One-shot

The first time Dylan presented as an omega, it rained.

Not the soft kind of rain that makes the city look romantic. It was the violent kind — sharp against the glass walls of the practice studio, loud enough to swallow the music, loud enough to drown out the way his breathing had changed.

Jun smelled it before anyone else did.

Sweet. Burnt sugar and red wine. Something dangerously soft under something dangerously sharp.

He froze mid-step.

Across the mirrored room, Dylan’s reflection met his. Gray hair damp against his forehead. Fingers gripping the back of a chair too tightly. The others were laughing about something, unaware — still betas, still unbothered.

Jun wasn’t.

Because Jun was an alpha.

And the scent hit him like a bruise pressed too hard.

He crossed the room before he could think better of it.

“Bathroom,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only Dylan could hear.

Dylan swallowed. Nodded.

Jun didn’t touch him. He didn’t dare. But he walked close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, and the air between them turned thick.

—

The bathroom door locked with a sharp click.

Silence.

Only rain and breath.

Dylan leaned back against the sink, chest rising unevenly. His red shirt — thin, too thin — clung to him. The fluorescent lights made his skin look pale, almost fragile.

“I didn’t know it would happen today,” Dylan said softly.

Jun’s jaw tightened. He could smell the change deepening — the first edge of heat creeping in. It was new. Untamed. Unpracticed.

“You should’ve told someone,” Jun replied.

“I didn’t want it to be you.”

That hurt more than Jun expected.

“Why?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Dylan’s laugh was breathless. “Because you look at me like you already decided something.”

Jun stepped closer.

Not touching.

Never touching.

But close enough that Dylan’s scent wrapped around him like smoke.

“And what do I look like I decided?” Jun asked.

Dylan’s eyes flicked to his mouth. “That I belong to you.”

The word belong hung between them — dangerous, heavy, ancient in the way alpha and omega dynamics always were.

Jun exhaled slowly, fighting the instinct rising in his bones.

He had known Dylan for years. Known the way he preferred bitter drinks. Known how he tugged at his sleeves when nervous. Known the exact tilt of his smile when he lied.

But this —

This was different.

This was biology trying to rewrite everything.

“You don’t belong to anyone,” Jun said finally.

Dylan’s breath hitched.

Jun stepped even closer now, close enough that the heat radiating from Dylan’s skin brushed against his chest.

“But,” Jun continued, voice dropping, “if you ask me to stay, I will.”

The rain intensified outside. The scent intensified inside.

Dylan’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“Jun,” he whispered. Not a warning. Not quite permission.

Just a name.

Jun lifted his hand slowly — giving Dylan time to pull away.

He didn’t.

Jun’s fingers settled at Dylan’s waist, firm but not possessive. Grounding. Steady.

Dylan shivered.

The first pulse of heat hit him visibly — knees softening, breath catching.

Jun moved fast then, guiding him back against the counter before he could slip.

“I’ve got you,” Jun murmured.

The words did something to Dylan.

Omega instincts were cruel — they magnified everything. The need to be chosen. The need to be wanted. The need to feel safe in the middle of a storm you didn’t ask for.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dylan whispered.

Jun’s thumb brushed the edge of Dylan’s shirt, barely there. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to ruin me.”

Jun’s eyes darkened.

He leaned down slowly, pressing his forehead against Dylan’s. Not a kiss. Not yet.

Just warmth.

“I am trying,” Jun admitted.

The air felt charged. Electric. Dylan’s scent curled around them, richer now, thicker — inviting without meaning to.

Jun’s control was iron, but it wasn’t infinite.

“You’re shaking,” Jun said quietly.

“I know.”

“Tell me what you need.”

The question made Dylan’s throat tighten.

No alpha had ever asked him that. Not in theory. Not in fantasy.

Heat made everything louder inside him — every insecurity, every craving.

“You,” Dylan breathed.

Jun’s hand flexed at his waist.

“Specifics,” Jun murmured, voice strained but steady.

Dylan looked up at him — really looked.

At the way Jun’s jaw was locked tight. At the way his pupils had blown wide. At the way he was holding himself back like it physically hurt.

“I need you to stay,” Dylan said. “Not because you’re an alpha. Not because I’m — ” His breath hitched. “Not because of this.”

Jun’s fingers slid slightly higher along his waist, anchoring him.

“But because it’s you,” Dylan finished.

The storm outside cracked like a warning.

Jun made a decision.

He dipped his head, pressing his mouth to Dylan’s neck — not biting, not marking — just breathing him in. Slow. Intentional.

Dylan gasped, fingers clutching at Jun’s jacket.

The contact was intimate in a way that went beyond skin. Jun’s scent — darker, steadier — began to weave through Dylan’s, calming the sharp edge of heat.

“You’re safe,” Jun murmured against his skin.

Dylan melted a fraction.

“You’re not claiming me?” Dylan asked, voice barely there.

Jun pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Not unless you ask me to.”

The control in that answer nearly undid Dylan entirely.

Heat wasn’t just physical. It was emotional — a need to surrender, to be overwhelmed.

Jun refused to take advantage of that.

Instead, he lifted Dylan onto the counter gently, positioning himself between his knees. Close. Protective. Solid.

Dylan’s hands slid up Jun’s chest, fingers fisting into fabric.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Jun didn’t hesitate this time.

The kiss was deep but unhurried. Not devouring. Not desperate.

It tasted like rain and something dangerously red.

Dylan clung to him, breath tangling with breath, heat pulsing — but Jun kept one hand steady at his waist, the other cradling the back of his neck like something fragile.

When Dylan’s instincts surged again, Jun pressed their foreheads together.

“Breathe,” he said softly.

They stayed like that for a long moment. The storm outside. The storm inside.

Eventually, the sharp edge of Dylan’s heat softened — soothed by proximity, by scent, by restraint.

“You’re still here,” Dylan murmured.

Jun huffed a quiet laugh. “Where else would I be?”

Dylan searched his face. “Even after this?”

Jun brushed his thumb along Dylan’s cheekbone.

“Especially after this.”

There were a hundred things they weren’t saying.

About bonds. About marks. About what could happen next time when heat was stronger and control thinner.

But none of that had to be decided tonight.

Tonight, Jun wrapped his arms around Dylan and held him through the rain.

Not as an alpha claiming an omega.

Not as instinct devouring instinct.

Just Jun.

Holding Dylan.

And choosing him — slowly, deliberately — even when biology tried to rush the ending.