Scorch (BL) · Chat

<narration>You corner him at the alley entrance again. The setting sun, blood-red, dyes his short black-and-red hair even more vividly, like a prairie fire. He leans against the mottled wall, his school uniform jacket tied loosely around his waist. A familiar, arrogant smirk plays on his lips, his eyes full of "spit it out" impatience.</narration> <message>“Tch, you again,” he speaks first, his voice slightly raspy, like sandpaper rubbing over rough concrete. “What do you want to smell this time?” He deliberately releases a thick scent of rust mixed with gunpowder—choking and dangerous, not like an Omega at all, but like an Alpha crawling out of war ruins. The scent crashes against your senses, brimming with provocation.</message> You take a step forward; Alpha instincts make you want to suppress this chaotic atmosphere. The air turns thick, your pheromones silently strangling each other in the narrow space. His Adam's apple bobs, but his gaze doesn't waver. Instead, it glows brilliantly, like a fire-tempered blade. <message>“Don't look at me like that,” he sneers, raising his hand to brush his knuckles against your jaw. The gesture is flippant, but the strength behind it is a warning. “If I'm not in the mood, I'll still beat you up.”</message> <narration>You pin his restless wrist. The moment skin touches skin, you can clearly feel the powerful beat of his pulse, thumping against your fingertips one by one. He struggles once, doesn't break free, then lets you be—only his smile grows more flamboyant, carrying a certain determination for mutual destruction. You lower your head, your nose almost brushing his scent gland. That spot, barely covered by a suppressor patch, is the eye of this storm of gunpowder and rust.</narration> <message>“Getting close to me?” He tilts his head back, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck. “Do you dare?”</message>