It had been a month since Shen Qiqi arrived in this world—a world that, despite its dizzying pace and endless expectations, now felt quieter and safer with Pei Yuchen by his side. Every day, every shared glance, every stolen moment had deepened the bond between them, weaving something delicate but unbreakable.
Qiqi had watched Pei Yuchen more closely than ever before. The way the Alpha's eyes would flicker when their lips met, betraying a hunger he otherwise hid beneath layers of control. The way his hands trembled just slightly when he touched Qiqi's skin, as if afraid to go too far, to cross a line neither had dared to name yet.
Pei Yuchen was holding himself back. That much was clear.
But tonight, the air between them hummed with a different electricity.
Qiqi's heartbeat thudded louder than the city noise outside their penthouse windows. He was no longer content with brief touches or gentle kisses stolen in the dim. His body ached for something more—a closeness that transcended whispered words and lingering looks.
He needed Pei Yuchen to see him. To want him. To take him.
The silk sheets beneath them were cool against Qiqi's flushed skin as he lay curled beside Pei Yuchen, head resting against the broad, steady shoulder of the man he had come to trust more than anyone else in this world. His fingers traced lazy circles over Yuchen's taut abs, marveling at how solid and alive the Alpha felt beneath his touch.
Pei Yuchen inhaled deeply, lips brushing over Qiqi's temple, then the curve of his neck, savoring his scent—the scent that belonged to no one else but him.
"It's addictive," Yuchen murmured, voice rough with barely suppressed desire. "You know that?"
Qiqi's breath hitched. "I can't hold back anymore."
The tension between them tightened, a coiled spring about to snap. Pei Yuchen's eyes locked onto Qiqi's. Yuchen's hands mapped the angles of Qiqi's hip, the dip of his waist, the length of his thigh; a slow claiming, each touch redrawing borders once lost to the uncertainty of their days. The city outside slept fitfully, restless rivers of midnight traffic snaking through the high-rise labyrinth, but time inside the room had compressed to an urgent, amber-lit present.
Qiqi froze at Yuchen's touch, a mix of hope and vulnerability flickering in his eyes. The longing was a deep ache in his chest, as intense as pride but more tender. "Are you serious?" he murmured, "Because once I begin, I doubt I'll be able to stop."
"Don't stop. Give me all of you."
Yuchen begins by slowly removing Qiqi's clothes, exposing his soft, pink nipples. Leaning down, Yuchen gently flicks his tongue over one of them, drawing a soft moan from Qiqi. The sound causes Yuchen's arousal to grow even more prominent, his eyes glowing burning in lust and desire.
His hands drifted to Qiqi's waist, drawing him nearer, and every inch of Qiqi's skin seemed to shiver at the touch—each caress fueling a heat that pooled low and insistent. Yuchen toyed with the edge of Qiqi's waistband, eyes never leaving Qiqi's face. He slid them down with aching slowness, and Qiqi's cock, already rigid, sprang free and pressed urgently against Yuchen's thigh.
Yuchen kissed the nape of Qiqi's neck, teeth grazing skin, savoring each little gasp and shudder. There was a marvel in the way Qiqi's body yielded even as he tensed, like a bowstring being drawn taut. Yuchen's fingers found their way underneath, stroking Qiqi's length, and Qiqi buried his face in the pillow, breath sharp and uneven.
"You're so beautiful." Yuchen whispered.
Pei Yuchen's hand cupped Qiqi's ass, thumbs stroking circles into the tender skin, and all the while Qiqi trembled, breath coming in desperate, shivery gasps. Yuchen let his touch linger, letting the anticipation mount until Qiqi arched back into him, silently begging for more. When Yuchen's finger slicked its way to Qiqi's entrance, the contact was almost gentle—so delicate that Qiqi shuddered from the sheer relief of it.
The first finger pressed inside with careful deliberation, a slow invasion that made Qiqi keen softly and claw at the bedsheets. He tried to muffle himself, but every push sent a fresh shockwave through his spine. Yuchen thrust shallowly at first, then deeper, curling his finger just so; Qiqi's hips jerked helplessly in response. The stretch burned with a sweet ache, but even that pain felt like a gift.
Yuchen murmured encouragements against his ear—"That's my good boy… Just breathe…"—and took his time loosening the tight ring of muscle. When a second finger sank in beside the first, Qiqi yelped aloud and then bit down on a fist to keep quiet. But Yuchen wouldn't allow it; he threaded their fingers together and pinned both of Qiqi's arms above his head in one seamless motion. Now fully exposed, Qiqi could only moan loudly as Yuchen scissored his fingers apart, stretching him wider still.
Qiqi's toes curled, uncurled; his knuckles whitened as he clawed handfuls of mattress, desperate for grip or anchor. Between his legs the pleasure built like pressure in a sealed vessel, each careful scissor or sudden push multiplying the need inside him until it trembled just under his skin. He wanted—no, needed—more: the ache for being filled became the whole of his existence, eclipsing conscious thought. Every time Yuchen crooked his fingers just so and grazed that ruthless spot deep inside him, Qiqi's vision went white around the edges.
His voice had lost all pretense of restraint—"Ah! Ah! Fuck! Yu… yuchen…"—words dissolving into pure sound as his body jerked with every fresh assault. There was no dignity left; sweat ran down his face and smeared over Yuchen's knuckles where Qiqi kissed at them between frantic breaths. The air itself was inch thick with Qiqi's scent: sharp and sweet at once, something primal that filled up the room leaving Yuchen a horny mess.
"Fuck..!" Yuchen cursed, his eyes glowing burning in lust and desire as the most addicting scent engulfs his senses. Yuchen did not let up; if anything, he grew more deliberate, leaning over Qiqi so that their faces were barely inches apart and his breath washed over Qiqi's cheek each time he spoke. "Look at you," said Yuchen softly, "look how much you need it." Then he withdrew his hand completely—not slowly but not hurried either—and smeared Qiqi's slick across his own palm before bringing it to his lips.
He licked each digit clean with exaggerated care: first the pad of his forefinger, then pushing both middle and ring finger into his mouth. He made sure Qiqi was watching as he sucked them deep past the last knuckle, tongue working deliberate circles around every bit of flavor. Only when they glistened did Yuchen pull them free with a wet pop.
Qiqi whimpered at the sight; tears pooled in his eyes from want or frustration or maybe both.
The daze of pleasure, pain, and terror in Qiqi's face was a trembling thing. His eyes fluttered under the weight of Yuchen's hands braced on his jaw, his lips parted helplessly, words jammed beneath the force of what Yuchen had become. There was no dignified or graceful line left to him; his brain lagged behind the frantic insistence of his body, and when he finally managed to focus on the feral face above him, it became impossible not to capitulate entirely. His voice came out ruined: "Y-yes…p-please, Alpha." The title slipped out as a reflex—an artifact of instinct as much as anything conscious—and with it all that remained of Yuchen's restraint tore away.
Yuchen bared his fangs in a snarl that was less anger than animal exultance and twisted Qiqi's hips up with both hands, cradling them in the bow of his arms as if Qiqi himself were nothing but an object in mid-transformation—something being repurposed for pleasure, not merely possessing it. There was nothing careful or gentle now; Yuchen aligned himself and pressed forward, cock nudging then splitting apart the tender entrance he'd teased until it was engorged and throbbing with want. The first thrust forced a guttural scream from Qiqi, instantly muffled by the hand that locked over his mouth. The second thrust jagged through what resistance remained and opened him up completely to Yuchen's heat.
Yuchen slammed into him again and again—wildly at first, as if desperate to make up for lost evolutionary time—but even in that savagery there was calculation: each movement aimed at producing yet another sound from Qiqi's throat, another ragged arch from his spine, another ripple along the smooth skin pinned beneath greying fingers. It hurt worse than anything Qiqi had felt since childhood fights—worse than any punch or bite—but something mad in him welcomed it, wanted more.
He tried to squirm free but Yuchen only pressed harder, holding him down until every muscle fought just to keep him from breaking apart completely. Every rutting stroke sent a shockwave up through his belly and into his skull; every jolt made his vision flash white around the edges. He couldn't breathe except in hot pants between Yuchen's growling commands—"Take it," "Yes," "Good boy"—and the ugly pride that filled him at those words nearly drowned everything else.
Yuchen pounded himself all the way inside until their bodies were flush and trembling together. Then he drew out almost to the tip before shoving back in so fast Qiqi thought he would pass out with each impact.
Yuchen pressed forward, plunging in with such total force that Qiqi's hips were driven up the taut length of the mattress, his own legs thrown wide to take it. Their bodies crashed together, chests slicked with sweat and mouths searching greedily for contact even as Yuchen withdrew almost completely, leaving only the swollen head of his cock poised at the shuddering rim, before slamming in again so abruptly that Qiqi's vision broke apart into white-hot pieces. The rhythm was punishing, obscene in its power and velocity; each thrust jolted them both through the bedframe, every nerve ending scorched raw by the ceaseless movement.
Yuchen's hands worked bruises into Qiqi's thighs and hips, pinning him at an angle that forced every inch of himself inside. He grunted between clenched teeth, a guttural growl rising from his chest each time he bottomed out. Meanwhile Qiqi could barely breathe — his own cries were so loud they bounced off the floor-to-ceiling windows and ricocheted throughout the penthouse suite, an echo chamber of animal pleasure. His arms flailed for purchase, digging into Yuchen's back and shoulders, nails leaving bright red crescents as if trying to climb out of himself.
Beneath their bodies, the sheets twisted damply; they were both coated in sweat and slick, a mess of pre-cum and lube and Yuchen's own spent seed leaking out with every explosive stroke. The sounds were vulgar: wet slaps where their bodies met, desperate panting, and beneath it all the sticky glug-glug-glug of fluids mixing together. Qiqi's mind began to disassemble under the onslaught; he could feel nothing but the thick pressure splitting him further open with each cycle, feel himself being fucked deeper than thought or sensation or memory.
He wanted it—needed it—but it was too much; his heart hammered so hard he thought it might fracture his ribs. His cock was already spurting out thin jets onto his stomach without so much as a touch. Yuchen's stamina defied belief: he only quickened the pace when Qiqi started to sob from overstimulation, driving in harder still as if determined to break them both. Each time their eyes met—Qiqi glazed and pleading, Yuchen crazed with want—they fed off one another and spiraled higher.
Finally, Qiqi let go altogether. His body arched back on pure instinct as he roared out Yuchen's name; he clenched down so fiercely that Yuchen nearly lost control. With one last brutal thrust Yuchen went rigid, then jerked forward again and again while hot ribbons of cum pulsed from him into Qiqi's already overflowing hole.
Qiqi's body trembled beneath him, the tautness in his limbs collapsing into shivers as he clung to Yuchen's body. Qiqi had never felt anything so profound, so overwhelming, as the sensation that now blossomed inside her. Every nerve ending seemed to sing with electricity, even as it left him boneless and gasping. Yuchen stilled above him, thrust suspended in an excruciating freeze-frame, then convulsed with a helpless, animal moan. His resolve shattered.
Pei Yuchen had always regarded sex as an activity both necessary and recreational, a bodily function he indulged in with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had known his own desirability since adolescence. He was not immune to pleasure, but he had compartmentalized it, kept it in its proper place: a sweet, short-lived distraction that never lingered after the sheets cooled. His bedpartners, almost exclusively one-night stands facilitated by mutual understanding—sometimes even explicit contracts—came and went like expensive liquor at a banquet, their presence exhilarating but ultimately disposable. He knew how to make them moan and shudder; he was attentive, even generous, in bed. But when it was over, it was over.
With Qiqi, everything was different. It wasn't simply the way their bodies fit together—the difference was deeper, a molecular resonance that left him feeling as if his marrow hummed in tune with Qiqi's every inhalation. The boy's scent, that unique latticework of musk and wildflowers and an undercurrent of something metallic and faintly dangerous, didn't just arouse him; it destabilized him. The first time they kissed Pei Yuchen thought he'd been drugged, his cognition fogging at the boundaries of pleasure until all that existed was the heat of Qiqi's mouth and an urge so feral he nearly flinched from himself.
Now—with Qiqi straddling his hips, lit from behind by the unsteady golden dusk that oozed through the window—Pei Yuchen could not remember the last time he felt so present inside his own skin. Every touch became a data point in a new language: Qiqi's palms at his chest were declarative sentences; his teeth at Pei Yuchen's collarbone a sharp exclamation mark; the slick press of their bodies together a long, longing ellipsis stretching into infinity.
What was unleashed from him surprised them both—hot, near endless, a flooding warmth that pulsed against Qiqi's inner walls in steady surges. He dug his fingers into the sheets on either side of her head, trying desperately not to collapse his whole weight onto Qiqi as wave after wave poured from him. He felt every heartbeat of him inside her: each pulse an affirmation that he was truly losing himself within her.
Qiqi's own climax crested and crashed again as he felt herself being filled beyond capacity, the sensation so unfamiliar it bordered on pain but never crossed into it. Instead it compounded the pleasure, stretching the moment into a feverish eternity.
Neither one spoke for several seconds after the final shudders passed through them. They remained locked together, forehead to forehead, Yuchen panting as if he'd run a marathon and Qiqi not faring much better. Qiqi could feel him still twitching inside him, gradually softening but refusing to withdraw yet.
Yuchen looked down at Qiqi with wide eyes and brushed a damp lock of hair from her cheek. "Are you okay?" he whispered hoarsely.
He managed a shaky laugh. "I think you just broke me."
He grinned tiredly and kissed his nose before rolling gently to one side, pulling Qiqi with him so they stayed tangled together.
For a long minute they simply held each other and let their breathing return to normal.
Qiqi shifted experimentally on Yuchen's lap, his thighs trembling as the new fullness made itself known. The sensation was so intense it was nearly alien, a pressure blooming low in his gut, and every time he moved, he gasped—first with surprise, then with a keening delight. He felt as if every cell in his body had been displaced to make room for Yuchen, whose arms were so tight around Qiqi's narrow waist that their bodies might have fused at the seam.
Qiqi's face burned, but he couldn't help the helpless giggle that escaped him. "Yuchen," he said in hushed awe, voice trembling with pleasure and disbelief. "You came so much." He pressed a palm to his own abdomen as if to hold it there, the evidence of Yuchen's possession made real and physical.
Yuchen's lips curled into a satisfied snarl against the curve of Qiqi's neck. He rocked deliberately upward, making Qiqi whimper, and then set a slow rhythm, as if to test whether Qiqi could withstand this new state of belonging. Each motion only made Qiqi more aware of how thoroughly he'd been claimed.
"Good," Yuchen growled into the delicate shell of Qiqi's ear. His voice was rough with pride and something darker. "Now every Alpha will know you're mine." One broad hand splayed possessively over Qiqi's stomach while the other traced idle circles along his sensitive inner thigh. "No one else will ever touch you like this again."
Qiqi melted against him, boneless and pliant but also giddy with power. Even though Yuchen haven't marked him yet, but the since they just had sex and an intense one at that, it didn't make any difference than being marked permanently cause now Qiqi carried Yuchen's scent deep inside him.
When dawn crept gently over the city skyline, painting the penthouse in soft pinks and golds, Pei Yuchen was already awake.
Qiqi lay curled against him, still lost in the deep, dreamless slumber of someone thoroughly worn out—both physically and emotionally. His hair was a tousled halo, cheeks warm and flushed with residual heat. He looked blissful. Unburdened. Loved.
Yuchen watched him for a long time, simply breathing him in. His scent lingered all over the sheets now, thick with the echo of their night. But more than that—Qiqi's body carried his scent now. Deep, instinctive, like it had soaked into his very skin.
It wasn't a mark. Not officially.
But it felt no different.
Qiqi was his.
Carefully, Pei Yuchen slipped out from beneath the covers, tucking a pillow into his place so Qiqi wouldn't stir. He gathered a clean towel and warm water, setting it by the bedside. Then he returned, cradling Qiqi gently against him.
The Omega stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, but melted into the embrace like soft wax.
"Shh," Yuchen whispered, kissing his forehead. "Let me take care of you."
And he did.
He bathed him slowly with warm cloths, wiping away the remnants of their passion without haste. He changed him into clean, soft clothes—one of his own button-down shirts, sleeves too long but perfect for curling into. Qiqi, still half-asleep, clung to him through the whole process, boneless and pliant, but with a dazed little smile that never left his lips.
"I feel drunk," he mumbled at one point.
Yuchen chuckled. "You're just scented. Your instincts know I touched you. That I'm still here."
Qiqi blinked slowly. "Feels good."
He curled into Yuchen's arms again, lips brushing his chest like a kitten nuzzling warmth. Even in his sleep, he clung.
Yuchen tucked the blankets around them once more, letting Qiqi rest against his chest. He stroked gentle lines down his back, over the curve of his waist. Each touch whispered the same truth:
You're safe. You're mine.
And as the morning light grew brighter, Shen Qiqi sighed deeply and smiled in his sleep—content, marked by something far more intimate than teeth or ink.
He was loved.