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The first things Dan Heng notices are glowing red irises and long, matted hair.
He’d only planned to be outside for a minute or two, taking out the trash at the end of his shift. His manager would come looking for him if he took too long, but he can’t ignore a guy with saliva dripping down his chin.
He’s feral. Dan Heng has never seen anyone in such a state in real life, but the rumors are boundless. Given the state of his trousers, Dan Heng wagers that he must be an omega.
Unfortunately, he’s blocking the path to the dumpster.
The stranger growls as Dan Heng approaches, territorial. “It’s okay,” Dan Heng says, holding up his hands, approaching slowly. He’s a beta. His scent is inoffensive, odorless beyond the haze of grease and garlic from the kitchen.
It doesn’t stop the guy from pinning him to the asphalt, snarling viciously. Abruptly, Dan Heng realizes he must be hungry. He’s skinny as a rail and deathly pale besides, his nails so long they may as well be claws.
Dan Heng squirms free, ignoring the way burning eyes follow him. “Stay here.”
The omega doesn’t have the strength to give chase. Dan Heng hopes against all hope that he won’t tear the bags open and eat slop. He mumbles some sort of excuse about having a call to take, shoveling leftovers into styrofoam. He’d been planning to take the food home to eat himself, but he has chips and snacks in his apartment—he’ll survive.
Warily, Dan Heng hands the meal over. Just as he feared, the stranger is busy rummaging through the trash. The omega yanks it out of his hands, hardly pausing to breathe.
Silently, Dan Heng fishes his phone out of his pocket. Instantly, the omega growls. Dan Heng’s thoughts of calling an ambulance fly out of the window. A guy like this, caught in the throes of instinctual rage, would probably bite the paramedics’ fingers off.
“Can you wait for twenty minutes?” Dan Heng remembers how much he has left to do. “Thirty, maybe.”
Tentatively trusting, latching onto the first person who’s shown him human decency in months, the taller man decides to wait. He scarfs down his meal, back pressed to the bricks. Dan Heng’s manager is equal parts concerned and confused when he makes an escape, clocking out before he runs outside.
Dan Heng heaves a relieved sigh when he realizes the stranger is still there. He snaps when Dan Heng kneels down to help him up. He limps when they start moving.
They’re lucky to catch the last train.
The fight drains out of him as delirium creeps in. They’re lucky it’s late. The only other person riding in the car seems to be a beta as well, unperturbed by the omega’s oscillating malice and sexual frustration. They hobble off at his stop and walk the five blocks to his apartment, the dark-haired man oozing ire all the while.
Dan Heng unlocks the door. He deposits the stranger on the couch. “What’s your name?” he asks, unsure whether he expects an answer or not. In the midst of heat, Dan Heng would be surprised to hear anyone form coherent sentences.
“Blade.” The man spits the syllable out like poison.
It’s a fake name, obviously, but it’s better than nothing. Dan Heng nods, padding into the kitchen.
He makes himself a cup of coffee, offering Blade a cup of tea. Blade snarls; so, that’s a no. Dan Heng rinses the press out while the water boils, turning on the grinder after he loads it with beans. Blade’s condition remains largely unchanged as he goes through the motions, hissing when Dan Heng turns on a light.
Lit by the soft glow of his floor lamp, Dan Heng can see the way the grime clings to him. Steam wafts off of his beverage, but he plays with the handle, waiting. Stifling a yawn, he leans against the wall.
His first order of business is giving Blade a bath. Dan Heng is going to have to cut off the sorry excuse for clothes he’s wearing. He can see the vestiges of the man Blade used to be, broad-shouldered with a tapered waist. He’s curious, but he’s never been the type to ask intrusive questions, so he drinks his coffee and bides his time. He slides into the bathroom after he’s finished with it, red eyes tracking his movements.
He keeps the water temperature comfortable, hot but not scolding. Blade hisses at him when Dan Heng motions for him to get up. Dan Heng rolls his eyes, more insistent the second time.
Blade tenses at the sight of the scissors. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Dan Heng murmurs, peeling off the shirt and the pants until Blade is entirely naked, leaking slick on the tiles. Dan Heng pays his groin no mind. Blade’s genitalia is none of his business.
He treats Blade’s hair with the same care, getting rid of the dead ends. The mess on the floor is vile, but he’ll deal with it later. For now, Dan Heng ushers Blade into the tub. Blade hisses at the contact, fresh wounds aggravated, but he stays still and he doesn’t fuss when Dan Heng grabs a rag. Progress.
Slowly, Dan Heng wipes him down. Blade breathes shallowly, anticipating violence. It makes Dan Heng sad, what’s become of this person. He can only assume what sort of cruelty he’d been subjected to. Feral alphas and omegas typically emerged from nasty situations, broken bonds and festering feelings exploding until one’s nerves shattered. The longer one went untreated, the worse their mental state became.
Dan Heng wonders what color Blade’s eyes had been, before.
He lathers up the washrag, lifting Blade’s limbs one by one. Blade continues staring at him, cooperative if only for the moment. Dan Heng asks him to close his eyes and he flinches. “I don’t want you to get shampoo in them, that’s all.”
Twitching with thinly disguised agitation, Blade complies. Dan Heng scrubs at his scalp until bubbles form. Most of his hair is gone, but the remainder has a promising texture. If Blade takes care of it, it will be long and wavy in no time.
Dan Heng cups water in his hands to rinse out the shampoo, repeating the motion over and over again until he doesn’t see suds. The conditioner comes next. He lowers Blade awkwardly into the water instead for that round, watching it drip down his chin.
When he’s finished, the bathwater is disgusting, murky with dirt and dried blood. “I’ll be right back,” Dan Heng promises, tiptoeing to his room.
He helps Blade get out, blow-drying his hair once his skin is taken care of. He helps Blade pull on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He’s so tall, the hems snag on his calves, but he’s thin enough that Dan Heng’s clothes will suffice.
Dan Heng puts a spare pillow on the couch along with a blanket. Blade lies down willingly, wondering why Dan Heng had done all of this for a person of questionable repute.
Dan Heng himself isn’t sure. All he knows is that he couldn’t bring himself to abandon Blade.
It’s only after Dan Heng brushes his teeth and crawls into bed that he realizes he didn’t eat dinner.
Blade is in heat, obviously, but that doesn’t mean anything to Dan Heng.
He forces Blade to drink water, watching the man sweat through his clothes, slick oozing onto the couch cushions despite his best intentions. He’s infuriated over the whole process, that much is clear, but Dan Heng doesn’t want him to collapse, so he persists.
He spends the entire day wiping Blade down, keeping Blade comfortable. He piles pillows and blankets on the floor. Blade burrows into them, arranging Dan Heng’s offerings into a makeshift nest.
Dan Heng has Mondays and Tuesdays off—the first two days are no trouble. On Wednesday, he lingers in the doorway. The fever has subsided, and other than the one time Blade attempted to break Dan Heng’s wrist, he’s been remarkably docile.
“Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” Dan Heng says, slipping out of his apartment. If Blade is there when he gets home, he’ll dig into his savings and buy the guy some decent clothes. If he’s gone, Dan Heng will call the local hotline, make sure somebody goes looking for him so he doesn’t die on the streets.
Mentally, he chastises himself for thinking of Blade like a stray animal, but the damage is done. It’s an apt comparison.
He’s unfocused at work, thinking about Blade’s health. The distraction doesn’t make him clumsy, just quiet, but that’s nothing new. All the same, his colleagues are concerned, glancing at him every few minutes to make sure he’s okay.
Hours later, he returns. He holds his breath as he slides his key into the latch.
For a moment, stifling silence chokes him. He exhales slowly, disappointed, jumping out of his skin when a hand closes around his throat. Blazing red eyes glare at him.
“Who are you?”
Dan Heng’s pulse thunders. “My name is Dan Heng.”
“Are you working with Nyx?”
Blade stops clenching his fingers. Assuming that he’s allowed to speak freely, Dan Heng rasps, “Is that a man or a woman’s name?”
He sounds clueless, so Blade backs off, brow furrowed. Loudly, he sniffs, confident in his sense of smell. No earth-shattering revelations occur. Dan Heng smells of a restaurant, of sweat and grime and food, just the same as he had when they first crossed paths. He’s a thoroughbred beta, apparently, and a good samaritan besides.
Belatedly, Blade replies, “Nyx is a man.”
Your ex-mate? Dan Heng refrains from asking. He would’ve been blind to have missed the livid bondmark on Blade’s skin, long since healed. Dan Heng can only assume Blade had broken it off and it ended poorly.
“Are you in trouble?” Dan Heng asks, skittish but not fearful. Credit where credit is due—guy’s got balls.
Blade refuses to dignify the question with a response. He would hardly be in such a sorry state if something wasn’t wrong.
“I’m not going to make you leave,” Dan Heng continues after a beat. “Don’t attack me again.”
Blade sneers. He’d held back. Still, Dan Heng makes a good point. Dan Heng hadn’t taken advantage of him or called the cops.
He nods. Dan Heng ambles into the kitchen to make himself tea, rubbing at his neck.
Blade studies him in silence.
Life with a roommate, albeit an unpredictable one, isn’t bad. Dan Heng refers to Blade as a cat in public and most people go along with the ruse, cooing over Dan Heng’s stories even though he never shows them pictures. He’s too finicky for the camera usually gets people off of his back.
Blade, for his part, is exactly as fickle as the animal Dan Heng compares him to. He’s prone to lashing out over small things, disappearing for hours at a time, then returning with money. Dan Heng doesn’t know where he gets it and it would be rude to ask, so he remains blissfully ignorant. Plausible deniability.
It’s only when his best friend’s visit coincides with the onset of Blade’s heat that a problem rears its head. Caelus is a beta, but he’s graced with an alpha’s senses. He walks up the stairs beside Dan Heng but he freezes in the threshold, taking two steps back when an overwhelming scent assaults his nose.
“I thought you said you got a cat,” Caelus mumbles, dizzy and bewildered, coming back to himself in bits and pieces.
Guiltily, Dan Heng grimaces. “Sorry.”
Caelus waves off his apology; all is forgiven. In hushed tones, Dan Heng explains the situation. Caelus listens, spritzing the place with cleaning agent, lighting candles to diffuse Blade’s scent.
“He shouldn’t be outside at a time like this,” Caelus says, frowning deeply.
Dan Heng shrugs. “He’s stubborn.”
For weeks, they have maintained peace. Dan Heng didn’t want to break it by opening up old wounds, reminding Blade how low he had sunk.
These days, Blade looks much better, less like death warmed over. Caelus settles down once he’s ingested all of the information, asking an all too important question. “Are you going to help him through his heat again?”
The word again pierces Dan Heng’s soul. He curls his fingers in his lap.
The last time, Blade had been mangled and starving, barely human. Dan Heng suspects that his eyes won’t glow this time, though his irises have a permanent fiery tint to them. He wonders how long Blade has been like this. The extent of his bodily deterioration led Dan Heng to believe he’d been feral for months, if not years.
He wonders if Blade will be lucid this time, if Blade will accept his help.
Silently, Dan Heng nods. Caelus hums. He excuses himself before it gets too late. Dan Heng decides to wash the dishes, keeping his hands busy while his mind wanders.
Blade stumbles into the apartment, opening the door with the spare key Dan Heng gifted him on week two. He’s flushed. Blade has bitten his bottom lip bloody, infuriated by his body’s refusal to obey his instructions.
He snarls when Dan Heng kneels beside him with a wet washcloth, wiping away his sweat. His fringe has grown quite a bit, but it’s not yet long enough to cover his eyes; it does nothing to dampen his vitriolic glare.
“How do you feel?” Dan Heng asks, tone even.
Sometimes, Dan Heng thinks Blade would like nothing more than to kill him and have this whole song and dance over with, but other times, Blade is vulnerable, so desperate for touch, anyone’s touch, that he can’t help but succumb. He’s weak to kindness.
“I’m fine,” Blade insists even as his knees buckle, annoyance oozing from his pores.
“I’m going to help you get undressed,” Dan Heng explains, broadcasting his intentions to prevent Blade from lashing out.
Blade resists the urge to nod, if only for thirty seconds. His pride says no, but his nature prevails, shivering as Dan Heng rubs circles into his back.
He ushers Blade into his room. Slowly, cautiously, Dan Heng unbuckles Blade’s belt. His jeans fall easily, exposing slick-stained underwear. Dan Heng peels off Blade’s shirt and jacket before he approaches his core.
Blade’s pheromones don’t affect him, but Dan Heng isn’t a machine. It’s impossible for him to not to be affected by this tall, gorgeous specimen of a man who’s deeply aroused and half-delirious with desire.
Dan Heng shouldn’t have brought Blade in here. He should have kept this to a neutral space like the bathroom, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late.
Bonelessly, Blade flops over on his mattress. He’s inches away from tipping into insanity, expression pinched. Blade curses, furious tears welling on his lashes.
“It hurts, I know,” Dan Heng murmurs, carefully avoiding Blade’s neck. He pets him, massaging lotion into his skin. He works the knots out of Blade’s shoulders, keeping him from falling into the deep end. “Stay with me.”
Eyes unfocused, he bites Dan Heng’s shoulder, uncaring that he’s fully clothed. Dan Heng winces at the pain, but he carries on, gently embracing Blade until he stops thrashing.
“Do you mind if I touch you?”
Already, the blood has rushed to Blade’s head, giving his face a soft, pink flush. His breath is hot when he turns his head, snarling at Dan Heng. His bitterness runs bone-deep, but he can’t fight the tide. “It’s fine,” he grunts, nails digging into the meat of Dan Heng’s shoulders.
Dan Heng treats him like a patient, not a lover. He’d been partial to the sciences in school. He remembers his lessons well, but he had no interest in furthering his education, content to live a simple life.
Nimble fingers dance down Blade’s spine, touching him until the trembling fades. Dan Heng tucks his nose into the crook of Blade’s neck. The older man’s weight lists against him the moment Dan Heng’s knuckles brush against his cunt.
Dan Heng has never been with an omega before, but he’s no blushing virgin. Blade is wetter than he expects, but otherwise the layout is familiar. He focuses his attentions on Blade’s clit before he works Blade open.
Blade hisses, biting down harder. The urge for friction causes him to buck his hips, but they’re glued together. Dan Heng forces himself to take several deep breaths, ignoring his own erection.
This isn’t about him. This isn’t about pleasure. Blade is sick.
Dan Heng ignores the sweat beading on his temple, gathering on his thighs. He waits until Blade is gasping for air to wiggle his index finger inside.
He has no intention of teasing Blade. He inserts his middle finger a moment later, fucking his digits in and out, paying attention to the things that make Blade go quiet. He’s vocal and prone to growling; the silence is rewarding. Blade is too aroused to speak. Dan Heng cherishes being able to make Blade choke on his words.
His third and fourth fingers slide in with no trouble. Dan Heng fumbles around, struggling to find his notching space, cursing himself for failing to buy a knot-toy. He does his best with what he has, but he knows Blade would be better off with something suited to his biology.
Dan Heng’s breathing is labored by the time Blade comes. He helps Blade roll over before he hurries to the restroom. He takes off his clothes, takes a hasty, cold shower, then he returns with a damp washcloth, wiping Blade down as best he can.
He texts his manager, requesting the day off. His manager agrees, but only after making sure Dan Heng is okay.
My cat is sick, he says.
It’s as good an excuse as any.
Dan Heng uses the changing of the season as an indicator of Blade’s upcoming heat.
They had crossed paths in the spring. Dan Heng had fingered him in the sweltering, balmy thick of summer. Now, it’s autumn.
Dan Heng bundles a scarf around Blade’s throat. Blade balks at all the gifts Dan Heng bestows upon him, but Dan Heng ignores him, insisting that Blade couldn’t go out without a jacket. Blade’s inconsistent but lucrative income helps them live comfortably; he simply can’t stand the idea of using the money on himself.
It’s only when Dan Heng starts pulling away, excusing himself from social outings, begging off of work in advance, that the people around him realize something is amiss. Your ‘cat’ again? Caelus texts, tone teasing. Dan Heng blushes, caught.
It’s not like he can leave Blade alone, after all.
He works an earlier shift than usual. When he’s finished, he slips out of the employee door and into the nearest alley.
Astonishingly, he runs into someone—a man who screams danger in a more subtle way than Blade.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Dan Heng bristles at the insinuation that Blade is property. He keeps walking, hyperaware of the footsteps in his wake. When the stranger grabs his shoulder, he has half a mind to run, glancing at the nearest police station.
Going out on a limb, Dan Heng makes an assumption. “Your bond is broken. He’s not yours anymore.” His keeps his gaze level, undeterred by the suave, middle-aged man with slicked back hair.
“Perhaps not,” the man Dan Heng can only assume is Nyx replies, smiling beatifically. “We’re still connected in other ways.”
“Get lost.”
Nyx blinks slowly, amused. “He’s on the brink of his heat, isn’t he? What can a beta like you do?”
Textbook overbearing alpha, Dan Heng thinks, understanding why Blade had broken ties. He was a wild thing, far removed from traditionalism. Honestly, Dan Heng wonders why Blade agreed to a bond in the first place.
Abruptly, it occurs to Dan Heng that breaking the bond hadn’t been the reason Blade went feral. Blade had probably succumb to the madness on his own, then Nyx swooped in to ‘save’ him. Blade had endured Nyx’s company for goodness knows how long, then escaped at an opportune time, slipping into an old, familiar headspace as soon as the bond faded.
Gloomily, Dan Heng swallows. “That’s none of your business,” he says, answering Nyx’s question. In truth, he had bought a litany of things for the occasion. Blade had gotten into the habit of leaving notes before he disappeared for days at a time. Dan Heng had no intention of handing him over without a fight.
“I’m a gentleman. I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do,” Nyx says, affecting a detached tone. Dan Heng doesn’t trust him, dodging him when Nyx attempts to place a hand on his shoulder. “Regardless, it would be in your best interests for you to reconsider my proposal.”
That said, Nyx melts into the shadows, leaving Dan Heng alone with his thoughts. He makes his way back to his apartment with a low-grade tension headache, brow furrowed.
Thankfully, Blade isn’t home. Dan Heng sets himself to the preparatory tasks: cleaning the toys, arranging a number of blankets on the bed, and so forth. He showers, too. Best not to leave any traces of his clandestine encounter on his person.
Blade’s chest heaves when he finally enters, smelling deeply of blood. A wad of cash is thrown on the floor before he washes up, pupils blown wide.
He flops on the bed naked. His hair has grown out quite a bit. His messy waves are artful rather than tangled, giving Blade the air of a brooding musician. Dan Heng chuckles at that thought. Blade stares at him, on the verge of scowling. His disdain is so soothing that Dan Heng pushes his anxiety to the back of his mind.
He starts off slowly, restraining himself to careful strokes. Blade trusts him, or at least Dan Heng likes to think he does, red eyes shuttering closed as the fever creeps in. Blade breathes in heavy gasps, sweating in no time at all. It’s easy for Dan Heng to get him on his knees.
Like this, Blade is exposed. He’s not wet, not yet, but he’s sensitive. Dan Heng is happy to note that Blade’s thighs have gotten thicker. The flesh of his abdomen is less sallow. “You look good,” he murmurs, delivering an earnest compliment.
Blade snorts. This act isn’t supposed to be personal.
Still, Dan Heng is reverent as he explores, examining Blade’s scars. There are a few of them that are new, but most of them are old. Dan Heng wonders how many Nyx inflicted.
Now is not the time to worry about that, he reminds himself, watching Blade clench and clamp around nothing. He plunges his fingers into Blade’s searing heat, working swiftly, listening to the little grunts. “Good?” Dan Heng asks as he pulls out, reaching for one of the toys.
He receives an affirmative nod. He presses on.
The toy in his hand designed for omega pleasure, the middle flared like a knot. Dan Heng pets Blade through the pain as he pushes it in, waiting until Blade goes quiet to hit his notching space. When Dan Heng strikes gold, Blade howls, nails tearing holes in the sheets.
It’s far from the first set he’s ruined.
“Shh,” Dan Heng murmurs, rocking into Blade despite himself. The idea of fucking Blade himself consumes Dan Heng, but he swallows the urge—this is what Blade needs. He’s bitter because Nyx made a good point.
Still, he’s helping, isn’t he? Blade hasn’t turned him away. He’s flushed and dripping, glaring daggers at the pillows, but he’s satisfied.
He allows Dan Heng to do this. He doesn’t fight it, though Dan Heng knows Blade certainly could.
Dan Heng inches closer, then closer still, allowing his lips to touch Blade’s skin for the first time. Blade’s back arches, slick sluicing down his thighs, mouth open wide.
Emboldened, Dan Heng does it again. “How does it feel?”
“How do you fucking think,” Blade gripes, the words coming out in a slur.
Dan Heng pulls the toy out, just a bit, slamming it in deeper with ferocity. Even he’s surprised by his fervor.
Blade smirks. “Wish it was you?”
Yes, Dan Heng thinks, achingly hard in his pants. He nips and sucks, fucking Blade within an inch of his life with the toy. He doesn’t touch himself at all, all too aware that he’s going to stain his underwear.
He wipes Blade down, leaves him with the toy plugged inside. They take turns easing the pressure. In the thick of his heat, Blade startles Dan Heng, straddling his waist.
Dan Heng stares at him, wide-eyed. Blade’s eyes blaze with focus and intent, but his body tells a different story, red all over and sticky. He rocks himself back and forth on Dan Heng’s thighs, rough fingers wet thanks to the dribbles of slick that have escaped the silicone plug. Dan Heng squeezes his eyes shut as he moans, coming hot and fast.
Blade, too, looks shattered, eying him hungrily. Before he can fall, Dan Heng lurches to catch him, earning a merciless bite in his shoulder for the effort.
Something in him breaks, but he won’t rest until the air is clear, until he gets permission from Blade when he’s lucid.
Three days later, Dan Heng opens the windows, washes the sheets, and throws Blade in the tub. “You’re stronger than you look, kid,” Blade mutters, half-impressed, half-annoyed.
He hauls packages into the storage area every other night—he’s not a slouch. He waits until he’s scrubbed Blade clean to break the news, keeping his voice steady. “Nyx approached me.”
Blade whips around like he’s been burned, canines flashing when he growls. “Where?”
“Near the restaurant,” Dan Heng confesses. Ostensibly, Nyx had tracked him down. Not through their old bond; the scar was faded and Blade would have noticed a probe. “You should probably avoid going out for a few days.”
“What, and wait for him to come banging on the door?” Blade sneers.
Dan Heng patiently looks off to the side. Blade stalks into Dan Heng’s bedroom like he owns the place, hastily pulling on clothes. Dan Heng has carved out a space for him in his closet, in his drawers, in his life. It’s a devastating thing to realize.
It’s only once Blade has his bangs pushed back with a headband on that Dan Heng realizes Blade is going hunting.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Dan Heng asks, hating himself for displaying vulnerability.
Blade looks him up and down, pulling on a pair of gloves. Dan Heng is a good head shorter than him, but he glares at Blade mulishly. It would be in Dan Heng’s best interests for Blade to fuck off and die, but Dan Heng pulled him back from the precipice, risking his safety to do so. He doesn’t want Blade to lose himself again.
Kid doesn’t have any fucking sense of self-preservation, Blade thinks. This much, they have in common.
He huffs. “Next time, fuck me like you mean it.”
Dan Heng balks, flushing in splotches until he’s pink up to his ears. “Even though I can’t knot you?”
“Because you can’t knot me,” Blade replies, tone haughty. He cocks a hand on one hip. “I’ve had enough of being at an alpha’s beck and call.” Tellingly, he lets his other hand drift to his neck. “If you had to put a mark here to cover this up, what would it be?”
“Convoluted way to ask.”
“Just answer the question.”
Dan Heng sighs. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Blade snorts, pivoting on his heel. He pulls on his boots and disappears, slinking into the city.
It’s in Dan Heng’s nature to worry, to contemplate. He turns over a dozen possibilities in his head, each one more gruesome than the last. He checks the news whenever he has the stomach to read the obituaries, sighing with relief every time he doesn’t see Blade’s face.
He scrolls through photos for inspiration, waiting for the right thing to strike him. Splashes of ink and improvised work are a good start, then he finds himself on a site detailing flower language.
Dan Heng doesn’t know much about flowers and he knows even less about the meanings of them. Good luck. Happiness. Everlasting bonds.
None of them feel right until he sees the spider lilies. Vibrantly red, planted to ward off pests, graded with a tendency to bloom late in the year. They’re associated with death and farewells, but somehow, Dan Heng thinks Blade will appreciate the irony.
He saves a dozen pictures of the flowers, then other people's tattoos, frightened by how badly he wants a permanent mark on Blade’s skin.
Dan Heng wonders if Blade is planning to kill Nyx. Probably not, he concludes. Rich, powerful guys like Nyx weren’t easy to get rid of. He waits patiently, distracting himself with friends and movie nights.
When people ask about his cat, Dan Heng tells them he ran away.
He doesn’t tell people he’s not looking for him.
You can’t tame wild things, he thinks.
Blade drags himself into the apartment with three days to spare and a nasty wound on his calf. It’s been bandaged so he’s not dripping blood everywhere, but he’s pale and washed out.
“Everything went well, I see,” Dan Heng drawls, voice thick with sarcasm. He opens the bathroom door, tugging on Blade’s elbow. Blade collapses on the toilet seat, head throbbing. “Feel like talking about it?”
Blade glares at him. Dan Heng takes that as a no, pulling out a first aid kit.
He unravels the bandages, grimacing at the messy stitches. Still, it only takes him a moment to move past the nausea and help Blade clean the wound properly, lamenting the mess on the tiles. Dan Heng pushes himself up, offering Blade his shoulder.
He’s startled when Blade starts speaking, breath hot in Dan Heng’s ear. “People always talk about doing what it takes to survive, but nobody talks about what a pain in the ass it is to find the right place to die.”
Blade spits, blood and phlegm splashing on the floor. Dan Heng would chastise Blade, but he’s more invested in the story. He says nothing, waiting Blade out.
“Everything in your body tells you to keep going. To sleep. Eat. Fuck. I’ve been feral half of my life and this damn thing still hasn’t given out,” Blade says, pointing to his chest for emphasis. “Nyx used me—for errands, for pleasure, anything that struck his fancy. I screwed him over when I left. I knew he’d want revenge.”
Dan Heng fills in the blanks. Blade had probably been on the run for quite some time when Dan Heng found him scrounging for scraps.
“He’s proud. Won’t be the last time he tries something like this, but he knows I won’t make it easy for him. He’ll give up when he realizes he’s wasting his resources. I know the way his goons think. I trained a lot of ‘em.”
Dan Heng swallows the urge to whistle, impressed. An omega instructing an alpha’s personal Security team? Blade had proven his worth in spades before biting the hand that fed him. He had still been functionally imprisoned, after all, which made it all the more endearing that Blade wanted something to remember Dan Heng by.
“Enough about that guy. We have more pressing matters to attend to.”
For a moment, Dan Heng doesn’t understand what the hell Blade is talking about. Then, he’s flustered. “You need to focus on healing.”
“Coward,” Blade spits, aiming to get a rise out of him. He succeeds with flying colors. Vindictively, Dan Heng squeezes Blade’s leg just to watch his face pinch. The two of them scowl at each other, gazes heated.
“Tomorrow,” Dan Heng promises, leading the way to the bedroom. Blade ambles behind him slowly, amused as Dan Heng rearranges things. The blankets had all been laundered, as had the pillows. The array looks suspiciously similar to a nest, but Blade is too tired to call Dan Heng out on it. After all, it’s comfortable. He likes it.
Never in a million years would he have done something like this with that slimy bastard. Nyx would have stripped him and splashed cold water on him and called it a done deal. Nyx had slapped a collar on him and all but chained Blade to his feet, gloating over his ability to keep him on a leash.
Dan Heng minds his manners, cautious to the point of shooting himself in the foot. He’s so busy treating Blade like a person that he suppresses his own desires.
Despite his best intentions, Blade falls asleep. Dan Heng works the tangles out of his hair, waiting for Blade’s breathing to even out before he pulls on his pajamas, lying down beside him.
Being in heat is an all-consuming experience.
Feral is a tidy, convenient word to categorize the less-savory, inconvenient parts of said experience. People on the extreme ends of the spectrum infrequently had their irises change color, lost control, exhibiting manic behavior and acting on violent urges. A number of theories existed to explain why people turned feral, but Blade is a rare breed. He was genetically predisposed to it. That, combined with the shit hand life dealt him, made Blade’s adult life a blur, a haze of clouded memories that all too often ended with blood on his hands.
His symptoms had only become more severe after he cut ties with Nyx, berserk pheromones wearing at his frayed nerves. Shattered porcelain was difficult to piece together the second time a vessel broke.
Today, warm in Dan Heng’s sheets, Blade feels a type of clarity he hasn’t felt in years.
Scientists had a dozen ways to ‘cure’ feral people, which included putting them mind-altering drugs for life and permanent, physical restraint, but it turned out that quiet, easy acceptance was equally effective.
Blade pulls Dan Heng out of his sweatpants, watching gray-blue eyes drift open. He’s really very pretty, this gentle-hearted savior of his. He lets his eyes fall closed, tongue teasing at the head of Dan Heng’s cock.
Awareness dawns on him. When Dan Heng realizes it’s not a dream, his breath hitches. “You don’t have to,” he mumbles, embarrassed by his reaction.
Blade rolls his eyes with a snort. He pulls off just long enough to say, “I never do anything I don’t want to do,” then he returns to his ministrations.
Dan Heng stiffens up in no time at all. Blade purrs.
His expression is incredibly rewarding when Blade releases him, deliberately letting his saliva trail. Dan Heng’s skin is rosy. He’s shaking with desire, displaying herculean restraint. “Quit hiding,” Blade rasps, pinching Dan Heng balls, pleased by the flicker of frustrated anger that creeps into his eyes.
There’s a beast buried in there, Blade knows, beta status notwithstanding.
On cue, Dan Heng grabs his wrists, effectively pinning Blade. Dan Heng kisses Blade like he’s starving for it. He’s wanted this for weeks—months—and now that he’s started, he can’t convince himself to stop.
He nips at Blade’s lips until they’re puffy. Dan Heng peels his clothes off without finesse, movements utilitarian. Blade does the same.
Dan Heng’s fingers wander, climbing higher until he reaches his prize. Blade’s pubic hair is unruly, thick and curly. Dan Heng doesn’t care. He’s never cared. It’s not a deterrent.
It’s not the first time he’s touched Blade, far from it, but the anticipation of what comes next has him at a loss for words. He’s never been particularly talkative and with Blade sucking at his neck and scratching his back, Dan Heng can’t think of a single thing to say.
This is a slow dance; every motion is familiar. Blade snarls at Dan Heng to hurry up, which only encourages Dan Heng to slow down, waiting until Blade is horribly desperate, Dan Heng’s fingers coated in Blade’s slick.
Blade is bigger than him. Stronger than him. Dan Heng wants him so much, it’s kind of terrifying.
He attempts to dig through his drawers for a condom when it’s finally time, but Blade snatches his wrist. “Don’t bother,” he says, daring Dan Heng to test his patience.
They’re biologically incompatible. In essence, Dan Heng is sterile, but he’s worried about Blade’s health. With a fresh wound, he would be even more susceptible to infection.
“You’re clean, aren’t you?” Blade snaps.
Dan Heng nods. His nostrils flare, struggling to come to grips with reality. Blade is soaking wet by the time he lines himself up, heat rolling off of him in waves.
Blade is not particularly tight—he’s made for fatter, more intrusive cocks—but it’s nice to see him face-to-face, to see the way he scrunches his eyes and groans, driving the pace. Dan Heng closes his eyes, steeling himself before he snaps his hips, leaning in closer.
Blade’s body is a beautiful machine, broken but lovely nonetheless. Dan Heng loses himself in Blade’s intensity. He wanted to be nice, wanted to take his time, but Blade’s derisive laugh pisses him off, has Dan Heng thrusting so hard that Blade starts to drool, cunt clinched tight around his cock.
Working in a finger is an ordeal when Dan Heng is about to blow his load and Blade is as high-strung as he ever gets, but Dan Heng manages it. He’s close and Blade is faded, eyes glassy as the haze descends. Arousal has Blade curling in on himself as Dan Heng works at his notching space, creating the facsimile of a knot.
Blade’s responding moan is loud. Dan Heng bruisingly grips his hips. He allows himself to come, admiring the sheen of his handiwork when he pulls out.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Blade mutters.
Dan Heng decides that Blade can wait for the answer. He cleans a toy and a glass of water, then he returns, pushing the silicone in before he helps Blade sit up.
“I can’t get it up again that fast or keep it up,” Dan Heng reminds him. Blade clicks his tongue. “You’ll have to make do with this for the next hour or so.”
“You’re younger than me. You should be able handle another round.”
Instead of replying, Dan Heng rolls his eyes.
For a while, it’s quiet. Dan Heng reads a book. Blade sleeps fitfully. Eventually, Blade paws at him. Dan Heng tugs on his hair. “If you suck me off, I won’t be able to fuck you.”
Annoyed, Blade leaps into his lap like a predator, rutting against Dan Heng’s thighs.
Blade is such a nuisance that it takes him three tries to pull out the toy. Fresh slick pours out of his hole as soon as it’s out. Blade chases his pleasure, using Dan Heng to get off.
“Slow down,” Dan Heng murmurs, running his fingers through Blade’s hair, rubbing at his shoulders until he relaxes.
Time unwinds like this. They sleep, fuck, and snack until it’s over, until the stench of sex permeates the apartment.
Dan Heng is drained, but their last round had left Blade splattered with come all the way up to his pecs. Pride warms him to the core.
His fingers drift to Blade’s neck. He’s startled when Blade looks at him. His own yearning is echoed in ruby red eyes. Mine, if only for the moment.
“I finally figured out what I want,” he whispers.
“About damn time.”
Blade makes the final call on the parlor, wrinkling his nose at the artists he doesn’t think will do the concept justice.
Dan Heng sits next to him as Blade signs forms. They both ignore the formalities. Dan Heng, nods and hums, at least, attentively listening the lecture about how to keep the tattoo clean, then they’re led to the back. The artist quickly understands that they’re not prone to conversation, growing quiet after a handful of aborted attempts. Dan Heng reads. Blade listens to music.
Three hours later, the piece is done. The center section is black, but the abstract waves around the flower are vibrantly red, as deep a color that can be achieved in Blade’s olive-toned skin.
Dan Heng snaps a dozen photos before the artwork is covered by plastic. They stop to get something to eat on the way home. Blade still leaves whenever he wants to, but he comes back to the apartment more evenings than he doesn’t, curling up in Dan Heng’s bed instead of the couch.
Possessiveness curls in him. Boldly, the moment Blade is finished chewing, Dan Heng grabs his hand. Blade’s hair flops over his eyes, leaving his expression guarded, but he squeezes back.
This is new and tentative, but the mark on Blade’s skin is permanent.
He’s startled when Blade dips him down, snagging a rough kiss. Blade laughs, smug and overconfident. Dan Heng glares, but there’s no heat to it. He’s entranced. Intrigued.
They have time to learn each other inside and out, to grow.
They’re willing to make this work.