Jet had barely settled in the guest bedroom when a loud thud echoed through the house. His heart jumped.
He bolted upright, tossing his phone aside as he rushed to Han's room. The door swung open, and the sharp scent of pheromones crashed into him. Han was missing from the bed.
"Han?" Jet called out.
No answer.
Stepping inside cautiously, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room—then he spotted movement. A figure slowly pushed up from the floor, a hand pressed against his head. Han groaned, gripping the edge of the bed for support.
"Sorry… rolled off," Han muttered, wincing. "It hurts."
Jet stepped closer. "What hurts?"
"My head… feels like it's pounding—won't stop." Han clenched his temples, brows furrowed in pain.
Jet reached out, pressing a hand to his forehead. Still burning up. His stomach twisted. Did I give him the wrong pill? Was the porridge not enough? What did I miss?
Then the scent hit him again—stronger this time. Jet's breath hitched as his body responded on instinct. It wasn't just a fever. Han was deep in a rut cycle, his pheromones growing thicker by the second, curling through the air like invisible tendrils, coaxing, luring.
Han tensed beneath his touch, breathing uneven. He pushed Jet's hand away, fingers curling into the sheets.
"Get out," Han rasped.
Jet blinked. "What?"
"Get. Out." Han's voice dropped lower, strained, his body rigid.
Jet could see it now—the way Han's hands gripped the sheets, the way his pupils dilated, heat rolling off him in waves. This wasn't just a fever.
And Jet wasn't going anywhere.
He exhaled, bracing himself. "I'm not leaving until you get better."
Han stared at him, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Then, without warning, he moved—fast. A hand shot up, gripping Jet's jaw, pulling him in until their lips crashed together.
Jet inhaled sharply, caught between shock and something else, something burning. He pushed back just enough to break the kiss, gasping for air, but Han wasn't letting go.
Jet swallowed hard, staring down at the man beneath him. Then, with a smirk, he pushed Han onto the bed.
"I'm not letting you have all the fun now," he murmured.
Jet barely had a second to react before Han's hands found his waist, fingers digging in as if he were memorizing every inch of him.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Han murmured, his voice low and thick with something primal.
Jet smirked, rolling his hips ever so slightly against Han's stomach, teasing, testing. "And what if I win?"
Han didn't answer with words. Instead, he yanked Jet down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. It was possessive, demanding—claiming. Jet's breath hitched as Han's hands roamed up his back, pressing their bodies flush against each other.
The room filled with the rich scent of arousal, heavy and intoxicating. Jet's head spun, his body tingling from the sheer potency of it. Han's scent was demanding submission, dominance intertwining with an unspoken plea for relief.
Clothes disappeared between heated kisses and ragged breaths. Jet sat straddling Han's lap, bare skin against bare skin, his hands braced against Han's chest.
Then Han's grip tightened.
Jet gasped when Han grabbed his hips, shifting him effortlessly, positioning him exactly where he wanted.
Jet's breath was already uneven, his body thrumming with anticipation. But Han didn't rush. No, Han never rushed when it came to this.
Instead, he trailed his hand down Jet's spine, slow and deliberate, before gripping his thigh and pulling him closer. Jet's lips parted, a shiver running through him as Han's fingers teased, barely brushing where he needed them most.
Jet tensed instinctively.
Han inhaled deeply, his scent thickening as he released calming pheromones into the air. A deep, warm reassurance that wrapped around Jet's senses, coaxing him to relax.
"Relax," Han murmured, his voice a deep, velvety reassurance against Jet's skin. He pressed a lingering kiss along Jet's throat, his free hand sliding up to stroke his waist. "You know I won't hurt you."
Jet swallowed hard, nodding, trusting.
The first finger pressed in, slick and slow. Jet inhaled sharply, but Han soothed him with his lips, his hands, his steady touch. A second followed soon after, scissoring gently, easing him open. Jet clenched around him, a quiet whimper escaping his lips.
Han exhaled, his restraint hanging by a thread. Fuck, he was tight.
"Look at you," Han murmured, pressing his forehead against Jet's. His voice was thick with want, but his movements stayed careful, patient. A third finger joined, stretching him further, making Jet's nails dig into Han's shoulders.
Jet gasped, his hips shifting, seeking more.
"There you go," Han breathed, watching the way Jet melted into his touch. Taking him so well. His fingers curled just right, and Jet's back arched, a startled moan slipping from his lips. Han smirked.
"Yeah," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're ready for me now."
And with that, he pulled his fingers away—earning a frustrated whine—before gripping Jet's waist and lining himself up.
"Hold on," Han warned, voice rough with restraint.
Jet barely had a moment to catch his breath before Han pushed in.
His head snapped back, fingers clutching Han's shoulders as his entire body trembled from the stretch. His breath left him in a broken moan.
Han groaned beneath him, eyes locked onto Jet's every expression, every reaction.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice laced with satisfaction. His hands roamed, memorizing every shiver, every arch of Jet's body all again. "Perfect."
Jet shuddered, nails dragging down Han's skin as he tried to steady himself. But Han wasn't planning on giving him that chance.
Because the moment Jet exhaled, Han moved..
Jet barely had time to register the shift before Han's hands were on him—firm, unyielding, pinning him down onto the bed. A low chuckle rumbled from Han's chest as he pressed his weight against Jet's back, lips ghosting along his nape.
"Like this," Han murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. He traced his fingers down Jet's spine, slow and deliberate, until they reached his hips. "Let me see you."
Jet shivered but refused to let Han have the last word so easily. "You just wanna stare at my ass, don't you?" he shot back, twisting to glance at him.
Han smirked. "And?"
Before Jet could snap back, Han's hands gripped his hips, dragging him up until his knees pressed into the mattress, his chest sinking into the sheets. Jet swallowed hard.
"Relax," Han murmured against his skin, peppering kisses down his back. "Let me take care of you."
Jet bit his lip, but he didn't argue. He liked it—liked the way Han's hands held him firm, like he belonged to him.
And when Han finally pushed inside, stretching him inch by inch, Jet let out a choked moan, fingers curling into the sheets.
"Fuck," Han groaned, his grip tightening. "You take me so damn well."
Jet barely had time to breathe before Han moved, thrusting deep, hitting every spot that made his body jolt. Jet buried his face into the pillow, but Han wasn't having that.
"No," Han growled, reaching forward and gripping Jet's chin, turning his head slightly. "Let me hear you."
Jet whimpered, his whole body trembling as Han rocked into him, each thrust deliberate, calculated. Han was ruining him, and Jet loved every second of it.
"See?" Han murmured, nipping at his ear. "I knew you'd like this."
Jet could only moan in response, his pride long forgotten. Han knew exactly what he was doing—and Jet wasn't about to stop him.