The days following that kiss were a frantic, internal war. I became a master of evasion, a shadow flitting through the prison corridors to avoid the one person who had managed to crack my ribs and peer at my heart. Whenever Kim Sol approached, I would pivot.
CJ, the ever-observant social butterfly, was visibly shocked when I started clinging to him. He'd give me a sidelong glance, a teasing glint in his eyes, but he clearly enjoyed the unfamiliar novelty of me seeking his company. I even went so far as to strike up mundane, soul-crushing conversations with the Beta and the Omega in our cell, anything to ensure Sol couldn't get within arm's reach of me. I was a man trying to outrun a storm that was already inside my lungs.
But then, I felt the shift.
It wasn't a sudden strike; it came gradually, like a tide of molten lead rising through my veins. A feverish heat began to radiate from my core, blooming across my skin until the air in the cell felt like a physical weight. My breath grew heavy, ragged, hitching in my throat as I forced myself to stand. The world tilted on its axis.
I knew this sensation.
The suppressants. I'd been doubling the dosage leading up to this, desperate to stave off the biological inevitability of the rut. But when a rut is this overdue, everyone in the vicinity could feel suffocated. The atmosphere in the cell shifted in a heartbeat. I stumbled, my vision blurring into a haze of grey and red, one hand clutching my chest where my heart was trying to hammer its way out of my sternum.
"Are you okay?" CJ's voice was a sharp whisper, laced with a paternal worry that cut through my fog. He sat up , his eyes wide as he tracked my staggering movements.
"It's... nothing," I ground out, the lie tasting like ash. I forced my leaden limbs to move toward the small, heavy door of the secluded rut room.
I reached the handle, my fingers trembling so violently I could barely grip the metal. I was about to pull it shut, to bury myself in the dark and claw through the next three days alone, when a hand caught the edge of the door.
I looked up. My breathing was labored, each gasp a struggle against the heat incinerating my insides. Kim Sol stood there, his face no longer masked by that arrogant boredom. It was etched with a raw, terrifying concern.
I tried to snarl, to tell him to get back, but my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the cold floor, my knees hitting the timber with a dull thud.
"Please... Leave!" I pleaded, the word cracking in the air. He didn't listen. He knelt in front of me, his movements fluid and feline. He didn't seem to care that the air around me was thick enough to choke a normal man.
"You're having your rut?" he asked. It wasn't a question; it was a realization. His hand came up, his palm cupping my face. His skin felt like ice against my burning flesh, a Contrast so sharp I almost sobbed.
I swallowed hard, jerking my head away to break the eye contact. The pride I'd spent years cultivating was disintegrating. "Don't do this," I begged, looking back at him through a veil of sweat. "I... I can't control it. If you stay here, you'll get hurt."
In that moment of agony, the realization hit me with more force than the rut itself: I didn't want to hurt him. For a man whose hands were stained with the blood of those he deemed "rot," the sudden, fierce desire to protect this arrogant heir was a terrifying evolution.Is this what liking someone feels like?
A fresh wave of pain shot through my chest, a jagged lightning bolt that sent me grovelling on the floor. I let out a low, animalistic growl, my fingers digging into the floorboards. The suppressants were useless. I'd pushed my body too far, delayed the cycle too long. My mind flashed to the last time this happened - the infirmary, the restraints, the days of blackout violence.
"Hyung!" Sol cried out, rushing closer on his knees, his hands hovering over my shaking frame.
"Where are your suppressants?" he demanded, his voice urgent.
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice a rasping ghost of itself. I managed to crawl further into the small room, propping my back against the far wall. The shadows here were deeper, but they offered no protection from the fire in my blood.
"The suppressants!" he shouted again, his eyes scanning the main cell.
"On... my shelf," I managed to whisper.
He didn't hesitate. He scrambled up and bolted toward the shelves. I saw my opening. With a burst of adrenaline born of pure desperation, I lunged for the door.
I saw CJ standing in the middle of the floor, his face a mask of pity. The other two were awake now, huddled together.
I slammed the door shut and threw the manual lock.
"Song Bin!"
The sound of his fist thudding against the heavy metal echoed through the small space. I heard him fumbling with the handle, twisting it frantically, but I'd already engaged the deadbolt. Only a warden's override or a code I wasn't about to give him could open it now.
I sunk to the floor, a guttural, painful growl tearing from my throat. I held my stomach, doubled over as the first true wave of the rut crashed over me. It was more intense than anything I remembered. The world became a cycle of white light and red pain. I lost track of time. I screamed until my throat was raw, the sound muffled by the soundproofed walls of the seclusion room.
I just had to hold out. Three days. I could survive three days of hell if it meant keeping him safe from the monster I became during these cycles.
Eventually, the initial peak subsided into a dull, throbbing ache. My body was spent, shivering with exhaustion as I leaned my head against the wall. I pulled a stray blanket over my shoulders, trying to find a pocket of air that didn't feel like it was boiling. I drifted into a fitful, feverish sleep.
When I opened my eyes, the silver-grey light of morning was filtering through the high, slit-like window near the ceiling.
"Song Bin."
The voice was faint, coming through the door. My heart gave a painful, rhythmic thud. He was still there? He hadn't slept?
A strange, sharp sting flared in my chest. It wasn't the rut; it was the desperation in his tone. The fever had dipped for the moment, leaving me weak but lucid. I thought that if I just showed him I was alive, he would finally go away and rest.
I staggered to my feet, my joints protesting, and clicked the lock. I opened the door just a crack, leaning my shoulder against the frame for support.
Sol was alone in the main cell. His hair, usually so perfectly coiffed, was a chaotic mess, standing up in tufts as if he'd been running his hands through it all night. The sight of him looking so unraveled because of me made that sting in my chest return ten-fold.
"I'm fine," I told him, my voice coarse and cracking.
I looked at him, truly looked at him. Why was I trying to reassure him? Was this another symptom of this "liking" nonsense?
"Let me come in," he said. His voice was no longer "corky" or playful. It was steady, confident, but his eyes were wide and pleading.
"I'm too unstable," I warned, my grip tightening on the door. "I could hurt you. My ruts aren't... they aren't normal."
"All the more reason I should be in there with you," he countered firmly. He balled his hands into fists at his sides. He locked his gaze onto mine, and I felt my knees threaten to buckle again under the sheer weight of his gaze. "Please. Let me in."
My resolve, already paper-thin from a night of agony, went soft. I nodded, just once, a tiny movement.
A shadow of a smile touched his lips, but something relieved. He slipped into the room before I could change my mind, the heavy door hissing shut behind him. He engaged the lock, sealing us into the dim, cramped space. I knew the line we were about to cross was a precipice with no return, but my mind was a haze of heat and his scentless, cooling presence.
He didn't wait. He stepped into my space, wrapping his arms around my waist in a crushing embrace. I felt myself melt instantly, my head falling onto his shoulder as I let him take my weight.
"What do you want me to do?" he whispered against the sensitive skin of my neck. His hands tightened, pulling me flush against him.
My brain was a static-filled mess. "Have you... never slept with anyone?" I tried to joke, the humor a pathetic attempt to reclaim some ground.
"I have," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "But none of them have been you."
I let go of the door and leaned my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the tiny room. "What are you doing to me?" I whispered.
I didn't wait for an answer. I crashed my lips against his in a hungry, desperate collision. The kiss was a battlefield - we fought for dominance, for air, for friction. He reciprocated with a zeal that matched my own intensity, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck as he deepened the kiss until I was tasting him, breathing him.
The hunger in me tripled. I wanted to touch every inch of him; I wanted his hands to erase the memory of the cold floor.
His lips traveled down to my neck, his teeth nibbling fiercely at my skin. I let my head fall back, exposing my throat, offering him everything. I didn't care about the consequences.
He pushed me back against the concrete wall, his hands sliding beneath my shirt. Every point of contact felt like a shockwave, a localized fire that made my skin hum. I pulled the shirt over my head and tossed it aside, my chest heaving. He followed the movement, his mouth finding my skin again while his hands roamed my torso with a desperate, frantic energy.
No one had ever touched me like this. I had always been the one in control, the one who "used" others to vent the rut. But with Sol, I was being handled, explored, and worshiped.
He dropped to his knees, his lips grazing my stomach as his hands worked at the button of my trousers. I shivered as the fabric fell away, leaving me exposed in the dim light. When his hand finally wrapped around me, I let out a broken, high-pitched moan, my head thumping back against the wall.
He wasn't much taller than me, but in this position, he felt like he commanded the entire room. He lowered me to the floor, the coolness of the timber a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. He propped my leg over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine as he leaned down.
My breath hitched as I felt his teeth graze my inner thigh. I wanted to protest, to tell him he didn't have to go this far, but the words died in my throat as he took me into his mouth. I reached down, my fingers tangling in his messy hair, intending to pull him away ,but instead, I found myself pulling him closer.
I moaned, my hips stuttering as he worked his tongue against me, sending waves of pleasure through my system that the suppressants could never touch. It was a sensory overload. I watched him, his eyes dark and focused, swallowing me, taking everything I had to give. When the peak finally hit, I gripped his hair, my back arching off the floor as I c*m, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful.
He didn't pull away. He swallowed, then looked up at me with a slow, triumphant smirk, wiping a stray drop from his lip.
"You didn't have to do that," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He just smirked more broadly. "I wanted to."
I tried to sit up, my hands reaching for him to reciprocate, but he pushed me back down with a firm hand on my chest. "I'm fine," he murmured, leaning over me to capture my mouth in another deep, searing kiss.
I could taste myself on his tongue. The shame and the excitement warred in my gut, making my head spin. He was so shameless.
"Relax," he whispered against my lips.
I felt his hand wander down my back, his fingers grazing my hip before I felt it - a sudden, cold pressure against my entrance. My breath hitched, my entire body tensing. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, my teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle a cry as I felt a finger slide inside.
The sensation was alien, a violation of the solitary fortress I'd spent my life building. My back arched, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Relax, Bin," he cooed, his voice a low, comforting vibration against my ear.
"Shouldn't I... be the one..." I groaned, the words failing me as he added a second finger.
He scoffed at my fading Alpha pride, moving his fingers with a slow, deliberate rhythm. It felt weird. It felt wrong, yet my body was responding with a treacherous, heat-soaked urgency. He continued to whisper to me, his hands on the small of my back pulling me up until I was straddling him, my face hidden in his neck to mask the sheer embarrassment of what I was allowing him to do.
"Just focus on me," he whispered.
I groaned as he found a deeper point, my grip on him tightening until I feared I might bruise him.