised. He’d barely expected Kei to listen to his complaint—let alone agree with it.
When they reached the dairy section, Felix made a beeline for the yogurt. He crouched in front of the rows, searching for something plain, low-fat, and not tainted by artificial vanilla, freeze dried blueberries, or god forbid, birthday cake . Kei leaned positioned himself just slightly behind him, a brick wall against the chaos behind him—a slight comfort, even if Felix didn’t want to admit it.
“You good?” Kei questioned. Felix let out an annoyed huff.
“Nyet.” Felix stood with a heavy sigh, holding two containers. “Is only vanilla, not plain. And, why is this one unsweetened, but has ten grams of sugar? But this one is supposedly sugar free , yet taste like chemical warfare? Where is truth in advertisement?” Kei took the containers from him, reading the backs of them with narrowed eyes.
“This ones got milk sugar,” He explained, “No added stuff. This ones got sugar alcohols.” Felix raised his eyebrow, confusion marring his expression.
“…Is still sugar?” Felix questioned.
“Not technically, or exactly.” Kei answered. “They add it for flavor, to sweeten it without actual sugar.” Kei explained easily. “It’s stupidly complicated. They all mean similar, but different things. You’d probably prefer no sugar added. You don’t want a lot of sugar, but artificial sugar has a taste. It’ll be more off putting with your food aversions during heat. As for only having vanilla…” Kei glanced around the shelf before pointing to the very top corner, practically hidden amongst the flavored options: plain .
Felix immediately moved to reach for it, but it was so out of the way that even at five foot eight, he couldn’t reach it. Kei immediately stepped up behind him, his hand stilling him carefully, before he reached over him, grabbing the plain yogurt off of the shelf.
“Is show off,” Felix snarked under his breath, his heart stuttering in his chest. Felix couldn’t help it.
“We’ll try this one. It’s the only one on the shelf here. I’ll order some from somewhere else if it doesn’t work. We won’t know until you go into heat, so we’ll have to change strategies if we see it doesn’t work.” Kei responded, not acknowledging his snarky remark. Felix didn’t thank him, but he didn’t complain either.
They kept going, the cart slowly filling with things that Kei insisted on—bread, brown rice, some frozen chicken breasts that Felix refused to touch. He didn’t want meat. His stomach couldn’t even think about it without turning. But all in all, it felt less stressful and chaotic with a navigator and translator.
“You need a collar,” Kei said as he pulled out of the grocery store parking lot. “Something that’s actually going to block your throat. Not that tiny little one you have.” Felix raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him skeptically. It was true that his suppressants didn’t get rid of his scent anymore, like the ones back in Russia had, but a collar that was stronger than the studded, leather one he’d worn to the party.
Realistically, it was all he’d ever needed up until this point. But even so, it was leather and had spikes. Anyone dumb enough to bite into that would suffer immensely. Immediate karma, in his eyes. Besides, he’d spent his heats with other people and had never had a problem. And this was Kei . He was a hulking behemoth with more muscle than brain, but he was steady. Safe . The kind of unwavering steadiness that he’d never had before.
It was hard for him to imagine a scenario where Kei wouldn’t be— this . Sure, instinct comes into play during mating cycles, but the fundamental person beneath it doesn’t change. Kei would still be Kei . Just… without the barriers between them. Felix was ashamed to admit to how much he really liked that idea. He still had things he had to do tonight before he could curl up in bed and sleep… but he was already anticipating it.
Since hijacking Kei’s varsity jacket, he’d started sleeping in it. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest. The material was itchy and annoying, it was hideous and a blaring symbol of everything Felix was the exact opposite of—he’d never been accused of having school spirit or what the fuck ever—but when he curled up in the bed with the jacket on, everything melted away and things just felt… calmer .
While he was avoiding the truth in why everything felt better, the thought of sinking into Kei’s bed later and being absolutely surrounded by the scent of his pheromones…
“Why? Other one fine, is studded,” Felix protested, making Kei nod.
“It’d probably be sufficient for anyone else,” Kei admitted, his eyes scanning the road carefully as he drove. “But I’m a dual gene alpha. I’ll be fine if your scent doesn’t send me into my rut.” He paused for a moment, “But my rut is nothing to fuck around with. And even if you’re willing to risk it, I don’t want to force a biological imperative on you.”
“Is extra. Pointless.” Felix grumbled, rolling his eyes. “The only thing you are danger to is peaceful sleep.” Kei snorted in response.
“Pot calling the kettle, Princess,” Kei retorted, “I’ve gotten maybe five hours the past four days in a row because you keep dancing through my dreams in outfits that feel like intentional sabotage. Can we discuss social hours? Past midnight really puts a strain on getting you to the studio on time.” It was playful and joking, but Felix snorted even so.
“Is because you hormonal behemoth,” Felix snarked in return. “I have good face, and nice body. Could charge for that sight, be more grateful.” Kei laughed lightly.
“And you should be more careful ,” Kei came back with. “And that starts with me getting you a collar I can’t bite through. Even just a thicker banded collar would be fine. The one you have looks more like a decoration than a functional item.” Felix’s lips curled.
“Da, because is meant to be pretty,” Felix said, almost airily, but there was a little glimmer of amusement in his eyes that betrayed the taunt. “Little bit for function, but mostly not. Like lingerie. It doesn’t stop from admiring, and is supposed to make Alpha stupid.” Kei’s grip on the wheel visibly tightened.
“Oh, it’s pretty ,” Kei muttered, eyes fixed on the road ahead with exaggerated focus. “But against my biology, that’s all it is. We’ll get one that’s comfortable. It can have spikes on it to suit your personality.” Kei teased. Felix scoffed.
“I am cactus in rainforest.” Felix responded. “You are behemoth in sports car.”
“You’ve got this whole high-maintenance ballerina thing down to a science,” Kei teased in response. “Looking like you just stepped out of a wet dream just to climb into my passenger seat and talk shit.” Felix smirked, gaze sliding sideways toward him.
“Still drove me here. Still buying collar. Still foaming at mouth.” Kei growled low in his throat, sounding more amused than annoyed.
“Careful, keep running that mouth like that and I might give you something better to do with it when we get back to the apartment.” Kei taunted, “We can see how smug you are then. “ Felix didn’t flinch. If anything, he felt a spark of excitement at the statement. He tilted his head, lashes dipping low as his smirk sharpened.
“Is that threat? Or promise?” Felix responded.
“Depends. Are we getting a collar?” Kei questioned. Felix sighed heavily.
“Da. Fine. But let it be noted that I think is stupid and unnecessary.” Felix said after a moment or two of letting the silence hang. “You are somewhat well trained golden retriever. Won’t pee on carpet, but might bark at mailman.” Kei outright snorted at that.
“The mailman had it comin’,” Kei responded, “Walking onto my porch. The fuck does he mean. That’s where I take lazy mid-afternoon sunbaths.” Felix scoffed.
“Golden retriever is pet, house belongs to owner. “ Felix retorted, trying desperately to keep his tone from reflecting the amusement he was feeling. Kei never stopped surprising him with his ability to take a jab and turn it into something else. No matter how hard Felix ribbed him, taunted him, or pushed him, he kept the same light-hearted contentment. He’d been a little edgy when he’d mentioned finding another Alpha, but even then, he hadn’t reacted the way he had in the beginning.
He’d almost fought that frat boy. Released so many pheromones it made Felix’s skin buzz just remembering it. At the time, he’d been annoyed. He’d been beyond annoyed. They didn’t even know each other well when it happened. Kei was just Jin’s boyfriends best friend. A staple presence, but one Felix didn’t interact with. Because he’d been avoiding him like the plague.
From the moment he’d walked into the apartment after moving from Russia, he’d been bombarded with Kei. His appearance, his scent, his unwavering calm in a room that was so full of mating pheromones it made Felix feel hot under the collar. He’d been unable to comprehend how Kei could focus on video games with Jin and Devonte—doing all of that on the couch right behind him. And it wasn’t like they were doing anything explicit. Their scents were just… strong .
They are always on each other in one way or another, sharing air, space, like any distance is too much distance. At first it’d been annoying. He felt awkward seeing it, like he was invading their personal space, but he couldn’t hold his piss forever, and after he realized that was their casual , he’d felt less off put by it. Really he wasn’t even off put by it. More like it was a glaring sign that showed him what easy intimacy could look like. And even if Kei and Callie and everyone else seemed to think Devonte and Jin’s relationship was on again off again, he’d seen no sign of that yet.
Granted, he guessed he wasn’t attuned to that kind of dynamic. All of this was digressing though. As much as he hated to admit it, when Kei had been so—so possessive over him, even when he had no right to be… Felix had been excited . Something sparked off in his brain and Kei’s pheromones hit his central nervous system and for a second, everything was chaos, but it was clear . It was concise . He could understand it clearly. Easily. Like instinct answering instinct.
Kei’s possessiveness hit his instincts in this gray area, where it made him bristle, but also feel— wanted . Like he was something worth fighting for. His own parents had thrown him away when he was just a child, only coming to get him on the mandatory holidays. They fought because of him. Not for him. Kei, though… even before they were anything, he was willing to fight for him.
“Do you want to get food before we go?” Felix shook his head. He couldn’t stomach the thought of food right now. He just wanted to get everything done so that he could crawl into Kei’s bed and bury himself under the blankets. His instincts were screaming this time around, so intense he could hardly ignore them. Every cell and synapses of his body was vibrating already—not exactly painful, more arousing if he were being entirely honest with himself.
“Just want to get done,” Felix admitted after a moment.
He was tired from dancing all day. He was drained from losing his suppressants and the surge of heat he’d faced earlier this morning. Going to the grocery store It was only seven fifty, but Felix already felt like he wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep. After the trip to The Department Store of Meaningless Distinctions, he felt like sleep was the only way to reset his irritation levels. If it was a pain when he wasn’t going through pre-heat, it was worse in preheat.
During his preheat, any well-populated area felt like chemical warfare. Any time he stepped out of what he determined was the safe zone , where Kei’s pheromones overpowered everyone else’s, it was total sensory overload. Anything outside of a 6 foot radius was too far. And as if Kei knew that, he’d stayed right with him.
He’d been honestly—just… just more than catering. Felix couldn’t help feeling like a fish out of water with Kei around. It had to be too good to be true. There was no way that this could be for his benefit. Kei had to have some kind of angle. There was no other explanation. No one would go this far for someone they were just fucking. And that’s really all that this was. Just sex.
He wasn’t going to settle down with Kei. He didn’t think so at least. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to want to. But there was this tiny voice in the back of his head that wasn’t opposed to the idea. And that pissed him off more than he wanted to admit. Because who the hell was this fucker, showing up and trampling over his walls and shields and trekking through the ice he pelted at him every time they were together without getting annoyed.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot of the sex shop, Felix was half dozing in the seat, the heat warmer in the seat turned on just high enough to make his aching muscles sigh in relief, and the scent of pheromones seeping into his system was acting like a local anesthetic to his overstimulated psyche.
If the grocery store was an unholy trinity, what the hell was he in for with an American sex shop? He was nervous just looking at the exterior. It was tucked into the corner of a small retail complex, nestled between a juice bar and a boutique gym like a dirty little secret. It wasn’t seedy or neon lit like some cliche hole-in-the-wall adult store; no red lights or lurid signage. Instead it was sleek, deliberately modern, the kind of place that made discretion look expensive.
The exterior was matte black from top to bottom—walls, trim, even the awning above the entrance—so smooth it looked almost soft to the touch. There were windows, but they had white and grey sheer curtains layered over them, hiding what was inside of the building while keeping it classy. Non obtrusive. The door was tall, set flush against the facade with understated authority—just a flat slab of obsidian, unadorned except for the single, vertical silver handle that caught the overhead light like a whisper of luxury.
The sign read MONARCH: Curating Intimacy , printed in a minimalist sans-serif font. The white lettering was crisp and clinical, deliberately sparse. It didn’t shout . It didn’t need to. There were no mannequins in fetish gear, no lurid slogans promising satisfaction. Just quiet, confident branding that suggested this was a place for people who already knew what they wanted… or wanted to find out without unnecessarily public embarrassment.
Even with the subtlety… Felix felt like he was drowning. Because he’d never been to a sex shop. Every toy he owned was picked out by his manager. As she was like a mother to him, it was more than just a little awkward. The first time, she’d slid him a care package with everything wrapped up so that he couldn’t see it and quickly exited before they could talk about what was in it. After that, it just became habit. Sure he never picked anything out for himself, but a dildo is a dildo he guessed. She always got him whatever looked the least— scandalous .
He couldn’t go in himself, it was against his contract to do anything in public regarding sex, as it could be photographed and reflect poorly on the school he was enrolled in. The contract was extensive, he’d signed basically his entire life away to Lavrentiev, and he’d done so without hesitation because it was for ballet. Of course they’d kicked him off his pedestal as soon as he reacted to Marius’s blatant sexual harassment. Somehow, even defending himself was against his contract.
“Are you ready?” Kei asked after a moment of silence. Felix let out a long suffering sigh.
“Nyet. But am ready to go to bed, so da.” Felix responded with a tired sigh. “At least is not as big as the last store. That was unholy trinity of consumerism hell.” Kei laughed quietly, getting out of the car and shutting the door. Felix took a breath to calm himself, and almost jumped out of his skin when the door of the car opened on his side. Kei raised an eyebrow.
“Bit jumpy, eh?” Kei questioned, letting Felix get out of the car and shut the door, before pushing him back against the car lightly, caging him into place. “You wanna tell me what’s got you wound up so tight you’re jumping at doors opening, or are you gonna make me decipher it like the crossword in the morning newspaper?” Felix scoffed.
“Am not wound up tight,” Felix denied, “And if I am, maybe you should fix that when we get back to the apartment. In the mean time, lets go.” Kei hummed in response, shaking his head.
“I’ll fuck you when we get back to the apartment if that’s what you want,” Kei responded, not letting himself be distracted by Felix’s obvious attempt. Felix let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “But I don’t want you stressing yourself out. So lets talk about this before we go in.” Felix shook his head again, his lips drawing into a line.
How was he supposed to admit to the walking, talking thirst trap that he’d never been inside of a sex shop? Kei had not one, but two piercings on his cock. He didn’t even know people pierced places like that until he met Kei. It’d never been a thought in his head. He’d felt affronted when he’d initially realized what Kei had done. Because what kind of a deviant would do that? It felt so foreign to him that his brain couldn’t wrap around the idea of it. But somehow it had wrapped around how good it’d felt when Kei’s cock was buried inside of him because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since they’d had sex.
He’d outright called Kei fucking insane when he’d realized. Kei’s response had been simple. If you think I’m insane, wait until you feel it. Felix hadn’t been able to think after feeling it. All he’d been able to do is feel . Even now, it was a visceral memory, haunting the back of his mind and reminding him of what he wanted right now. Kei .
At the thought, memories flickered through his head, Kei’s voice: You feel those two bars… they’re my signature. My way of marking you slow and steady before I’m knot deep inside of you and you can’t move. Felix could vividly remember him working both of the piercings in, announcing each one with that cocky, arrogant, perfectly symmetrical face of his contorted with pleasure, dominance, and excitement. Felix shouldn’t remember that , but it was just something else he couldn’t help thinking about.
Kei’s eyes flickered gold as his scent spiked in the air around them, his head dipping down enough that they were staring into each others eyes, his body a solid blockade against everything happening behind him. Making Felix feel a little too alone for the kind of thoughts that were beginning to creep in.
“Hey now, whatever that was, let’s put a hold on it until I’ve got the groceries out of the car.” Kei responded lightly, his hand settling on Felix’s lower back, pulling him in closer, somehow. “You can’t be smelling that good when we go in there, or I will end up catching charges.” Felix snorted.
“If is so easy, can’t blame on me,” Felix retorted, pausing for a moment. “I’d like to get back to the apartment soon. Can we get move on?” Kei’s gaze roamed over him scrutinizingly, as if he could somehow determine the problem if he only managed to stare deep enough, long enough. Felix let out a huff, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. “Is not big deal. Is stupid.”
“If it’s a big deal to you , then it’s a big deal to me .” Kei stated, “It isn’t stupid if it’s got you anxious. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. I do. But I don’t want you walking in there if you don’t want to. I can buy a collar on my own. It might not be one you like but it’ll function until later.” Felix melted into Kei’s grasp after a moment, his head lulling forward. He shivered when Kei’s hand came up to grasp the back of his head in one steady, firm grasp, fingertips pressing into flesh and muscle in a way that made his body feel looser just from the pressure.
“Is stupid. Never been to little shop of horrors and kink like this.” He grumbled, shaking his head. “Was against terms of my contracts to express sexuality in public. Is improper for school image. I was face of school before transfer.” He glanced away from Kei, his cheeks trying to flush with color as he schooled his expression to one of cool indifference. “Contract is null, now. So doesn’t matter.” Kei let the silence hang for a moment, before he nodded his head.
“Okay,” Kei responded. Easily. Calmly. “Do you want to stay in the car? I can get something simple. Or a similar style to the one you already have, just thicker.” Felix hesitated. That would give him some space to save face. But… if he did that, he was surrendering . He was saying it was too much for him to handle when it wasn’t. He could do it. He’d done things that were much more inherently risky. This was new, but not dangerous. He knew that.
It was just—it was stupid . He knew that, too. Felix’s fingers curled into the sleeve of Kei’s varsity jacket, bunching it in his hand as if grounding himself. He shook his head.
“Nyet,” Felix muttered, barely above a whisper. Then stronger, more confidently: “Nyet. I come with. Based on choice in cars, I know you have bad taste.” His voice was stiff, pride heavy in the shape of it. He refused to look directly into Kei’s eyes, but his chin lifted just slightly, enough to signal defiance—if not toward Kei, then toward his own irrational hesitation. Kei laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“You don’t seem to mind the seat warmers,” He teased, making Felix scoff.
“Is only good part of poor decision,” Felix stated, shrugging. “Now. Are you going to open the door for me, or am I going in by myself?” Felix bristled, pulling back away from Kei as if he’d not just made an admission he probably normally wouldn’t. Kei smiled lightly, but he didn’t tease or gloat or make a show of it. He only squeezed the grip on the back of his neck lightly, for a breath or two, before he released him and stepped back.
“Lead the way, Princess,” Kei said with a playful wink, deep green eyes flickering with something in the depths of them that made Felix’s heart skip a beat or five in his chest. Felix shivered a little as Kei settled his hand on his lower back as he opened the door for him, ushering him inside with a firm, steady hand.
If the exterior screamed subtlety and discretion, the interior screamed minimalism and sophistication . It wasn’t flashy or seedy. The kind of place that screamed omega paraphernalia sold here, which was, admittedly, what Felix had expected. Still he paused at the threshold for a moment, peeking inside as if he were waiting on the rug pull. It never came, and so he was left with nothing to do other than step inside and let the almost sterile cool air hit his senses.
He noticed immediately that the store was probably circulating more pheromone neutralizers than air, because even Kei’s scent felt remarkably dull in the store. Everyone else’s felt null and void, though. It was a delicate sort of limbo, where pheromones weren’t influencing him, but Kei’s still touched him in ways he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. They felt like gravity, like safety , and realistically they shouldn’t . Because that kind of feeling— safety —was just a pretty disguise for someone getting close enough to pull the rug out from beneath his feet. But it went deeper than that, this time.
Because he knew that. Because he was letting Kei slip past the barriers. Because he wasn’t just doing the rational thing and running. Far, far away. Far enough that Kei’s touch and pheromones were nothing more than a ghost haunting his subconscious.
Kei stayed behind him, close enough that Felix could feel his presence at his back. Even with his pheromones dulled down, he still radiated that same cocky exuberance that could only be found in Alphas with more muscle than brain. He was steady . But somehow still yielding. Like a big rock in the middle of a stream. The water still hits it, but it passes over it.
“You can get any one you want. I am the one who needs you to wear it, so I’m paying.” Kei spoke in a soft, quiet tone as he led him toward the collars. Words only for Felix to hear. “Really, you can get anything you want.” Felix hummed. He wasn’t sure about looking around in here for more than a few minutes. Even just scanning the collars selection felt like standing naked on his balcony back home.
“Is kind offer, but I limit my regrets to three a month,” Felix snarked in return. Kei snorted in response.
“Noted,” Kei responded dryly, amusement coloring his tone. “The offer still stands.” Kei continued, “Even if you want two collars or something. Seriously. Anything you want.” Felix clicked his tongue and nodded.
“I still think is extra,” Felix responded, rolling his eyes. “You’re golden retriever in nuzzle, not gonna bite.” Even if he did though… Felix cut himself off before he could even think about it. About the possibility. Now. In the future. Really just any time . Because he didn’t know how to compartmentalize those thoughts. Because he didn’t know whether to run from them, or hide from them, or deny them—or all of the above. Hell, at this point, any response was better than just letting it happen. Continue.
But he’d asked Kei to spend his heat with him. In a round about way, at first. But Kei had made him admit to it. To wanting it. And then he’d taken him to buy groceries. And he’d brought him to get a collar. And he’d been so stupidly in control that it made Felix actually furious because how?! How could he just take the jabs and taunts, him pointing out every flaw, every mediocrity, every—everything he could find that’d normally make a person like Kei pivot in the other direction.
Kei hadn’t done a single thing wrong. From the very first day they’d met, when he’d force fed him Miso soup. And that only made it worse . Worse because he didn’t have a valid reason to be mad at him. He didn’t want to be mad at him. He wanted to climb him like a tree. He wanted to bite him. Scratch him. Claw his way down Kei’s back and leave a whole map of desire and pleasure behind. And even then, he’d still probably pretend that it hadn’t happened the next day.
But Kei didn’t make pretending easy.
Kei stopped in front of the farthest back display, his eyes scanning over the bands of the collars scrutinizingly before nodding.
“Any from here, down, should be thick enough. It needs to have a lock and key so I can’t take it off when my instincts are too heavy.” Kei explained, the words making Felix hum and nod. Felix didn’t respond further, just stared at the rows of thick bands with reinforced edges, leather, metal, silicone, and polymer blends that promised durability without chafing, security without pain. Most were matte. Some shone like polished lacquer. Some were far too high tech, monitoring temperature, pulse, blood pressure… Extra bullshit he didn’t need or want.
It was absurd. All of it was absurd. All of it felt far too intimate for a place with overhead lighting and hushed murmurs three aisles over as the only cashier helped someone else. He reached up and touched the edge of one. It was ugly. Navy blue. Far from subtle. Or pretty. Just heavy duty. And for a moment, despite how much he hated it, he thought about getting it. Because Kei insisted, and he doubted Kei would like it—and somehow that tiny act of defiance felt like freedom. The heavy duty locking clasp built into the curve of the band so it couldn’t be tampered with from the front or back. It was about as functional as one could get, he assumed.
Plain. Uninteresting. The faintest etching of detail only in the way that there was little embossed ridges along the edge that gave it texture—almost like a fingerprint. Barely there. It was blue, though. It clashed with his monochrome color scheme, and that was something he’d never change. The idea of wearing something that wasn’t on the monochrome scale made him feel awkward.
“You planning to have no self-control, then?” Felix asked dryly, voice thick with sarcasm, but quieter now. The proximity and the hush did nothing to mask the tension he was barely containing. Kei shrugged one shoulder without looking at him.
“No,” Kei admitted. “The plan is always to maintain self-control. My rut introduces complications to that plan, though. So I’d prefer a failsafe. I don’t want to risk it.” Kei paused for a moment, finally turning his gaze to him. “You’re going to be slick and sensitive and completely out of it, practically begging to be claimed. I don’t want to hurt you. Force you.” Felix’s fingers stalled.
He stared at the collar in front of him as if it were the source of all his scarring, then turned his gaze to Kei, then looked away again, his eyes scanning over the collars again. Like Kei’s gaze burned. Like he didn’t trust himself to keep looking and not want a repeat of phase one of their first hookup.
He was going to wear this in front of Kei. For Kei. Let him fasten it around his throat, lock it into place. Let him hide the key so neither of them can find it until his heat is over. The weight of that hit suddenly. He wasn’t sure if it was the mental image or the softness in Kei’s voice that triggered the realization… but it hit hard . Heat prickled up the back of his neck. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. But nothing could disguise the tremor in his breath as arousal lit a fire beneath the surface of his skin.
When his eyes landed on the collar, though, not the one he’d been contemplating before, but a sleeker, more minimalist designed collar—crafted from matte black metal that didn’t catch the light so much as absorb it—Felix moved toward it without even thinking. It lacked any overt decoration or embellishment, but that was part of what made it look so striking to Felix. The surface was a smooth, powder-coated soft-touch finish that gave it a velvet like texture under his fingertips.
Functional. But not harsh. Restrained. But unmistakably intentional.
Like this dumb decision, Felix thought to himself, his eyes scanning over the O-ring, flush mounted and forged from the same brushed black metal, just slightly glossier and more stand out by degree rather than design. The ring wasn’t oversized. No larger than a thumb. And it looked like it’d rest flat against the throat when worn, subtle, unless someone knew what to look for. It wasn’t ornamental. It was a point of attachment, and nothing more.
The lock was also nearly undetectable. A mechanism that screwed into place with what was probably an annoyingly specific screwdriver size. It was seamless, built into the curve of the band, entirely safe from intervention. It couldn’t be worn without the lock, but Felix didn’t think that’d matter. It was light enough for daily wear, but heavy enough that Felix would never forget it was there.
A private weight.
A quiet promise.
It didn’t clash with anything. It didn’t need to.
“That one?” Kei questioned, his hand resting on Felix’s shoulder lightly. Comforting. As if the pressure from his hand would alleviate the tension from the decision. And Felix was a little ashamed of how well it actually worked. “It’ll work perfectly. Can’t bite through steel. Is that the one you want?” Kei asked a second time, as if to ensure he was happy with the decision. Felix nodded, his head turning around to look at Kei. It was then that he noticed the shelving behind him—and what it contained.
Metal. Cock cages.
His breath caught. Just slightly. But it was enough to make his spine go ramrod straight. Cages. Sleek. Contoured. Some in cold, shiny silver, others in gold, and some in the same matte black as the collar. All of them meticulously designed. Some open and latticed, others solid sheaths that promised total concealment. Every single one built to restrain.
He wasn’t even hard, but he felt the ghost of pressure. The curl of heat, low in his stomach like a secret shame. Felix didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Kei’s hand was still on his shoulder, and Felix wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. Because Kei could undoubtedly feel the tension coiling tight beneath his skin. He could feel the stuttered breath Felix let out. He could probably scent it, too—though slightly diluted from the pheromone neutralizers. Not quite arousal. Not yet. Something more dangerous than even that. Desire .
“Something catch your eye?” Kei questioned easily, pointedly not acknowledging what he was looking at. Giving him an out if he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not teasing. Not pitying. Just a question. The offer of want fulfillment. The offer of safety.
And Felix just didn’t know what to do with it. Felix didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because he didn’t know how to admit to what he was currently picturing. Feeling. Wanting. Quietly. Silently. A ghost of sensation that he had never felt before.
Felix couldn’t find the words to explain it. He couldn’t find the words to confessing what he wanted. All he could do is hold his entire body taunt and tight, and desperately try to fight back the multiple layers of embarrassment washing over him. Because why did he want it? Why did it catch his eye and make his heart stutter? Why did he want Kei to have the key to it? Why did he have to surrender this entirely?
Felix’s eyes wandered over the cages, settling on one that looked almost like a perfect match to the collar—understated, matte black metal that might’ve even been the same alloy as the collar. It almost felt like it was taunting him. A set.
“Just looks like matching set.” Felix responded after a few seconds of staring, his words coming out shaky, uncertain. He almost couldn’t piece together any explanation at all. His body was too— he was too relaxed. Every part of his body felt loose and soft and open. “Could put cage on you and collar on me. Twinning—!” He did his best to mimic Callie’s tone and cadence as he said it. Kei let out a quiet laugh, obviously getting the joke.
“It’d need to be quite a bit bigger to fit on me,” Kei responded lightly, his eyes roaming over Felix’s face. “Since it’s a set, I’ll buy both. Don’t gotta use it if you don’t want. But since it’s a set, I might as well get both.” Felix wasn’t stupid enough to accept that justification without understanding what Kei was doing. Giving him an out. Again. Leaving it entirely up to him, but still reacting to what he could tell Felix wanted. It was infuriating. But, Felix couldn’t deny… there was something safe about the way Kei didn’t force him to answer and still managed to find the middle ground to answer his silent request without acknowledging it.
![Cover of The Still Point [ManxMan]](/story-covers/the-still-point-manxman_414551890.webp)
