The Sovereign's Fever

{TW SEX buckle up pookies, cause this one his going to be real intense!}


The air in the office didn't just get warm; it turned into a goddamn pressure cooker.

Wenlang was still stading by the window, his heart finally slowing down afther his panic attack, when the first wave hit him. It's wasn'y the smell of colongne or the city. It was the scent of a scorched earth, ozone, and predatory hunger so thick it felt like it was coating the back of his throat.

He turned around, and his stomach dropped through the fucking floor.

Hua Yong wasn't the composed, sadistic psycho Enigma from the boardroom anymore.
He was hunched over the mahogany desk, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wood. His shoulders were trembling, and the sound coming from his chest wasn't a breath—it was a low, jagged fucking growl that made Wenlang's S-Tier instincts sream, FUCKING RUN.

"Hua Yong?" Wenlang whispered his hands instinctively flying to the mark on his neck. The violet brand was starting to throb with a frantic, burning heat.
"What the fuck his happening? Are you... are you sick?"

"Get... out..." Hua Ying rasped. His voice sounded like it was being dragged over fucking broken glass.

"What?"

"I said get the fuck out of here, Wenlang! Now!" Hua Yong spun around, and Wenlang actually recoiled.

Hua Yong's eyes were a fucking nightmare.
The violet was gone, reaplaced by a blow-out, bottomless black.  His sking was flushed a deep, fucking angry red, and sweat was pouring down his temples, soaking his dress shirt. The pheromones coming off him weren't just "dominant"—they were physical weight, a sovereign's Enigma's Rut triggered by the stress and the proximity of the only Alpha he'd ever claimed.

"You're in Rut," Wenlang relized, his own heart starting to hammer against his ribs.
"You're having a goddamn meltdown I the middle of the office!"

"I told you to... leave..." Hua Yong groaned, dropping to one knee as a wave of heat hit him like a physical blow. The desk ficking groaned, as he leaned his weight into it.
"If you stay... if you stay in this room... I won't be able to stop. Get the fuck out before I lose the last of my fucking mind."

Wenlang should have listened. Every sane part of his brain told him to sprint for the door, to call security, to get far away as possible. But as he looked at Hua Yong—at the man who had been so clinical and cold now reduced to a fuckink shaking, sweating mess—he could t move.

"I'm not leaving you like this," Wenlang said, his voice shaking but steady.
"You'll kill the first person who walks through that door. You'll destroy everything I've built."

Wenlang lunged for the office controls. He hit the switch for the smart-glass and the windows instantly frosted over, turning the office into a white, opaque tomb. He slammed the lock on the heavy oak door and cut the power to the external phone lines.

"What are you... doing?" Hua Yong hissed, his eyes tracking Wenlang like a wolf tracking a wounded deer.

"I'm keeping you in here," Wenlang said, his own S-Tier pheromones starting to flare in response, creating a fucking toxic, explosive cocktail in the air. "I'm not letting the world fucking see you like this. And I'm not letting you face this alone, you bastard."

Hua Yong let out a sound that half-sob, half-roar. He didn't wait. He lunged across the space, his speed blurring. He didn't hit Wenlang; he slammed him back-first Into the frosted glass wall.

"I'm trying... to protect you..." Hua Yong whispered, his face inches from Wenlang's. The heat coming off his body was like standing next to a furnace.
"Why won't you... just fucking... listen?"

"Maybe because I'm tired of listening," Wenlang rasped, his fingers diging into the sleeve of Hua Yong's shirt. "Or maybe I'm just as fucked uo as you are."

The Rut took over.

There was no "negotiation" here. There was no "deal." It was fucking raw, fucking primal, and utterly fucking violent. Hua Yong's restraint snapped like a dry twig. He tore into Wenlang with a desperation that was terrifiying, his teeth grazing the mark on Wenlang's neck until blood started to bead on the skin.

"Say it," Hua Yong growled, his voice fucking vibrating through Wenlang's entire body.
"Say you're mine. Say it while I'm fucking burning alive, Wenlang!"

As much as Wenlang hated it, hated saying this to someone like him someone he hates, he still couldn't lie.

"I'm yours! I'm fucking yours!" Wenlang screamed, his head thumping against the glass.

The next few hours were a blur of shadows and swearing. The office—a place of billion-dollar deals and cold calculation—was turned into a fucking slaughterhouse of dignity. Clothes were shredded. The mahogany desk was pushed halfway across the room. Documents that represented decades of work were scattered and trumpled underfoot.

Every time Wenlang though he was going to fucking pass out, everytime he though his heart was going to fucking stop from the sheer intensity of the Enigma's power, Hua Yong would pause.

In those microscopic gasp int the fever, the "gentleness" appeared. Hua Yong would cradle Wenlang's face, his fingers trembling, his eyes clearing a split second of pure fucking horror at what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," Hua Yong would whispered, his voice breaking. "Fuck, Wenlang... I'm so sorry. I can't... stop..."

"Don't... don't stop..." Wenlang would wheeze, his own fucking biology demanding the very thing that was fucking destroying him. And what ticked him more was Hua Yong, the cold fucking hearted Lunatic Enigma saying sorry?
The fuck?

The Rut was a feedback loop. The more Hua Yong took, the more Wenlang S-Tier body reached for him, the "Desire" pulling them both into a fucking black hole of pheromones and pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the sun started to set, the air I. The office was stagnant a fucking heavy. The silence was deafening. Wenlang lay on the floor, his back against the base of the desk, his body covered in marks that would take weeks to fade.

Hua Yong was slumped over him, his forehead resting on Wenlang's shoulder, his breathing finally slowing into something rhythmic. The "monster" was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he'd been through a fucking war.

"You're a fucking nightmare," Wenlang whispered, his hand moving on its own to brush a damp strand of hair off Hua Yong's forehead.

Hua Yong shifted, his eyes fluttering open. The black was receding, the violet coming back, but it was cloudy and dim. He looked at Wenlang—at the wreckage he'd caused—and for the first time, he didn't have a witty comeback. He didn't have a threat.

"Why didn't you leave?" Hua Yong asked, his voice a ruined shell. "I gave you the chance. I fucking gave it to you."

"I don't know," Wenlang said, and for once, he wasn't lying. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you were actually human under all that Enigma bullshit."

Hua Yong let out a weak, jagged laugh. "And? What's the verdict?"

"The verdict is you're a mess," Wenlang said, his fingers lingering on the back of Hua Yong's neck. "And I'm an idiot. Now, get off me. We have to clean this up before the night shift finds us and calls the goddamn National Guard."

Hua Yong didn't move immediately. He stayed there, held by the Alpha he had spent the last week trying to break, and for a single, quiet moment, the "Leash" wasn't something made of silver or steel.

It was something made of blood and shared ruin.

The smart-glass remained frosted, a white shroud that kept the world away while Wenlang and Hua Yong tried to piece their souls back together. The smell in the room was cloying—sweet, heavy, and metallic. It was the scent of a finished Rut, and it made Wenlang's head spin with a nauseating mix of exhaustion and a lingering, unwanted heat.

"Get up," Hua Yong rasped.

He didn't move to help. He stayed on the floor for a moment longer, his chest heaving, before he forced himself into a sitting position. He looked at Wenlang, his eyes scanning the bruises blooming like dark flowers across Wenlang's collarbones.

"I can't fucking move, you prick," Wenlang spat, though it lacked its usual fire. He felt like his bones had been replaced with lead. "You spent the last six hours using me as a stress ball. My legs are fucking done."

Hua Yong didn't snap back. Instead, he reached out, his hand surprisingly steady as he gripped Wenlang's forearm and hauled him up. It wasn't a "command" shove; it was a heavy, possessive lift. Wenlang stumbled, his knees nearly buckling, and Hua Yong caught him, his arm wrapping around Wenlang's waist to keep him upright.

"To the bathroom. Now," Hua Yong muttered.

They limped into the executive en-suite, a marble-clad box of luxury that was about to witness the most pathetic cleanup in corporate history. Hua Yong shoved Wenlang onto the closed toilet seat and turned on the shower. The steam rose quickly, filling the small space and dampening the ruined remains of their shirts.

"I can wash my-fucking-self," Wenlang groaned, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. His fingers were shaking so badly he couldn't even catch the fabric. "FUCK!"

"Stop moving," Hua Yong growled.

He stepped between Wenlang's knees. His hands, usually so clinical and cold, were hot from the fever as he began to unbutton Wenlang's shirt. He didn't rip it this time. He moved with a slow, focused intensity, his eyes fixed on the work. When the shirt fell away, revealing the full extent of the marks on Wenlang's chest, Hua Yong's jaw tightened.

"I told you to leave," Hua Yong whispered, his thumb tracing a particularly dark bruise near Wenlang's heart.

"And I told you to go to hell," Wenlang retorted, though his head dropped forward, his forehead resting against Hua Yong's sternum. He was too tired to hold it up. "Are you... are you done? Is the monster back in its cage?"

"My  Rut is over," Hua Yong said, his voice dropping into a low, jagged hum. He grabbed a sponge and soaked it in the warm water, beginning to wipe away the sweat and the salt from Wenlang's skin.

It was a "scouring," but different from the one in the penthouse. There was no aggression in the movement. Hua Yong was methodical, his touch firm but strangely careful, as if he were trying to erase the evidence of his own violence. Every time Wenlang winced, Hua Yong's hand would pause, his fingers lingering on the skin for a second longer than necessary.

"You're being weird," Wenlang muttered, his eyes half-closed. "The 'Gentle Enigma' look doesn't suit you. It's fucking creepy."

"Don't get used to it," Hua Yong snapped, though he didn't stop. He moved the sponge to the back of Wenlang's neck, cleaning the area around the violet brand. The mark was glowing, a deep, angry purple that seemed to pulse in time with Hua Yong's breathing. "I just don't want you collapsing in the hallway. I have a reputation to maintain, even if yours is currently in the shitter."

"My reputation is fine," Wenlang lied, his voice thick. "I'm the Alpha who survived an Enigma Rut without ending up in a body bag. That's a goddamn gold medal in my book."

Hua Yong let out a sharp, dry laugh. He finished cleaning Wenlang and then turned the shower on himself, not even bothering to take off his own ruined trousers. He stood under the spray, head bowed, letting the water wash away the last of the fever.

Wenlang watched him through the steam. He saw the scratches on Hua Yong's back—the marks he'd left during the peak of the madness. He saw the way Hua Yong's shoulders were slumped, the weight of the day finally crushing him.

"We need to clean the office," Wenlang said, standing up on shaky legs. He grabbed a spare robe from the back of the door and threw it on, tying the belt with a savage jerk. "Sarah comes in at seven. If she sees those papers torn up, she's calling the cops."

"I'll handle the papers," Hua Yong said, stepping out of the shower and dripping onto the marble. He looked like a drowned god. "You find a new suit. You have three in the closet. Pick the black one. It hides the sweat better."

The next hour was a silent, sweary marathon of damage control. They moved through the office like ghosts, picking up shredded contracts and broken glass. Wenlang felt like a stranger in his own sanctuary. Every time he looked at the desk, he saw the phantom image of Hua Yong pinned against it. Every time he smelled the air, he remembered the way he'd screamed.

"It's done," Hua Yong said, standing in the center of the room. The office looked... mostly normal. The chairs were upright, the glass was swept, and the "negotiation" papers were piled in a neat, albeit slightly wrinkled, stack.

Wenlang stood by the window, looking out at the city lights. He felt empty. He felt owned. But as he turned to look at Hua Yong, he didn't feel the same spark of pure, unadulterated hatred he'd felt a week ago. It had been replaced by something heavier. Something permanent.

"Go home, Hua Yong," Wenlang said quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow for the press conference."

Hua Yong walked over, stopping just inches from Wenlang. He reached out and adjusted the lapel of Wenlang's fresh black suit. His hand stayed there for a beat too long, his fingers grazing the bare skin of Wenlang's neck.

"You're not going anywhere alone," Hua Yong said. The harshness was back, but it was layered over that new, terrifying care. "You're coming with me. I'm not leaving you in this building tonight."

"I can take care of myself!"

"Clearly," Hua Yong mocked, his eyes dropping to the bruises peeking out from Wenlang's collar. "Which is why you're coming to the penthouse. Move, Alpha. Before I decide to use the 'Sovereign' voice again."

Wenlang wanted to swear. He wanted to fight. But he just sighed, a long, broken sound, and followed the Enigma out of the office.