Chapter Text
Yangyang has never woken up to being growled at.
Honestly, he's only been growled at for real a handful of times in his life. The way Mark is growling at him now, no playfulness or restraint, like he wants to come tear him limb from limb.
His heart jumps in his chest and he scrambles away across the hard floor.
Mark isn't moving though.
He's growling like he's pissed to high heaven, eyes tracking Yangyang's every move, but he's letting the person in between them hold him back with a single hand to his chest.
Broad naked shoulders, well-formed. He dwarfs Mark in size, but he's not alpha. Smells rottenly sweet, equally pissed.
It's not until he speaks that Yangyang's brain supplies him with an identity. Jaemin.
“Mark, leave. You'll have your turn.”
“It's not enough.” The anger in Mark's voice puts Yangyang further aback than anything else thus far. “He– he–”
“I know. He'll regret it, I promise. But first you have to Get. Out.”
To Yangyang's surprise and increasing confusion, Mark lets Jaemin push him backwards out the door with little more resistance. It’s closed, locked, and Yangyang is just starting to take his first relieved breath at the realization that he won't be getting mauled when Jaemin turns on him.
“Oh, good, you're up. I should have just let him at you, but the doc will take over if we don't do this by the book. So, here, take these.”
A hand is thrust in front of his face, pinching an intimidating pair of pills. As if he expects him to just open his mouth and swallow.
“What? Hey!” He backs away as Jaemin makes to grab him by the face. But his movements are slowed by– something. Feels like pushing through thick air. What the fuck is going on.
“Hey! What the fuck?? Jaemin, stop! What are you doing?”
Jaemin sighs, crouching down in front of him, but abandoning his chase for now. “I'm giving you your pills. Trust me, you'll want them.”
“For what? Pills for what. Where are we? Where's–” He tries to think back to who he might have seen last. Usually it's Ten, before bed, but then again he's not in bed. He doesn't remember a party either. Last he knew he was heading over to the Dream dorm for–
Jaemin doesn't give him the chance to figure it out. “Look, we've already got it set up, the supervising doctor will be here before long. Don't worry, it's Ten ‘s gonna do the most of it, not me. All you have to do is listen and hold still and,” he huffs, unamused. “Well, I'd say make it easy for yourself, but I've never known a bitching to be easy.”
Yangyang thinks his brain might be frozen. Did he take an irresponsible amount of melatonin again? How is he supposed to make sense of anything Jaemin is saying?
“So, do you got that?”
“No, I don't– Jaemin, I don't understand.” He sounds pathetic and a bit whiny-helpless, which he would usually only weaponize against the hyungs, but right now it's hardly even on purpose.
Jaemin stares at him unblinking and unsympathetic. It's almost scarier than Mark was. Then he seems to come to a decision, rolling the pills back up into his palm. “What do you remember?”
“I– I think I was heading to the Dream dorm to visit Renjun. Hoping he'd–” it comes back to him then, shame prickling along his spine, “Hoping he'd help with my rut.”
“So you knew you were going into rut.” It sounds like an accusation. It is an accusation. If he knew, he should follow protocol, not hide it from everyone and make his way across town to visit a friend. An omega friend, who had no idea what he was hoping for. But he knew Renjun liked him, so he had been thinking maybe…
He tries to shrug it off. “I wasn't gonna force him or anything, just ask.”
Jaemin smacks him across the mouth. Hard. His knuckles hit almost like a punch, but for the direction of the momentum, and it rocks Yangyang back. “Why don't you try and remember,” he hisses.
Yangyang wants to cry. He just woke up and he doesn’t know what’s going on and it’s scary and why does everyone hate him. He won’t actually let himself cry but the feeling seeps into his voice. “Jaem–”
“Try,” Jaemin interrupts.
He closes his eyes, as much to hide away from this sick reality as to obey.
It comes in flashes.
He did arrive, but Renjun smelled rut on him and wasn't pleased. Tried to send him home.
Renjun felt so good inside. Tight and hot.
He wheedled his way into staying, convinced him he'd leave before it got bad. Only wanted company.
Renjun's nails scraped up his back, spurring him on. No one had ever felt so perfect.
Renjun smacked him away when he went in for a kiss. But he wanted it, really, was covered in the scent of arousal. He just wanted to be difficult.
The door swung open behind him, crashing into the wall. There was shouting, but he was so close he could hardly care. Yes, yes, yes, and then…
“We fucked.” Yangyang supplies, without opening his eyes, too scared what he might see in Jaemin's face.
“Try again.”
“We– I mean, I convinced him and– was that you who came in?”
Jaemin's scent surrounds him, suffocatingly dark. He enunciates each word like a promise. “Tell me what you did to him.”
“I– I–” Yangyang can't get anything more out. He feels like he can't breathe, hit with the sudden realization of why he might be trapped in this room, mostly naked, with the Dream head omega to look after him.
Jaemin's voice takes on a mocking quality, like he knows Yangyang is finally connecting the dots and finds it idiodic of him to be so far behind. “There's only one reason we bitch useless little alphas like you. What is it?”
Yangyang shakes his head. He can't open his mouth.
“What. Is. It?” Jaemin's canines must be inches from his face, with the spit that hits his cheeks.
“Rape,” he whispers, like saying it quietly will make it less true.
“What did you do to him?” Jaemin repeats.
“I–
His throat constricts. He forces past it.
–raped him.”
He swallows, wanting to sob. Jaemin hasn't replied and he's still too terrified to open his eyes.
“Take your pills.” They're shoved against his slightly parted lips. “Ten and the doc will be here soon and we'll get started. I think the audience is getting impatient.”
Audience. Mark and who else? All of NCT? Who else was gonna wanna tear into him when they got their turn. When they– he was gonna throw up.
Jaemin laughs. “You get it now, don't you? Ready to be everyone's bitch?”
_
Yangyang takes the pills.
After that, Jaemin is in and out, apparently getting everything ready. Yangyang should try to keep track, decipher who's involved, how much the company knows. What to expect.
He'd never really paid that much attention before; obviously bitching happens but as like, the butt of a joke in a movie or the crux of political discussions that he largely ignored. In places where true packs were less common anymore, places like Germany and the rest of Europe, other methods were becoming more common. It was turned over to the government to handle, poorly. Or people just got away with things.
He hadn't paid attention before and he doesn’t now either, hoping that if he can tune out the world and regain a comatose state, he can wake up and things will be right again.
His thoughts shy away from even touching on reality.
They'll realize he hadn't meant it. That it isn’t worth this spectacle.
Still, the tears running down his face are a constant stream. Jaemin had scoffed when he'd broken into sobs, scoffed and left him lying here on the floor in only his boxers.
Jaemin is an asshole anyway.
For a while, his thoughts slow. It’s cold and dark behind his eyelids and everything sucks. He’s abstractly aware of the drugs acting on him, whatever it is that they do.
“Yangyang.”
He jerks at the familiar voice, eyes flying open to see Ten standing over him. “C'mon, it's time to go.”
He can almost pretend it’s a wakeup call to head over to the company. Almost, except Ten's displeasure is visceral, hanging in the air between them.
“Where– where are we going?”
Ten grabs his arm and forces him to his feet. “Just the living room. There was talk of finding somewhere bigger, but we just want to get it over with and it doesn't seem right to do at the company building. We'll just squeeze everyone in.”
The living room. At some point Yangyang had passively realized he's still at the Dream dorm, their laundry room slash utility closet only vaguely familiar to him. The living room was a good size though, he supposes it would fit. “Everyone?”
Ten shrugs, dragging him towards the door. “Everyone who wanted to watch. Some of the Dreamies left and others came in. Does it really matter who?”
“Wait.” Yangyang wrenches from his hold. “What about Renjun. Where's Renjun?”
For a moment he thinks he's going to be slapped again, but Ten contains himself. “Not here,” he grits out. “He didn't want to be here. Better than I am, I'd want to see you torn to pieces.”
He says it with such conviction like he does want Yangyang to be torn to pieces. Suddenly he's not quite so glad as he was before that they let Ten be in charge.
“What are you gonna do to me?” he whimpers.
“Don't play stupid,” Ten shoves him forward. “We're gonna bitch you like you deserve and you're gonna spend the next six months wishing you never put a hand on him.”
Yangyang already wishes that, but he doesn't think that's what Ten wants to hear. He doesn't think anything he could say would matter at this point.
“I'll be good,” he tries.
Ten shakes his head. “You won't be able to. C'mon, they're waiting.”
As the door opens, Yangyang resolves to keep his gaze to the ground. Like Ten had said, what good would it do him to know who was watching. He'll just keep his eyes down and his mouth shut and get through it.
They stop in front of an unfamiliar pair of shoes. Apparently house calls of this nature don't adhere to the rules of hospitality.
“Liu Yangyang? I'm Dr. Kim.” A pleasant, professional voice. Yangyang has no problem imagining his face. “Can you please state your name for the record?”
“Liu Yangyang,’ he parrots.
“Thank you. As it stands, with the witness statements taken, this case is very clear cut. My presence typically wouldn't be necessitated, but due to the nature of your contract with SM Entertainment and their investment in your continued wellbeing, I'm here to represent their interest. You should understand, though, that I am not here to protect you and should not be expected to intervene except in the most extreme–” Here, he cuts himself off. “Well, to be clear, I'm sure it will seem extreme to you, but in reality it's all most expected. Please do not look to me for help. Do you acknowledge?”
“Got it. SM's just protecting their backside.” Not that he would expect anything else. They were probably hoping this would help smooth everything over so they could get back to the bottom dollar.
“Just so. Mr. Chittaphon, you are cleared to proceed.”
The doctor turns away to occupy some obscure corner, Yangyang's eyes automatically following until they come across Jisung watching intently and chewing on his nail. Yangyang drops his gaze instantly.
Don't think about it, he admonishes himself, as his brain starts working to catalog familiar scents. He can't help but catch a few, everyone on edge and stinking up the room.
It's second nature to recognize his own close pack, Kun and Hendery. Taeyong, unmistakably. Fuck. That tall form they pass is probably Johnny. He doesn't want to know, but there's no way not to notice with his senses pumped into overdrive.
They arrive at the table in the middle of the room, which Yangyang is certain is where the couch used to be.
There's a pause. He can feel Ten's eyes on him, along with what might be thirty more. Whatever he's thinking he can't tell, not with his gaze to the ground.
“It'll be over within an hour.” A seed for him to latch onto. “For today.”
Yangyang nods, his chest tight. He had managed to stop crying before, but it's pressing at the back of his eyes with a vengeance. He hopes he can hold back until something actually happens.
“On the table,” Ten instructs. He presses his palms to the surface, preparing to jump up, but then–
“Wait,” Jaemin, who had been right behind them, interrupts. “Might as well get rid of these first.” He tugs at the fabric of Yangyang's boxers, but not to pull them down. He seems to be wanting Yangyang to do that himself.
And Yangyang's never been ashamed to be nude, not really. Even with his share of insecurities, he has no reason to be scared of his own body. But now he– he's never wanted to remove an item of clothing less.
Be good. Don't think about it.
He forces the air out of his lungs and slides them down his legs. It's just his underwear. Nothing to worry about. He wishes it wasn't so quiet he can hear the slide of fabric on skin.
“Good. Now up.” Ten smacks him lightly on his ass and it resonates throughout the room.
Yangyang does as he's told, planting his hands to push himself up onto the table, until he realizes he has no idea what position he's meant to be in. “On your back,” Ten advises. It feels like a set up for a clinical. Or the most clinical of sex. Probably that.
He's staring at the ceiling waiting. There's some jostling by his side and then a hand on his leg he tries and fails not to flinch from. It skims down to his ankle and attaches something there, like a cuff. His ankle is grabbed on the other side too and pulled over, and before he knows it he's actively resisting because–
Smack. The hit to his thigh is more shocking than painful, though it is that too. He gasps. Jaemin's locking his foot up, legs spread in a compromising position. He looks down and sees that, instead of being tied to the table like he assumed, there's a long metal bar between his ankles holding them apart. He focuses back on the ceiling before he can't help but look at someone.
What now? Fuck he wishes he had an idea how this would go.
When Ten appears leaning back over him, he has something in his hand. Round and rubber, silicon maybe.
He goes straight for his dick.
“Wait,” Yangyang protests, reaching for him. His arm is caught in a vice grip and yanked behind his back, the other one joining it. But he doesn't have time to pay attention as Ten slides the item down his dick, almost to the base, covering where–
“What?” Jaemin mocks, “You didn't think you'd get to keep your knot, did you?”
It's happening too fast. Ten's hand is back, this time between his legs and wet with something. He's focused, no care for Yangyang's state at all, as he tries not to thrash away from Jaemin's strong grip holding his arms to tie them together. For some reason it scares Yangyang that they're not tying him to the table but only to himself.
He yelps as Ten pushes in without warning, a single glove-coated finger. He doesn't give him time or care, just pushing steadily inward, and Yangyang has done this before, he doesn't mind ass play unlike some alphas, but not all that often and never like this.
“Ten.” Without his own permission, he's vocalizing. “Hyung can you– please–”
“Relax,” Ten admonishes. Yangyang tries, he really does, forcing a few purposeful breaths, but it doesn't seem to make a difference.
“Want me to give him something?” Jaemin asks, apparently done with his knot work. Yangyang shakes his head. That sounds scary. Jaemin flicks his ear. “Idiot, I'm not asking you.”
Ten shakes his head as well though. “Should be fine, it's not that big. I'm sure he can take it.”
Jaemin hums in response, so close behind him it's unnerving. “I'll just start up here then.”
Ten nods like that's a sentence that makes sense to him and returns with two fingers. Yangyang tries to push away on instinct, knowing he's not ready for that. But with Jaemin's weight behind him and Ten's hold on his pelvis he doesn't get far. Ten has barely touched him again before he's protesting.
“Ten, wait. It's too much, not yet, please, I need more time.”
Ten looks him in the eye for the first time in a while. Yangyang can't seem to hold his gaze.
“What makes you think you can tell me what to do?” Yangyang looks away, chastened, about to apologize, but Ten isn't done. “I don't think you understand that where I choose to touch you is up to me.” He runs his fingers from their place at Yangyang's rim to just behind his balls, pushing in hard. “How I choose to hurt you is up to me.” Yangyang winces, expecting pain, but it doesn't come. “All of us,” he gestures around the room at the faces Yangyang has refused to acknowledge. “We own you now, and we're all pissed, so the best thing you can do is to shut the fuck up.”
Yangyang swallows. He tries to hug himself but his arms are stuck.
“Jae, put him down, I think being upright is giving him too many ideas.”
He's pushed down flat to the table, though his arms behind his back mean his shoulders can't sit properly. Then Ten lifts the bar between his ankles until Jaemin can grab it. Feet up, knees bent, exposed to the room. “Fuck.”
His exclamation is immediately followed by a stinging strike, not by Ten's hand but something leather.
“I'm tired of hearing you,” he says. “Why don't you keep your mouth shut until I get this in you.” It's not a suggestion. Yangyang still doesn't know what this is, but he bites his lip and resolves not to move or make a sound.
Ten moves from one finger, to two, and then three without much patience, and it does hurt, but Yangyang finds that he can breathe through it. What’s worse is his brain constantly trying to remind him that they're not alone in the room. That others, the other members are watching and enjoying seeing him violated like this.
It's what you deserve, a small part of him insists, it's what you are now. A bitch for fucking.
Yangyang moves on to counting sheep. It doesn't work.
It's around the third finger that Jaemin seems to grow tired of just watching and holding up his legs. “Keep these here, won't you?” he sweetly requests and lets go of the bar.
Yangyang tightens his core to not let them drop, which has the added effect of tightening him around Ten's fingers. Ten doesn't seem to be stretching him at this point, but almost digging in, pushing up to his knuckles and searching along his walls. When he finds it, Yangyang jerks, almost letting out a sound but catching himself just in time. Ten watches for his reactions as he digs in there again, Yangyang swearing silently in his head as it feels like every single nerve lights up.
“Got it,” Ten voices, if there was any doubt. From somewhere he produces a gadget, long and thin, with a strange bulbous curve at one end and a flare at the other. It reminds him of some alien probe. Yangyang has no doubt where it's going.
He gasps and tenses as Ten forces it in alongside his fingers, not wanting to remove them before he gets the positioning perfect. He's right, it's not big, but altogether it's more than Yangyang's had before, and he's already struggling to breathe when he feels the thing shift in and slot against that spot like it was made for it. Which, it was, but surely anatomy differs enough that this can't be a one size fits all kind of toy?
It doesn't matter. It fits him, too well. Ten looks pleased as he pulls his hand back. “Ready?” he asks, probably addressing the room at large because he certainly isn't waiting on Yangyang's response.
There's not so much as a click before it starts up, and Yangyang loses all of his faculties. He couldn't describe what it's doing, a combination of vibrations and pulses, and also can't describe the feeling. It hurts like the moment you stub your toe, before the pain reaches your brain. Like the pulsing behind your eyes of a headache you can't get to and the full body ache of collapsing sweaty onto the cold floor. It hurts but it doesn't hurt, he thinks before long his dick might be filling out, and he wants to scream.
“What do you think?” Ten asks. Yangyang realizes his eyes are closed, hears himself whimper without trying to. “What does it feel like?” Yangyang shakes his head. There's a tear pooling in the corner of his eye and he's sure it won't be alone for long.
“That good, huh?” Yangyang finally opens his eyes and Ten is close, climbing gracefully onto the table next to his torso. “You don't even know what this is for, do you?”
He whines, probably not an answer, but as much as he can manage.
Ten smiles at him. “Alphas and omegas aren't as different as we like to think. We're all made of the same parts, they just grow in different ways.” His hand traces over Yangyang's side. He realizes at some point his feet have returned to the table. “What we found in you is the same gland that gives omegas our slick, and to some extent the sweetness of our scent. Alphas like to hide it but it's there. And with just a little help, it'll be happy to fulfill its function.”
Yangyang tries to parse this, he does, but it proves a little difficult with the distraction. Thankfully, Ten knows this and gives it to him straight. “Before long, you'll be leaking,” he clarifies. “Slick and wet and ready to fuck.”
It hits Yangyang like a punch to the gut, the thought of what being a bitch really means. The only time he'd been willing to try having a dick in him it hadn't gone well, and–
“That's it for the warm up.”
The tempo picks up. He writhes. Nails clawing into his own arms, lip bitten to the point of blood. And then, when it's built up with seemingly no place to go, he comes.
He doesn't realize what's happening at first, until the unmistakable scent of cum hits the air and soaks into his skin.
“Damn,” he hears muttered off to the side, an onlooker’s voice.
Surely this is what Ten was going for. He'll turn it off now and say, “Look at that, little bitch, you can come untouched.”
When he searches for Ten though, he's still there, just watching, seemingly unfazed. He sees Yangyang looking and cracks a strange smile. “Oh, you thought that was it? No, baby, it doesn't matter what you do, it stays on for twenty minutes.” Yangyang feels his own eyes widen, just like he can feel the pounding in his chest. “It's been four,” Ten provides helpfully.
That's when the tears really flow. He tries to sob, but every time he clenches down it makes it worse, so he's left trying to contain it, to gently huff for the air his lungs are lacking. Inside him it goes on and on, never giving him a moment to recover.
“Don't worry, we'll distract you.” That's Jaemin, back from wherever he disappeared to. In his hand is a small tub of cream. “Let's get him up, they wanna see.”
Coordinated, Ten and Jaemin sit him back up, Jaemin behind him serving as support and Ten still by his side. The new position applies more pressure to the vibrator, and he quickly rearranges on his own, with jelly limbs, until he's taken as much weight off of his ass as he can manage.
“Look at that,” Ten remarks. “So many people came out to see you.”
Before he can think about it, he is looking. Then, as soon as he realizes, snapping his eyes shut, tucking his head.
“Shh, no, baby, that won't do.” Ten grabs his chin and forces his face forward. “Open your eyes.”
Yangyang shakes his head to the extent that he can and keeps them stubbornly closed. There's a hand briefly on his dick before it falls further down, reaching the base of the thing inside him and pushing.
Yangyang curls forward, trying to get away, anything to lessen the pressure. He wants to hold out, but it's unforgiving, and within a few seconds his eyes fly open, apologies flooding out of him. “Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, please.”
Ten lets up and Yangyang's body sags, but he makes a point to keep his eyes open.
“As I was saying,” Ten resumes. “Look at all the people that came out to see you. We have to thank them, and apologize that you're not quite ready for use yet.”
Yangyang doesn't know exactly what Ten expects of him, but he's realizing that whatever it is, he'll do it. Disconcertingly, Jaemin's warm strength behind him is now a relief, and he doesn't mind his little touches over his chest either.
“Johnny-babe, come here,” Ten calls. Johnny walks forward, and his rich scent, in addition to everything else, makes Yangyang dizzy. There's no question that he's turned on. Ten turns his attention back to Yangyang. “Say ‘Thank you for coming.’”
“Thank you for coming, Johnny-hyung,” Yangyang obeys.
“Yes, thank you. And sorry he's such a letdown. Would you like to touch?”
Johnny declines, adjusting himself in his pants. “I'll save it for later.”
Yangyang winces inwardly. There's no way that's going in him.
Kun comes next, thankfully more politely restrained, though with a crushing sense of disappointment that Yangyang knows is going to haunt him.
Then Hendery, which is awkward. Yangyang can hear “how could you” on his tongue, the unspoken absence of Xiaojun hanging between them. But he can also see Hendery hard in his shorts. When Ten asks, Hendery grabs him by the hair, but then seems at a loss for what to do next and they move on.
To Yangyang's great dismay, Ten calls Mark forward next. He's still seething. As far as Yangyang can tell, past his dulled senses, he's not anything other than pissed. He accepts the false gratitude noncommittally, just waiting for his time to make a request. “Can I hit him?”
Ten deliberates only briefly before agreeing. “One punch, anywhere above the waist.”
Mark slugs him hard in the gut and when he bends forward, coughing and trying to reign in his own body's reactions to not make things worse, growls in his ear, “You're gonna regret ever being born.” Yangyang believes him.
Following that up, Taeyong's choice to push his fingers into his mouth seems trivial, welcome even. Yangyang can't help the way his eyes almost roll back, however faint the taste of omega on his tongue may be. His dick has long since re-engorged and he knows, dreads, that it's only a matter of time before his next orgasm.
It's at this point, taking stock of himself as Doyoung informs Ten that he and Taeyong will schedule their assignation together in the future, that Yangyang realizes his tits are burning. And still being groped by Jaemin's large hands.
“Jaem'n, what?” he slurs, trying to look back over his shoulder at him.
“Oh, this? Don't worry, it won't do much, just to make them a bit more sensitive. See?” Looking down at his own chest, Yangyang watches as he takes a pert red nipple between his fingers and tweaks it. Yangyang yelps, dick jumping, his hands trying to come up to cover himself before once again finding that he can't. Jaemin laughs at him. “Yeah, seems it's already started, but it says it's supposed’t to work over time too.”
“Ohh, pretty,” Ten comments. “That'll be fun.” He taps Yangyang on the cheek.
“Hyuckie is here, don't keep him waiting.”
Donghyuck's presence takes Yangyang by surprise, as does the way he seems to be– observing. Unaffected. He looks like normal Donghyuck, if a little serious. Yangyang forces himself for the hundredth time not to think of Renjun and gets the words out. “Thank you for coming, Donghyuck.”
“Can I get him off?” Donghyuck's ask is equally surprising, seemingly to both of them.
Ten recovers quickly though, shrugging. “Sure, why not.”
Donghyuck matter-of-factly takes hold of his cock to begin jerking him off. It's so weird, and for a moment Yangyang thinks it'll be difficult but then he remembers how close he was already and then Jaemin pinches one of his nipples and then Yangyang is coming all over.
“What a mess,” Ten states in the background.
There's cum being wiped off on his tongue, but Yangyang is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. Finally he gets it, only to start coughing, and whining, crying, shaking.
“Hyung, please. Hyung, too much, it–, I–” he breaks into sobs, Ten watching. The wracking of his body feeds into the pain-pressure, which makes him cry harder. Jaemin is holding him so he can't get away, but otherwise no one is doing anything.
He doesn't know how long it goes on, until his sobs give into whimpers and the tension relaxes into an infrequent shaking. It still hurts. His whole body complains, his ass is sore, and brain fuzzy from the pain. He kind of wishes he would just pass out.
When his eyes open slowly, Ten nods. “Good, you're back. It's Jaehyun's turn.”
He's never known Jaehyun that well, and he prays at that moment that he's not vindictive. It takes him several tries to sound out a passable semblance of words.
Jaehyun's response stumps him. “Is he wet?”
They're looking downwards, Ten's hand once again pressing to his rim, Yangyang's body so exhausted that he shies away far too late. Ten's hand comes back shiny. “Look baby,” he praises, “You did it.” It doesn't smell like anything or look like much. Yangyang feels acute embarrassment, realizing that came from him, but can't get the energy up for anything more. He startles when a phone alarm rings out.
“Oh, that's your time for today.” The vibrations immediately cut out and Yangyang's relief is so palpable he thinks he might start sobbing again. “There's one more person to thank, and then we can get you cleaned up so you're ready for tomorrow.” Tomorrow?
Jisung has to be coaxed over. He looks like he wants to disappear, but Ten is kind and insistent and Yangyang tries to greet him with a non-intimidating tone. If anything about him right now could be considered intimidating.
When Ten offers Yangyang up, Yangyang is sure Jisung will just brush him off, but in fact he hesitates. “Anything?” he asks.
Ten tilts his head fondly. “Of course, Jisungie, just tell me what you want.”
Jisung still hesitates. “I mean, it's fine if–”
Ten leans in conspiratorially. “It's okay, baby, I promise no one minds. They're all about to leave anyway.” Yangyang isn't sure that he doesn't mind, but that apparently isn't of any concern.
“Could–” Jisung looks around. “I mean, after everyone is gone, could I use his mouth?”
Ten beams as if this could have been exactly what he was hoping for. “That sounds perfect.” Did it? “Just wait here while I go double check things with the doctor, I'll be right back.”
With Ten gone, Yangyang has nothing more to focus on but his breathing. Jaemin is still behind - almost under - him, and it feels good to have him close. Even with how mean everyone has been, Yangyang would hate to be alone right now.
In what feels like no time at all, Ten is back and urging Yangyang onto the floor. Gracelessly, he slides off the table, hitting his knees hard, but it doesn't register. Ten wants his mouth open, so he drops his jaw and soon has a dick down his throat.
He's decent at giving head, but the most he can focus on right now is holding still and not coughing it up. From his glimpse into Jisung's eyes, it seems to be doing the trick. He blinks his own shut.
A minute later, Ten is holding his mouth closed, petting his jugular. The waves of sound reaching his ears eventually resolve into a bidding to swallow. He does his best, through the choking.
He's in a car. The rumbling underneath him is not appreciated, and he buries himself into Ten's side. He smells sweet and familiar, but what Yangyang can't catch is their scents mixing together.
The cats come to the door, asking where they've been. He doesn't know how to answer. He sheds shoes that he doesn't remember putting on and then shirt, pants. There's warm water running down his front and hands all over him.
By the time he feels a blanket covering him, he's already slipping away.