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When he realizes he can’t remember how many shots he’s downed in the last hour, Taeyong thinks it’s time to stop. He’s been curled up on the stool in the bar for much longer, but apparently alcohol is supposed to take an hour to burn through your system or whatever, so he figured that only the last hour matters. He’s the only one left here and the bartender has been giving him worried looks for the last little while now, though he doesn’t ask. Not being asked about what the fuck he’s doing with his life. That’s a nice quality to have, the model muses. It’s why he keeps on coming back here all the time. It’s close enough that the owner gets plenty of struggling actors and models and the like so he doesn’t ever ask when they take their turns in drowning their worries in alcohol, just has a list of managers’ phone numbers and dials them up at whatever unearthly time it is. Speaking of which. It’s like, two in the morning? It’s getting difficult to see the number on his phone with everything so blurred together. And although he has an off day tomorrow he really shouldn’t stay any longer.

But the first name in his contacts list is not Park something something, but much more familiar characters that sounded Chinese rather than Korean. It made much more sense to Taeyong rather than his manager’s number, because in the past it had always been this man’s contact on top of everything he owned. He was /important/. And everyone else could wait. Cherry red lips quirked up at the thought of his best friend(was he?). They were always cleaning up after each other anyways, so he wouldn’t mind just one more favour, would he? He’d much rather see that face than his manager’s anyways. The model giggled to himself at the thought of the exasperated response the other would have knowing that he’d gotten himself drunk again, and pressed the call button without hesitation. And of course there was no way that a call from /him/ would be ignored so, as soon as the telltale click sounded in his ears Taeyong began whining into the phone. “-Hui. Junhui. Junieeeeeeeeeee-“

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Daniel had an issue with wolves. Well- he had issues with people in general, being the socially awkward kid that he was, never really knowing when and what was appropriate to do or say or anything, really. But wolves. Wolves had a hierarchy to them, a natural order, one that made him stutter and blush and freeze up around certain people more than usual. One that even after four years, he still was just getting the hang of. Everyone else seemed comfortable enough with it, and it probably had to do with the way he'd been brought up but anyhow the result of this mess was that, he was was still, after all this time, inherently terrified of anyone new and strange.

Most of his pack mates no longer fell into that circle, the young man having eventually gotten used to their presence over time (and if he was still extra careful around certain wolves, it was for a different reason). And then his pack had gotten new people. Which meant new roommates, new people to know, and worst of all, scary dominants that he'd have to hide from. Well. He didn't really /have/ to, but somehow Daniel thought it'd be for the better until he could confirm that they were not actually terrifying people, which could take a while. But he was trying, he swears.

It was totally a coincidence that he was showering in the middle of the afternoon and not because he didn't want to fight for space in the morning or the evenings, he told himself very convincingly. It was simply because he had spent all afternoon cooped up in his room practicing a new choreography (which also had nothing to do with being too shy to go upstairs), and was now adequately sweaty enough to give himself an excuse to shower now. At least, there was no reason for anyone else to be here right? And definitely no reason for any wolf that did happen to be here to use this particular bathroom right? In his hopeful wishing he had lacked to lock the door, seeing no reason to, except that was definitely a terrible idea.

-Which he realized when the door opened, and the intruding wolf did not automatically leave after realizing that yes, there was somebody already in here, and that somebody was a very clumsy, very easily startled submissive named Daniel. A loud, not entirely graceful and definitely not manly yelp echoed through the washroom, said wolf almost falling in his rush to hide himself somewhere, not that there was much to be seen through the steam. And then, a moment later, his head peeked out again, hair still dripping with water and cheeks suspiciously red. "So-sorry, did you need something..."

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Mir was danger, Junhoe knew that. He'd known as soon as he walked in, animal senses prickling at the back of his neck. It was a sixth sense of his, knowing when a fellow predator was in the room. But danger didn't mean bad in his books, it meant good, meant adrenaline and thrill and everything he lived for. Flight was never an option- it was always fight for the killer; action was mandatory but what type of action depended on the other person. Fucking, for example, was almost synonymous with fighting- usually all his exploits led to one or the other. And Mir had been perfect for that.

Perhaps he was not a picky man when it came to sex partners, but Mir was... beautiful. A flame with his red hair and burning eyes, and like the proverbial moth Junhoe was pulled in by a fatal attraction. It made his blood boil and sing for more, the instinct ingrained in his very marrow and soul pushing him to claim, claim claim- His arms slammed against the wall hard, and yet he could not spare a moment's time to focus on something that was other than the warm body in front of him. A muffled growl slipped past bruised lips to match Mir's moan, the sound urging June on to take more and more. Here was the banquet to his starved man, the cure his incurable disease and he was not going to let go.

Desire weighed down his thoughts, everything else fogging over until the only thing that mattered was Mir. Junhoe kissed like air was not a necessity, tongue roughly scraping the roof of the other's mouth for a taste of everything. Crimson blood seeped out from where Mir had bitten through, the coppery aftertaste mingling with the distinct flavour that he was already coming to know as Mir and it tore another hungry snarl out of him, scrabbling to claim what he wanted, what should be his already. He was already hard from just a kiss, pressing close and he /knew/ that the older was the same, rutting hard against him in an imitation of what Junhoe really wanted to do. He felt drunk, drunk on Mir perhaps, drunk on the heady feeling that came with every touch. It was so delicious and yet not nearly enough at the same time, the painful press of his cock against jeans a reminder that there were still tedious matters to take care of before he could get to the good part.

Koo Junhoe was no gentleman in bed, in fact he was the opposite. What little logic and sense he had scattered like the rest of his thoughts in favour of focusing on every touch and sloppy kiss, electricity coursing through his veins until he was numb and the only way to feel again was to touch more of Mir. He whined at the sudden loss of contact when he other finally pulled again, ragged breaths heated in the little space between them. When the growled command finally processed through his lust ridden brain Junhoe wasted no time in pulling his own shirt off, dropping it in a crumpled ball somewhere behind them as he pulled at Mir's.

"I could say the same to you," he breathed, tugging at the collar of the offending article of clothing. Clothes. He needed to consider stop wearing them if they were going to be this much of a bother all the time.

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In the same way Bobby was bad at organizing his feelings, he was equally disastrous at expressing them. Or, for that matter, recognize somebody else's thoughts when a child could see it from a hundred miles away, plain as day. Heck, he was bad with all that emotional stuff period. It was meant to be straightforward, what you felt and what you wanted, but when a million different threads tangled together that all happened to revolve around the same person he did not know how to unravel one without breaking another. Usually he had god almighty in the form of Kim Hanbin to talk him down during all those late nights, firm and believing and made all his messed up thoughts so easy to understand. That was generally Jiwon's solution to everything and anything he couldn't make sense of; just ask Hanbin and it will be sorted out. Honestly that option had been so tempting, except how was he supposed to ask? Even emotionally challenged as he was the alpha knew you couldn't just walk up to somebody and say 'hey, I'm kind of in love with you but I don't really know, can you help?' Not even mentioning the fact that he was pretty sure that B.I. liked /girls/ and definitely not him and oh god he hadn't even thought about that yet. There was never time to think when most of his time was dedicated to simply feeling the presence of the other beside him and making sure that it never, ever went away. That was what he was still trying to do, wasn't it?

But did Hanbin really appreciate that? In a rare moment of doubt Bobby wavered, for a brief second, wondering if B.I. actually meant his words. If maybe he got all this wrong from the start, and the younger was just more of less tolerating him and his clinginess. If Kim Hanbin lived better without Jiwon constantly hovering at his side, like a mom or perhaps, and he wished desperately that he was, a protective boyfriend. With a sudden revelation his mood turned sour, endlessly guilty in recalling all of his overprotective behavior. Guilty, always guilty and sorry- because he couldn't ever get mad at the younger, just annoyed, and in the end it's usually him that comes slinking back in the middle of the night whispering apologies. And now, looking back, he wondered if it was his fault that B.I. even got sick in the first place. He had pushed them too hard in the last week, working till the wee hours and always asking for more, searching for perfection, and now somebody broke and it was all his fault.

The worry shimmered even brighter in his eyes, completely ignoring Hanbin's warning and request. Oh he heard it alright, but the alpha could be more of a protective mom than his own mom and he was determined to fix the mess that he had made. (Which was what he thought, but then again Bobby's mind ran the opposite curves compared to normal people and he usually ended up screwing everything over even more.) Not to even mention the fact that every fiber of his body screamed to stand his ground, to never let the other disappear from his sight, and inexplicably, the urge to claim his dominance over the younger so that Hanbin will never to able to leave him. All this emotional turmoil did not process thoroughly in his head, but stealthily asserted itself with the increased flare of pheromones in the air. After all, biology was a very hard thing to deny. "No!" The syllable came out harsher than he himself had expected, with a commanding note that made Bobby recoil in surprise. He hadn't meant for it to be like that. All he wanted was... was for his best friend to be happy and well, and to be together forever, even if they'll never be anything close to lovers or mates, not even boyfriends probably. The most he'll ever get was probably what he had right now, with nothing ever coming in between them. Not the rank difference, not the world. And he was okay with that, /they/ were okay with that, the two lonely idiots in love with each other, one so in love he couldn't contain it within himself and the other determined to bury it deep in his heart. �

"I mean-I, there's no way you'll get back to the apartment on your own like this, and I'm not leaving you alone here." Jiwon stumbled over his words trying to get the right meaning out, before he made the situation even worse with his big mouth. "The other kids can go get a doctor or whatever, but we've got to get you home first." Despite his stuttering, he was unexpectedly firm in his position and for once did not back down from a glowering Hanbin. At least, he was firm in his belief that the younger was just sick and had nothing to do whatsoever with that wonderful wonderful smell that was starting to fill his nose and- when did that get there? The alpha shook away the dizziness and reached to clasp his hand in one of Hanbin's, an exaggerated pout on his lips as he tried to coax the other out. (It definitely wasn't because he couldn't control his urge to touch the other in some way all the time, that was not what was happening here.) "Come on? I can piggyback you."

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There was never anyone quite like Kris. Glittering amber orbs that glittered with the hue of a prized spirit, only becoming more and more pure with age while the rest withered away and crumbled to dust. Doused in the red light they looked to be washed in blood, which was in the end not far from the truth. How many times had those feline eyes become blown and blinded in moments of pure bloodlust he could not count- only those fortunate enough to be left in the aftermath of his rampages could tell. And in the end, those were few and far in between. Maybe that’s how the rumours started, of the man with slitted pupils, a far away monstrosity lying in myths and nightmares until he was right in front of you. Granted he did not look like a nightmare- far from it, in fact the tiger could stand beside Adonis and Apollo if he wanted, and look no less the part of a radiant god than they did. Sun-kissed skin embraced by indigo ink that crawled up his arms, mirroring a perfect contradiction- what was bright was also dark, what was his fiery warmth was frigid to those caught in its path. His was a perfect figure, sculpted muscles hidden beneath a perfectly tailored suit or exposed for the roving eye to wander past, to desire, but never to touch, because they were not good enough. Not good enough to prowl at the sides of a beast fit to be Lust himself, whose very presence threatened an era going down in flames, who could hush a crowd with a single gesture.

So when the crowd ceased to chatter, he looked up. And found in his view the only creature to stand on par with him. They were not the same- no, Tao was born into his endless fortune, wore his power like a glamorous mask that hid daggers underneath. Yifan found his atop a bloody mountain of corpses, carving his own name into history. Zitao was ice, a glacier at heart for all his heated flirting, and he was fire, sweeping through with nothing but ashes left behind. He used to hate the prince for that- back when things like glory and fame mattered more, when power and money was still far from his fingertips and the name Wu Yifan meant nothing to the passersby. He could not stand to see everything he wanted, what he’d killed and destroyed for simply given over to a fucking child- just because he was born into the right household. It irked him, it really did, feeling the cruel irony in the world strike just for the fun of those gods watching- why was Huang fucking Zitao allowed to have it all when he wasn’t? He would not stand for it. The old dragons that hid out in their lairs were just pushing for the kid to take everything, he knew, and they were probably getting a good laugh at him while they were at it. How would it feel if he ripped their empire apart, he wondered? Shred it piece by piece and take it for himself, starting with their beloved little child. Now wouldn’t that be fun?

It wasn’t a healthy obsession that he had. Not that violence, sex and drugs were good habits to keep and favorites to play to, but those, they were just easy pastimes to defer to now, little games that he let himself indulge in. It was never serious, just a part of the routine that he’s let himself build. The rush of it, the thrill was always temporary, the greed satisfied after a while, and it became- boring. Not Tao. Tao was his pet project, his latest and greatest, the one person that he poured the most focus and emotion to- even if most of it was the hateful enmity he forced himself to drag on. He’d started with the intention to destroy, after all it was just a dragon brat, he could handle such. But the other was… interesting. Different from his past prey. The dragon was cunning, sleek, able to fight back. And Yifan, he couldn’t help but be interested. After all, Zitao was known for pulling people into his trap and he was much the same, desiring- no, needing a taste of that beautiful creature.The trash that he slept with on a regular basis irked him, watching pair after pair of filthy hands lay their print upon skin and god, how much he wanted to see them broken. (How many of them did he actually break? Far too many to count, by now.) And how convenient it was that he came crawling to his bed of his own accord? Stepping inside his domain all dolled up with that faux confidence, thinking that he can best Kris at the game- naive.

He broke him, time and time again, eating his fill of Zitao, and yet the boy kept coming back. For what he wondered? But he wouldn’t complain. It was… addicting. His taste, the little games they played, every inch of the dragon’s pearlescent outside and pitch black insides. It was his obsession. He hated Zitao- no, not anymore. It had been too long for that but… Was it love? Friendship? Rivalry? The tiger didn’t know. All he wanted was for the other to be his, to bend in submission under him and him only, nobody else. Nobody else deserved to be even near him. But god, did it matter? Any borders became blurred with time...

Spread out across the lavish sofa he was every inch of the king he deserved to be, crisp white shirt splayed open to reveal the golden expanse of his chest, and the fabric is too loose? Too tight? Pulling away from his body to show off the physique of its owner. Sleek black suit pants hug his thighs and a matching jacket that was draped carelessly over broad shoulder scream business, formal, like he was the president of some conglomerate presiding over a company event and not the ruler of half the underworld. The crisp, staunch fashion show perfect look was almost too innocent for him, thought no doubt it would soon be stained with blood- or much worse, by the way the dragon was teasing him. He did not like to be teased. Yifan’s wrath bubbled easily, and everyone in the room knew it. The chatter that had been just picked up died down again at the sweep of amber orbs across them, monsters and men alike cowering. “What a rude guest, to come and not even greet the host.” His voice drawled out lazily, deep, anger so well hidden. “But do tell me, how do you like my set up, my prince?” His was a honey-like purr that reverberated through the now silent room, though no doubt louder in Zitao’s ears now that he was standing in front of him. One hand had claws dug deep into the unlucky monster’s chest, stinking blood making a mess all over the chair while the other delicately gripped the dragon’s chin.

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It's quiet. Quiet is not the usual adjective used in conjunction or anywhere near Yukwon's name, unless in the negative but it truly was a quiet night. The fox was curled up on the couch, rain pattering down hard on the roof of the den. It was hardly late in the day but only dim lighting filtered through the fogged windows, the overcast sky dutifully covering up any traces of the sun. And of course, the rain. It made puddles outside and shapes on the windows and puddles inside too, just not visible anywhere. Those puddles gathered inside /him/ and filled his thoughts up, blue or black currents slowly filling up his heart. They pooled and unlike the usual times, would not go away when he tried to get rid of them. There was not enough warmth to dry up the moisture, both inside him and inside the house and outside too; his flame flickered pitifully, a little spark of light in a dreary and dripping world that was quickly snuffed out again. And the fox felt as if he was only soaking up more of the water, blue melancholy seeping through the cracks to filter into his very being and he had no idea how to stop it.

It was scary. These foreign emotions that he didn't know, wasn't familiar with, they were enemies to him but he had no idea how to find them off. He was-scared, for once, and that word barely equated to a meaning in his dictionary and yet Yukwon could feel the ice cold dread chill his heart. He hated the rain so much, hated getting wet, not a single storm in his memories ever equated to anything more than pain for him and it was still terrifying, even if he was no longer the weak pup stranded in the mountains or the broken body left out bleeding in the streets. His hand immediately reached out towards the side as if expecting another body curled up beside him- there usually was one, Pyo being the most likely or Zico if he could squeeze his way into the leader's bed, or any of his other usual bedmates but no, his hand came up empty. Of course. He's forgetting. Forgetting that everyone's gone, moved on. They found better company to keep next to them than a half wild fox, he supposes. Of course.

Cause fuck him and his social skills, yeah? He can't keep anything, not good at processing all the sappier emotions or expressing them. He was only the wildfire that swept through once in a while, and now the ashes were leaving a bitter taste in his own mouth too. It's at times like these that Yukwon thinks too much, probably. Making up for all the times he's never thought enough. He liked it some times, or at least never cared usually, liked to tell himself that he didn't care how many people passed by because he was used to being alone. It's only when the rain puts out his fire that he gets cold, cold and lonely with nobody left because he's burned them all. Wasn't that kind of funny? Or maybe he's not even that special, maybe he didn't even have enough to be anywhere near that and it was only his mother's tales of deceit fuelling him on. That was a thought. And it lengthened and twisted along with all his other thoughts until they were vivid shadow monsters, visage mocking as they crowd in and fill up the empty room. The fox's lips raise in a snarl, and yet the sounds die in his throat. Oh, fuck this. He drew the nest of blankets close to himself and his shivering body, closing out the drip of the sky's tears in the deserted house.

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Probably the main reason behind Taeyong’s constant distrust of Woobin was fear, a constant wariness, and the response ingrained into him since young was fight instead of flight. Woobin fit all of his usual standards to judge alphas by, and his actions at first hadn’t given him any reason to believe otherwise. Powerful, hostile and vicious were his biased opinions. But just like the other was conflicted about him, Taeyong always found himself backing down and softening around the alpha. It was a scary thought, and he didn’t know why, which usually would have led to only more alarm from him but- today was different.

A warmth had wrapped up his senses and mind, making everything a little fuzzy and soft at once and at first Taeyong had been panicking, but Woobin’s alpha scent was so nice and calming that he just couldn’t grasp on to any negative emotions anymore, just a deep, flowing sense of peace and happiness. His eyes lit up even more at the offer, bouncing with anticipation. “I’m good at that! I used to be one of the top hunters in my old pack...” he trailed off absentmindedly, automatically falling into step behind the alpha. The silence was comfortable now and even though he said he wanted to hunt, the omega found himself wanting to just enjoy this happy moment. There was just one problem though.

“Woobin... do you know where we’re going?” He asked hesitantly at last, timidly glancing towards the other. “-Not that I don’t trust  you, really, it’s just that I don’t know my way around here and I can’t scent any prey nearby...” he trailed off sheepishly, fidgeting as he waited for an answer to his question. Along with the seriousness of the question also came a deep sense o uncertainty, like- should he really be questioning Woobin? Alphas didn’t like to be questioned... was he stepping out of bounds? Was it okay? All sorts of thoughts that he had never even considered before popped up in Taeyong’s mind, and his stress only increased, fidgeting with his shirt.

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Jaemin thinks that he should stop giving in to Jeno. It’s a bad habit of his picked up during the trainee days, which were basically the same as now except with less cameras. He’s always had a soft spot for the slightly older boy, despite the soft spot being arguably less of a soft spot than a growing obsession that involved him being weak for Jeno in general. (He’s not even hungry right now, and yet he’d waste sleeping time for this-?) But he’ll never tell you that. It was just that he didn’t want to listen to Jeno’s whining anymore, and experience said that just going along with it had a far better result than denying him only to have him whine for hours then end up with a mopey 18 year old for the rest of the day. Yep, definitely better. Because he can’t deny that, despite being dead tired, as they snuck out of the room there was a thrill of excitement running through his veins at the thought of sneaking out this late. After all, come on. He’s a rebellious, overly confident and rash teenager, he lived for this kind of stuff. Never mind the fact that they’ll probably be yelled at by ten different people afterwards, a donut redenzvous with Jeno in the middle of the night? Heck yeah. (Jaemin also vaguely thinks that he’s listening to Taeyong hyung too well; he doesn’t even swear anymore.)

The thought of sleep is quickly chased away as he changes quickly, registering the shirt that’s been thrown at him as probably not his but well. Mark didn’t need it for tomorrow anyway. The teen quickly shimmies into a pair of jeans that matches Jeno’s and grabbing a face mask for good measure. Because of course he knows that his handsome face is /so/ recognizeable in the dom street lights at one am- okay kidding, but the consequences were worse if he forgot. That was the bad thing about suddenly becoming famous now... and the good part of it? Having adventures like this, of course. Jaemin nudges the other playfully, shoving both of them towards the door. “Yah, I’m not slow, you just have the advantage of getting up early.” He’s already got the hoody on, clapping his sweater paws in childish glee. Man, he did love this hoodie. It was the epitome of fabric and clothes making and always was so soft and warm and reminded him of Jeno. Oh, yeah, Jeno. He liked him... like really really liked him. But he was getting off track now. “Come on, come on let’s go already! You’re the one that’s slow now,” he retorted, an excited smile playing on his lips. “We’re gonna get caught if you don’t hurry.”

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He wished that Baekho would be mad at him. If he was mad, then Jeno could have explained himself, could have tore his heart out and handed it over as an apology, could have let out the torrent of guilt that was stuffed out inside clogging his senses. But the other wasn't. No, he was just quietly standing there, sad, lonely, in a place so close to Jeno but at the same time that he couldn't reach at all. He didn't understand it, no, it was neither written within his instincts nor did he have a handbook on just what he was supposed to do when- when the most important person, the most precious person, the one he was... in love with, was hurt, because of him? The tiger's voice, the one that tugged at his heartstrings every time he heard it, should not be like this. Not so blue, so quiet, so forlorn, so distant. "I wanted to. Get you a gift." He found himself replying, equally quietly. The malamute wanted so badly, so badly to race to the other's side, to hug him tight, wanted to make everything okay again... but he didn't know how. "It's... a rose bush. My friend said it was a rare species but I, don't know much about it anyways... I hoped you'd like it. And a cake, I made it, there wasn't time to get a nice one so this is all I could give you..." There was something gathering in his eyes, and Jeno rubbed at them furiously, leaving salty tracks on his hand. He was too afraid to look up, to see the disappointment in Baekho's eyes or worse, maybe he hated him? For not being able to give him anything, anything at all, ever. "I'm sorry- hyung..."