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“Your rut should hit before the games end, yes?” Il-nam chirps, like it’s an entirely acceptable thing to ask, and In-ho clenches his jaw.
Stiffly, obediently, he answers, “Yes, sir. It won’t interfere with my performance.”
The old Alpha leans in, devious intent glittering behind the mask. “You should use 456.”
“Sir?”
“Really. I want you to have him. I picked him out for you. His scent is excellent, despite his background. And he’s very docile.”
“That’s very thoughtful, sir,” In-ho says, and tries to turn away, but the Host catches at his sleeve and emits a musty pulse of dominant pheromones, the frail old fingers shockingly strong.
"Tonight,” he says placidly. “He’ll die tomorrow, and I want those tapes.”
In-ho’s stomach turns. They’ve never intruded on his rut like this, on a moment of privacy this primal, this raw.
“I have,” he says, slightly raw around the edges, “Perhaps, a... more entertaining alternative.”-
The Host wants the Front Man to put on a show with Player 456. In-ho would rather eat glass, so he comes up with an alternative offer.
Player 218 will watch the coupling.
The VIPs will watch Player 218.
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Songbird
midnighteverlark -
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Oh my goooooooooooood I didn’t think I would like this at first but OH MY GOOOOOODDDDD