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“Have fun playing with the big guy, maybe taking a bite out of you will mellow him out.” Kim Dokja lands painfully on hands and knees upon the rusty deck of the cargo hold. The door hisses shut behind him. The laughter of the pirates on the other side cuts off as though it isn’t even there.
Kim Dokja stands and dusts off his hands, then goes to check the door, just in case.
Locked.
He turns to survey the hold they’ve stuffed him in. One door. Crates grav-locked to the deck. In the far corner, a slow-moving field of starry mana slumbers like sheathed knives, veiling another man. The whole room smells of blood, ozone, and ravenous warning pheromones.
Oh wow. They just shoved him into a locked cargo hold with a rutting alpha in mana overload. Didn’t want to waste the charge-round to kill him themselves, it seems. What the hell sort of karma is coming due today for a plot twist like this? He’s polite to old ladies and little children, does his taxes when the government makes him, and only mouths off to foreign dignitaries when they’re insufferable cunts to him first.
Kim Dokja is a model citizen, really! It’s a mystery why he always ends up in situations like this.
“Heeey, buddy.” The man jolts, mana field sparking dangerously. “Nice place you got here. Did they steal your ship, too?”
A low, wordless growl is his reply. The man opens his eyes— one glowing solid gold with latent power, the other flickering intermittently. Kim Dokja freezes beneath that gaze, pinned in place beneath the wordless threat for a long, tremulous moment. “I suggest… you stay… back,” the man speaks at length, voice deep and seething with anger.
A shiver traces down his spine in answer. “Yeah, not a problem. I’ll just sit over here and hope you don’t explode.” Kim Dokja perches atop a crate near the door and swings his feet idly as he surveys the room. There’s nothing which isn’t locked down. No tools at his disposal. Just the other guy. “…What level of power do you think that’d be? Would you just rip the door off its hinges? Or would you take the whole ship with you?”
“Shut up.”
“I could help, if you want?”
“I don’t need any help, shut up.”
“Just saying.” He waves a hand in the vague direction of the door. “Those dumbasses just assumed that because I’m an alpha, I’m an esper type. But if you want, I can help guide you back down, and we can leave together. Get our shit back, maybe kill some pirates, maybe grab something extra, and then back to the rat race.”
The bit of darkness lunges for him, from haunches to full height in a split second’s time— oh, the man is big, oh fuck—! Kim Dokja dodges, leaps away and ducks the grasping hands when the man rounds on him for another try. “Whoa, whoa! Watch the face!”
He hits a wall, dodges behind a crate, and leads a merry chase about the hold. With every strike, he can feel the wind of the man’s fist passing by, near miss after near miss. “I just offered to help you, why are you attacking me?”
“Your voice is pissing me off.”
“I can shut up and go back to the opposite side of the room, then!”
The man snarls. “Your scent—!”
“Huh? I just showered!”
“Just come here.”
Like hell! All he did was talk a bit and the guy is grabbing at his throat like he wants to strangle him. “Only if you promise you’re not gonna hurt me!”
The man’s hand passes so close to his face that he can feel the heat of it against his cheek, even through his gloves. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, murderously.
“Then stop chasing me and trying to— eek! Grab me! It really feels like you want to kill me right now!”
The man laughs at that, chuckling low and breathless. “I just want to bite you a bit.”
“That’s worse! That’s… ack! Weird! Unsanitary!”
He ducks behind a stack of crates and the cargo hold goes quiet. Kim Dokja keeps moving, slower now, suppresses his heaving breath and tries to be quiet too, every sense primed to catch movement. The hold is utterly silent beyond the ambient thrum of the engines and his own rapidfire heartbeat. Scent is right out too, the whole hold is filled with the man’s rutting pheromones. His eyes dart around for a glimpse of the starry brightness of that overflowing mana, but there’s no—
A little mote of glowing light drifts down before his eyes—
Kim Dokja darts away, eyes flicking upward only to find the man perched atop a crate above him—
The man leaps—
Kim Dokja trips, turns his gaze forward again, stumbles to recover—
He’s tackled, scruffed and pinned to the cold, hard deck in a jarring instant of pained impact. The reinforcement of his suit keeps him from the majority of bruises, but the attack still dazes him as his equilibrium is violently rearranged. Every slumbering instinct snarls all at once and he tries to squirm free, mouth watering with the urge to bite.
“Be still, little one.” The man leans his full body weight atop Kim Dokja, presses his nose against the side of his throat, and inhales deeply.
“Like hell! Let me go!” Little stars settle around him, and his every inhale tastes of sweetened ozone. Death, death, death, his hindbrain screams, as the man’s hands shift to lock around his wrists, forestalling further struggle.
“If you run again, I will chase you and break your neck. For your own good, be still.” The words rumble so low he can feel it reverberate in his own ribcage, the breath of every syllable ghosts along his throat, and something in Kim Dokja locks up and starts listening. His sense of reason follows soon after.
Angry alpha, really angry alpha. Angry alpha in mana overload. Angry alpha in mana overload with teeth at his neck. He wants to thrash and bite, but he wants to live more.
The man settles against him like a murderous weighted blanket, presses his face flush against Kim Dokja’s neck, and takes big, heaving lungfuls of his scent. It’s not as off-putting as it could be. The guy is warm like an incinerator, and he smells good, the heated spice of danger turning mellow now as the man lets out a low, satisfied purr.
Kim Dokja lets himself be used as an air freshener or whatever for a long moment, but… “Well, like I was saying… I can guide you back down? If you help me escape after.”
The man hums, considering. After a moment, he shifts. Kim Dokja feels the hard length of something pressed against the curve of his ass. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” he says, and rolls his hips once.
Big. Oh, that feels big. Arousal jolts through him at the thought. “Wait wait wait, you wanna do it the traditional way? I’m a guide but I’m not an omega, I don’t— I can’t—”
“You can.” That deep voice is so amused at his panic. “I don’t have to knot you if you don’t want.”
Kim Dokja splutters. “Of course I don’t want—”
“And how soon do you want to get out of here?”
Jackass. “As soon as possible, really, turns out I’m not a big fan of the guy I’m trapped in here with.”
“Pity.” The man presses his nose to the high collar of Kim Dokja’s suit and inhales slowly. “You smell lovely, little alpha.”
“Wh—”
“Do you want to spend the whole time until the auction in meditation trying to defuse a mana bomb?”
“Auction?” That’s new information, what the fuck. The following words sink in then, and a jolt of fear poisons the slow syrupy wash of hungry pheromones. Mana bomb? Fuck, how fragged out is this guy? “I… N-not particularly.”
“Then we’ll do it the traditional way.”
“The traditional way is messy,” Kim Dokja gripes, but when the man releases his hands, he moves to fumble at the closure of his suit anyway.
“The traditional way is faster.” The man’s fingers brush against his own, separating the layers with ease.
“Ahh, fuck. Fine!”
“Mmhm. That’s the idea.” And the man sits back, yanks his pants down, spits on his hole, and begins eating him out with relish.
Kim Dokja goes still, toes curling, heat pooling in his abdomen at the sudden rush of overwhelming arousal, like a rug being pulled from beneath his feet. He tilts his hips into the man’s mouth and falls into the sensation, cock hardening in record time. He feels surrounded, safe, cradled in the electric want of it all.
The man pulls back and speaks, his breath tickling against the mess of saliva dripping down Kim Dokja’s taint. “You can start at any time,” he reminds.
“Oh, fffffu— hmnnh—!” The expletive devolves into a whine as the man shoves a finger in without further ceremony, and Kim Dokja sets to work. Positioned within the field as he is, he can feel the wavelengths well, can close his eyes and almost see how they move. He reaches out with ephemeral fingers of his own mana-sense and begins combing through the sparking tangles of mana, guiding it into a more natural flow. It’s a mess of emotional overload and dissonant energy. Kim Dokja has never felt anything this bad before— it’s chaotic and charged with barely leashed violence, conflicting energy signatures as though the man fought until his own mana was spent and then drank his enemies’ mana to recharge.
“Fuck, what the fuck,” he mutters, and tries to smooth away another snarl of knife-sharp energy. Mana-drinking is a forbidden technique for a reason. The danger involved is significant— if you lose control for a moment, you take half a space station with you. The only espers who drink mana are crazy, or they’re trained for it. Settled within the guy’s mana field, running his mind along the tense edges of discipline underlying the chaos, Kim Dokja can tell the man isn’t crazy. Probably.
…He winces as he remembers just which sector of space he was captured in. Just his fucking luck to get tossed into a room with a Con-Ops agent on the edge of fragging out.
“Would you stop thinking already,” the man grouses. “Feels like you’re rubbing everything against the grain.”
“You’re distracting me, bastard.”
“Yeah? Let’s get on the same wavelength, then.” The man crawls back up his body, grips Kim Dokja’s hips in both hands, and pushes his cock against the furl of his hole, testing the give. “Deep breath,” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of Kim Dokja’s neck as he speaks.
The stretch when he pushes in is wretched, divine, a revelation of sensation. Kim Dokja’s mouth drops open and he gasps desperately for air. It feels… it feels…
“Oh, that’s good,” the man murmurs. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He presses in, and in, and in, a ruinous girth reaching deep, shifting all Kim Dokja’s insides up to his fucking throat, choking away his air until he’s gasping around that stupid alpha cock.
“No shit,” Kim Dokja spits. “I’m not a fucking omega, idiot—!”
“Just breathe,” he soothes, and starts moving.
“Ohh, you!” It’s too much, too soon. “Ssstupid,” the word is slurred with the saliva pooling in his mouth, “rutting bastard, I know you’re just thinking with your— mmnh, knot right now, but c-could you give me a ffuh, fucking minute to uh, uh, adjust—!” He whimpers. “You're too rough.”
“You’re opposed to the roughness?” The surprise with which the words are uttered is a teasing, filthy lie. The man noses along the line of his throat and licks a stripe along the collar of his suit, teasing at his scent-gland. “I can smell how much you want this too.” One hand slips around Kim Dokja’s body and strokes along the length of his cock. The man’s gloves are sinfully smooth against the sensitive skin of his shaft, and when he tightens his grip around the base Kim Dokja freezes in place, toes curling in his boots, trembling at the wicked tightness around his own knot. “I can feel it. You clench a little harder every time I fuck inside, trying to keep me there.” He laughs, low and wicked. “Another alpha bitch just begging for a knot to shut him up.”
The expletive sends a wave of heat through Kim Dokja’s body, and his hips judder, fucking into the man’s grip, rocking back into the next cruel thrust. He can’t help it, he can’t, it’s so good he hates it. “Not a bitch,” he seethes.
“No, sweet thing, but you want this, and you’ll take it from me, won’t you?”
Kim Dokja grabs at the man’s mana field and twists the warring wavelengths around the fist of his will. “Be polite or I’ll unman you twice.”
The man moans, melting into his control. “Mm, I’ll be good, little alpha.”
Their bodies move together, the rhythm of every thrust steadies, the flow of mana follows. Everything in the universe shrinks to the stroke of cock within, the gloved fingers kneading with bruising force at his hips, the energetic flow of the alpha’s feral desire stroking along all his skin in time. The slow thrust inside, the savoring grind deep within, the thrum of energy pressing down around him from every angle. Kim Dokja feels owned by it, cradled in the grasp of that power like something precious.
He arches into every thrust and tries to make it good, too. He clenches down, milking the cock inside for all it’s worth, and smooths the remaining tangles of dissonant energy to match the pace until it flows freely like a planetside tide.
The man’s teeth graze the back of his neck, and Kim Dokja tenses up at the threat of another alpha at his nape. A little sob of fearful pleasure wrenches free of his mouth, and the man curses. The following stroke hits hard, touches something deliciously deep that makes him ache, and he moans louder, so loud he almost misses the following words.
“My head feels clear for the first time in so long.” A low hum rumbles through him, the alpha’s satisfaction echoing in the mana surrounding. “Mmm, mate, such sweet succor you are.”
“Mate?” Kim Dokja protests. “Hey now— you’re moving a little… fffffuck, fast, too fast—!”
“Made for this, made for me, my own,” the man continues, a delirious murmur as his hips pick up speed, and fuck, maybe he really is crazy after all.
“No, oh- oh- oh—” Kim Dokja’s voice breaks on every thrust, air driven from his lungs until all he can do is pant openmouthed in dizzy desperation for oxygen, drool slipping down his chin and pooling on the floor beneath his face. “Not your mate, don’t you dare.” Teeth graze the nape of his neck again, harder now, and Kim Dokja shudders with instinctive fear. He twists his grip on the mana field and shoves both hands over the back of his neck, protecting the delicate glands there from the other alpha’s teeth.
The other alpha groans in pain and slumps forward at the sudden snap-back of Kim Dokja’s control, approaching orgasm ruined. The rapid movement of his hips stutters to a stop, arousal thwarted by the sudden grab at an esper’s second most delicate parts. “You. What—”
Kim Dokja cuts off the question before it can even form, stopping the anger in its tracks with his own. “I don’t even know your name, like hell am I going to let you mark me, you— you mannerless alpha knothead!”
There’s a moment of awkward silence as they both catch their breath. Kim Dokja bites back a misplaced smile as the mana field surrounding trembles with embarrassment and shame. Good! He should feel bad!
“…Yoo Joonghyuk.”
Kim Dokja’s mouth drops open in shock. The Plotter, the Star-Scourge Sentinel, the Iron-Blooded Supreme King, protagonist of the whole fucking war? “No shot is that true. Lie like that again and I’ll rip your core out.” Kim Dokja grabs at the mana field and twists the flow of energy into a Gordian knot, a compelling geas. “Try again.”
Anger pulses, heat building in the air surrounding. A thread of intrigue follows on its heels, and the man thrusts once, hard, a punishing stroke. Kim Dokja tightens his hold on the mana, and he can feel the cock inside him throb in answer. “I’ll bite right through your fingers to rip out your spine, you little shit, that’s my fucking name.” It rings with truth, threat and declaration both.
What the hell. “How did a hero of the goddamned Imperium end up in a pirate ship’s brig on the ass end of the Epsilon quadrant, Yoo Joonghyuk?”
“Asmodeus.”
Kim Dokja waits for more. Yoo Joonghyuk is silent on the matter. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Yoo fucking Joonghyuk. This might as well happen.”
“And your name, little alpha?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks pointedly. He rolls his hips once with clear impatience.
“K-Kim Dokja.”
“Kim Dokja,” his name falls off the other’s tongue in a satisfied sigh. “I’m going to fuck you til I come, knot your tight little alpha ass like the bratty bitch you are, and then you’ll release that geas or I’ll take you with me into the fucking Black,” he says pleasantly, mild as if he were discussing the weather forecast on a no-name moon. The threat rings with truth, truth, truth.
“And after that?” Kim Dokja prods. He winds the mana field tighter.
Yoo Joonghyuk laughs, pure delight in the sound, echoing in the starry mana all around. He presses his lips to Kim Dokja’s fingers one by one, teeth grazing in gentle threat. “I like your audacity, little alpha. If you still like me by the end, we can leave this place together.”
Kim Dokja shivers at the press of teeth. Death, death, death, threat far too close to his throat. “And after that?”
“I’m sure I can convince you to guide me again.”
Smug uppity bastard. “Better make it good then.”
Yoo Joonghyuk leans back, spits with unerring aim directly at the place their bodies connect, and grabs Kim Dokja by the hair with one hand. The other comes around to settle at his front, cradling his cock against his stomach, teasing stimulation. And then he curls close and makes good on his word.
Every stroke drags over Kim Dokja’s prostate, every thrust hilts with addicting bruising force, something like a fight in the intensity of it. He shudders with glee, toes curling, back arching, something hungry in him increasingly satisfied with the rough treatment.
It feels so good to be owned like this, after so long alone. He releases his hold on Yoo Joonghyuk’s mana. It settles around them again like a veil of ocean waves, accentuating their every rocking movement with an energetic echo of bliss. Kim Dokja pours a bit of his own into it, a feedback loop of pleasure.
“So good, so sweet. Let me bite you, little alpha,” Yoo Joonghyuk croons. “Let me make you mine, hmm? I’ll be so good to you.”
“D-dinner first, you rut-addled jackass.”
“Mm, I can do that. Woo you well, make you crave it, bend you down and bitch you when you finally break down and beg me for my knot.”
“You’re delusional,” Kim Dokja sobs. Fuck, fuck, he wants it, wants to be held close just like this and filled full of Yoo Joonghyuk until it’s all he wants.
“And you’re a dream.” Yoo Joonghyuk laves over his fingers, worshipful ardor echoing all around. “I haven’t felt so light in years, like I could fly. Won’t you be mine?”
Kim Dokja doesn’t hear the door of the cargo hold open, but he does hear the screams as Yoo Joonghyuk blinds their audience with immediate prejudice. He feels when the esper’s powers lash out and cut, slicing the foreign minds in twain with a single flowing stroke of will. Tears flow down Kim Dokja’s cheeks, guilty arousal cresting, so close to the break, and he shifts his thighs wider, welcoming Yoo Joonghyuk’s knot, needing it.
There’s delight in the violence, an infectious, primal satisfaction in the cut. The death feels good, feels right, and they smooth away the influx of foreign mana with ease, the bitter spice of new power lingering thick on their tongue, no waste in the culling. They swish the electric taste, spit the poison and swallow the rest, stir until centrifugal force makes it flow the same, a show of overwhelming strength for a mate which brings them to bliss. Mate kept safe, mate held close, so strong, so good, so sweet, can knot can breed can claim can bite—
The meld of minds breaks as Yoo Joonghyuk’s teeth crash down around Kim Dokja’s fingers, fangs cutting furrows down his knuckles. His eyes cross and he yowls when Yoo Joonghyuk thrusts his knot inside, a full-throated cry at the clarifying pleasure-pain. It hurts but it’s everything, Yoo Joonghyuk filling him full of hot come, seeding him deep. The other alpha grips his cock hard, stimulating his own neglected knot, and moves easily with him when Kim Dokja rolls his hips forward, keeping him filled perfectly as he spends fruitlessly on the floor beneath, primal shame and primal pleasure as he’s pinned beneath a stronger alpha and— and bitched, fuck—! Kim Dokja sobs, another spurt of come spitting from his useless cock at the thought.
“Good boy, good boy,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmurs words of praise between gentle licks at his wounded hand, soothing the sting with anodyne alpha saliva. “What a lovely mate you make.”
“Fuck you.” Kim Dokja’s mind is empty of any other retort, swimming in endorphins and the adoration pressing in on every side from the blissful flow of mana.
Yoo Joonghyuk purrs wordlessly in response, his happiness rumbling through them both. After a moment’s trepidation, Kim Dokja reciprocates, the sound pouring from his throat in a rusty staccato.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s purr redoubles. He nuzzles close and speaks directly into his ear, words rough with the vibration. “Kim Dokja.”
His name murmured in that velvet voice makes him shiver. “Wh-what.”
“Are you quite sure you won’t let me mate you?”
Persistent bastard. “Motherfucker, we just met.”
“Mm, fair. I did promise dinner, first.”
“Dinner and at least three dates.”
“Adding qualifiers after the fact, hmm? I do love a chase.”
Kim Dokja shivers with pleasure at the idea— chased pinned made to take it again— and scowls. “You’re ruining the fucking afterglow, you bastard.”
“Mm, only a few minutes more and I’ll get us out of here, sweet thing. Then I’ll feed you the most delicious meal this side of the Star Stream.” He rocks his hips slowly, testing the give as his knot begins to go down.
“…” This smug rutting bastard, if he means his cock, Kim Dokja is going to cut it off and feed it to him instead.
Yoo Joonghyuk huffs, reading the mood of his thoughts from the brush of Kim Dokja’s mind, still tangled in the esper’s mana field. “Grant me a little trust,” he coaxes. “I’ve never been guided so well, I’ll make sure to woo you right.”
“You’d better.”
Yoo Joonghyuk purrs harder still. “Earlier, you mentioned something about a stolen ship. Do you need a ride?”
“Are you making these innuendoes on purpose?”
“I’ll never tell.”
Kim Dokja’s witty retort is cut short as a lift chimes in the distance and footsteps echo in the corridor outside, magboots clanking heavily against the deck, reinforcements approaching with quiet caution. Yoo Joonghyuk pulls out, lassitudinous flow of mana snapping into shapes of militant discipline. Kim Dokja mourns the emptiness as the other alpha shoves their clothes back into place, fastening their suits again with efficiency.
“I think our little diversion is coming to an end,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, stars falling around him as his focus turns outward, sharpened will at the ready. Face to face, Kim Dokja’s breath catches. The man is beautiful in a way deep-space transmissions and holovids could never convey. “Kim Dokja. Guide me?”
Kim Dokja sighs with wry amusement. Again, he wonders what sort of karma has come due today for a plot twist like this. “Yeah, sure. Take me out to dinner, Joonghyuk-ah.”