Jeon Jiwoon searched everywhere for him. In the crowded corridors, on the illuminated terraces, even among the waiters with their trays. Finally, he found him, sitting alone in a dimly lit drawing-room, on a midnight blue velvet sofa.

Hanjae didn't turn around when he entered. He was staring at the windowpane, a half-empty bottle of champagne on the table. His legs were crossed, his gaze empty.

"Do you remember the first time we came here?" he said, his voice low.

Jiwoon approached slowly: "Do you mean when you got lost and made everyone panic?"

"I mean when you and Minji were in the room... and I had gotten lost, so as not to disturb you." The tone was sharp. More than usual.

Jiwoon stopped a few steps away. He stared at him. "I came looking for you as soon as I realized."

Hanjae laughed. Bitterly. "After an hour. You were too busy finding out if you liked Minji's tongue or his hands more."

That sentence struck deeper than it should, Jiwoon lowered his gaze: "I'm sorry."

For an instant, silence fell between them again. Hanjae picked up the bottle, took a sip.

"It seems your grandfather wants to introduce you to someone tonight." He smiled, but it was an empty smile. "Your father, on the other hand, is convinced you'll go back to Minji. He says it's only a matter of time."

Jiwoon closed his eyes, but it was the touch on his shoulder that made him open them again. A hand, Hanjae's hand. A gesture that was meant to be casual, but weighed like a ton.

"He also told me to do the right thing." Then, more quietly: "But what exactly would that be, the right thing?"

Jiwoon looked at him. Something stung him. Was it the tone? Was it that grimace on Hanjae's face that looked like a smile but wasn't?

"Did he really tell you that?"

Hanjae shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe for him, the right thing is to leave you free to return to someone who betrayed you..." He paused briefly, then chuckled, "Who's going to tell him that, instead, you can now get hard even with Alphas?"

It was venomous, yes, but there was a tremor, imperceptible. Jiwoon sensed it, like a wave beneath the calm surface.

"Did you tell him?"

Hanjae looked at him, and this time his eyes were different. A little moist. A little hurt.

"How could I? How could I tell him that you came to me only because you didn't know where to turn?"

Jiwoon took a step forward. He stopped in front of him. He truly looked at him and began to see: the tension in his jaw, the white knuckles, the way he avoided meeting his gaze.

"Hanjae..." Jiwoon pronounced his name as if he wanted to add something else. But he didn't.

Hanjae didn't answer. He didn't turn around. His hand, still resting on the other's shoulder, stiffened for a moment. Then he let it slide away. Jiwoon observed him, truly, for the first time.

He saw his shoulders straight, but not relaxed. The line of his jaw clenched. His neck tense, as if he were holding his breath. "Why...?" He found himself wondering, even though a part of him was already whispering an answer.

"Because... of me?"

Hanjae rubbed his fingers on his forehead, then laughed softly again. A low, bitter laugh. "Lately I end up drinking a bit too much, huh?" Jiwoon didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to touch him, pull him close. But he didn't dare. "Anyway," the other Alpha continued, straightening his jacket as if to end the conversation, "I did what you wanted. We came and we even survived your relatives." Jiwoon nodded slowly, even though there didn't seem to be glory on either side. Hanjae took a final gulp of champagne, finishing the contents of the glass in one go. The silence became heavy again. Jiwoon felt it in his shoulders, in his throat. And yet...

And yet there was something new again, now. A taut thread that kept him tied to the other, as if he couldn't detach himself. Was it because of the temporary bite?

Jiwoon didn't know, but he reached out a hand towards Hanjae, and this time it was Hanjae who grabbed it first. Their fingers intertwined with too much ease. "Should I take you away?" Jiwoon's voice was hoarse. More a breath than a question. Hanjae looked at him for the first time. Those ruby eyes, moist under the dim light, moved slowly over the other's features. They stopped on his lips. On his neck. On the fingers tightly clasped to his. Then he nodded. Without a word.

The journey to Jiwoon's old room was brief. They didn't speak. There was no need.

In the elevator, their reflections chased each other in the mirrored walls. Hanjae kept his gaze down. Jiwoon watched him. Always.

He didn't know what was about to happen. He wasn't entirely sure. He just knew that, this time, he didn't want to pretend it was just sex. When they entered the drawing-room, Jiwoon was the one to push the door. And close it.

The gala, his family... Minji... It all remained outside. And inside, only the two of them existed.

Hanjae leaned against the edge of the sofa in the center of the room. His eyes brushed over him again. That slow, calculated way he looked at him, but it was different.

There was hunger, yes. But also a quiet resignation. As if he expected nothing. As if he knew he couldn't hope.

Jiwoon reached him. He took him by the hips.

His hands were trembling. "Tonight," he murmured, his breath against the other's skin, "despite there being a room full of Omegas..."

Then he stopped. Swallowed. "My eyes were only on you..." Hanjae didn't answer. He brushed Jiwoon's face with his fingers. But he didn't look him in the eyes. "It's because of the mark, Jiwoon... your rut—" Jiwoon kissed him, assaulting his lips. He silenced him, then pulled away, resting his forehead against Hanjae's, shaking his head, his eyes clenched shut.

"It's not like that... you... you have to believe me." Silence.

Then, that nod, like a surrender. Almost imperceptible. A slight curve of the lips. Not a smile.

More... a crack. Jiwoon kissed him again. And this time, he did it to feel.

To see. Hanjae's taste was bitter. Like warm champagne and something deeper. Something older. As they kissed, Jiwoon's hands sought his skin beneath his clothes and found warmth, tense muscles, an accelerated heartbeat. When he pushed him onto the sofa, Hanjae let himself fall. He didn't fight. He didn't take control. He didn't provoke him. He opened up. He surrendered.

And this, for Jiwoon, was a stronger slap than any words. He looked at him. Lying there, beautiful, with reddened lips, ragged breathing and a gaze that dropped for a moment. As if he were afraid.

As if he believed he didn't have enough to offer him.

And at that thought, Jiwoon's heart skipped a beat.

He remained still. He watched him. Then, he knelt between his thighs. He slowly unzipped his pants, his hands trembling slightly, and freed him. The skin was already warm, his breath already broken.

Hanjae looked at him with wide, moist eyes and for an instant seemed about to say something. But then he swallowed it.

He lowered his gaze again. He parted his lips slightly. It was this that drove him mad. Jiwoon leaned over him. He kissed his stomach, then further down. His hands slid down his thighs, opened them, squeezed his hips. When he took him into his mouth, he did so without hesitation, plunging everything in, all the way. Without leaving him room to breathe. Hanjae moaned. He almost screamed in surprise. His head tilted back, his fingers grasping the other's hair. He didn't guide him. He just held him. As if to anchor himself to something. Jiwoon sucked angrily. He licked him with precision, with hunger, as if he wanted to punish him for the way he let go. For how he offered himself.

For how much it hurt him to see him like this. When he let him go, Hanjae's cock was covered in saliva, slick, taut. Jiwoon looked at it. His own lips were messy, swollen. And his eyes, red.

"Turn over." His voice came out deeper than expected.

Hanjae obeyed. He turned onto his side, then got onto his hands and knees on the sofa, his back slightly arched. His ass exposed, his muscles contracted. Jiwoon didn't breathe. His hands rested on his buttocks, parted them. They slid between the folds, explored, pressed.

The scent of jasmine, mixed with the pheromone, exploded in his nostrils. It rose straight up into his throat.

The rut had arrived.

A wave washed over him. His heart sped up, his skin burned, his mind went blank.

Every instinct focused only there: to take him, possess him, mark him.

Jiwoon growled. A low, visceral sound. His hands grabbed his hips tightly, rubbed him against his erection, wet, throbbing. He made him feel everything, and Hanjae, beneath him, trembled. "Jiwoon..." he murmured, broken. But he didn't stop him. He desired it.

He wanted it this way. Jiwoon took him. A thrust. A plunge. All the way in. A cry exploded from both their throats. Hanjae bent forward, his face against the cushions. His muscles tensed, his breath caught.

Jiwoon groaned, loudly, as he filled him completely. Then he paused for a second. He kissed his back. His spine. He stroked his hip. "You're so... tight... God!" He whispered between his teeth, as he started moving again, "Look how well you take me." Hanjae shuddered, feeling his lips against his ear.

Each thrust was stronger. More desperate.

The sofa creaked, swayed. The sound of sex filled the room: skin against skin, broken moans, hungry breaths. Hanjae let himself be fucked. He let himself be destroyed.

He clung to the cushions as he felt him plunge deep inside him. Again. And again. And again.

"You're beautiful..." Jiwoon growled, his face glued to his skin, "Much more than I can say...."

And he truly believed it. In that moment, nothing else existed.

He lifted him slightly. He slipped an arm under his torso, brought him up. Their bodies remained joined, intertwined. Then he kissed his neck. But not where he had already marked him. No. He bit him higher up.

He marked him. There, where Hanjae wouldn't be able to cover it with clothes.

Hanjae gasped, a trickle of blood sliding down his body. His head tilted back, his eyes closed. It was too much. It was everything. But he didn't ask him to stop.

He didn't want him to stop.

"More..." he whispered softly. "Jiwoon, more..." And Jiwoon did it.

He took him from behind, with force. He bent him over the back of the sofa, his chest against the rough fabric, as he plunged. His nails scratched his skin. His lips kissed him, everywhere they could.

The windowpane was cold when Hanjae ended up against it. His breath fogged it up. "J-Jiwoon... s-someone might see..." "Let everyone see," Jiwoon whispered, panting against his cheek, "let them know that you fuck better than many of those Omegas down there." A smile escaped Hanjae at those words, his body relaxed, allowing him to be better accommodated. Jiwoon trembled, when he felt the muscles of his anus gripping around his penis. It felt like that ass was created solely for him, to take him. To swallow him.

He got lost in the thrusts, the moans, the intoxicating mixed scent of their bodies. He took him until his legs gave way.

Until his body stopped responding.

Until he felt him come, trembling, broken, with a groan that caught between his throat and heart.

Then he held him tight. He collapsed onto the sofa with Hanjae on top of him. He held him in his arms and took him one last time. Slower. Sweeter.

Forehead to forehead. Eyes closed. "You're mine..." he whispered to him, his eyes glazed, his mind empty, "You're mine... Hanjae." And he came. Inside. Again.

With a choked sob, a growl, a knot that exploded. His body tensed, then shut down. Only the warmth remained. The breath. Sweaty skin against skin.

And the scent of the two of them, fused, clinging to every corner of the room.