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It takes Mo Yeon-woo a couple of hours to figure out what’s happening.
At first, it’s only mild discomfort—like the temperature of the air is just a little too high. When it deepens into something more like a fever, something hazy and restless that works its way through his body like chills, he wonders if he’s somehow gotten sick. It’s rare for Hunters to fall ill, but definitely not impossible.
By the time the hunger begins to blaze beneath his skin, a growing ache that leaves him struggling to breathe normally through its grip, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s happening. It’s no wonder it hadn’t occurred to him from the start. Betas don’t suffer ruts or heats, after all, which is something he’d been exceedingly grateful for during all his time in dungeons.
There’s no need to wonder why he’s suddenly experiencing something he’s only ever read about, something that shouldn’t be happening to him now. There's only one person who can possibly be responsible.
Mo Jeong-woo.
When Mo Yeon-woo hunts him down in his office, his brother smiles at him and takes a step in closer to him, running a hand up one bicep until he can grip at Mo Yeon-woo’s shoulder. His grip has all the strength befitting an alpha. It's fierce. Unrelenting. Mo Yeon-woo shivers at the touch, because the fact that Mo Jeong-woo's fingers will undoubtedly leave a bruise only makes him burn hotter.
He needs—he wants—more.
“You’re looking a little warm, hyung,” Mo Jeong-woo says innocently, as if he isn’t the one who’s obviously slipped Mo Yeon-woo some sort of artificial heat inducer. He can’t quite hide the smug look in his eyes as he looks at Mo Yeon-woo—or maybe he just doesn’t care to. “Do you need my help with that?”
It isn’t like Mo Jeong-woo needs any excuse to help him. He takes Mo Yeon-woo whenever he feels like it, which is every day and every night, sometimes vicious and sometimes not. Sometimes he’s so tender that Mo Yeon-woo hardly knows what to do with himself. But Mo Yeon-woo knows that his brother likes these little games, that he likes to see what he can get away with.
Mo Yeon-woo can’t even find it within himself to complain, because the truth of it all is that he likes these games too—likes to see all the different ways in which his alpha brother wants him. Likes to see all the lengths he’ll go to to make Mo Yeon-woo his.
Mo Jeong-woo’s hand slides from his shoulder, down over his chest, and even through the fabric of his shirt, Mo Yeon-woo can feel the heat of those fingers. He gives a full body shudder as a wave of desire crashes through him. They’ve only just begun, and already he feels like he’s at the end of his ability to withstand it. He feels empty, not that that’s really anything new. These days, he always feels empty without Mo Jeong-woo, always burns at Mo Jeong-woo’s touch.
But he feels empty in a way that’s beginning to border on delirium, right now. Desire, he's used to. This...this is a kind of need that threatens to char him to a cinder, and he knows it’s what his brother wants: to see just how far he can drive him. Just how much he can make him beg.
Just how many times he can make him fall apart.
Trailing his touch over Mo Yeon-woo’s hip, around to the small of his back, Mo Jeong-woo’s hand slides beneath the waistband of his trousers until it can dip between his cheeks. Mo Jeong-woo clicks his tongue at the lack of wetness there, his fingers rubbing with dry friction against Mo Yeon-woo’s hole.
Mo Yeon-woo takes in a strained breath. “Jeong-woo—” He can’t seem to get out anything beyond his brother’s name, the sense of friction shivering through his veins.
“We’ll have to find something that can make you produce slick, too,” Mo Jeong-woo says lightly in response, but he doesn’t seem too concerned at the moment. He fixes his eyes on the front of Mo Yeon-woo’s trousers, straining tightly over his aching dick, and smirks. There’s a growing damp spot where Mo Yeon-woo is steadily leaking precome.
“What—” Mo Yeon-woo’s voice breaks off again, dissolving into a wave of heat, as Mo Jeong-woo gets his pants open and shoved down around his knees. Mo Yeon-woo’s straining dick curves up towards the flat planes of his stomach; he’s so turned on that he’s practically dripping down the sides.
“This will do for now,” Mo Jeong-woo says, satisfied, a smile playing about his mouth. "Don't worry. I'll fuck you a few times to open you up before I knot you." He makes quick work of his own belt and trousers until his own cock is bared to Yeon-woo’s view—hot, heavy, hard.
It makes Mo Yeon-woo’s mouth go dry, as if his throat has become a desert. As if he’ll shrivel away without the relief that only Mo Jeong-woo can provide him. Mo Jeong-woo has never actually knotted him before, and the idea...the idea isn't nearly as frightening as he thinks it should be.
The feel of Mo Jeong-woo’s fingers wrapping around his dick, jerking slowly once, then twice, before using the gathered precome to slick up his own dick, has Mo Yeon-woo making a strangled sound. Then he’s being turned around and shoved over Mo Jeong-woo’s desk, thighs spread wide as Mo Jeong-woo pulls his cheeks apart to look at the entrance to his body.
Mo Yeon-woo can hear the smile in his brother’s voice as he presses his cock against Yeon-woo’s hole. The slide in is far easier than it could have been, between the precome slicking Jeong-woo’s dick and the fact that Yeon-woo is still open and ready from the last time they’d fucked, just a few hours before.
That first thrust—it’s like the first rain after a decade of drought. It’s like the first time he’d seen the sky after leaving the timehole dungeon. The first time Mo Jeong-woo comes, it’s like Mo Yeon-woo can finally breathe again.
“Why don’t we try for a new record today, huh, hyung?” Mo Jeong-woo asks as he begins to harden once more, twitching within Mo Yeon-woo’s relieved, oversensitive body. The heat is already returning, only just barely sated for the moment. “I don’t think ten times will be nearly enough.”
No, he wouldn’t. Nothing ever seems to be enough for Mo Jeong-woo.
But then again, it doesn’t for Mo Yeon-woo either.