TBM Vol 3 Part 10

Sa Seung-yeon wrapped an arm around Lee Il-seo’s trembling shoulders, giving a small wave to the behind-the-scenes camera before wrapping up the photo session. Even as Lee Il-seo blew out the candles on the cake—prepared by the production team to celebrate his debut as a lead—his tears flowed in thick, silent streaks.

“I’ll be going now.”

After saying his final goodbyes to Director Chae, Sa Seung-yeon headed straight for the parking lot. Getting into his car with a somewhat tired expression, Sa Seung-yeon closed his eyes tightly and exhaled a hot breath.

During the scene where he’d smashed the car’s hood and windshield, the wound, hidden beneath gauze, had likely torn further. The pain was sharp and growing, radiating from his arm and leaving him breathless. By the time he’d said goodbye to the director, cold sweat was already beading along the back of his neck.

Screech—

Just then, the moving car stopped abruptly. Even the slight movement caused pain, making Sa Seung-yeon silently frown. Hwan, startled, pointed to the side door and said,

“Sir, actor Lee Il-seo is here.”

Sa Seung-yeon forced his brow to smooth, then rolled down the window. Sure enough, Lee Il-seo stood there, eyes so swollen his usual double eyelids had vanished, the tip of his nose still an aching red.

“Senior.”

His voice was thick, as if the tears were just waiting to fall again. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a shallow breath. The night wind tousled his damp hair as he gave a small bow, then lifted his head, brushing his bangs away from his flushed, wet face. He looked beautiful. Beautiful enough that Sa Seung-yeon felt the faint urge to make him cry again—this time, in bed. But given his current condition, that wasn’t happening.

“I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye.”

“Is that so? The set was pretty chaotic.”

The throb in his arm worsened, forcing Sa Seung-yeon to clench and unclench his fist below the window. His patience was thinning fast. He understood Lee Il-seo’s regret, but right now, the visit felt more like a burden than a comfort.

“How’s your injury? I noticed earlier that the blood had spread more…”

It seemed he had been carefully observing the wound area while filming. Sa Seung-yeon answered, raising his eyebrows as if it were nothing.

“Really? It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Just in case, please make sure to go to the hospital.”

Lee Il-seo bit his lip and bowed his head slightly before raising it again.

“Thank you. For Everything.”

“Sure. I enjoyed it too, in many ways.”

Not just the filming, but also the incidental sex. As if sensing the implication in the sentence, Lee Il-seo’s brown eyes trembled briefly. Feeling a strange heaviness in the gaze that clung to his chin, Sa Seung-yeon drew the line first.

“Let’s have a meal sometime if we get the chance.”

His eyes crinkled with a practiced smile. Lee Il-seo hesitated, then returned it, though it looked like he’d just bit into a sour candy. Sa Seung-yeon offered him a polite nod and rolled up the window.

“Let’s go.”

As he removed his coat and rolled up his shirt with a face devoid of any smile, the smell of blood spread heavily. As expected, the gauze covering the wound was soaked red, and blood that the gauze couldn’t absorb had leaked out. Lee Il-seo seemed to have seen these damp traces. Hwan, looking at Sa Seung-yeon through the rearview mirror, asked in a worried voice,

“Sir, should we go to the emergency room?”

“No. Go home.”

Temperature of Overflow had already endured enough scandals—from Lee Il-seo’s controversial casting to the stalker incident. If word got out that Sa Seung-yeon had been injured on set, public backlash would start before the show even aired.

Instead of going to the emergency room, Sa Seung-yeon contacted a doctor he was acquainted with, and luckily received a reply that it was his day off. Sa Seung-yeon briefly explained the situation and arranged to receive treatment at home.

The doctor arrived on time, treated the wounds efficiently, and then left without unnecessary chatter. The damage was worse than expected—his arm required stitches, and his back was laced with scratches. Tossing the prescribed painkillers onto the nightstand, Sa Seung-yeon leaned back against the bed’s headboard with a weary sigh.

“It’s over.”

His cracked voice hollowly filled the bedroom. Suddenly, the expression of Lee Il-seo staring at him at the end came to mind.

Whether by coincidence or not, Lee Il-seo said his final goodbye like the day of the first shoot. On the first day of filming, the guy had thoroughly messed up the kiss scene and annoyed people by lingering around the car with an orange-flavored caramel in his hand.

“Lee Il-seo…”

Sa Seung-yeon let out a weak, bitter laugh. It was amusing how he kept thinking of him even though he was the one who had drawn the line first. He knew perfectly well that if he were to call him now, he would readily spread his legs for him in bed, as they had agreed to maintain their relationship until the last day of filming.

But now there was a different reason. Perhaps due to his sudden injury, his condition had deteriorated rapidly, and his rut was arriving earlier than expected.

As soon as he realized this, he felt a heavy pulling sensation below. Recognizing the clear symptoms of an approaching rut,  Sa Seung-yeon frowned in distress. Being controlled by pheromones against his will was truly horrifying.

His gaze flicked to the two containers on the console: the rut suppressant and the anti-inflammatory pills.

Before leaving, the doctor had given him one warning: don’t take both medications together. He emphasized that the suppressant was particularly strong, and taking them together could strain his body.

“…”

With no plans to leave the house, Sa Seung-yeon chose the anti-inflammatory and slid under the covers. The moment his head hit the pillow, exhaustion rolled over him in waves.

He woke to discomfort. Hot, rapid breaths escaped between his lips. His throat was dry, and the air around the bedroom felt hot against his skin. Sa Seung-yeon wrinkled his brow in agony and shook his head to clear his mind, but his vision remained hazy.

Thinking about it, since debuting at twenty-two, he hadn’t gone through a rut without medication. He had forgotten how raw it was. How sharp, how consuming.

“Ah… Fuck.”

Walking to the dining room was torture when the water beside the console ran out; every step brought forth a curse. After breaking a glass, he finally managed to get some cold water, but instead of making it back to the bedroom, he collapsed onto the wide sofa.

The fever crept higher. With shaking fingers, he grabbed the remote and queued up songs from Tangerine. The music didn’t ease the rut, but it steadied him—familiar voices grounding his spiraling thoughts.

After sitting motionless like a corpse listening to the music, Sa Seung-yeon unsteadily stood up and moved to the cabinet next to the soundbar. From the bottom shelf where he kept LPs and albums, he took out an old mobile phone and connected it to the TV.

After pressing the remote a few times, Tangerine’s image soon filled the large screen. Without taking his eyes off the screen, Sa Seung-yeon backed up to the sofa and sat down heavily.

It was a backup from when his fan page disappeared—white curtains, a pale throat, lips brushing lyrics into the camera. Though he hadn’t watched it in years, the footage felt intimately known.

Sa Seung-yeon’s lips naturally curved into a smile. Unlike his usual forced, fake smile, this one was more comfortable and bright than ever.

He lost track of time watching those videos. The painkillers numbed the stitches, but pheromones dulled his senses further. His breath turned shallow, body prickling against the fabric, the air, and the floor.

Even to himself, his breathing was becoming increasingly rapid, and the sofa against his skin, the marble floor, and even the air felt prickly and sensitive.

It was the true beginning of the rut.

With his pants half-down, Sa Seung-yeon gripped his stiff erection and began to stroke himself. Veins bulged across his lower abdomen and thighs. With a few desperate pulls, thick, milky fluid arced into the air.

“Ugh.”

He had lost count of how many times he’d ejaculated. He would masturbate until falling asleep, then wake up and grip his penis again. Despite continuously ejaculating, his penis remained painfully hard and swollen red.

“Ha…”

He let his head fall back against the sofa, panting. Tangerine’s voice looped endlessly in the background. Sa Seung-yeon blinked slowly at the ceiling. All he could think of was the need to bury himself in something hot, wet, and tight.

An extremely dominant Alpha’s rut doesn’t easily subside unless they smell an omega’s pheromones and release their own pheromones into the omega. They say it lasts one or two days when mingling with an omega, four days with suppressants, and over ten days without suppressants.

Despite having an easier, shorter option, Sa Seung-yeon chose to isolate himself. This time, there was the variable of not being able to take suppressants due to his arm injury, but he still preferred suffering alone to sleeping with an omega.

Every time the rut period approached, he felt disgusted by the physiological structure called ‘traits’. People praised extremely dominant traits, especially Alphas. The reasons were the innate physique and strength, and the ability to easily appeal to others using pheromones, but to Sa Seung-yeon, they all seemed inferior.

The periodically rising desire numbs reason and makes one obsessed with the single-minded purpose of impregnating an omega like a beast. Although rut and heat cycles are said to be natural animal instincts for species reproduction, Sa Seung-yeon questioned the very act of reproduction.

Why is being born a blessing?

The premise itself was flawed. There are too many people in this world who aren’t qualified to be parents. Having to live as the result of their reckless actions, driven by desire… Isn’t that too unfair for those who are born?

Parental qualification isn’t granted by wealth, dominant status as an Alpha or omega, or social reputation. He didn’t have to look far to understand that. His own parents, wealthy, influential, and kind-hearted, were proof enough.

That was why Sa Seung-yeon never sought out omegas during his rut. Rather than risk losing control—risk pouncing on someone, knotting them, possibly getting them pregnant—it was cleaner, safer, to endure the agony alone. To be trapped in that filthy, searing torment for a week.

So he had to endure. Despite the agony, he forced himself to sleep with this determination.

But when he opened his eyes again, whatever thread of reason he had clung to was gone. His pitch-black pupils trembled. A guttural growl escaped from deep in his throat, his neck flushed and bloodshot. He had become exactly what he despised—an Alpha in heat.

With her intense gaze fixed on Tangerine’s video, Sa Seung-yeon rubbed his cock up and down. While the boy in the video was Tangerine, Sa Seung-yeon had replaced the invisible face above the neck with Lee Il-seo in his mind, ruthlessly ravaging the boy.

It was no longer instinctual. It was clear. The object of his arousal wasn’t Tangerine—it was Lee Il-seo. Thinking of him naked and panting, flushed with want, was far more intoxicating than anything the video offered.

“Ha…”

He imagined thrusting deep into his trembling hole while he screamed like he’d lost his mind, gripping him tightly from the inside. People called him a slut, mocked him for it—but Sa Seung-yeon didn’t mind. He liked that about him. He didn’t pretend. He wasn’t calculating. He didn’t build himself up on lies or place false hope in people like he did.

Lee Il-seo’s neck was slender. It would have been better if he had a mole at the corner of his mouth like a Tangerine, but instead, there was a similar colored mole at the corner of his eye. His skin was so thin that veins were visible, white flesh that clung damply when soaked with sweat, the red hole that stretched to its limit when holding his cock, and the hot, slippery inner walls within—all were shamefully erotic.

“Ugh, hng.”

As soon as he thought of Lee Il-seo’s body, his cock instantly became hot as if about to burst, and a murky liquid flowed out. Though he was masturbating hard enough to hurt his hand, the sticky fluid was still copious enough to flow down his hand.

Both his pants and underwear, pulled down to his thighs, were soaked and dirty with semen from multiple ejaculations. After wiping the semen clinging to his still pulsing member after ejaculation, Sa Seung-yeon stared at his palm and let out a fishy laugh.

He wanted to push this semen deep into that wet, deep hole. He wanted to thrust it into a place so deep it couldn’t escape, probe to the limit, and ravage until the flat stomach bulged.

Ding.

His heavy eyes drifted toward the bedroom. The phone had been ringing off and on since the doctor left, but he had ignored it. This time, though, the notification sound was louder, clearer—somehow more insistent.

A strong hunch struck him that he needed to check who had contacted him. Rising as if enchanted by the sound, Sa Seung-yeon roughly cleaned his hands and lower parts with tissues placed on the sofa table and walked into the bedroom. At the end of his dragging steps, Sa Seung-yeon’s hand grasped the mobile phone lying face down on the console.

The alarm rang twice more. All were message sounds from the same person.

“Sunbae-nim, how are you feeling?”

“Please make sure to get your wound treated.”

“I’m worried.”

The black pupils reading the text never blinked once. Recalling one fact, Sa Seung-yeon smiled more broadly than ever.

“Ah.”

Lee Il-seo was a beta.

A beta—who would never, ever get pregnant, no matter how much cum he stuffed into him.