Chapter Text
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— THAME —
"So, we'll have roughly three weeks to finish the song and the melody…" Pepper trails off, counting something on his fingers before looking between Jun and Thame.
"Your heats are due in five, right? Can you push them back enough to get this, the MV, and a couple of weeks of press and live performances done?"
Nano and Dylan's heads swivel to face the two omegas.
Thame and Jun share a brief look.
Their heat cycles had synced up after the group was formed, back when they first started living together, and Pepper has apparently kept track closely enough to know that they've remained synced. The sort of notes he must have on his phone's calendar… Thame shudders to think.
"We'll be fine, Per," Jun assures, speaking for the both of them.
Irritating.
"I was thinking of sharing my heat with someone this time, anyway, so I'm fine to suppress a bit longer if necessary."
Thame's eyes snap back to Jun.
As idols, they already use suppressants to keep their heats to only twice a year, instead of the natural four, minimizing the disruption to their work. It would be difficult for even the maximum strength suppressants to work beyond that. But if a suppressing omega was going to share their heat with an alpha, if their body could recognize that they would be taken care of when the time came, the suppressants could be effective for a little while longer than usual.
For the first time in his life, Thame has also been considering sharing his heat with an alpha.
He knows he's moving fast, in some respects. It's only been a couple of days since he realized he likes Po like that, after all. But, in retrospect, he's already close to Po—closer than is necessary for work. All this time, they've been getting to know each other with slow and steady progress.
Maybe he's going crazy, but Thame thinks Po might like him, too. If Po only skipped his scent-blockers for one day, Thame might be able to work it out. Or at least he'd know if their scents were compatible. That recent hug would have been enough to give him some insight beyond the confirmation that Po is built like a Greek statue—his muscular form solid in Thame's embrace.
But, as it is, Thame is currently still just guessing at whether they could be more than friends.
There's also the issue of Jun.
"Who?" Thame's voice is steely, Jun's smirk looking more and more punchable by the second. The only person outside of the group that Jun has been spending any time with lately is…
"I think you already know."
Thame resists the urge to bare his teeth in response, though his brow furrows with a frown, his eyes narrowing and nose scrunching. This feeling… He's starting to understand that this is possessiveness.
"But…" What can Thame say? It's not like he and Po have put a label on what they are—if they even are something more than friends or colleagues. "He's…"
Jun's gaze is calm and unflinching with languid blinks, a challenge hidden in its quiet confidence.
Pepper clears his throat. "I– Is there a proble–"
"No!" Jun and Thame cut him off, synchronized, their eyes remaining locked until Nano waves a hand between them.
"Stop it, guys!" he whines. "Let's not fight."
And that's what this is, isn't it? It's a fight. A competition.
"We're not fighting," Jun says anyway. He rises from his beanbag, heading back towards the bedroom he shares with Thame.
Nano points after him. "Then, where are you…"
"I'm going to bed. Here, of course. I know I've been kinda in and out, but this meeting has convinced me…" He glances back over his shoulder to make eye contact with Thame again, looking down his nose at the other omega. "I need to keep an eye on my bandmates."
Just like that, they are now at war.
— PO —
"You already know about Per?" Thame asks, approaching the empty stool beside Po in the suit shop.
"Yeah," Po replies, already dreading where this is going. The similarities between Pepper's situation and Thame's are hard to ignore, even if Jun swears Thame is straight.
Po isn't sure whether he hopes that Jun is correct, or that he's wrong.
"This is what I want to talk to you about."
Thame takes a seat.
"I want to tell you in person."
If Jun is right, all of this has been in Po's head—this affection, this attention.
But if Jun got it wrong, Po already knows what choice Thame will make. Pepper is in too deep with his faen to give them up for the sake of the group, but every breath Thame breathes is for MARS. If he has to choose between Po and MARS…
"I think between us…"
The next words Thame speaks are drowned out by a loud ringing in Po's ears, piercing enough to make his eyes water.
It hurts.
He should have known it would end this way.
Po chances a glance at Thame.
"I just want to tell you to look after yourself."
The look on the omega's face is so calm. His voice is strong, his expression relaxed. There is no wobbling lip, no stress in the gentle arch of his brow, like saying it's over comes easy.
A single tear escapes Po's eye.
He doesn't dare to look at Thame again. All of his energy goes into keeping his scent neutral, for the sake of both Thame and the porous fabrics in the store. He has to keep his cool, regardless of how his heart breaks.
Po stays stock-still, staring a hole into the desk, barely allowing himself to breathe, until the omega is long gone.
Only then does he allow himself to crumble onto his desk and sob.
Even though he should have expected this, it still hurts.
— THAME —
Thame has already fucked up.
Oozing through the sterile note of scent-blockers, Po's distress is palpable as he drags his feet next to Thame, the footpath illuminated by streetlights.
Thame gulps, his stomach twisting. It feels wrong for this to be his first glimpse into Po's scent—the base notes lost to the sourness, muddied and muddled through blockers—leaving him queasy and uneasy.
A hoodie conceals the brunt of Thame's own troubled scent, the hood up to keep the fabric close to his neck. The last thing he wants right now is to influence Po with his own frustration and need.
But at least they're next to each other. At least Po hasn't shut him out entirely, even if he's the very picture of a wounded alpha with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders. His shirt is creased, and his hair isn't as neat as usual—errant strands sticking out at strange angles.
Despite it all, he's still beautiful. Still handsome.
Thame grips his drink harder, his fingers squeaking against the plastic label with the force.
I can still fix this, Thame thinks, but his mouth won't move. He can't find the words.
It's a relief when Po brings up the very thing Thame means to discuss.
"So, when you told me to take care of myself…" Po starts, looking at Thame with trepidation. His steps cease, like moving any further is impossible without an answer.
"I meant that you should be careful. We should be careful. Not…" Thame doesn't want to finish that sentence—as though it will bring bad luck to even speak those words. Even remembering that night makes it hard to speak.
When he'd told Po to look after himself, it had been a split second decision; a one-eighty turn from what he'd planned. Going to see Po that evening, the plan had been to end things. But the words wouldn't come. He couldn't make himself say anything that would push the alpha away. Was it because of Jun's apparent interest in the same man? Maybe a little. But the main factor was Thame's own infatuation. Sitting beside the alpha, he understood that his emotions couldn't be quashed. No inconvenience would be great enough to stop him from wanting.
Po nods in understanding.
“I’d get fired if people found out that we are… so close. Yeah?”
That's what they are. "So close." Not dating. Not faens. But still something. Something big enough, tangible enough, to be a threat to Thame's idol image and Po's job.
“Mm.”
Thame allows himself a small sigh of relief, Po's scent neutralizing into nothing, though he knows there's still work to be done. Clearing up one misunderstanding does not a heat partner make.
He starts walking in the direction of Po's apartment again, and Po falls into step beside him in a slow stroll.
“You aren’t walking as fast as Baifern said,” Thame comments between sips of his drink.
“Well, you’re walking at this speed.”
Thame's inner omega swoons.
It's so frustratingly, wonderfully charming for Po to be so considerate. But Thame is the one who's meant to be doing the wooing here, not Po.
"Try walking at your own speed," Thame says.
“But…”
Thame bumps his shoulder. “You don’t need to follow my lead, okay? Just be yourself.”
I'm sorry. I want only you.
•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•
“Thanks for walking me home.”
Thame smiles. “Mm.”
His mind and scent brighter, Thame had let the hood of his hoodie fall from his head towards the end of their walk, now allowing a clearer view of his neck. It's totally unblemished, unlike Jun’s.
The mark on Jun’s neck is too far from the center of his scent gland to signify a proper bond, but close enough that it will never heal, marking him as taken in a way that is totally unbefitting of an idol. But, in its own way, it has become part of why the audience loves Jun—the mystery, the theories.
But Thame? He's as pure and virginal as they come. Not that he's ever made a point of showing it off. Until now.
“You should go back now,” Po says, his eyes flickering to Thame’s neck for the briefest moment. It's the most interest he's seen from Po all evening. Maybe the most interest ever.
“I know,” replies Thame, remaining in place to watch Po walk away and round a corner.
… Within a matter of seconds, Po is back, peeking around the corner at him.
“Why haven’t you left yet?”
“Why did you come back to check if I’d left?” Thame counters.
Po walks to him again, his eyes down. He toys with the strap of his backpack, a nervous gesture Thame can't help but find endearing. For an alpha, Po has such delicate, poised hands, and such a gentle disposition. He's cute.
“Well, I just wanted to know if you’d left already. And you haven’t. So…”
He so cute.
“So…?” Thame queries, leaning down to put himself in Po’s field of vision properly and meet his eye.
“I’m an alpha, you’re an omega. But you walked me home.”
It takes Thame a moment to understand what Po is getting at—that Po’s alpha instincts are at war with his generally meek nature. Some part of Po wants to be the one caring for Thame, not the other way around.
A curl of heat settles in Thame’s abdomen, his omega pleased.
“Come on then. Walk me to the bus stop–” Thame winks– “Alpha.”
It's so satisfying to see how Po blushes at the word.
Thame puts his hood back up again, under the guise of not being spotted in public. Really, it's to keep his pleased scent contained.
•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•
When they reach Thame’s bus stop, a similar predicament surfaces…
Thame’s inner omega isn't thrilled at the prospect of Po going back home alone. In fact, his omega is throwing a fit—banging their head against a wall, wailing, stomping their feet—at the idea of saying “goodnight” to Po right now. His omega is insecure and unsatisfied, still wanting more.
Another omega could steal this alpha if they part ways now. Someone else could do with Po what Thame so desperately wants.
The bus comes.
Thame’s feet refuse to move.
The bus leaves.
“Can I walk you home again?”
Po nods and Thame’s inner omega stops crying. For now.
•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•
Thame can no longer count how many times they’ve walked between the bus stop and Po’s apartment, talking about nothing and everything, occasionally racing each other to the end of the street just for an excuse to grab and shove at one another. They only grapple at where clothes cover their skin, like touching directly would be too much, too electric.
To be fair, despite how Thame craves more, this already feels like a lot. Despite the suppressants in his system, his heart rate pounds faster than their play-fighting can warrant, the scent glands on his neck, wrists, and thighs wet with the oil of his pheromones as well as sweat.
He wants a shower. He wants to take his clothes off. Preferably in Po’s presence.
He wants Po’s clothes gone, too, and to wash off the pesky scent-blockers.
He wants to know Po. True scent and all.
Logically, Thame understands (and approves of) why Po uses scent-blockers. It's what polite, thoughtful alphas do. It allows other subgenders to work with alphas without as much risk of a power imbalance or coercion.
But, right now, Thame hates it—the blocking body wash he must bathe with, the extra scent-blocking ointment he’s caught Po applying every couple of hours throughout their average work day. It's some sick type of torture not to be able to smell him; to not know if his feelings are reciprocated.
Words, actions… they can be lies.
Scents can't be anything but honest.
They've been walking (and running and playing) long enough that Po's base scent is starting to bleed through—replacing the previous bitter odor of his anxiety. Occasionally, when the breeze hits just right, something sweet now hits Thame's nose, but it's not enough. It's still too slight to identify.
Every time they've reached Po's apartment complex, the words have been on the tip of Thame’s tongue—“Can I come in? Could I spend the night? I think– I know I like you, so please…”
But it's too improper, too forward, when he’s never even smelled Po’s true scent. How could he proposition him like that without knowing? Or, more specifically, how could a nervous yet yearning virgin omega proposition an alpha they’ve never known the scent of?
Sure, it's the twenty-first century and people can do as they please, regardless of secondary gender, but being so brash isn't in Thame’s nature as a person. He's gentle. He wants to meet Po halfway, not pressure him. Without Po’s scent to guide him, Thame’s own mind clouded by thoughts of his impending heat and his little competition with Jun, he might not be able to tell how far is too far to push. But asking to stay the night definitely felt like it's on the line, if not over.
So, instead, Thame chokes out, “Can Phi walk me to the bus stop one more time?”
This time will have to be last. Thame can't draw this out any longer, even if his inner omega is still whining about the prospect of them each going home alone.
It takes conscious effort to remind himself that tonight is still progress; it's still quality time with Po, alone. He's still cleared the air the way he wanted to.
His undoing is on the bridge, with a hint of Po's scent caught in his nose.
"Pepper told me that, when we’re outside, we must keep a 5-meter distance. So we won’t get caught," Thame reveals. Much like when he'd come close to ending things with Po, his heart is in his throat. Even more so now he knows how easily his words could be misinterpreted.
He stops walking, and the alpha takes only two more steps before turning back to face him.
"Caught?"
His expression carries none of the frailness it had before. Po looks curious and hopeful instead, like he's waiting for Thame to admit something more.
"Caught for… Forget about it."
The thrill of the chase, of words left unsaid, is just as poignant as spilling his heart would be.
"And do we need to keep that distance?" Po asks, already standing too close, like he's already confident of the answer. It's intoxicating to see the alpha like this. It makes it hard to stick to Pepper's advice.
"Well…" Thame nods and smiles, though he balls his hands in his jacket pockets, crushing the contents in sweaty palms. "We should, but…"
Is he about to risk it all for this man?
Wait, oww, what is that?
When something digs into his hands, he pulls it out to inspect the offending item.
Movie tickets.
"We had time. We should have watched the movie… But we won't make it in time now," he mostly says to himself. That probably would have been a better way to spend the evening than walking back and forth for hours.
Po looks at him like he just promised him the moon.
"Shall we watch it next week?" Thame asks.
Po sways from one foot to the other like he intends to lean in, the apples of his cheeks swelling with a smile. He hums in agreement. There's another waft of that sweetness, that crispness, in the air.
It's all too easy.
Po reaches out to take one of the tickets.
Thame pulls his hand back at the last second.
The alpha stumbles into him, his neck coming close to Thame's face.
Thame can smell Po. Really smell him.
His breath stutters on his next inhale.
Apples.
Po smells like green apples.
It's odd. For an alpha. Most alphas smell like fire. Gasoline, wood, a lit match, melting wax. All of that “sensual” macho crap that omegas are meant to go heat-crazy for.
But Po’s scent is perfect in its peculiarity, complimenting Thame’s usual vanilla scent and the candy-sweet note of his want—growing sweeter still at finally knowing Po's.
It's obvious the moment the sweetness hits Po's nose.
The hood of Thame's hoodie must have fallen.
Thame watches Po's eyes dilate, his vision settling on Thame's throat, his adam's apple bobbing like he can swallow Thame's scent whole if he gulps hard enough.
He's probably not even aware of how his own, now less restrained, scent changes in response to Thame's. What first smelled like apples becomes an orchard, the trees heavy-laden with fruits.
Thame licks his lips, wanting to taste.
Do I…?
Leaning in a little closer, Thame lets the scent settle inside of him.
"Let’s not keep a 5-meter distance."
Thame shouldn't be deciding this for them both. But Po doesn't look off-put. In fact, his gaze darkens.
Voice quietened into a whisper that is only for the two of them, Thame admits, "Even five centimeters feels too far apart."
The look in Po's eye suggests he agrees. He looks ready to take Thame home.
Thame wants that.
But not tonight.
It's too soon. He's not ready. His schedule is packed tomorrow and there's no telling what will happen if he, an omega close to heat, lets Po…
“Well!" Thame blurts. "I can walk the rest of the way by myself. Goodnight, Phi!”
Po blearily blinks up at him, the intensity of his gaze not fully dissipating despite the clear change in Thame's tone. He appears stupefied by Thame's confession. Thame barely feels any better put-together than him.
The alpha mumbles something like, “Hm? Mm… Mmm. Goodnight, Thame.” And Thame has to leave before the urge to jump into Po's arms becomes too strong to ignore.
— PO —
Po is throwing his bag off and unbuttoning his pants with shaking hands the second he's through his apartment door, palming his hard-on through his underwear.
Shit.
He’s never experienced anything like this. No scent had ever affected him like this.
“T… Thame,” Po grits out, his hips bucking into his own rough touch.
Thame’s scent had turned sugary by the time they’d finally said goodnight, taking Po from feeling protective to ready to procreate in point two seconds, flat.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Po can still picture how the pheromones dripped from Thame's glands like a syrupy aphrodisiac, begging for Po to taste. All it would have taken was a goodnight hug. A kiss. Anything to get him close enough to lean in and–
"Ngghhh!"
He collapses back against the door of his apartment, his knees buckling.
If just his smell can affect Po so much, there's no way he would have been able to stop at a taste. He would have invited Thame up to his apartment, or asked to go back with Thame, once he'd gotten his lips on that sweet nectar.
It was so hard to resist his instincts, to let Thame go home alone, and now Po is hard—achingly so—just thinking about it. If Thame's neck was so saturated with pheromones, then all of his glands must have been wet with it. His wrists, his thighs.
With a thud, Po throws his head back against the wood with a moan. Thinking about Thame’s thighs makes it all too easy for his mind to drift to what pleasure lays between them. How Po wants to lay between them.
Po shoves one hand into his underwear to pull himself out. His other hand grabs a fistful of his own shirt and he shoves it into his mouth, hoping to catch a morsel of Thame’s lingering scent on the fabric from their roughhousing.
Crap.
Po's underwear is soaked with precum—more than he can ever remember feeling before. As fast as he thumbs the tip of his cock to slick his hand with it, more beads form, his grip quickly becoming as wet as… well… As wet as what he's imagining—Thame around him, moaning, while that sweet, vanilla smell pours off of him in waves.
Thame would tilt his head, asking, begging.
Po would lean down, brushing his lips over his neck.
A whine falls from Po’s lips, his hand flying over his cock.
Po would bite.
Po comes over his fist as he sinks his teeth into the fabric of his shirt, imagining Thame on his tongue—his scent slipping down his throat like the smoothest liquor.
It feels like he's coming forever, his jaw clenched, his cock pulsing, his breaths falling in harsh whimpers. But, eventually, it subsides, leaving him dizzy in the aftermath.
Po spits the sodden fabric from his mouth to catch his breath properly, letting his legs finally give way so he can sink to the floor, his eyes peeling open.
Opening his eyes so soon is definitely a mistake.
He groans. The endorphins from his orgasm dissipate into embarrassment at the sheer amount of mess he’s created. His release paints the floor, his shoes, his backpack, and– is that– ?
Squinting, Po is horrified to confirm that he’s somehow splattered his dining table, too; his translucent seed dripping from the edge of it right in his line of sight.
If it wasn’t for the state of his hands, he’d facepalm.
But, on reflection, this is probably all his own fault and could have been avoided. With his recent breakup, the new job, and all of the stress of trying to get MARS back together, it's been a while since Po has… relieved himself, so to speak. So that's probably why there's… so much… stuff… and why he’d reacted so strongly to Thame’s–
"Ah!"
Yeah. No. Po can't think about Thame's scent right now. His dick twitches in interest at the mere thought.
Reluctantly, Po pulls himself up to his feet, dodging as much of the… yeah, as possible to make his way to the kitchen and grab cleaning supplies. He simply isn't going to think about what just happened. He just isn't. It was a biological reaction to being too pent up and being around a guy he likes, who happens to sometimes smell like sugar cookies. But now he’s gotten that out of his system and it will not happen again.
Po isn't the type to goon over something so base, anyway. He is a respectful, well-behaved alpha who never lets himself be reduced pure instinct.
He keeps telling himself as he mops the cum from his floor and his dining table, muttering it under his breath sheepishly.
It's going to be hard to make eye contact with Thame the next time they see each other.
— THAME —
It's late, far later than when he'd usually get back, and Thame is still high on Po's scent. He's almost giddy in anticipation for how Jun might react when he sees him. Even more so for when he smells him.
Thame walks into the room, his countenance measured—slightly smug, but tamped down into something falsely-friendly and neutral.
He looks down at Jun, the man in question already in bed, snuggled up with a blanket. The lamp on the set of drawers between their beds is still on, lighting up Jun's skin in golden shades everywhere the glare from his phone hasn't turned ghostly.
Jun doesn't look at him. But his scrolling ceases, his whole body going still.
The corner of Thame's lip curls up in a smirk.
I’m the one coming home smelling like my alpha.
It's clear from his scent who he's been with. Even if the smell of green apples is new, no one else they spend time with wears that brand of scent-blocker.
Jun must know.
One sniff.
A rumble emanates from Jun. Almost a growl. Or, no, it's…
A purr.
Jun finally looks up at Thame, nostrils flaring and eyes softly searching, the sound from his chest growing in volume. His phone gets dropped somewhere on the bed as he peels back the covers and stares.
Like a predator locking onto its prey, Jun leans forward, stalking across his bed on all fours.
In shock, Thame stumbles back a step, his back hitting the door with an audible thud.
He's never seen Jun like this. Not outside of a heat.
Their shared room at the group house meant that they'd often nested together in the past—sometimes in their own beds, sometimes sliding their beds together to create the ultimate nest, although they kept the majority of their possessions to their own sides. It helped to have another omega around, someone to talk to and watch movies with when they felt okay, acting as a soothing presence between waves of heat-sickness.
But when their instincts started to crave something else, something more explicit, they would deal with it independently. That was the norm for heat-sharing omegas; to only touch platonically, and only when clearheaded. Most heat-sharing omegas would probably also give each other privacy when they need to jerk off or shove something up their ass, but that had sort of gone out of the window with Jun and Thame. Not on purpose. It's just… It took brain power to remember to build a wall of pillows between them each time they needed relief.
As far as Thame is concerned, "heat-sickness" and "brain power" are pretty much mutually exclusive.
So what if they cuddled occasionally while they jacked off? It's not like they actually touched each other anywhere explicit, apart from the occasional accidental brush. It was merely easier to stay close. That was all.
Thame would be lying if he said he didn't miss Jun's company in his last heat. Not that the heat before that had been particularly pleasant either.
Jun had invited Dylan, a beta, to join his heat. His heat alone. Even though Thame was in the room. As bandmates—and packmates—it was a shitty move, at best. It showed Jun as an inconsiderate asshole, at worst.
They were loud. The way they had fucked, the noises Jun had made, Thame would have believed Dylan was an alpha if he hadn't witnesses his knotless cock sinking into Jun, plowing him into his twin mattress, with his own eyes.
Not that he'd looked intentionally. It had been simple heat-sickness driving his curiosity. And it must have been heat-sickness that drove Jun to seek out Thame all the while—for comfort and familiarity, Thame is sure—their hazy eyes meeting as he came on Dylan's cock.
But there is no heat-sickness in Jun's eyes now, although his spicy, cinnamon scent cranks up to a level that can only mean one thing: he's dripping slick. He's as sweet with it.
Thame takes a deep breath. It's been so long since he's smelled the fiery heat of Jun's desire, the note of sweetness reminding him of the throes of his own passion. That's why he likes it—why his body is reacting to it now. The memories of Jun's face twisted in pleasure are irrelevant.
That's what he tells himself.
Jun stands inches from him, his head tilted like he intends to lean into Thame's neck and… and…
"J– Jun?" Thame squeaks.
In a blink, Jun's purring stops. The omega mutters a "sorry" as he bullies his way past Thame and out of the room, heading for the garden.
Only once Jun is out of sight does Thame look down at his confusing semi like he can will it away by glaring at it.
His sigh comes out more of a grunt, frustrated and perplexed.
The evening had been going so well, too…
— PO —
[Thame_Teema sent 5 photos]
Thame_Teema: I went to the supermarket
Po smiles and shakes his head, strolling towards his apartment block.
Thame has started doing this lately—sending him photos of what he’s been up to, no matter how mundane, and asking Po to do the same in return. It's cute. Sweet. Like Thame’s scent has turned recently.
His ears heat at the memory of what happened after he’d gotten a nose-full of Thame’s scent for the first time. He's barely seen him since then, but each time, it's been a struggle to keep his thoughts pure. Although, luckily, there hasn't been a repeat of–
“Are you smiling at me?”
When Po looks up, his grin drops.
Jun.
This is the second time the omega has sneaked up on him in such a way, and it's no less irritating this time around.
Po shifts on the spot, annoyed and then immediately awkward under the omega's intense gaze. It's the type of look where it feels like Jun is trying to read his mind. Which wouldn't be ideal, given the thoughts Po was just having.
“W– Who would smile at someone like you?” Po goads, the crack in his voice betraying him.
Jun frowns, his eye darting down for a moment before meeting Po's again.
“I smiled because…” What can Po even say? Jun already suggested that Po should back off from Thame, so it would do no good to mention him.
Subconsciously, Po grips his phone tighter.
“You miss Thame, don’t you?” Jun cuts him off, smirking, though there's a note of hurt in his tone that has Po's brow twitching with confusion. That sound—so like jealousy—doesn't belong in Jun's voice. It's not like Jun has feelings for him. All of this flirty nonsense is clearly an act designed to irritate Po.
“Am I not allowed to even miss him?”
If Po were more observant, he might notice the tension in Jun’s jaw, the way he grinds his teeth, his eyes as sharp and calculating. As it is, Po only sees Jun taking a moment to think before replying, “Well, how’s about you work close to him if you miss him that bad?”
Untrusting, Po narrows his eyes, although it's an interesting offer.
“What do you mean?”
He knows better than to get too excited before Jun gives all the details.
The man in question tilts his head back, exposing the scent glands on his neck, but it can't be on purpose. It must just be a habit he has. Maybe it's something he does, as an idol, to draw in fans. It's not meant for Po. It can't be.
The action highlights the scar on the edge of his right scent gland, glistening when it catches the light, a physical reminder that he's taken. Off the market. Not available. That he must already have someone who likes him, who he likes.
And it's not me.
The thought pops into Po's head unbidden, though he quickly brushes it aside. He must be super tired (and pent up) if even Jun—annoying, cocky Jun—is looking appealing to him.
“I’m now in charge of that MV thing. Do you want to help me, so you’ll have a reason to hang with us?”
Po smiles despite himself, big and bright, his unease pushed into the background. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. This is perfect. This will give him time with Thame.
“Are you serious, Jun?”
Jun nods. “But I have one condition: you must really help me ideate and work on it. You can't just sit around making doe eyes at Thame all day."
Po deflates as quickly as he'd become enthused, and he fiddles with a strap of his backpack, his shoulders sinking. “But… I’m not that good at that type of work. Also… this is an important task, isn’t it?”
Jun snaps, “So? Does that mean you don’t want to stay close to Thame? Would you rather stay close to m–”
“I want to!” Po cuts him off. “But do you think it’s a good idea to let me do such important work?”
Jun bites his lip so hard that it must hurt, the flesh turning white, though he seems to pay it no mind.
Weird.
“So, you don’t want to stay close to us?” Jun reiterates, not answering Po’s question in the slightest.
“That’s not what I mean! But… I mean…”
“Oiii! You’re so annoying!” Jun crosses his arms. “Don’t take too long to make a decision, okay? I’m giving you the chance to spend time with Thame, so will you take it or not?”
Po blinks, trying to think it over logically instead of letting his frustration with Jun make the decision for him. It's a compelling proposition, for sure, even if there's clearly something Jun isn't saying.
“Why do you always use Thame as bait?”
“It always works, doesn’t it?”
Po can’t really fault him there.
He lets out a breath, trying to picture his agitation leaving with it. It's somewhat successful, though he still feels that this discussion could have been a phone call. Jun does have his number, after all. And, that way, he wouldn't have needed to see his stupid, apparently handsome face.
“Fine. I’ll help.”
“Deal,” Jun says, pleased, before resting a hand on Po’s shoulder. “It’s settled, then. I’ll send you references. Work hard, okay? And if you don’t do it well and it’s not impressive…”
Jun's hand travels up to pat Po’s cheek, bringing the scent gland of his wrist close to Po’s face. Covered as it is by his sleeve, Po can't smell him beyond his usual slightly spicy scent—vague and unremarkable. But, inexplicably… Po's instincts… call for him to lean in… and…
“Thame will certainly be mad at you if you mess this up.”
“You!” Po slaps his hand away.
Jun’s smile grows, showing off his perfect teeth.
Po whines, “Don’t you think I have my own work to handle too, huh?”
“What work? You don’t usually work. I’ve never seen you work.”
Jun turns to walk away in his typical swaggering fashion, but perhaps with a little more hip swaying than usual. He calls back over his shoulder, “But I’ll help you out with whatever you need, so don’t worry. You can just owe me one, okay?”
Clenching his fists and biting his tongue, Po resists the childish urge to argue back.
He’s so…
— THAME —
The second time Thame smells Po's scent, it's on Jun.
Jun saunters into their bedroom, his gait confident and even, his expression placid.
But his shoulders. The way his eyes keep flitting to Thame. There's tension there—a hesitation written in how he quickly gathers some pajamas before rushing off to the en-suite bathroom to change.
It's a far cry from the smug smirk he'd be expecting from Jun. They are drawing now, after all, their scores tied in Thame's mind after each coming home smelling like Po once.
Left alone in their bedroom, Thame decides to call Po. Definitely not to prove his closeness to him. Definitely not with the hope that Jun will come back and hear it for himself.
"Hey," Thame greets when Po picks up, trying to act casual.
“Mm. Hi,” Po replies, though his eyes already start drifting back to something else.
Work? Unless he's messaging Jun on his laptop?
From a quick scan around the room, Thame can't see Jun's phone. So there's a chance he has it with him. While he's in the bathroom. Changing. Possibly naked.
From the looks of it, Po hasn't gotten changed since he got home…
A strange feeling settles in Thame's gut, envy and desire rolled into one, not quite any one emotion. He wants to know what Po smells like right now. He's interested in whether Jun's scent, mild as it has been today with the scent-masking spray they both use, is clinging to Po's sweet apple scent.
Thame rests a hand on his chest, willing his wildly beating heart to be still. He's never known jealousy quite like this.
“Are you still working? It’s so late…”
“Mm. Stuff for Mick. Tight deadline. Sorry.”
It should be reassuring that he's not talking to Jun. Somehow, it feels like little relief—Thame's omega still wanting to cry at the injustice of it all. Jun had spent time with Po today, while Thame hadn't been able to. It was unfair.
Like the desire to press on a bruise, Thame can't help but inquire, “Jun already told you to help with the MV, right?”
React like you always do when it comes to Jun. Show me nothing's changed.
“Y– Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll give it my all,” Po replies, still focusing on his work for Mick.
There's no eye-roll, no sigh, no tension in his expression.
Thame’s stomach continues to twist.
“This won’t make things harder for you, right?” Thame prods.
This won’t take you away from me, will it?
“It won’t. I won’t disappoint you.”
Thame can only hope that they're on the same page.
— PO —
Po barely makes it through the door of the group's house before Jun is grabbing him, wrapping a hand around his wrist. If it wasn't for the way his fingertips dig into the scent gland, like he's trying to pull his scent straight from the source, Po would think it was an accident.
As it is, Po is left speechless at the bold show of ownership from the omega, his eyes flitting to Thame in panic.
“It took you ages to get here. Come now! Let’s see what work you’ve gotten done today.”
Jun grips tighter, pulling him past the others and towards the dining room before anyone can object. Verbally object, that is. Thame's scent grows strong and burnt, his eyes locked on where Jun's hand is fixed to Po's wrist.
Still, a part of Po can't bring himself to pull away. He doesn't want to cause a scene. It's not like Jun is hurting him. He's just… holding his wrist. It won't be for long. It surely means nothing to Jun.
He spares Thame a sympathetic glance as he's whisked by, though Jun's scent muddles his thoughts.
His scent.
Jun must normally use blockers, because today his scent is very… present.
He smells like cinnamon.
Spicy and warm, sharp yet sweet.
It hits Po. Hard.
Po has always known that Thame smells good, but the sweeter side of his scent had been a whole revelation of its own on the night of The Great Bus Stop Walk of 2025 (and the following Shame Wank of 2025). This revelation—this sudden knowledge of Jun's soul in scent—feels surprisingly, confusingly similar.
Another inhale and it fills Po's entire being; spreads from his head to his toes, his blood fizzling with electricity, his heart beating like a drum. All the air around him becomes Jun, Jun, Jun.
Po gulps self-consciously, aware of how his cock stirs in interest, but all he can do is ignore it. Pretend it's not happening.
As they sit down at the table, Jun sitting as close as possible without their skin touching, the warm aroma engulfs him like a blanket. Jun’s thigh is an inch from Po’s while they both look at Po’s work on his laptop, and Jun’s left elbow nearly nudges Po’s right where it lay upon the table.
Jun is already complaining about something, but it takes a while for Po to get used to his scent enough to pay attention.
“Why are you here so late?”
“You ever heard of traffic?” Po responds.
Despite the tantalizing smell around him, Po tries to interact with Jun like normal—countering him, bickering with him, as they get to work. It's easier than Po thought it would be when he allows his inner alpha to feel satisfied about the situation; that there's an omega who can be so at ease with him. An omega who has invited him into his space, pulled him into it, to be alone together, sitting close enough that he'd barely need to reach out in order to touch. An omega who has a pleasant, satisfied scent pouring off of them in buckets despite the foulness of their words.
Thame's scent growing sweeter, a new tension in Thame's frame, and this—Jun. It's like something has shifted, suddenly, for no reason that Po can ascertain. Both Jun and Thame want time with him now. Alone. Totally unsupervised by company staff or other band members.
With Thame, it makes sense. Thame likes him.
But Jun?
Jun has always had that nasty habit of dragging him out to the stairwell to talk. But that was purely about work—about being able to commune somewhere that they wouldn't be caught or overheard. And now…
Po dares to lean in closer to Jun under the guise of looking at something on the screen, though he can't stop himself glancing at the omega as he rattles on about something. It's the most focused Po has ever seen him. Probably the first time he's really seen him work instead of just flirting with or pissing off whoever he's meant to be working with.
For a brief moment, their eyes meet.
Jun doesn't flinch at their new closeness, but he doesn't show any signs that he likes it either.
How does Jun feel?
— THAME —
Thame observes from the doorway with the rest of the group, watching the scene in front of them unfold. He's not-so silently fuming, a low growl working its way out from his chest when Jun’s hand brushes Po’s on the table.
He’s mine.
Thame has a right to make that claim. Or does he? Po looks just as comfortable with Jun as he’d been with him. Thame had even heard Jun call Po “Babe” on the phone the other day, the cheeky bastard. Maybe they're even closer than Thame thought.
His omega prickles further when Po moves closer.
“It seems like he’s trying to mess with you,” Pepper states the obvious, then takes a few sniffs of the air. “And it’s working?”
For even Pepper, a beta, to notice Thame’s irritated scent means he must be stinking up the entire house.
“He never stops behaving badly,” Dylan chimes in, sounding somewhere between impressed and bitter. “Back when I started to get close with Thame, he did the same thing to me.”
It was no secret that Jun had grown possessive over the beta back when Dylan used to spend more time with Thame. Or try to spend more time with Thame, might be more accurate. Jun would steal him away as often as he could, inviting Dylan out, giving him attention to keep him away from Thame. Despite Dylan being a beta, Jun's behavior reeked inexplicably of jealousy that Thame has never been able to unpick the reason for. They're bandmates. They're packmates. What's the problem with them all getting along?
A year ago had been the fated heat—Jun inviting Dylan to stay with him, and Thame unwilling to find anywhere else to nest on such short notice.
That had also been when Jun acquired the mark on his scent gland. He'd been furious once his heat was over, shouting loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “How am I meant to be an idol now, hah? With this fuckin’ bond mark?”
“But you begged for it, you asshole!” Dylan had bellowed.
It had brought an abrupt end to things between the pair, and it wasn't long before the whole group had started to fall apart.
Thame can hear Dylan grinding his teeth next to him, possibly even more displeased than Thame himself. If the beta had pheromones, they would surely be oozing volatility and danger right now.
“Oh!” Pepper interrupts the pair’s stewing. “Thame, you should brief Po on the song. The song and the MV have to be done together anyway.”
It's clear that Po and Jun are still talking—that Thame entering the room would be an interruption. But that’s exactly what Thame needs to be.
“Go already!” With a friendly shove from Pepper, Thame unlocks his knees and dares to enter the battlefield that is the group’s dining room.
The tension in the room increases tenfold by the time Thame is standing at Po’s side, their eyes locked. He can't look away. Po is the only thing keeping him grounded against the heavy scent of juicy apples and soft, sweet spices. It's pleasant to a point that's almost overwhelming, even if a fiery note of challenge arises in the cinnamon tang.
Thame's own scent wavers between burnt sugar and warm vanilla—jealous, yet sweet enough to coax more of the delicious pheromones from the men before hi–
His brow twitches as he stops that thought and corrects it.
From Po.
He's only interested in Po's scent. Just Po.
Thame keeps his eyes on Po, wishing for the same devotion from him. Willing him, Look at me. Look only at me.
“You don’t need to brief him,” Jun pipes up. “I already did that yesterday.”
I was here first, is all Thame hears. You lose.
Jun continues, “It’s my work, so I can handle it myself. You’re busy, aren’t you? Go do your own work.”
Po looks like he wants to interject, his mouth opening… but then snapping shut.
He’s picking him.
“Go,” Jun demands. “Go on.”
Thame finally looks at Jun, taking in his outfit for the first time today, and his inner omega promptly decides he can’t move from this spot. He will never move again by choice unless it's at Po’s instruction, at his insistence, his command.
Unlike the freshly washed hoodie Thame is wearing, Jun is in an old, gray cardigan. Sure, the white t-shirt underneath is new, but that cardigan… It's the one he always wears around his heats; the only thing soft enough for him to withstand across his torso between bouts of heat-sickness. Despite being washed regularly, the scent of his heat still saturates the fabric—his passion, his desperation, his need. And he's wrapped in it. Almost wrapping Po in it with how close they're sitting.
“Jun!” Po admonishes softly, too softly, before meeting Thame’s eye.
“I want to brief you on it anyway,” Thame mutters, his anxiety rising. He's losing. Po is being too nice to Jun, too forgiving, and Thame is going to be alone during his heat.
With teeth bared, Jun growls, “It’s. My. Work. Or are you going to brief us both? Go on! Brief me on it then, will you?”
Thame stands his ground, though his legs shake.
I’m not going to be alone.
Jun moves to stand.
“Okay, you and me, let’s do it now. Let’s go.” He storms around the table to Thame, purposefully brushing past Po in the process. “What’s your brief? Come here.”
The way he grabs Thame is the same way he'd grabbed Po: a hand around his wrist, finger pads pawing at where scented oil has slicked Thame's skin. It must be the same hand as Jun had used with Thame—the touch like an injection of green apples right into his skin.
It's for that reason alone that Thame allows himself to be dragged out of the room.
What Thame expects is to be dragged to their shared bedroom.
Instead, he's pulled into Dylan's room. It's the nearest to the dining room. Like Jun doesn't want to go further from Po than necessary.
The hand vanishes from his wrist and he instantly mourns the loss, Jun moving to cross his arms instead. Thame watches how he rubs his fingertips, now wet with Thame's scent, against the fabric of his cardigan—his heat cardigan—like he's trying to blend their pheromones together, despite Thame stinking of burnt sugar and sour candy.
Thame's brow furrows at how his inner omega wants to purr at the thoughts of their scents combining. It's likely Jun just wanted to clean his hands. It means nothing.
Jun's voice brings him back to the matter at hand:
“Go on then. Brief me.”
One deep breath and Thame begins. He lists all of the details he’d planned to share with Po, the direction he feels the song is going in.
Jun's mouth is a small smile when he's finished—not unkind but sympathetic, somehow sad. It's weird to see that expression on the face of a man usually so snide.
“What?” Thame queries.
“You don’t understand Po at all, do you?” Jun mutters, slowly stepping close enough that Thame almost goes cross-eyed looking at him. One breath in and Jun's scent overcomes him, cloying and thick, comforting but rough at the edges with something Thame can't decipher.
“It’s no wonder you don't understand me either.”
His ears start ringing. The world in front of him blurs.
The next thing Thame registers is the door slamming shut again.
Now, he's alone.
Thame clenches his fists by his sides, willing himself not to cry or scream, although the frustration is eating him alive.
Why, now that they are after the same alpha, do things feel so wrong between them? Will winning Po's heart make this feeling go away? Stop Jun from acting like this?
Thame chews at his lip, staring hard at the closed door.
There's only one way to find out.
— PO —
After an hour or so of Jun belittling him and putting down his ideas, Po is glad to be leaving. Sort of. It means leaving the little bubble of cinnamon and spices. But it also means not having to deal with his complaints anymore.
Or, it would mean that, if Jun wasn't following him out of the house, putting his shoes on next to Po, like he's about to walk him home. Like they're… something more than colleagues.
"You're such a liar," Po spits, the rage that had been somewhat mollified by Jun's concentrated scent coming back full force now they're outside, in open air.
Jun's eyes go wide at the outburst, and Po reigns in his emotions as best he can. As an alpha, a gentlemanly one at least, Po has worked hard since he presented to keep himself in check—not give in to the predisposed temper associated with his secondary gender. He's always wanted to be one of those good alphas, who could almost fly under the radar as a beta for being so level-headed and calm. It's why he applies scent-blocking ointment through the workday, why he's found ways to manage his emotions, why he makes a conscious effort to speak softly…
But Jun appears determined to push every button Po has and then some, and still, for the life of him, Po can't understand why.
“You said you’d have me do the work so I could stay with Thame, but you kept us apart all day. You’re clearly deceiving me.”
For what purpose? To piss me off? To piss Thame off? Is he still mad at Thame?
Jun puts a hand over his heart in an exaggerated show of offense.
“Deceiving? Nonsense! I asked you to help with the MV concept. But look at you, always asking for Thame. Can you really become a director with this lack of focus, hah? Also, if you had listened to his brief, the work wouldn’t get done. Do you even know what Thame was going to tell you?”
“What?” Po responds, agitated.
The words that leave Jun’s mouth for the next thirty seconds might as well have been in Latin—something about a “paradiddle,” whatever the heck that is, and a bunch of other hard to pronounce things.
When he's done, Jun smirks.
“Did you understand any of that?”
Po admits defeat. “N… No."
“See? That’s why I had to listen to the brief myself…” Jun points a finger at his own chest, drawing Po’s attention with the accentuated action. He watches, enthralled, as the unexpectedly dainty finger moves to point towards him instead. “And then turn it into something that would make sense to you.”
A lightning bolt of sensation floods through Po when Jun’s finger finally touches the center of his chest. It's only a fingertip, pressed to the fabric of his shirt, but it feels like it goes right into his veins. It holds weight. It has meaning. It means…
Po’s eyes dart between Jun’s, searching for answers.
The finger against his chest moves away and Po sways after it despite himself, chasing more.
Jun’s voice is softer, deeper, when he speaks again.
“Do you get it now? Why I’m doing this?”
The careful distance between them is back, the pair wrapped around each other but not, always a hair’s breadth from touching.
Po forgot to reapply his blocker while in the house, and now he feels exposed. His open over-shirt, his rolled up sleeves—too many of his scent glands are in the open. With his scent-blockers wearing off, his emotions are likely becoming easier for Jun to read from his wrists and his neck.
In comparison, Jun is swaddled in fabric, even his neck partially covered. Despite the heat of the early evening, he's kept that thick cardigan on, the one that smells like–
“No,” Po answers bluntly.
Jun looks down for only a moment, a bittersweet pull to his lips, his usual confident act slipping. The expression on his face is raw defeat.
Under his breath, he mutters something—"You and Thame… bad as each other…"?
When Jun meets his eye again, that usual rambunctious spark is still missing, his teasing tone not quite sounding genuine.
“Anyway, send me the correct references for the MV. Keep them coming until I say so. I’ll be waiting for them tonight, okay?”
Po wants to know what caused this change. Po's alpha wants to know. There's an odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the omega's flat tone. But it's not his place to ask… Is it?
"Can I send them to you tomorrow?" Po asks, for both Jun's sake and his own. Jun looks like he could use a night off—dark circles under his eyes that Po somehow hadn't noticed before.
As for Po, he needs a shower and maybe to jerk off. Maybe the other way around for the sake of not needing to wash up twice. Not that he wants to get off to Jun's scent. But it's on him and it's in his nose and it's driving him nuts. Not that that means anything. Sometimes scents are just nice. Like everyone gets told by their sex ed teachers.
Luckily, he's got a more socially acceptable excuse to give Jun:
“Mick has assigned me extra work. I have to send him the subtitles tomorrow, so I need to work on them tonight.”
Jun’s usual foul glare is back, which is good. Bad, because it means Po is being scolded again, but good. Po knows how to handle being scolded more than he knows what to do with Jun's previous expression.
“This is annoying. You have too many excuses, Phi. When are we getting serious about this work, huh?”
“Excuses? No, I really was assigned extra work.”
Jun groans. “Let’s just… Ugh, just follow me!”
Po is left with little choice other than to follow.
•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•
The basement bar Jun takes him to is dark yet inviting, the soft lighting and elegant furnishings oozing quiet luxury.
Po, with his smart-casual attire and his work backpack, sticks out like a sore thumb.
Luckily, Jun is in the same boat.
He seems unfazed, which helps alleviate some of Po's unease, although he still feels bad for how his scent-blockers have worn off. Once he'd realized that Jun didn't plan to let him out of his sight for the foreseeable future, he'd dug around in his bag for the ointment, only to find it missing.
"It probably fell out at the group house, Phi," Jun had commented, despite Po not saying what he was looking for.
Po had hummed in agreement, tempted to go back to the house to grab it, but Jun had assured him that his scent wasn't strong and it would be fine.
Walking through the enclosed space now, Po wishes he'd argued back.
A few people turn to look at them, at Po, and he can't help but wonder if it's the pairs' attire or his scent that's drawing their attention. Or maybe he's overthinking things. Maybe it's just that they recognize Jun and then they're wondering who the rando is next to him. Jun is a celebrity, after all. Po is… in a bar… with a celebrity.
He tucks in his shoulders, wanting to shrink away from the attention, self-conscious.
“Why did you bring me here?"
“To find a place to work,” Jun answers, like it's obvious. Perhaps, to him, it is.
They bicker, much like they do every time they talk, as they walk to where a waiter is hovering around. Well, Po walks. Jun saunters. Like usual.
The waiter, as is typical any time Po hasn’t applied scent-blockers for a few hours, looks to Po first. He is the alpha, after all—he's meant to be in charge, by society's expectations. But nothing about his dynamic with Jun fits those norms.
“A table for two, please. A private corner.” Jun says, and Po is shocked to learn that Jun even knows the word “please.”
Once they're seated, Jun throwing himself into the bend of the U-shaped sofa before directing Po to sit next to him, the waiter asks what they’d like to drink. He doesn't bother addressing Po this time—sensing that Jun will answer for him. It should wound the pride of the alpha, but Po is relieved. Bars, drinks, nights out… They aren't his forte. This is Jun’s domain.
“…Something simple. A grand martini for him, please.”
Again with the ‘please’ but also–
“Hold on, I just told you I’ve got some work to do. Why are you ordering drinks?”
“Because we’re in a bar and you’re pissing me off,” Jun snarls, even more blunt than usual.
Po balks, eyes wide, as Jun's scent becomes as wild as a fire—smouldering and dangerous.
Jun? I've pissed off… Jun?
The omega catches himself after a moment, the threatening curl of his lips subsiding and the brunt of his scent losing its intensity, though it lingers around them like smoke.
“Here you go.” He gestures to the low table in front of them. “Work here. Find references. You can send me the work you need to do for Mick later and I'll handle it. Your priority is selling the MV concept to me, and it needs to get sorted today.”
Po’s sigh is almost a growl of frustration. He just wants to go home.
“Why are you pressuring me like this?”
“You want to become a director, don’t you? Pressuring you like this isn't to get you into Thame’s pants; it’s to benefit your career. I want to make you feel that you can do it and you can do it well, too. Which means you need to learn to work to short industry timelines.”
It makes sense. It makes more sense than most of the stuff Jun has said this evening. Irritatingly.
“And…” Jun leans forwards, his elbows resting on his spread legs, and nods resolutely. “If you want Thame to love you, shouldn’t you do something to impress him, huh?”
Once again, Jun is dangling the promise of Thame like a carrot.
Once again, it's working.