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“We could hire a prostitute.” Shouko speaks.
Suguru sighs, clouds of cold breath and cigarette smoke intermingling. “And then you say my ideas are stupid,” he stomps the cigarette butt on the cemented ground, “We have to hold an international conference to get the pizza delivery up here. And even then, it’s only halfway in. What makes you think that we can get a civilian prostitute inside the dorms? Or…” he massages his temples, “What might happen even if we actually do it? Even familiar scents set him off-”
“Do you have any better ideas?” Shouko gets tired of his rambling, of poking holes in all the suggestions. Suguru can feel her brief but intense stare, inhaling from her own freshly lit cigarette and making circles with the smoke.
He doesn’t give her a response. It’s not the first time he’d been asked that over the course of those past hectic weeks and not solely by her and every time something chips away at this resolve to provide his manufactured answer. Each day strips them closer to desperation.
And the thing is, he does have a better idea. Not optimal by far, not even the most logical, but it’s one that makes better sense and has the lowest risk. Their better plans have been out the window early on the problem and they are grasping at straws. When Suguru first entertained it, a lock was picked apart and opened a pandora’s box. Dragged out the surface emotions and demons he was planning to keep hidden and never truly acknowledge on the surface, that he didn’t want to acknowledge- and he still doesn’t.
He glances up the clock and lift himself up, “I’m going.” He says uselessly. Mostly for himself to hear so he can manifest and solidify motivation.
Shouko rummages in her pocket and tosses him a small pill case, “Only two this time.” She tells him, “Less means it’ll take longer to kick in, I’ll pass by in an hour.”
Suguru nods and heads to the kitchen. In an accustomed by now procedure, he fills a plate with food -nothing fancy but full of the necessary nutrients- takes two pills and pulverizes them, mixing them in the plate. It probably won’t make much of a difference, but he hopes the flavours of the meal will drown the white dust of the pills.
With slow steps he heads to the faraway dorms, unused since before they were students in the vain and hubristic thought of a wide array of students making it to the jujutsu college. It appears more akin to a prison, Suguru believes, and he’s some sort of a guard that passes by to check for signs of life. The wide labyrinth hallways, the creaks wood that hasn’t sensed weight for a lifetime, the silence from the closed and locked doors.
The smells of wood dust and cold wind hit him every time anew, causing the hairs on his nape to rise, goosebumps to erupt on the skin of his forearms. It’s as haunted as every location they’ve been assigned to, perhaps even more so.
In the deepest end on the corridor, is the sole used door. The only one that emits a different canvas of scents but no less intense. Suguru stands there, rubs the skin of his wrists -devoid of any patches- and lets his alpha scent reach out gradually, carefully. Then he knocks in the practiced pattern.
Waits with a batted breath.
More than one eternal minute later, the mirroring pattern comes from the other side along with the telltale sound the door unlocking and with a tinge of relief, Suguru enters the room.
Even as he told himself that taking shorter breaths will be better, it doesn’t negate the intense, sour alpha scent settled in every corner of the room. It flares irritation and alertness in him already and he’s become tired of this intensity of feelings that he doesn’t feel, at least this strongly.
Still, Suguru prides himself in being mostly in control and peace with his alpha instincts and pushes them down.
“I brought food.” he announces, “You feeling any better?”
“You still asking stupid questions?”
Satoru all but growls out the words, making the air inside the room heavier, more insufferable than it has to be and Suguru’s own voice is ready to bite back. At least Satoru is in a better mood than he was in the morning- Suguru won’t have to restrain him again.
Instead, he levels him with an unflinching glare – more daring than it should be- letting the tray on the floor in front of where Satoru is sprawled and sits next to him, at an equal, non-threatening level.
Satoru looks at it, studies it. There is no blue glow in his eyes, all swallowed up by his other, more tethering nature.
“You put something in again, didn’t you?” he accuses Suguru, who doesn’t bother to deny it.
“You don’t take the medicine in the first place.”
Satoru makes a gagging noise, “Because it tastes like shit.” After a second more of examination, he turns to Suguru, chin high, trying to be intimidating in that sickly pale face of his, “What makes you think I’ll take it now?” a challenge. It unwillingly vibrates down to Suguru’s bones.
“Want me to kick your ass and force feed you it, Satoru?” he levels back with concealed distaste but the acknowledgement of the challenge is heard. “It won’t be the first time.” He unhelpfully provides for his own stupid alpha pride more than anything.
The overly long staring contests with Satoru have been another common occurrence of this farce, Suguru doesn’t really enjoy any of them. Not with this Satoru, all heavy with the burden of his body overloading with the perpetual rut that broke out of nowhere. Eyes possessed by empty blackness drown all colour.
It’s the idiot’s own fault in the first place, suppressing his ruts for years. For not telling them anything and keeping his scent and his situation to himself. Refusing to take blood and pheromone samples or straight up forging them as they found out. All to make it everything seem normal until it derailed beyond repair.
Suguru always thought that Satoru not taking time off to go through a rut, never exhibiting the symptoms of one was strange and unnatural, but he had mistakenly dismissed it as some side effect only he would have. None of them was truly normal in that sense- sorcerers with some quirks in their biology weren’t uncommon and the six eyes are a mystery to all but few. Techniques fucking up one’s body is Suguru’s specialty.
He didn’t expect…this.
Everything had started with the alpha aggression slowly possessing his usual demeanor, driving their fighting to a more vicious turn. They’d had to be kept in separate rooms during detentions because Yaga believed they would tear each other apart, made them sit in separate corners in the classroom during teaching, hours upon hours filled with Satoru darkening to an overly temperamental shadow of himself.
Being around him had become unpleasant, full of constant fight and the stench of hostility. Their spars had lost their whim and spirit, Satoru’s mood sour just by looking at anyone else. His scent filled the room before he entered; a warning, a challenge, a dare. Even Shouko’s muted beta sense of smell became flooded and she had finished triple her usual number of packets. She couldn’t even calm him down, her neutral presence evening the tension of two alpha in the trio more often than not.
He had to be restrained for every medical exam, smell bitter with anxiety. It’s echoes creeped on him as well, seeing him summoning his technique, control slowly fading in front of his very eyes- sending him back to square one, with added frustration and danger. He was already losing sleep, Suguru knew from the shuffling and tossing coming from the wall between their rooms. It’s not a thin wall by any means, Satoru just forgot every sense of delicacy and restrain.
Not soon after, he was passed out in the floor, pulse weak and his usual clean scent of hyacinth with tones of wild strawberries so powerfully twisted it burnt itself into rot. Suguru still feels sick upon remembering it, bile rising up his throat. He’s never thought that scent would make him just as ill as curses.
Satoru stayed unconscious for a whole week. Seven days of silence and worry and anger and frustration and fear. His body as lifeless as never before, deathly pale and lacking the ethereal beauty that always shined upon him.
The relief of him waking up was short-lived. His situation worsened rapidly, becoming fragile in a way Suguru never wanted to see him and now that he does, his heart breaks at striken spots that didn’t manage to heal.
At this very moment, Satoru looks torn between the possession of his instincts to take up the challenge and fight Suguru and his body protesting in order to reserve all energy it can for its basic functions, his scent reeking displeasure and listlessness.
He ends up taking the plate and starts eating, making a grimace at the bitterness from the taste of the pills. It’s the most Satoru-like thing Suguru has seen from him in a while and his jaw clenches with something very close to despair.
“How are you feeling?” Suguru asks him again. Satoru exhales deeply, closes his eyes and leans his head back to the wall.
“Tired.” He mumbles. “Did you put suppressants in?”
Suguru shakes his head, “Just some sleeping pills. Nothing heavy, it’ll take a while to take effect. Then Shouko will come to check on you.”
Satoru nods to himself, “Haven’t slept since… yesterday. Or was it the day before yesterday? Wait, what day is it today?”
“Monday.” Suguru answers and tries not to plea for a non-terrible answer but the dark bags under Satoru’s sunken eyes promise him nothing.
“Oh… then it was before the weekend.” Satoru laughs, half delirious, half hysterical.
Suguru gets up and wordlessly reaches a hand to Satoru, who flinches. He’s similar to a wounded feral animal, in the way that he looks up at Suguru, ghostly white hair framing the stark difference of the dark of his eyes. He takes Suguru’s hand tentatively and it’s warm- too warm. Satoru himself is only wearing sweatpants, his exposed torso flushed scarlet and sweating in a particularly cold spring that is basically still winter. He staggers a bit but they make it to messy bed without much of a problem, Satoru twisting and turning until he gets a bit comfortable on the bed.
When he realizes his hold to leave, let the medicine placate and give him some modicum of rest, Satoru grips it back tightly, as if channeling all of his strength to hold on to Suguru.
“Stay a bit… ‘s boring to stare at the ceiling.” He mumbles, eyelids half shut already. His thumb traces Suguru’s inner wrist, pressing on the gland there to release soft waves of his oceanic and woodsy scent that he sighs upon smelling, lets mix with his own. Suguru is too stunned, his heart pounding in his ears at the sight of Satoru scenting him- of scenting each other during his rut- to react.
“You’ve been smoking a lot.” Satoru comments, but he doesn’t let him go. “You reek.”
“Look who’s fucking talking. I’ll need a gas mask next time.”
He pretends to pulls his arm away, to which Satoru lets a growl of dissatisfaction and doubles on his clinging, nails digging marks to Suguru’s skin. He makes a pained grimace as the skin becomes red and for a split second, he thinks Satoru will tear the skin and arteries apart.
Suguru tries to think this is all normal for them; that it’s expected to be the only one allowed in Satoru’s temporary den since both of their stuff has been moved from his room to here for the sake of comfort-Suguru is sure that this shirt was stolen by him. Their normal dens may be separated by a wall, but it became non-existent by now.
It all means that Satoru is used to having his scent around the most. That they’ve been friends for years in this lonely and cruel world, lived hand in hand with death and revival and perseverance. Their cores recognize their bond- odd and contradictory as it is for two alpha, who even in their best relations, there is always that privacy of ruts, where if the boundary is crossed, it means challenge and fight and dominance.
Suguru doesn’t think of his happiness his own inner alpha feels at being a comforting solace to Satoru, to his best friend, his only one—
He shakes his head and moves his hand but Satoru doesn’t let go in the slightest. His eyes lay upon him and yes this is definitely some of that gorgeous blue faintly glinting out from the void it’s been enveloped in. It’s deadly, how this intimacy plays at his heartstrings. The colour remains far away but present when Satoru ultimately succumbs to his own exhaustion and the gentle probing of the sleeping pills and slumbers, grip weak but present. His breathing becomes calmer- Suguru spends an embarrassing time staring at Satoru’s sculpted chest and pale skin, scarless only on the outward surface, beads of sweat rolling the smooth torso, down the path where a blade cut him through. Red from the rut’s constant reminders.
In the end, he stays by Satoru’s bedside until he falls asleep, observes him in the fashion of an intrusive third-party audience as he basks in his scent.
Suguru takes time to realize that his other arm hasn’t stayed idle but instead became entangled in Satoru’s hair, fingers brushing it away from his face, caressing his feverish forehead and applying gentle pressure on a temple in hopes it chases away some of his restlessness, or perhaps Suguru’s own.
His heart leaps to this mouth and his eyes widen at the knock that comes from the door. It’s Shouko’s pattern and he hasn’t realized that the time has gone by. He stumbles to answer her and when she asks, he blames the stifling room and Satoru’s influence alone for the heat burning his face and neck alike, as well as the pleased note tinting his scent.
“He’s getting worse.” Is what shouko tells him in a cloudy day, expression stony and voice even, hiding the moroseness underneath.
The years upon years of suppressed ruts are wearing the last threads of sanity and life down, worse than an oversensitivity of his six eyes back when his technique was unpolished ever was. It’s frightening but not very surprising, Suguru has been observing his appetite is becoming non-existent and the fever becoming second skin.
Now instead of the alpha in him growling and pacing and being aggressive, there is no energy even for that. Satoru is gazing away outside the window with a faraway gaze when Suguru enters the room. Sometimes he’s sitting upright, arms around his knees and gaze far away when no one can reach him.
Suguru’s lungs tighten to each disgusted and pained grimace, each recoil when he approaches, his scent whirling around him like a fortress. He can’t recognize it anymore, repelling, pungent and distorted from the excessive heat that has overwhelmed the dark patches of his malfunctioning glands on his already crimson skin.
With that, now everyone’s scent has become unpleasant to Satoru. When he was first bedridden, he lashed out when Shouko entered the room, eyes wild and devoid of recognition. Nanami or Yaga had him savage and snarling until they were forced to the northernmost training field on the other side of the dorms.
Omega scents pull an exceptionally violent reaction out of him as they learnt the hard way after having to treat Haibara from a nasty, thankfully unrefined and aimless Blue; it became clear that no omega could exist within a wide radius of his room. Suguru even took the kids away from the college with a second guilt-ridden thought.
He had asked -demanded an answer even with underhanded means- but all he got was a typical Satoru deflecting and vague response of all of his senses being messed up. But some delirious slurs of the tongue at some of his lowest points about a ‘scenting room’, ‘matching’, ‘heir’ paint a crystal-clear picture.
The more time wastes away along with Satoru, the more Suguru mind haunts him with its whispers. It’s been years since it had turned on him, since that dreadful summer in which he was faced with a noose right his size. But Satoru had swept him away from it before it was too late.
“I’ll take it from here on.” He tells Shouko, breath shaky and not looking at her direction, his focus on taking the right and enough supplies.
And now, after living through thick and thin, it’s Suguru’s turn to save him.
“If anything happens-”
“I’ll just release a curse for the alarm to ring.” he cuts her off and leaves without further word, heart stuck in his throat.
What follows has Suguru’s skin crawling with embarrassment and slips in the precision of him movements. He refuses to dwell on them and proceeds as planned.
Foregoing knocking on the door lest the haze of decisiveness vanishes and is left paralyzed and barges into the room with a storm sitting upon his shoulders. Immediately he’s hit with the nauseating scent of Satoru’s uncontrollable rut, stronger than ever before, clogging his breath and fogging his mind.
Satoru himself follows it, arm reaching out clearly aiming for his neck. Before fingers close on his airflow, Suguru deflects is and pulls it away, nails tearing into the skin. They are both snarling at each other, Satoru’s pearly white fangs on full display and Suguru’s threatening to show but he barely holds himself back.
But he doesn’t do that when Satoru slams him harshly to the wall, trying his best to immobilize him, face close to his throat with the goal to tear his head clean off the shoulders.
It’s nothing but sloppy movements that scream of exhaustion and unclear mind and thus Suguru gains the advantage quickly, with a rough kick on his gut that releases him.
Satoru barely recovers but doesn’t give up, kicking Suguru in the knee with underestimated force. He’s working with pure alpha instinct and adrenaline alone which makes him a danger to others and himself.
But Suguru is more than trained for this and his body is in better physical condition, his mind clearer in spite of the whirlpool of pure alpha scent. With quick movements his lays Satoru on his stomach on the messy bed, arms twisted behind his back and proceeds to tie them with the sheets, the easiest thing he has access to right now.
“What the fuck are you doing, Suguru?” he snarls out venomously, panting between words.
Suguru pulls at the fabric to make sure it holds as tight as possible, “I’m helping you, you dickhead!” he snaps back while tying the fabric to the headboard of the bed.
When he’s done, Satoru is lost of his strength, his famished body paying the consequences of his frantic waste of energy of the past minute. Wide black eyes prowl his every movement, lip curling and twitching. His scent tells him to untie him louder than his words and if Suguru was an omega or a beta, he’d be pressured to obey the unspoken command.
But he’s not, that’s why he’s here, doing all this.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Suguru states, jaw tense, “You need someone to help you with this, or you’ll have a total organ failure and boil yourself alive.”
But the time Satoru’s brain catches up to the words, Suguru is already on his knees on the bed with him and is pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.
Two hands come and shove his shoulders, “Suguru…” Satoru warns.
“Shut up!” Suguru hisses, grips tightening to keep himself from trembling, “If no omega and beta can step in, it doesn’t leave a lot of people.”
The only female alpha that there is Mei-Mei and the mere thought of her dealing with Satoru in this situation is not only a bad investment, but also causes something ugly to coil inside his chest.
People have made countless jokes about Suguru being the one that can keep Satoru under control and while he disagrees vehemently as Satoru is perfectly fine at making a path for himself now that he has dulled the double edge of his impulsivity, this might be one case they might be proven right.
“So let me fucking do this…Please.”
He’ll do this himself; it’s the only solution that sits right with him.
Finally, he’s able to free Satoru’s cock, fully hard and angry and leaking profusely. It must be painful, since Satoru has been hard since the first day of confinement to the room. Suguru just chose to ignore it, not to stray his eyes towards the constant tent in his loose pants or not hear the sounds Satoru made as he tried to relieve himself, panting and grunting and muffled speaking from the other side of the door Suguru waited on to check on him. He must ignore the interested jerk of his own cock, already stimulated from their fight.
This he can’t possibly ignore. He licks his lips and restrains himself from glancing up at Satoru’s face and simply takes him in his mouth.
There is no foreplay, no teasing the slit and head of his cock or gradually taking him in. Instead Suguru confidently uses his throat to swallow the head of his cock and part of his shaft at once, letting it rub onto the inside of his cheek and relish in the warmth of his mouth.
He’s even hotter upon his tongue, his precum bitter and thick striking his tastebuds. The scent of unrestrained, dominating arousal, a strong, potent musk that has Suguru’s eyelids fluttering dizzily and his body wind up, his own dick tenting his underwear.
Satoru jolts above him and Suguru breathes through his nose, starts to take him deeper in a steady rhythm, feeling the stretch on his mouth, the saliva copiously dripping down his chin. Years of swallowing curses whole and training have worn off his gag reflex, come in use as he makes his way down, not stopping even as Satoru hits the back of his throat and has plenty of length yet to spare.
He makes an experimental bob of his head and then sets a pace for himself; fast and efficient to make Satoru come soon. He swallows around the girth, sure that the tightness and warmth will stimulate him further.
No matter alpha, beta or omega, a mouth is a mouth, hot and wet with the same muscles and tissue to provide pleasure. Suguru makes sure to fully use his own hallowing his cheeks and tongue stroking the underside. The headiness of the scents around him start to seep in the pores of his skin and take effect, sending heat from his mouth and throat to the rest of his body, unable to remain unaffected as he feels the moist fabric of his underwear clinging to his skin.
In his efforts to regulate his breathing and adjust his aching jaw, he has no mind to hear the tearing sound coming from above. He’s too late to react to Satoru’s hands come to pull at his hair, stopping his movements.
With wide eyes, he looks up and the freed Satoru, black eyes glinting and flickering electric, unnatural blue, easily mistaken for violet, gaze intensely trained on him solely.
The hands dig between his long raven strands, ruining what’s left of his ponytail, to take good hold of the roots on his skull. One harsh pull and Suguru has a fully erect alpha shaft down his throat, lips kissing the smooth skin of swollen knot resting at the base.
Drool streams freely from the corners of his mouth and it spills everywhere, on the rest of him, on the sheets, on Satoru’s swollen knot. He can feel this whole cock pulsing in his mouth and stretching his throat to the fullest. Satoru’s hands keep him still for a long time and with teary gaze, Suguru glances up at him.
He looks starved, for lack of a better word, like an animal that pounces on a freshly laid out prey after an arctic winter of famine and Suguru shivers down his spine. He finally has a warm, wet and alive hole to put his dick in and release some of the desire to mate and satiate his blind lust. Suguru reminds himself- no matter alpha, beta or omega, a mouth is a mouth; he was placing all his bets on that.
Thus Suguru is fairly prepared when he starts thrusting, moving his hips and Suguru’s head in an erratic and unrefined rhythm. His grunts and hushed moans ring all the way to Suguru’s ears and before he knows it, he’s also moaning, the muffled sound translated into vibration to enhance the feeling. Their sound drums on Suguru’s ears louder than his pulse in their shamelessness, sending frenzy his mouth to his heart, igniting every vein and blood vessel.
Satoru’s knot expands and moves, dousing everything with cold water of panic. His jaw aches terribly and it feels like his cheeks are going to be torn as he opens his mouth impossibly wider to accommodate before Satoru breaks his teeth to make himself fit it in and his mouth is full with an alpha’s heavy, fat knot- not just any alpha’s too, but Satoru’s- and makes home inside his throat, settling behind his teeth.
Suguru is amazed of the control he has left and hasn’t let his own instincts take over and use his teeth, bite and tear and get away and resist being subjugated in such a way by another alpha.
But it’s not just any alpha- it’s Satoru, his mind chains those instincts with those words and yanks them back. It’s Satoru and he needs you, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.
Satoru comes down his throat and of course it’s sudden and as a large quantity as all alpha climaxes tend to produce; no matter how much his swallows, it’s not enough and it floods his mouth and escapes it along with copious amounts of drool that make more of a mess out of him.
He wonders how fucked up his face looks. His nose twitches at the dense musk that emphasizes the creamy texture of his cum and its bitter taste. An assault on all fronts that threatens to overwhelm his senses; for a moment he thinks he’s passed out. His own alpha whines and growls and is mad with anger and wants to destroy his way to an escape altogether.
When Satoru’s grip finally lessens, he’s panting hard, eyes closed and sweat clinging to his skin. He looks very much unchanged at first glance, but Suguru is close enough to read the tense lines of his body starting to let out.
Suguru manages to pull back and regulate his breathing, coughing out what he’s trying his best to not dwell on. His hair has fallen loose from the lost hair tie from Satoru’s fingers entangling with the strands in a clumsy mix of geniality and crudeness.
“Is it any better?” he asks, wincing at the wreckage of his own voice.
He gets his answer when Satoru’s eyes snap open, fully black once more and his cock still fully hard. In a reinvigorated and sudden burst of strength, Suguru is the one now slammed on the bed, Satoru looming over him, shadows dancing in his face in a threatening way.
Their lips connect and it’s as harsh as he expected. More biting and teeth than lips, his fangs make most of their work at Suguru so that he can blood, ripping his mouth open to taste himself and assert his instinctual dominance. At the same time his hands trail down to grip Suguru’s waistband and with a high-pitched sound, he tears the fabric apart.
Suguru’s surprise is drowned in Satoru’s second devouring, his tongue delving deep inside and relishing on the warmth of another being. A mouth is a mouth.
He has little time to respond accordingly, biting back on the dry but plush lips claiming his own, mixing their bloods, their saliva their tongues with equal vigour but outmatched harshness. When they pull back, Suguru is gulping for air as if drowning, vision blurred apart from the white of Satoru’s hair and pearly teeth as well as the black of his eyes.
With hands on the back of his thighs, Suguru’s lower half is suddenly hoisted up so that’s he’s folded in half and supporting himself on his shoulder blades and upper back.
“Wait…Satoru-!” he tries to kick him but he’s grabbed by the ankles and his legs are spread wide open. Embarrassment washes over his whole being, especially in the way his cock twitches and precum leaks to his stomach.
Satoru spares him a single glance from under his snowy hair and long eyelashes, “Still on with asking stupid things, Suguru?” he says, voice low and rumbling from deep in his chest, frayed at the edges from disuse, “You…you started this.”
It’s the truth; he had prepared himself thoroughly, mentally and physically as much as possible- before crossing that door. There was no possibility that an alpha’s progressed rut would be tamed with just one knot- his own ruts are considered mild since he moderates them closely and even his take multiple times until he can finally soften and feel any relief.
All his can do is bit his bloody lip and cover his eyes with his arm to ignore the hunger in the other’s eyes or his own body react, demonstrated by his hard cock grazing his stomach.
Suguru jumps from his skin and a keen is dragged out of his throat when he feels warm breath on his hole, followed by the unmistakable hot and wet muscle of a tongue swiping over it. He’s not an omega and he doesn’t have a cunt to leak sweet and delicious juices that entice and satisfy an alpha partner into his womb; Satoru can only taste the lube that Suguru used to finger himself in the bath in preparation, thick and far from naturally sweet in its bland taste.
But Satoru doesn’t seem to mind as he laps at his hole eagerly, teasing the tight ring of muscle inside and sucking at the puckered skin, the rooted need to prepare the hole he’s going to knot over and over to the fullest. It’s supposed to mean that the alpha is caring, careful and worth keeping, and the hilarity of the situation would make Suguru hysterical if his mind wasn’t struggling against waves of lust and other unspeakable emotions.
Oxygen stays caged in his lungs and Suguru refuses to give in to the temptation of looking what’s happening, tells himself he shouldn’t be relishing in arousal and affection in a such a time- it’ll make the aftermath all the more disastrous. In the life-or-death situations they’ve been in, this one should be nothing more than a hiccup. They’ll have to go back at being best friends and the strongest duo with another experience that they’ll bury behind them or laugh about years later. It shouldn’t carry unnecessary burden that will cause his heart to lose its rhythm at the mere thought.
However, Suguru will forever remember the combination of his own blood and Satoru’s cum, the bruising grip on his thighs and the toe-curling, fawn-like tremble at the trace of Satoru’s fingers and the mark of his own fangs on his arm in a failed attempt to hide his erotic sounds. Sweat amasses at his brow and his whole body, starts to become a second layer of skin that he knows well from his own ruts, his state becoming more and more disheveled and starting to match Satoru’s.
Not long after, Satoru’s tongue breaches him, as if he’ll elicit more non-existent slick from Suguru to taste. It punches out a long moan that he absolutely can’t restrain through his teeth and his body is torn between easing up to it and doubling down on the weak kicks he gives before Satoru fully buries his head between his quivering legs.
The alpha within Suguru is snarling and thrashing to take control and escape this presumed humiliation. Useless thoughts that war with his feelings for Satoru, as they’ve always been since the first year they met all taking form outside of his control with every little tender thing that connected them more and settled an irreplaceable spot saved for each other.
The only times when there is no resistance is when they fight, the exhilaration to assert dominance and claim and come on top fuels their arguments and impulsivity to the point he’d become exhausted fast.
Now that he’s under another alpha and far from fighting him, the whispers rattle their cage inside his skull, scratch its walls maniacally seeking to take over. Listening to them is unbearable.
Finally, Suguru opens his eyes and faces what he’s experiencing.
Even in this state, Satoru makes a truly beautiful sight. Suguru has never laid his eyes upon this; the polar opposite of when stands above everything as he uses his techniques. Then Satoru looks unreal, celestial in a way one can dream to reach and touch. Now, he’s painfully human and animalistic altogether, part of the normalcy and fallacy of man, chained by his most primal self. The black of his eyes drowned every part of his divinity.
It bubbles too gentle affection inside Suguru that smooths the edges of the noise inside his head, “Satoru…” he calls, again and again but he doesn’t adhere to the call, continues to taste him with his tongue. With a breathy sigh, he wraps his legs around Satoru’s neck and squeezes his thighs teasingly, pausing his actions as they finally lock eyes.
A thrill runs down his spine at how impatient he looks, panting and unable to utter a word with those glistening lips, “Just go for it already… or are you all bark and no bite?”
At that Satoru’s possession refocuses, manhandling Suguru so that he’s on all fours, staring at the messy and soiled bed. He doesn’t bother with any additional preparation in the mindset he’s in -his mind quite possibly tricking him that he’s an omega on the constant ready- and with one hard thrust, he slams inside Suguru to the hilt.
Suguru cries out long and loud, still audible even as Satoru shoves his head to the pillow, holding him by the neck in a tight grip that will leave lasting bruises and crescent moon marks at his Adam’s apple.
He’s so full, so widely stretched he can’t comprehend it. His whole body shudders, ass clenched tightly around Satoru’s cock which touches places his fingers never experimented on.
Deep, so deep.
It becomes oh so clear how he’s not made for this.
He’s not an omega; not equipped to take alpha cock by nature’s structure. Nor does he have any experience in indulging in his preference and sleeping with an alpha outside of this- it’s all new to him. It’s also painful but the pain is the least of his concerns; easy to pull through since this life has provided more than enough lesson in pain.
His innermost instincts try and fail to scream to convince him that this is anything but unnatural fullness all the way up to his stomach … he doesn’t hear a word. It all feels exhilarating. It shakes him to the core in ways he’s in no place to describe. Only his body’s pleasure matters- his body is ignited and along with the friction from the bed, his knot has fully expanded and is close to bursting untouched and useless.
There is no coherent thought in his mind when Satoru starts thrusting in a vicious pace, skin harshly slapping against skin as he drags his girthy cock inside his tight walls and he feels every second and movement of it. Suguru’s body’s resistance and unnatural tightness only help in making Satoru’s euphoria, growling deeply and never letting out the pace.
“Ngh-! Fuck!”
Inside the room, there is only sweltering heat, their bodies never breaking apart and the sounds they produce. For a moment, Suguru is glad he told Shouko and the kids to stay away from their general area because there is complete lack of care of how loud they are, Satoru completely gone and Suguru slowly giving up.
Teeth plant themselves on the nape of his neck and sink so deep into the flesh they might actually find his spinal cord and imprint himself of his very neural system. Suguru’s keen is smothered and lightning courses through his very being, traveling from the spot Satoru claims apart with his sharp alpha fangs to the tips of his fingertips.
No instinctual fear resides behind the bite since it won’t result to a bond; it’ll fade like any normal love bite. Right over it, Satoru’s tongue laps at the mark to soothe it and make it scar less, his rapid breathing fanning his nape and his nose nuzzling the shell of his ear.
All the while his hips never break the pace, deep and fast and his eyes widen when he feels Satoru’s knot growing again.
“Su…ah…guru… Suguru-!” he hears and with wide eyes he tilts his head to look at Satoru, expression pained and restrained. His body frozen still above him despite thrumming with energy and the will to keep moving in and out of him, plant his seed inside him in the placebo effect his presence provides.
Answering the unspoken question with a roll of his hips towards it, Suguru shakily props himself to his elbows, reaching and arm to wrap around Satoru’s shoulders from behind and bring him close again so that his lips bite at his earlobe.
Mustering what breath is left in his lungs, he speaks, “I -ah!- can take it… So give it to me…” playing dare with fire has never feel this good.
“Knot me, Alpha.”
It’s the final straw and with all hesitation thrown away, Satoru buries himself back into Suguru, touching the deepest parts of him that even he wasn’t aware of when he touched himself. His eyes widen and his body tenses subconsciously as the knot is caught on his rim and presses on until it enters him fully, even wider than his shaft and locks them in place.
“Suguru-!” with a couple of final short thrusts, Satoru hits his second climax, knot expanding so incredibly full and flooding his insides with so much warm cum he thinks he’ll feel them heavy to his stomach.
His own erection has remained untouched by his hand – fists too busy in damaging through the sheets until all blood left his knuckles- and only grazed by the friction under him and the drag of his body in tandem with the pace he’s fucked with. Knot already at full size, balancing on the edge. That is, until Satoru’s hand pushes him over it, wraps around him with long and dexterous fingers that hold him in a tight grip and strokes in an overhasty pace that presses in all the right spots.
The new and unraveling feeling of having a throbbing alpha knot resting inside him that will take plenty time before it deflates was working him to an untouched orgasm already, an afterthought by now until the direct stimulation drags it to the unprepared front of his consciousness. He comes with a low, choked up whine at the oversensitivity, spilling on Satoru’s hand and the already messy sheets under them. It’s not as explosive and desperate as Satoru’s, but it’s a wave with an unforeseen strength of simmering pleasure that rings static in his ears for a second as it lulls into deafening silence.
Satoru pushes them on their sides, his body curling around Suguru’s. Teeth keep nipping at the mark on his nape, cleaning the blood and further mutilating at the skin to the point it becomes annoying but he doesn’t stop him. Admittedly, he’s too tired; from the exhaustion creeping up to him in the days leading up to now, accompanied by restless, if not sleepless, nights that it took a lot out of him, or the sex itself, he can’t know. His eyelids flutter shut and are more and more reluctant to open, his pounding heart slowly starting to calm down, same to Satoru’s as he holds him so close to his chest it becomes engraved it to his skin of his back.
“Wake me up when you want to go again…” he mutters. A pensive hum vibrates to the open skin on his nape and arms pulling him even closer as he succumbs into dark slumber.
Sense of time becomes lost apart for the faint awareness of sunlight arriving and leaving in the reflection of Satoru’s face and body. He sees with in scents and hears in pheromones, and feels with every inch of his skin.
Satoru uses Suguru’s body however he pleases, hones his teeth upon his flesh as a needle tattooing skin and warms his cock inside him over and over. And Suguru lets him; his hole molded to the shape of his cock like a perfect snug sleeve that is left gaping when he’s empty in all but copious amounts cum spilling when overfilling him.
He’s been fucked too many times for the shame to stay high; upon waking that first time, he laid on his back with his legs propped over Satoru’s shoulders and watched every inch of Satoru’s face while he thrusted in and out, the disappearance of the tormented furrow on his brow, the parted lips bitten, dry and moaning Suguru’s name, the way his eyes rolled on the back of his head when his knot locked inside him for the umpteenth time. Suguru had stroked himself to his own climax, eyes never leaving the beads of sweat rolling down his brow, jaw and neck, the heaving of his chest. Desperate. Clinging.
Since the rut had consumed him to this point, there is not much variety in the positions he’s claimed in, there is no need to be adventurous or leave the bed until the fever disappears and Satoru’s immune system isn’t on the brink of collapse. Suguru appreciates the comfort of the plush bed and the many pillows and blankets that Satoru has nested in the room.
The therapy of Satoru isn’t a quick process and it’s not without its low points. Mood swings reappeared but are manageable and tame in contrast to days and weeks ago. His body is still weak from the lack of nourishment and overworking and Suguru tends to that by using his hands and mouth to alleviation.
Or riding him. It’s the position that his alpha is most agreeable with and he can agree to the reasons why. There is something thrilling that appears to his core when he sets his own pace and looks down on Satoru’s plaint body and restless expression, all the cheekiness falling flat. He’s the one in control, even with Satoru’s hands gripping tightly around his waist and leaving their prints and pulls Suguru down in a petulant way that makes his dick harden and his mouth to salivate.
In that position, his cock reaches in his deepest parts that he never considered, the stretch burns anew when sheathed fully inside. He found out that Satoru groans pitifully every time he presses on his stomach, at the spot his cockhead should be and it’s worth the obnoxious smirks of satisfaction at the moans Satoru orchestrates from him.
“You’re clenching tighter that before,” Satoru doesn’t hesitate to run his tongue once he gets a tiny bit of relief and brainpower, “Who needs omega when you’re this fucking tight?”
As a response, Suguru rolls his hips out of pace, making him hiss at the knot catching on his rim.
“The reason this problem started was because you needed an omega.” He informs him, adjusting his hips into a better position. While this is the most enjoyable position, it’s the worst when it comes to having them locked together, the boring and sticky wait until they go again. Suguru doesn’t feel the bliss of having an alpha locked inside him for that long like omega do.
Satoru wraps a lazy hand on his cock and pumps slowly since Suguru is still sensitive from his previous orgasm and not fueled by a rut.
“I don’t need and I don’t want to. Besides, I have you.” He argues with a scowl, like he’s losing his patience with a student or a kid.
Suguru scowls back and gives another pointed movement, causing Satoru to hiss, “Honestly…I should have left you to die.”
That brings out an infuriating grin with perfectly sharp fangs. His hand picks up the pace, “You’re not very convincing, Suguru.”
“Shame on me for being a good friend then to volunteer as a substitute. Should have gotten you a prostitute on your family’s tab.” The words sound wrong in his tongue but he spits them out convincingly. He’d become good at that.
The grip on his cock stops and he lets out a whine of protest and then a warning growl rumbles from his chest when Satoru’s pale fist clenches painfully around him. His grin is gone and replaced with a blankly dark expression.
Suguru has an unsatisfactory dry orgasm and an even drier time having an unamusing staring match with an annoyed Satoru while they wait for his knot to deflate.
For the next come and go of the moon, Suguru insists to be on all fours and Satoru’s grip is harsher than it ever was while his teeth never graze his neck or shoulders.
“I won’t, this room already stinks.”
“Whose fault is that?” Suguru glares harder.
Progress has been made; Satoru is now able to pace around with lower possibility of collapsing physically and in terms of his pride when Suguru has had to pick him up and drag him to the bed again or the shower or to fetch him supplies. He’s rummaging the bag Suguru had brought for any snacks of his liking and commenting on his choices. Next to him is his empty tray of food left on the doorstep while they slept, along with an ashtray- probably consideration of Shouko.
It’s Suguru’s turn to feel bone-deep exhaustion; his body is sore from the strenuous and continuous day of non-stop sex with another alpha atop with the restlessness of having to stress over Satoru for longer than that. No one can or should blame him for wanting to have a smoke to relax.
He feels his brow twitching in profound annoyance and grits his teeth, “Just pass it on, Satoru, I’ll brush my teeth and bathe anyway.” His hair clings disgustingly to his face and neck, his skin is clammy beyond belief from sweat and bodily fluids. None of this helps the headache that threatens to split his head apart, with the assistance of the redolent scents all around him. Smoking and a long bath sound heavenly.
Exactly one cigarette and the lighter finally reach his hands. Satoru rips open some candy packets and devours them with minimal chewing. Just thinking of the rush all the sugar will give him makes his lower back and the nape of his neck sting.
“Hey Suguru…” Satoru starts, pacing and dancing around with long legs, rummaging his closet for clothes and his personal stash of edible garbage. More evidence that Satoru is returning to his usual self.
“What is it?” he feels calmer at the taste and smell of nicotine and smoke, breaking the stagnant pheromones with new familiarity.
“Will you pretend this didn’t happen, after we leave this room?”
Suguru’s fingers twitch and accidentally spread ash on the covers, “…You got cured. We go on as we were.”
An irritable scoff, “Of course you’d say that.” Satoru doesn’t spare him a glance but he strikes a cord in Suguru, one with a note of anger.
With a lungful inhale and exhale of smoke, he restrains lashing out to explain, “You could say thank you for helping me out for a change.”
“Or what? You’ll leave? Go ahead, if you think yourself a substitute, take your martyr complex and fake charity and go. I’m much better!”
“It wasn’t me I let my ruts almost kill me and cause problems for everyone!”
Satoru throws his head back and laughs, “But you did! Ignored the signs and shoved it under the rug until you had to come here!”
They finally lock eyes and the darkness in their sky is nothing but the last of lingering storm clouds. In less than a week, those will be gone too and a few days after that until Satoru is back with them. And everything will continue as they were before that tumultuous pause.
That’s what he wants. That’s what he wants to want.
With pounding heart and tight jaw, he rushes out, “Didn’t occur to me until then-”
Satoru cuts him off with a sudden slam of the closet door, “You can spout that bullshit to someone who will believe you.”
The rattle echoes in his head, worsening his already fraying mood. The hairs at the back of his neck rise at the confrontational tone, eyes narrow and sharp like daggers meet equally unrelenting blade, “Huh?”
“I made my ‘no omega and female beta’ preference clear from the beginning. Hard not to, really.” he waves his hand dismissively. Along with energy to move around, plenty to run his tongue as bait to get himself punched has also made a triumphant return, “and you’re the only one I let inside my nest. You’re no substitute It’s obvious that the only scent that didn’t make me want to throw up was yours.”
His traitorous heart’s butterfly fluttering at the words becomes squashed by the need to bite back, “We’ve been partners for years, Satoru-”
“No one scents another alpha they don’t want to fuck during their rut, even in a fucked up one as mine.” He cuts him off again and again it puts him on the edge. “And no alpha responds to another’s rut with an accepting scent like yours.”
“It’s because of your condition-”
“No-”
“-otherwise you’d have sought an omega as well-”
Satoru is on him in astounding speed, pining him down and staring right to his soul.
His sudden proximity makes everything worse. Both of them are become charged up and the alpha scents now clash instead of intertwine. Suguru’s alpha bristles at the condescension and meets his gaze readily.
Satoru sneers sharply, “Stop. Making. Excuses.”
The words provoke him, but it’s the commanding tone -at him, he dares command him- is the last straw. With a deep loud growl, Suguru’s fury makes him move and throw his fist at Satoru, who stops it by using his fucking technique right before it breaks his jaw. But he doesn’t stay at that, that it deactivates with a punch of his own that Suguru catches with ease.
It’s a stalemate; Satoru has the perk of his technique and Suguru has that of reflexes and physicality. All they can do is stare at each other, their pheromones become hectic and oppressive, trying to one-up each other and find an opening to strike.
“If I’m making excuses,” Suguru hisses, pushing a little closer to Satoru, “Then what makes you? We don’t even know why you’re like that until you were half dead. For someone who told me to not keep things to myself, you are really not practicing what you’re teaching.”
“And you’re not being honest with yourself, Suguru.” Then his smile curls into something mischievous. His free hand grabs Suguru’s from the wrist and rubs his thumb above the scent glad, before -to Suguru’s astonishment- puts it over the scent gland on this neck, scenting him to let go of his hold. One of his knees comes between his legs and presses directly on his dick.
Satoru hums in satisfaction, “There it is. You know Suguru, when I fuck you, the vanilla undertones of your scent unravel,” He smirks, “More so when I knot inside you, it’s the best. I can never get sick of your scent.”
When he tries to pull, Satoru doesn’t let him, lets himself lap at his scent, his own now clearer. Suguru’s too close, more than enough to pick up the outmost miniscule specs that consist of Satoru, the newly constructed freshness and sweetness that he surprisingly hadn’t picked up before, perhaps from the suppressants and the following overwhelming scent of arousal.
“Can’t you tell it couldn’t have been anyone else but you? The one and only that I can trust myself with?” He plants a mouthy kiss on the pounding pulse of his wrist, a nip of his fangs and a rough lick of his tongue that ignites fire at his every cell.
Their lips are close, one movement and they’ll touch. It feels grander than what they’ve done so far. A moment of clarity; not of calm, but of direction.
That ignition spurs movement and that movement is to capture Satoru’s lips with his own for dear life and not let go. It’s great. It’s right, his mind reels.
Satoru tries to take control of the kiss, but Suguru doesn’t let him. He lifts himself up and uses his greater strength to manhandle him so that he sits on his thighs, gazing down at him. A hand entangled on his hair controls the pace of the kiss, sweet but it soon takes a quick and playful turn, a dance that Suguru is leading unquestionably. His free hand pulls out his cock and strokes both of them in his fist, pumps in a lazy pace and off-beat to Satoru’s hips thrusting up for more friction, eyes blue and glinting from the light of the room.
Suguru doesn’t pay attention to his needs. Suguru comes first, spilling into his hand and their stomachs while Satoru is still hard- perhaps because his ruts is at its end.
With a grimace, his wipes the cum on the sheets and gets up, eliciting a complaining whine from Satoru.
“I’m going for a bath. Alone.” He adds before Satoru can interject any of his ideas, “Since you’re fine, change the sheets, yes?” he orders and with a smirk he leaves an indignant Satoru on the other side of the closed bathroom door.
Suguru takes his sweet time scrubbing himself, washing himself off the sweat and cum that has gotten everywhere, including his hair. It drips down his thighs as he washes his backside, jolting at the pleasurable sting of his abused, puffy rim.
He fills in the tub and submerges on the lukewarm water, perfectly pleasant for his hot, irritated skin. His glands have swollen and throb from the use and reaction to Satoru’s pheromones- irritation saved for his ruts. At least there is shuffling from the other side of the room, which means the den will be cleaner and bit more organized from him when he returns.
It shouldn’t really have been much of a surprise when his unpredictable body pulls yet another joke on him -his technique is a never-ending source of chaos and there is no true settling with its side effects- by speeding up his rut to now after days of strong exposure to Satoru’s scent and pheromones and spending the past days fucking.
When he wakes up, he feels the familiar heat scorching his skin and the heavy need in his gut. Frustration has started to build, crawling atop his muscles with the urge to puppeteer him. The room now is slowly taken over by his own scent, clashing with Satoru’s and making the air dense and suffocating.
Satoru too wakes because of that, blue eyes already alert at the shift in the air. Suguru watches them cloud familiarly and his pupils widen at the recognition of Suguru’s rut, a scent he’d only smells in fractions in his pre-rut and after-rut phase.
“I thought it wasn’t until a couple of months.” He regards Suguru with increasing hunger in his gaze but fighting spirit on his shoulders. Suguru swallows the bile in his throat with difficulty.
That’s the thing with alpha; their scents bounce off each other solely for the constant urge to fight carved to their core. Even as they cleared out their emotional hiccups and their alpha are attracted to each other scents to the point of scenting each other on the regular, that part of flight or fight- that effortless ease that an omega scent typically brings won’t even be with them, not at moments like this.
Still, Suguru doesn’t mind; Satoru and him have their relaxed, silent moments on their own, in their daily lives, have carved them in the stone that is the hard and cruel jujutsu world, treasured serenity that’s their lifeline and net of sanity. He’ll pick those over the forced submissiveness and overly sweet sense of security pheromones may lull him in.
Instead of answering Suguru lets it takes over -as he usually does, unlike a certain someone - grabs the initiative and rolls them over so that he’s the one above, one hand on his neck and the other trailing down to his cock, already half hard and going. A couple of strokes and some rough teasing at the underside and light pressing at the spot on his knot he feels it the most have him fully hard in no time, sneering up at Suguru and blunt nails creating crescent moons on his hips.
He’s still wet and stretched from the hours before, burning out the last lap of Satoru’s destructive rut that had become a normal one. There are still test to be made, something Satoru is stubborn not to have, his behaviour akin to a cat refusing going to the vet, but Suguru has the feeling that his ruts from now on will be intense, as if to make up for lost time.
“Hmm…The only one I can trust myself with, was it?”
Satoru blinks and his alabaster skin becomes aflame, eyes heavy lidded under ivory lashes.
Mesmerizing, Suguru thinks. Unfair, how Satoru isn’t really as marked as he is, beyond some lines across his back and a few bruises from his grips that are already fading. An error that must be corrected immediately.
Without ever breaking his pace, his hand trails up Satoru’s chest, traces his moving Adam’s apple and finally wraps his fingers around the marble column. Satoru’s eyes are on him in an instant, no visible unease in his gaze. On the contrary, he can feel the twitch of his cock inside him in apt interest.
He attempts to thrust up but Suguru growls in warning and tightens his grip on his neck, which predictably causes Satoru to let out a moan and his knot to get bigger. He makes the pace hard and unforgiving, his other hand coming around his cock to stimulate his growing knot, making sure to have a quick and quaking first orgasm in that first wave.
Having someone to spend it with proves to feel a lot better, just as having stimulation in both his ass and his cock simultaneously does. The pleasure escalates fast, burning him from inside out. He groans appreciatively when Satoru’s hand closes around his cock and drags both of their fist to stroke him.
“Com-Satoru-!” he groans and with a final and tight squeeze, he spills in both of their hands. His ass clenches around Satoru and worn down as he is from his own rut, he follows suit not long after, knot now easier fit inside.
They’re both panting as their high fades away, and he’s pleased at his handprint around Satoru’s pale skin.
Something is missing, and he knows exactly what that is. They both do since Satoru’s eyes have a smug and mischievous glint and he shows off his neck for Suguru to bite on. The caving and breaking of the skin as well as familiar copper taste of blood makes his alpha purr in satisfaction that sends a reinvigorating twitch of arousal to his cock.
“I believe it was,” Suguru says, licking his lips, thumb pressing on Satoru’s shiny bottom lip. He pulls it back, revealing one sharp fang, “So prepare youself.” He growls into his mouth.
When they pull apart, Satoru’s eyes spark and his grin wobbles as he nods.
A grab under his chin, forcing him to lock eyes, “I didn’t hear you. Did you say something?”
Satoru’s breath is stuttered, “Yes alpha.”
Suguru grins, letting his own fangs make their first full appearance, glinting in the light.
“Good boy.”