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When Yaga calls for them, Suguru doesn’t expect much.
It’s summer and the number of curses swarming the city is on the rise. Suguru doesn’t mind though; it keeps him on his feet and makes him feel like some kind of hero after he’s done with them. A typical alpha complex. He huffs, waving his hand dismissively when Satoru gives him a curious look.
“You’re late,” Yaga mutters when they walk in, as if he isn’t aware of the fact that they had just returned from a mission ten minutes ago. Without even giving either of them the time to reply, Yaga pulls out a couple of photographs and scatters them across the table. Suguru frowns, even as Satoru skips over to check them out.
“What’s this? What’s this?” Satoru rubs his chin, flipping through the photos nonchalantly. Suguru walks forward, stretching so that he can look across Satoru’s shoulders. The scent of honey and sweat and something so inherently Satoru tickles his nostrils and for a moment, he leans into it– into Satoru. But only for a moment.
Shaking his head so that he can clear his train of thought, he forces his attention back to the photograph that Satoru’s picked up in his hand. It’s the frontage of a building in Kabukichou at night, neon signs flashing all around. The people’s faces are blurry, but they appear to be the usual crowd one would expect to see at a club. The sign above the door is missing a letter or two but it’s easy enough to make out that it’s not just a club, but an omega host club. Not surprising considering Kabukicho is full of host clubs.
But what is surprising is the miasma seeping out of the photograph. Tendrils of black smoke that look like they’re gathering and dispersing in slow motion. The cursed energy pouring out hits Suguru right in the gut and he nearly reels back, eyes going wide as he whips his head around and looks questioningly at Yaga.
“There’s a little trouble in Kabukichou.” Yaga exhales, sunglasses flashing menacingly. Like some kind of premonition of the bad news he is about to deliver. “What is suspected to be a Semi Grade 2 curse is on the loose and has taken seven victims over the past three weeks. It’s been targeting the omega hosts in this particular club and throwing them into heat cycles so intense that the only way to get them out of it is to sever their scent glands.” Yaga grits his teeth, brows pinched. “The victims are still recovering from the shock of getting their scent glands ripped from them. It’s going to be a long recovery process– one that some might not be lucky enough to recover from.”
“If it’s been going on for three weeks, how come nobody’s done anything?” It’s Satoru who speaks up first, his voice neutral, unreadable. “It’s only a Semi Grade 2, so why hasn’t anyone killed it yet? What’s going on?”
“You think we haven’t already tried? Yuki and a couple of others already went to get a look last week,” Yaga says with a sigh, lips stretched taut into a thin line. “But they’ve more or less been unable to detect any cursed energy on-site. While the security camera footage clearly shows miasma, there is no trace of it whatsoever in person.”
“Wait, so Yuki’s already scoped the place out but nothing’s come up?” Satoru squints, brow shooting up in annoyance. “That doesn’t make any sense. It’s just a Semi Grade 2. Did she lose her touch or what–?”
“It may just be a Semi Grade 2 but…” Yaga inhales shakily. “It’s different from any ordinary curse. There’s something we don’t quite understand about its modus operandum. It’s gone completely unnoticed by Yuki and her team, all of whom were either alpha or beta. This, along with the fact that it seems to be preying exclusively on omegas, leads us to the conclusion that we need an omega sorcerer on the case stat .”
Ah, Suguru can’t say he saw that coming. But it makes sense. If it’s targeting omegas exclusively, then that must mean that they want an omega to go in as a decoy. As bait. And there’s only one omega who’s already a Special Grade sorcerer.
“When do you want us to go?” Satoru asks with a huff, rolling his ass and digging his pinkie finger in his ears like he’s bored out of his mind. “Let’s catch the bad guy and get things wrapped up.”
Us. It’s a simple word and one that Satoru had used without putting much (or any) thought into it, but it still makes something warm spread across Suguru’s chest, something gentle and sweet and filled with longing. He’s always taken aback when Satoru thinks of the two of them as a collective. Even despite being the strongest sorcerer of their generation– a prodigy– he still considers Suguru as an equal, as his best friend. The same sweetness turns sour the longer he ponders on it and he tries to shake the bitter voice that jabs at him that he is only Satoru’s friend, not his alpha.
“It’s not that simple,” Yaga says with a sigh. He takes a step back and folds his arms, tilting his head so that his sunglasses slip to the edge of his nose. “The club is very high profile. You can’t just enter it as you please. You need to infiltrate it.” At that, Satoru and Suguru both give Yaga blank stares, blinking in confusion. Yaga rolls his eyes and grunts. He looks straight at Satoru, eyes steeling but guarded. He hesitates, like he doesn’t want to ask this of Satoru but he can’t help it. “You’re gonna have to disguise yourself as a host so that they’ll let you in.”
“What?!” The words are out of Suguru’s mouth before he can even think them in his head. Satoru and Yaga both turn to look at him and he clenches his teeth together, shrinking back as he waits for Yaga to continue, even though every word that leaves Yaga’s mouth after that only manages to cause him more uneasiness.
“I know it’s a lot to ask and you can always refuse,” Yaga continues and it’s clear that he means what he says about giving Satoru the final choice. But it doesn’t change anything about the current situation and the fact that the Satoru is the only solution. “But if you choose to accept the mission…” Yaga continues slowly, watching Satoru closely, clearly trying to gauge his expression. “If you choose to accept, then you’ll only have to go undercover for a few days. The curse is sure to show up in a day or two. And the victims have all been omega hosts so there’s a high possibility that it will manifest in front of you.” Yaga pauses. “Provided you choose to go through with this, of course.”
Something unpleasant settles in Suguru’s gut. He doesn’t feel good about this. Not because he isn’t confident in Satoru’s strength, but because of the nature of the curse in itself. They’ve never faced something like this before, something that targets omegas and renders them weak by attacking their sub-gender– the very essence of their biology. It’s terrifying to Suguru. Because even if Satoru is all that he is– even if he’s the strongest, the absolute best… even so… he’s still an omega at the end of the day. And there’s no telling how vulnerable he might be in the face of this curse.
“There’s no reason for me to say no, old man.” Satoru’s voice breaks through Suguru’s thoughts and he whips his head around in shock. Satoru’s scratching his chin, looking bored out of his mind. “We’re the strongest, remember? A low grade spirit like that will be a piece of cake for us.” It’s obvious that he isn’t a fraction as worried about things as Suguru is. Suddenly, their eyes catch and Satoru blinks in confusion. “What? You don’t wanna come, Suguru?”
“Ah,” Suguru stutters, mouth going dry with the sudden onslaught of his nerves. “No, I’ll come.” He pauses before forcing a smile. “Obviously.”
“Good,” Satoru says, sticking his tongue out before he throws his arms behind his head and starts to make his way towards the door. “You can fill us in on how we’re going to infiltrate the place after dinner, old man.”
Suguru watches as Satoru disappears out the door. He stands there for a beat too long, frowning, absorbing things and wallowing in his own anxious thoughts.
“It’s a good thing you’ll be going with him.” Yaga’s voice is soft, gentle, but it takes Suguru by surprise because he’s never said that to him before. Truth be told, more often than not, Suguru feels like Satoru doesn’t need him, given how strong he is. Suguru always feels like he’s just a shadow– a sidekick. He’s a Special Grade sorcerer now too, but it doesn’t change the fact that Satoru is more than that. Satoru needs a whole new grade of his own.
Which is why it’s weird that Yaga would express relief in him accompanying Satoru. He’s about to question him, lips parting on a ‘why’ when Satoru’s voice rumbles from the corridor. “The melon bread’s gonna get sold out if you don’t move your fucking ass, Suguru!”
With a roll of his eyes, Suguru follows Satoru outside, shoving his hands in his pockets as Satoru leads the way to their favourite bakery, rambling about how quickly the melon bread’s been selling out over the past week. He’s pouting, cheeks flushed a soft pink from the humid heat, brows beaded with sweat. For a second, Suguru forgets about the odd exchange with Yaga and allows himself to be distracted by how pretty Satoru is.
***
“You’re a bartender?” Satoru’s eyes are wide and sparkly, jaw hanging open in surprise. Suguru chuckles, flicking his forehead as he leans against the cocktail bar. Satoru gasps, whining as he rubs his forehead petulantly.
“I’m filling in as a waiter,” Suguru clarifies, reaching across the counter to grab a tray loaded with drinks. There’s a small note on the edge with the seat number to which he’s supposed to deliver the order. He carefully picks up the tray and freezes in place, gulping as he restrains himself from raking his eyes down Satoru’s frame.
Satoru is dressed in a blue silk shirt– a darker shade than his eyes, making them pop deliciously. That’s not the only thing that’s popped, the buttons are undone dangerously down to his navel, revealing his waist and a hint of his belly button. It reveals more than it conceals. Pale delicately flushed skin peeking out and teasing Suguru’s very sanity. Why Satoru is even wearing the shirt in the first place is a question for another day. His pants are tight black leather, sticking to his skin like it’s been spray painted on him. And Satoru’s legs run for miles. It’s a herculean task to keep away intrusive thoughts of him wrapping those legs around Suguru’s hips while he pounds into him– okay, Suguru, you need a drink.
“Gojo kun, this way!” A woman’s voice calls from the corridor leading to the private rooms. Satoru turns around and waves casually, flashing a lopsided grin in her direction. He looks back at Suguru, leaning in, shirt slipping to the side and exposing a rosy nipple that makes Suguru want to throw himself out of the fucking window– not that there are any windows in the vicinity, the entire building being lined with dark reflective glass from ceiling to floor– all the more surface area to reflect how delicious Satoru looks and further aggravate Suguru’s suffering.
“I’ll scope the place out today,” Satoru whispers against Suguru’s ear. He’s far too close and Suguru can feel the warmth of his breath, smell the peppermint from his chewing gum with a note of Satoru’s honey scent. “With any luck, I’ll be able to run into the curse on the first day and we can wrap up the mission; case closed. Otherwise, we’ll have to smoke the fucker right out.”
Suguru chuckles at that, drily, praying that they can get things done as soon as possible. He’s still uneasy about the whole thing, the bad taste on his tongue persevering throughout. Satoru pulls back and the scent and the warmth leave with him. Suguru has to physically hold himself back so that he doesn’t reach out and gather Satoru into his arms then and there.
“Where are you going?” The words slip out of Suguru’s mouth and he is instantly embarrassed. They’re working undercover at a host club. It doesn’t take Einstein to know where Satoru is heading off to. There’s probably a hall of some kind down the corridor where the hosts entertain guests. That’s probably where Satoru’s heading off to. Not that Suguru is, in any way, familiar with the environment; he’s just making a guess. Suddenly, he recalls the existence of private rooms where hosts meet up with their customers one-on-one in intimate settings. Alarm bells start to ring in Suguru’s head and he subconsciously grabs Satoru by the wrist, stalling him.
“Suguru?” Satoru raises a brow in confusion. “We’re undercover, remember? The whole club has apparently been booked for a bachelor party tonight so I need to help entertain the guests and shit. Let go.” So saying, Satoru yanks off Suguru’s hand and walks towards the direction from where the host woman had beckoned for him.
“Hey, Getou! Get your ass out there!” The bartender looks unamused, gesturing with his hands for Suguru to get on his way and start serving the drinks. Suguru bows his head and apologises under his breath, immediately carrying the tray across the floor. There are a couple of cubicles scattered across the room, each with a host or two surrounded by a flock of guests. They’re pouring each other drinks, laughing and making merry.
It’s all fun and games until Suguru reaches the last couch and sees the group having nothing short of an orgy. There are pheromones everywhere, spilling by the dozen as they make out sloppily, a clash of tongues and teeth, cunts and dicks rubbing against each other with slick pooling on the soft velvet floor. Suguru flushes violently, barely managing to place the tray on the small teapoy without dropping it, before dashing away from there as fast as possible. He fans his face, gulping in mortification as he tries to wipe the scene from his retinas.
Well, it’s not too surprising. Host club activities are always toeing the line. They probably cross the line plenty of times. It doesn’t sound so ludicrous to him. He exhales shakily as he reaches the bar, reaching for the next tray. There are just two drinks on it this time, both shining a cerulean blue. Like Satoru’s eyes.
Satoru.
Suddenly, it comes crashing down on Suguru that Satoru is currently undercover as a host. And as a host, he’s going to have to do everything that hosts do. Bile rushes up Suguru’s throat as he imagines Satoru entertaining the guests– alphas . He’s probably overthinking things. Satoru’s only going to pour them some drinks and make small talk. Maybe a gentle press of his hands on their shoulders and a flirtatious look here and there. He’s most definitely not going to drape himself all over them, with that flimsy god-forsaken silk shirt slipping off and exposing his nipples to the horde of hungry alphas. And he’s not going to be pawed at and scented by those wolves– he’s got infinity, right? So he’s going to be okay. Suguru has nothing to worry about, right?
Right?
***
Turns out Suguru couldn’t be more wrong.
When Satoru comes out at closing time, he looks– ruffled. Eyes a little red rimmed, hair tussled, shirt crinkly. All of those things Suguru can turn a blind eye to. But what he can not ignore is the stench of alphas that lingers on Satoru’s skin. A miasma that doesn’t fade the slightest bit as they make their way home, mercilessly clawing at Suguru’s nostrils and forcing him to face the only logical conclusion for things.
Satoru’s milky neck is littered with marks– hickeys . They trail along the column of his neck, a dark patch against his adam’s apple, a hoard of small nibbles near his scent gland. It causes bile to rush up Suguru’s throat. He doesn’t say anything though. Not yet. Not until they’re home and Satoru comes out of the shower, hair damp, water dripping from the tip of his wet silver tendrils. He’s taken a good while in there, the water loud as he’d let it run nonstop. Suguru watches him– really looks at him. His skin is flushed, but unnaturally so. The hickeys look redder, more smudged. Like they’d been wiped at furiously in an attempt to remove them.
“You let them touch you?”
The words leave Suguru’s mouth like a swinging sword, sharp and icing and drawing blood. His own blood, provided how his gut churns at the very thought of Satoru being touched . In ways Suguru has never even allowed himself to imagine doing– guilt consuming his lust like a singed flame.
“Mmm?” Satoru hums in question, sounding disinterested. “Yeah, that’s the job, right?”
To anyone else, he probably sounds totally fine, completely unaffected. And if you think about it, why would anyone be concerned in the first place, given how Satoru is the strongest of them all? But Suguru can tell. Suguru knows Satoru like the back of his hand, every little fluctuation in his voice, every tremble of his breath, every flutter of his lashes. Suguru notices and Suguru knows.
“You didn’t use your infinity.” It’s not a question, Suguru is merely stating facts. The knife scrapes against his tongue, punishing him for saying it out loud, even if it is the truth. The truth hurts. “You didn’t use infinity,” he repeats dumbly– or maybe he’s just saying it again so that he can believe himself. So that he can accept the truth.
“It wouldn’t work out if I used infinity,” Satoru whispers, voice so low that Suguru almost doesn’t catch him. But he does, of course, because he’s so in tune with Satoru, leaning into his every word, his every action. “They’re not sorcerers like us, Suguru. I can’t use infinity or any other technique on them.” He scoffs, raising his brow and crossing his arms. “You’re the one who told me that, remember?”
Did he? Suguru tries to recall the unfortunate moment during which he’d uttered such utter shit. Fuck the non-sorcerers. It is because of how fucking weak they are that Satoru has to whore himself out to catch a low grade curse. Fuck them. Why are they even working so hard to save these ungrateful bastards? Suguru grunts, chewing into his lower lip so that he doesn’t groan out loud. He’s frustrated beyond his wits– angry. And it’s not a good colour on him. He doesn’t get angry or over-emotional like this. But it’s hard to pretend like he’s okay with things when he feels so on edge by how vulnerable Satoru is allowing himself to be.
“Still…” Suguru says, trying to keep his voice light but wincing when it cracks. “You’re an omega, Satoru.”
For a moment, Satoru doesn’t say anything. He simply stares, blue eyes blank but shining brighter than the overhead lights. And then, he chuckles softly, walking by Suguru and giving his shoulder a squeeze. It’s only for a brief moment– a milli-second– but the touch burns into Suguru’s skin, tattoos itself through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“I’m tired.” Satoru yawns, even as he continues walking. “I’ll head to bed first, ‘night.”
Satoru’s shampoo wafts through the hair, sweet and floral. There’s another scent weaving its way into Suguru’s senses. Honey. Sweet and ripe and Suguru wants to reach out and lap at Satoru’s scent gland, inhale him so deep that his lungs will forever remain flooded with Satoru’s scent. But he can’t– he doesn’t. He just stands there, wishing he couldn’t smell the faint remnants of foreign alphas interlaced with the honey.
A bitter reminder that although Satoru is an omega, he isn’t Suguru’s omega.
***
Apparently, the club has daily costume themes. Suguru doesn’t know this until they get to the club. They go together, of course. Satoru’s wearing shorts and an oversized hoodie, hair a pretty mess on his head. His clothes are too casual in comparison to the previous day’s. If Suguru had half a brain on him, he’d notice that something was off. But of course, his dumb ass has no clue what he’s in for.
The first hint that things are only going to escalate from here presents itself when they enter the club and get greeted by a few other hosts and hostesses in swimsuits– there’s a guy in a g-string that makes Suguru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his god damn sockets. He’s about to comment on it to Satoru when he notices Satoru make his way to the dressing room on the far right. Suguru’s stomach sinks and he has to blink to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.
The theme of the day must be some tropical beach bullshit. Which would explain why Satoru is clad in the tiniest trunks known to mankind. It’s blue and made of some kind of flimsy silken fabric that’s a smidge too loose, teasing at Satoru’s thigh gap and making Suguru want to fling the entire wine cabinet against the wall. Besides the panties– trunks– from hell, he also has on a fully unzipped jacket, hanging wide and exposing most of his upper body. His nipples are pink and beaded from the cold air conditioning in the club. The areolas are swollen and a shade of dusky pink that has Suguru salivating. There’s far too much skin and his brain is going to short-circuit.
“Eyes up here, pervert,” Satoru grins lopsidedly as he winks teasingly at Suguru. Suguru sputters in response, nearly losing balance of the tray in his hands, yelping as he tries to prevent it from toppling down. That causes Satoru to guffaw, bent over at the waist, hands on his stomach as the giggles spill from his chest, a light almost musical sound. The bartender yells something rude in the background, understandably fed up with Suguru’s gay panic. This only makes Satoru laugh harder, wheezing as he starts to tear up. Suguru clicks his tongue in annoyance and groans. He wants to reprimand Satoru, flip him off– but he physically can not. Not when Satoru looks so pretty with the lights bouncing off his hair and the gentle flush of his cheeks. He’s always been the prettiest when he smiles and Suguru mellows down as he simply allows himself to absorb the sight. To take in Satoru’s mirth, his sheer beauty.
“Alright then,” Satoru says with a sigh, swiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I should get going. Fingers crossed that today is our lucky day. Catch you later, Suguru chan!”
So saying, Satoru turns around and walks away, waving his hand behind his back. Suguru stares behind him, gulping at the gentle swell of his ass– it’s never been plump but it’s round and pretty and just the right size for a good smack, it’s probably easy to mark up too– Suguru groans exasperatedly, shaking his head to dispel thoughts of grabbing Satoru’s ass and parting them before spitting on his hole– Stop it, Suguru! For fuck’s sake!
“Hey, that new guy with the silver hair is super cute.” Suguru whips his head around, gut twisting when he takes in the way the two customers at the bar counter are watching Satoru, one of them swiping their tongue across their lips lasciviously. It makes Suguru’s blood boil and he has to clench his fists by his side so he doesn’t throw them. They’re undercover. The mission brief was made very clear to them. Suguru has no business acting butt hurt over other people looking at Satoru like this– like they want him.
“Wanna book a session with him? We could go together?” The other guy says with a swig of his beer. “It’s early enough that there shouldn’t be a waiting list.”
“Heck yeah, let’s go!”
The two men down their drinks and rise to their feet before making their way towards the main hall. Suguru feels helpless, frustrated out of his mind. His mind flashes with a vision of Satoru sitting between them, getting pawed at as they tug at his jacket, whining as they scent him and touch him and– Suguru tugs at his hair and groans, chest squeezing painfully. It’s a fresh kind of torture to imagine Satoru’s plight at the end of his shift. How ruffled will he be? Will his neck be littered with hickeys yet again? Will he stink of other alphas just like the previous night?
Suguru hates to think of it. He wishes Satoru wouldn’t allow himself to be so vulnerable– so open. But he’s just being selfish thinking like that. At the end of the day, the two of them are here as jujutsu sorcerers on a mission. Satoru’s only doing what the job requires of him.
So why does it feel like he’s breaking Suguru’s heart in the process?
***
In all the years that Suguru has known him, he’s never known Satoru to have a heat cycle. Satoru takes his suppressants religiously, every month without fail.
“Is it safe to keep chugging those pills like that?” Suguru remembers asking after the first few months of noticing how Satoru doesn’t take heat leave from school. “I’m concerned for your health.”
Satoru had rolled his eyes then. Suguru remembers so clearly. “I’m fine– I’m fucking awesome, in fact.” Satoru smirks. It’s annoying and smug and Suguru wants to kiss it smack off his face. Absolutely agitating. “You see,” Satoru sing songs, waving his index finger in the air like he’s following a tune. “I’ve never had a heat.” He slowly looks at Suguru, studying him for a reaction. “Ever.”
“What–” Suguru blinks in confusion, eyes wide in shock. “Never?” He takes a step forward and sub-consciously grabs a hold of Satoru’s arm, squeezing past his infinity without even noticing it. Satoru looks a little taken aback, but he doesn’t seem to mind too much. His cheeks are flushed a soft pink and he isn’t meeting Suguru’s eyes.
“Never,” Satoru mutters, chewing into his lower lip before releasing it with a wet plop. “I’ve been taking suppressants since I presented at twelve. It’s not a big deal.” Satoru sighs, eyes flashing with something dark, something that Suguru wants to rip away from him. “I mean… the first heat– the one I had while presenting– that was shit. But after that, it’s been progressively easier to track my cycles and suppress them. My symptoms start showing well ahead. I’m lucky like that.” Satoru forces a smile, gently peeling Suguru’s hand off his arm. “So don’t worry your pretty little head, Suguru chan.”
“Satoru–”
“I’m serious,” Satoru reassures him, pressing Suguru’s hand in his palm. It’s cold, he’s obviously uncomfortable with this conversation.
So Suguru nods his head, lips pursed tight. He drops it for the moment, but he doesn’t ever forget. How can he when he’s so in tune with Satoru by now. Every month, like clockwork, Satoru tethers on his pre-heat. His skin flushes a gentle pink, his eyes glossy and distracted, his lips perpetually parted on heavy sighs and whimpers. But the icing on the cake is his scent. It becomes impossibly sweet, many times sweeter than it usually is– like the most delectable honey, warm and sticky and Suguru has to exercise every ounce of restraint that he has so as not to jump Satoru just like that. It’s silly because the whole thing is over just as soon as it’s begun. Satoru pops the first pill with trembling fingers and then, in a couple of hours, he’s back to normal. Cheeky and annoying (and still oh so devastatingly pretty). Totally back to normal.
After a few years, Suguru gets used to it. He barely even notices Satoru’s pheromones diffusing for that brief lull in time. This is probably because he’s constantly in a state of being encaptivated with everything that Satoru does. So it doesn’t change things much. He’s still just as enraptured, just as absolutely gone. Sure, he still feels concerned every time Satoru takes his suppressants in front of him. But he learns to accept that. Satoru knows what he’s doing. And he’s strong so he’ll be okay.
Besides, Suguru is in no position to be questioning how Satoru treats his body. As an alpha, Suguru is lucky to only have his ruts once a year. He books a room in one of the many rut hotels in Tokyo and just goes wild. Fucking into fleshlights and knotting them over and over for days, until his rut fully passes. He’d be lying if he said he never pictures Satoru during his rut. Because he does. Heart filled with guilt and lust and shame, he can not help but imagine that he’s fucking into Satoru, plugging him full, knotting him until he’s stretched so tight he tears.
The guilt and lust and shame follow him afterwards. When he goes back to the dorm, back to Satoru. Back to their missions together, hoping that Satoru doesn’t notice anything off about him. Praying that Suguru’s feelings aren’t obvious. He would rather die than have Satoru find out the truth and confront him. Because he’s scared. He’s faced countless curses– a handful of special grade ones too, close calls– but none of those compare to this– to confronting Satoru and admitting his feelings. Suguru is terrified out of his goddamn mind. He doesn’t want Satoru to hate him.
But that doesn’t stop the feelings from remaining, from digging their roots deeper and spreading all the way down to the deepest trenches of Suguru’s very soul. It’s something he’s never put to words, not even to himself. But it’s also something that he doesn’t need to put to words because he knows. Even though he wishes he was unaware of his own feelings.
***
When Satoru comes out, he looks damn near debauched. His clothes are in disarray and Suguru wants to punch a hole into the universe. But he can’t so he chooses instead to walk quietly beside Satoru. No small talk tonight. It’s hard enough to inhale oxygen without retching at the scent of alphas that interweave with Satoru’s scent. It’s the same as before. But this time, it’s sourer, nauseating. Sugutu hates it.
The shower runs for long enough that Suguru gets concerned. But Satoru comes out right when Suguru rises to investigate. He’s wearing an oversized faded shirt over his boxers and Suguru thinks he looks sexiest like this– domestic and soft and so fucking pretty. His hair is damp from the shower and his nipples are beaded, poking through.
Going back to the fact that Satoru religiously takes his suppressants so that he doesn’t go into heat, ever… something changes after working at the club for two nights.
“Your pheromones…” Suguru rasps, mouth dry like a ball of cotton. “Are you starting your pre-heat? Should we call Shoko and ask for some suppressants?”
“No, I have them.” Satoru pulls out a blister pack of white pills and waves them in front of Suguru’s face. But he looks stiff, tired. A wave of honey hits Suguru square in his gut, making his dick twitch in his pants. It’s mortifying and he prays to Tengen that he doesn’t rouse any suspicion by emitting any pheromones in response. It’s difficult to hold himself back– as it usually is when it comes to things of the Satoru kind– but Suguru manages through for the umpteenth time.
“That’s good to hear,” Suguru replies with a forced smile.
“It’s not good at all!” Satoru bursts out on a groan. He ruffles his hair and a few drops spray out and fall on Suguru’s face. It’s cold and it smells like Satoru. “It’s absolute shit.”
“Huh?” Suguru squints, confused. “You lost me.”
“I had already had my heat cycle this month.” Satoru’s voice is strained. “I had it last week. No mistake. I had pre-heat symptoms just like I’m having right now, so I took the suppressants like I usually do. I–” Satoru swallows audibly, eyes flashing with panic. “I already had my heat, Suguru. So why am I going into heat less than a week later? This– this has never happened to me before. Fuck—”
Huh? Satoru’s already had his heat this month? Omegas are only supposed to have one heat every month or two. If Satoru is showing signs of going into heat again– which he is– there can only be one reason. Suguru frowns, his gaze dropping to the hickeys on Satoru’s neck.
“Oh,” Suguru hisses out, the blood in his veins seething with barely contained rage. Of course, that explains it.
“What?” Satoru asks, his voice high-pitched, exasperated. He shifts from one leg to the other, restless. Scared. Suguru hates seeing him look so defenseless and vulnerable.
“It’s the mission,” Suguru says plainly. “Your pheromones are all over the place because of the work you’ve been doing at the club. ‘Cause you’ve been whoring around and letting all those alphas touch you and scent you and shit. All that sustained proximity with those alphas must’ve fucked with your pheromones, Satoru. That must be why this is happening to you.”
Suguru winces at his own words, knowing he’s being too much, that he’s crossed the line. Satoru’s eyes flash with what is clearly hurt and Suguru wants to strangle himself. Why is he being such a dick and lashing out like this at Satoru when he’s only doing what the mission requires of him. It’s Suguru who’s fucking everything up by taking things so personally. It is Suguru who caught feelings for Satoru somewhere along the road, of his own volition. It is Suguru who is now stuck in some sort of sick limbo where he’s too chicken to admit it, but too much of a loser not to be a resentful asshole about it. It is Suguru who is the cause of the stricken expression on Satoru’s face, one that he’s never seen before.
“Sustained proximity?” Satoru pronounces each syllable slowly, deliberately, lips curled all the way down. “I’ve been in sustained proximity with you for years and nothing of this sort has happened before. So…” He inhales shakily and coughs before continuing, “So why would things change now? And I’m–” Satoru’s voice cracks and he curses under his breath, swiping his hand down his face agitatedly. When he looks at Suguru, there is fire in his eyes, vitriolic and filled with rage. It makes Suguru want to curl into a ball and disappear, but he can’t. “I’m not–” Satoru clears his throat. “I’m not whoring myself out, Suguru. For fuck’s sake–”
“Shit.” Suguru immediately takes a step forward, ready to apologise. “I shouldn’t have said that–”
“Yeah,” Satoru interrupts with a cruel laugh. There is no laughter in his eyes, there is only hurt. And that in turn, hurts Suguru. “You shouldn’t have said that but you did. That was a dick move, Suguru.”
“I’m sorry,” Suguru whispers, dropping his hands awkwardly at his sides. “I was just looking out for you, Satoru.”
“No,” Satoru says sharply. There is a bite to his words and it stabs Suguru almost physically. “You weren’t looking out for me, Suguru. You were looking at me like an omega. Like a ticking biological bomb just waiting to explode from a single touch from some fucktard alpha from the club– fuck, Suguru, you’ve never treated me like an omega before. You’ve only ever treated me like myself. I fucking hate this, Suguru.”
“That’s not it, Satoru–”
“Save it,” Satoru spits out. “I’m going to bed.” So saying, he strides past Suguru, bumping his shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. Suguru watches as he gets into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Satoru’s eyes are wet and glossy and when he closes them, his silver lashes flutter gently against the white pillow case, forming little beads of grey where his tears fall.
Suguru gulps harshly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It doesn’t work so he walks out, guilty about how royally he’s fucked up. But guiltier about how sweet Satoru’s pre-head-addled scent tastes on his tongue, conjuring up a dozen images of everything he yearns to do to him.
***
Come morning, Suguru’s conscience has had enough. He corners Satoru while he’s brushing his teeth, bowing down until his back stings.
“I was being a dick last night. You can punch me if you want, I deserve it.”
So Satoru punches him, and he puts in enough force to make it hurt but not so much that it’ll scar. Suguru is thankful for that, he supposes, rubbing at his cheek and wincing at the throbbing pain that shoots through him at even the slightest touch. But he’s not done yet; he doesn’t want them to have any misunderstandings. It’s not too late to start saying the truth. Baby steps.
“Honestly,” Suguru says, gulping with nerves. “This whole thing is messing with my head. I–” Suguru’s mouth feels dry, like sandpaper, tongue rasping against the roof of his mouth, desperate. “I hate the smell of their scents on you.” Every word that spills from his lips takes a small weight off his shoulders. Bit by bit, until he doesn’t feel weighed down anymore. At least, not as much as before. “I don’t like that you let them scent and touch you, Satoru. Even though I know that it’s for the mission. I just wish you didn’t have to sacrifice that much of yourself for this mission. I–” Deep inhale. “I don’t like that.”
For a long moment, Satoru just stares at him. Blue eyes tumultuous like the raging sea. If Suguru stares long enough, he’s sure he’s going to drown in their depths– or maybe, he already has.
“So you were jealous?” Satoru’s lips slowly curl up in a smug grin. He twirls a strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger, the silver glinting from how it’s angled under the light. “Is that it? Were you jealous that another alpha was pawing at what’s yours, Suguru chan?”
For as long as they’ve been acquainted, they’ve been teasing and chiding each other, trying to one up the other in any way possible. Satoru’s always pulling his leg and making snarky remarks. But Suguru’s usual response is annoyance, sometimes amusement. But it’s never been this. It’s never been sheer mortification, the kind that physically knocks the breath out of his lungs and sets his face on fire. He must look ridiculous, what with how red he is and how his mouth keeps opening and closing like a fish out of water. He must look like an idiot– an utter fool. Worse… Satoru might be disgusted by the whole thing– fuck.
Ah fuck, Suguru can’t think of a single believable excuse to himself out of this one, so the least he can do is apologise again. So he opens his mouth to do just that but ends up freezing in place, lips parted in surprise. Because Satoru is smiling at him, smug but gentle. Eyes shining like the slow waves washing ashore during dusk, soft and warm and so fucking tender that it squeezes Suguru’s heart and leaves him shaken.
“You’re an idiot,” Satoru says with a soft chuckle, still smiling as he turns around. He goes back to brushing his teeth, while humming a random tune under his breath. The more Suguru allows himself to absorb things, the more he understands how ridiculous it all is. He’s watching Satoru brush his teeth and garble and spit like an old man. It should be off-putting but Suguru thinks he’s pretty even like this. Silver hair in disarray, eyes crinkled up from sleep, toothpaste suds on the bottom of his chin.
Without thinking, Suguru reaches out and swipes the foam off with the pad of his thumb. Satoru looks at him, surprised, before he turns back and continues to brush his teeth. His expression is blank but the sudden flush that stains his cheeks and his ears gives him away instantly. Suguru chews into his lower lip, attempting to hide the smile that’s threatening to burst at any moment. He quickly reaches across Satoru to grab his own toothbrush.
The scent of honey that hits his nostrils is strong, like it was the previous night. But this time, it’s sweet– so sweet– and tender and wonderful and a depraved part of Suguru wishes Satoru would keep emitting pre-heat pheromones like this perpetually. It’s a fleeting thought, one that disappears as soon as it’s been conceived. Replaced instead by the soft flush on Satoru’s cheeks and the sweet smile on his face. Suguru is ready to face anything if he can keep having moments like this with Satoru.
***
Scratch that. Suguru isn’t ready for shit.
“You don’t think it looks good?” Satoru asks with a frown, doing a 360 degree spin that punches the air right out of Suguru’s chest. “Say something.”
But what can Suguru say when Satoru is wearing a fucking playboy suit. The leotard is like a second skin, teasing at every curve and edge of Satoru’s body, leaving nothing to the imagination. It dips at his chest, a deep cut that’s so tight that it makes it look like Satoru’s chest is spilling out, pecs barely contained in its confines. The bunny ears are white and fluffy. But it’s not as fluffy as his tail– god, Suguru wants to touch the round fluffy tail before he touches the rest of Satoru– fuck, Suguru’s eyes trail south and he damn near loses his mind at the sight. The crotch of the suit is the worst thing that’s ever happened to Suguru; it feels like targeted harassment– pure torture . The cleft is painfully obvious, the flesh stretching the leotard so thin that it looks almost translucent.
A flash of heat goes south and Suguru is alarmed to feel his dick start to chub up. He gapes dumbly at Satoru, who is now pouting, head tilted to the side. Suguru doesn’t know how to respond– doesn’t think he will be capable of coherent speech for several years to come. But Satoru’s slowly starting to look a little deflated, shoulders slumping as he looks about nervously, self-consciously. He tugs at a frayed thread sticking out from his neckline, picking at it with trembling fingers.
“What?” He chuckles softly, with no real mirth. “Do I look silly?”
Silly? Suguru’s jaw drops in shock. “Silly” is the last word Suguru would use to describe Satoru at the moment, in that wrecking ball of a playsuit. The first word that comes to Suguru’s mind is…
“Sexy.” The word slips right out and Suguru sputters as the mortification comes crashing down on him. Satoru’s blinking in confusion and on any other day, in any other setting, Suguru would clear his throat and try to cover it up by pretending it was a mistake. But Satoru’s eyes are sparkling bluer like the sky on their morning walk to the club, laced with something like expectation and who is Suguru to deny him anything? Who is Suguru to disappoint him?
“You don’t look silly, Satoru,” Suguru whispers, every word causing his ears to ring in bubbling panic. “You look– fuck– you look sexy.”
“Oh.” Satoru’s eyes blow wide, bright and glittery like diamond dust suspended in a spotlight. A soft flush paints his cheeks and he lowers his gaze, clearly taken aback, embarrassed– shy. When he reaches out to tug at his bunny ears, Suguru damn near clutches his chest and falls to his knees, endeared beyond anything he’s ever been.
“Y– yeah,” Suguru stutters, scratching the back of his neck, heart thudding in his eardrums and drowning out everything else. He peeks at Satoru, breath hitching when their eyes meet. The air is thick with tension, with Satoru’s honey scent diffusing around them and pulling Suguru in like a magnetic force field.
“Getou, would you quit drooling on the floor and fucking clean up the counter?!”
Just like that, the bubble around them pops and Suguru turns around and apologises to the bartender. Satoru snorts behind him and he rolls his eyes in annoyance.
“Have fun clearing up the counter,” Satoru says with a shit-eating grin. “For the first time since we started this mission, I’m starting to think you drew the short stick here.”
“You think?” Suguru mumbles, shoulders slumping. He already feels exhausted, and the day hasn’t even started yet.
“I’m gonna get going then,” Satoru says, pointing in the general direction where he always disappears off to. “We’ve waited long enough. I think we’ll catch our guy today.” He grins, determination sparking in the depths of his eyes. “I have a gut feeling.” For a brief moment, Satoru’s scent hikes, honey dispersing everywhere and numbing Suguru’s mind for a bit. Just for a bit, because he pulls out of the haze and fixes Satoru with a worried look.
“You’ll be okay, right?” he asks, slowly. Satoru looks taken aback, frowning before he opens his mouth and Suguru already knows he’s going to say something about being the strongest sorcerer in existence blah blah. Suguru doesn’t give a shit about all that; he’s just worried. Because of all the tiny things that have been going wrong since they started this mission. But most of all… because he cares about Satoru. So fucking much.
“I’ll be fine,” Satoru says softly, head tilted to the side, smile small but so fucking tender. “I just took my suppressants while I was in the dressing room– two for good measure–so they should start working any minute now. I’ll be fine.” He pauses, averting his gaze and mumbling, “But thanks for worrying about me, Suguru. It feels good to be cared for.”
Suguru’s chest squeezes before flooding with warmth. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, knowing that at least a fraction of his affection has made its way through to Satoru. He’s good with that. Absolutely perfect.
“I’m gonna go now,” Satoru says, voice high-pitched and shaky, before turning around and sprinting away. He’s a perfect picture in that suit, bunny ears flopping, tail peeking out between the soft swell of his ass cheeks, silver hair shining under the chandelier like a halo. He’s the most beautiful thing Suguru has ever seen– will ever see and desire and yearn for.
“Getou, if you don’t move your ass over here, I’ll whoop your fucking ass, you bitch–”
Suguru nearly stumbles over in his panic to get to the bar counter. There are a dozen empty trays and glasses lined up on the counter. An absolute mess. On top of that, it turns out that Suguru is the only waiter on duty this shift. It’s going to be a hell of a night, he thinks, grabbing the washcloth and starting to scrub at the stain on the corner of the counter, mind still on Satoru, lungs flooded with honey.
***
A shift at the club lasts three hours. Unless you’re a part-timer without regular customers; in which case, it’s four hours. Satoru hasn’t come out in six hours and Suguru’s starting to panic.
The group of hosts who went in along with Satoru have already left the club. Not to mention how Suguru’s shift is also done and the person who swaps in after him is already here.
“You can leave now, Getou.” The bartender sighs, rubbing at a champagne flute until it sparkles. He glances up at Suguru and smiles tensely. “You didn’t majorly screw up anything today so good job.”
What an asshole, Suguru thinks, forcing a courteous smile before walking to the counter, taking off his apron and getting ready to tap out.
The waiter who handles the main hall chooses that instant to walk up to the counter with an urgent look. “There’s been a bit of an episode in the main hall. Long story short, some drinks got spilt and some clients are upset. We’re trying to handle it but you know how understaffed we are; it’s the last shift for god’s sake–” He groans, tugging at his hair before turning towards Suguru.
“You!” He grabs the tray with newly poured drinks and all but drops it into Suguru’s hands. “I know this will count as overtime but we’re desperate for any help we can get!” Gesturing towards the direction of the hall, he whines, “Hurry, hurry, get going!”
Oh! Suguru’s eyes go wide, a lightbulb switching on in the back of his mind. Sure, he’s exhausted beyond words. But they’re presenting before him the perfect opportunity to check up on Satoru. There’s no way he’s not going to take it. With renewed gusto, Suguru grabs the tray and smiles at the waiter.
“Lead the way.”
***
It takes a good while before the mess is cleared and the upset customers are consoled and compensated. The hosts gathered in the hall look drained, eyes lined with bags, shot red. They’re all in playsuits, just like Satoru was, rabbit ears and everything. Anxiety runs through Suguru’s veins like a live wire, sparking and spitting tumultuously. He looks around, carefully scanning every inch of his surroundings. But Satoru is nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry for making you do this.” One of the hosts walks up to Suguru and offers a tired smile. She claps her hands together in apology, rubbing them together in a way that Suguru would find endearing if he wasn’t so wound up.
“It’s fine,” he replies curtly, nodding his head in acknowledgment and forcing a tight smile back.
“It’s just so frustrating.” She’s clearly taken Suguru’s courtesy as a green signal to start venting. “This kind of thing has been happening fairly recently these days. We had a high-profile business party break out into a heated argument less than a week ago. The clients were throwing their hands at each other and smashing their glasses. It was horrible. And it was even worse today. My client got so aggressive and even threw his drink in my face. My make up is ruined! And when I looked around, all the clients were looking askew, acting feral– it was absolutely terrifying! ”
She shudders and while Suguru can sympathise, he really needs to finish up and go find Satoru. He’s about to excuse himself but what she says next makes him freeze in his tracks.
“One of our new hires was even dragged into one of the private rooms, the poor thing. He looked so out of it; I’m sure the client was using his pheromones on him.”
New hire? Suguru frowns, a hand of ice wrapping around his heart and squeezing until he’s suddenly cold all over. There’s no way, right? There are probably many other new hires besides–
“What’s his name?” Suguru’s voice sounds foreign to his own years, stretched taut like a rubber band about to break.
“His name?” She blinks, squinting in thought. “The client isn’t a regular so I’m not sure who he is–”
“No, I meant the new guy… what’s his name?” Suguru swallows, praying, praying, praying. Please, please, please . Don’t let it be him.
“Ah! Our rookie!” She claps her hands and mouths ‘ahh’ like she’s had a light bulb moment. Only for her lips to curl down, brows knitting together in disdain. “Sorry, I can’t remember his name.”
Oh. Suguru’s shoulders slump in disappointment. Well, there’s nothing he can do about it. Guess he’s just going to have to look a little harder.
“He was really tall though!” Her eyes widen with sudden enthusiasm. “And his hair was grey– or white? Silvery? And he had blue eyes. A foreigner perhaps?”
“Where did they go?” Panic shoots up Suguru’s throat like bile. He grabs her by the arm, immediately wincing and taking a step back, mumbling an apology because he’s clearly crossed a limit by putting his hands on her. “I’m so sorry for that. I just–” Anguish boils inside him, wringing his insides, churning them until he’s reduced to a ball of nerves. “I need to find him,” he whispers, loathing how her eyes flash with pity.
“Oh gosh, is he your omega?” She clicks her tongue, reaching out and squeezing Suguru’s shoulder in a sign of good will. “Don’t worry, hun. It hasn’t been too long since he left for the private room. And I’m sure he’s perfectly fine. There’s a ring in there that us omegas– us hosts– can ring to alert the security if any customer crosses the boundary and gets too aggressive or touchy.”
“Where is that?” Suguru manages to spit out, desperation eating away at his insides just from imagining Satoru being in such close proximity with someone who might be dangerous, given how on edge he’d been acting for the last couple of days, with his pheromones in disarray and everything. “Where’s the private room located?”
“Ah,” she points her finger in the direction of the corridor leading to a row of identical doors stretching out on opposite sides for as far as Suguru’s eyes can make out. “It’s right over there–”
The words barely leave her mouth before Suguru turns around and sprints in the direction she’d pointed at. He doesn’t grace her with any response, mind zoned in on exactly one task. Finding Satoru and rescuing him. If he’s not too late… Suguru groans out loud, shaking his head to dispel all negative thoughts. No. Satoru’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be okay.
The first door is locked and Suguru groans, dejected out of his mind. But then, he notices that the keycard is still in the holder, an indicator that the room is unoccupied. He nearly trips over himself in his haste to move on to the next door. The second room is locked too, but yet again, the keycard is still intact. Suguru runs along the corridor, switching sides to make sure he covers all the rooms. They’re all locked, but all empty. It’s when he’s halfway down the corridor that the scent hits him smack in the gut.
Honey.
“Shit!” Suguru scrambles, making a beeline for the scent. It’s strong, pungent almost and it makes Suguru feel squeamish. He can’t even imagine what’s going on with Satoru at the moment. For him to be emitting such a strong scent, something is quite evidently wrong. The suppressants didn’t work because Satoru is now, completely and without a doubt, releasing pre-heat pheromones. It’s messing with Suguru’s mind– with his alpha. Suguru’s inner wolf is howling in distress, yanking at its chains and threatening to burst out at any moment. It is nothing short of a Herculean task, trying to keep himself sane and in control of his wolf.
Finally, Suguru stands before the room from which the scent is evidently diffusing out. There’s no keycard. Suguru whips his head around helplessly, trying to figure out what to do next. Should he go back and ask someone for help, for a spare keycard perhaps? That seems like the logical solution to things. But Suguru’s never been one for thinking logically. Not to mention how all logic is thrown out of the window and replaced with the scent of honey and Satoru and he’s just past the door, vulnerable in his pre-heat and possibly in danger–
One moment Suguru is standing in front of the door, vibrating on his feet, trying to figure out what to do. The next, he’s kicked the door open, cleaving the hinge clean in two. He steps into the room immediately and the door creaks shut behind him. What he sees before him knocks the air right out of his lungs and fills it with fire.
It’s Satoru; he’s here, he’s finally here. Suguru would collapse from relief if it weren’t for the fact that Satoru is plastered onto the couch, bunny ears flopping off the edge, eyes hazy and cheeks flushed. Clearly in pre-heat from the looks and scent of it. But that’s not what Suguru is concerned about. No, there’s more. There’s an alpha pressing Satoru down, mouthing at his neck as he inhales Satoru’s sweet scent. But it’s not an ordinary alpha, of course not. The man’s body radiates with miasma, swirls of cursed energy coming off his silhouette in the form of dark plumes.
It’s the cursed spirit.
“Satoru, that’s our guy!” Suguru yells at the top of his lungs, preparing to summon one of the cursed spirits in his arsenal and end this guy. But his words– or perhaps it’s his presence, he doesn’t know– trigger something in Satoru. His eyes clear with a flash, looking like he’s snapped out of the cursed spirit’s spell, full-on alert as he gauges the situation quickly. Within mere moments, Satoru lifts his hand, about to snap his fingers before he thinks better of it, eyes roaming around and analysing the environment, calculating how to minimise damage.
The curse leans down, closer, and that’s when Satoru’s patience snaps. With a low guttural moan, he puts an end to the whole fiasco by activating his infinity and piercing his hand right through the cursed spirit’s gut, twisting it around before pulling it out. There is no blood, only fragments of the curse chipping away as its corpse turns into ash and disperses into the air. Everything happens very quiet and the curse is completely gone within seconds and it leaves behind no remnants of its energy, no proof of its existence. Nothing to suggest that there had been any conflict, all damages to the room prior to Suguru’s entrance are completely wiped out.
For a second, Satoru and Suguru simply stare at each other, lips parted in bewilderment. Suguru carefully takes a step towards the couch, his breathing slowing down with the impending relief of having completed their mission. He dips his knee into the opposite corner of the couch, immediately leaning forward so he’s facing Satoru, breath catching when the scent of honey teases him, sending a full-body thrill down his spine. His head feels woozy, the surroundings blurring out until all he can see is Satoru in full definition, the centre of his attention– the objection of his adoration. It’s nothing new but he’s never felt so free before, limbs relaxed, bones light. “We did it,” he whispers, reaching out to press Satoru’s shoulder. “We did it, Satoru!”
The moment Suguru touches Satoru, all hell breaks out. Satoru jolts in place before recoiling like he’s been scorched by a flame. The gasp that spills from his lips is louder than bombs, echoing through the room and bouncing off Suguru’s eardrums with a throbbing sting. Satoru shuffles back until he’s hanging half out of the other end of the sofa, knees contorted awkwardly to his sides as he curls in on himself.
“Satoru? What’s wrong?” Suguru blinks in confusion. Why… it appears as if Satoru is trying to get away from him– like Satoru is afraid of him. That doesn’t make sense. “Hey,” he whispers, frowning, reaching out his hand, eyes widening when Satoru shrinks away yet again. His heart nearly breaks then and there. But that’s when he notices.
There is no warning before the scent of honey slams Suguru in the face, instantly infiltrating his nostrils and intoxicating him even more. His head clouds with sheer want, dick chubbing up inside the confines of his pants like some sort of sick Pavlovian response. He looks at Satoru, confused and perplexed and horny, his outstretched hand hanging awkwardly mid air. Satoru’s face is red, his stupid bunny ears plastered to his head like it’s physically attached to him. Suguru wants to yank at it and pull Satoru into a kiss, tug him down until he’s mouthing his dick–
Shit shit shit! Suguru groans, head reeling, a dozen obscene thoughts overtaking him. It’s like he’s suffocating in honey and he can’t think no matter what he does. He tries to take another breath, instantly regretting it when another punch of sweetness infiltrates his lungs. His pants are now so tight it hurts and he can feel the tip of his dick pearling up, wet, aching to plunge inside the omega in front of him–
Wait… the omega…
It clicks instantly. Suguru whips his head up so that he’s looking at Satoru straight on. Satoru’s pupils are so dilated that they’re like a dark navy blue pool surrounded by a baby blue ring. It’s beautiful and Suguru is getting lost again. He pulls at his hair and groans. “Fuck, Satoru,” he manages to grunt out. “You’re going into heat.”
“Huh?” Satoru blinks, confused. He looks at Suguru helplessly, flushed all the way from his cheeks to the swell of his chest in his ridiculous outfit. “The fuck are you talking about? I took suppressants just an hour ago man–”
“No shit.” Suguru laughs but it’s painful, albeit not as painful as his dick. “You’re– you’re stinking up the whole place, Satoru. I can’t–” His throat clogs up and he panics for a minute as the severity of the situation hits him. “I can’t breathe–” he wheezes out. I can’t breathe without breathing you in. And breathing you in is nothing short of torture.
“Fuck.” The panic is evident in Satoru’s voice and his eyes snap around aimlessly. He’s panting, clearly from a mixture of panic and also from his impending heat taking a toll on his body. “Fuck fuck fuck , Suguru!” Satoru leaps forward, eyes wide with horror, grabbing onto Suguru’s arms hard enough to make him wince, but he’s so close that Suguru’s brain short circuits and is numb to everything else except the scent of honey and the warmth seeping into his skin– everything except for Satoru.
“I– I have more suppressants.” Satoru pulls back and tugs at the v-neck of his playsuit. He yanks it down, spilling a whole tit with a dusky pebbled nipple that has Suguru salivating. And also a blister pack of pills. Satoru takes the packet and waves it in the air, seemingly oblivious to how he’s exposed himself even further. But it is painfully obvious to Suguru’s erection that continues to throb like a bullet train.
“Alright, this should work.” Satoru’s fingers tremble as he tries to pop one of the blisters, frowning and cursing under his breath in vain. “Fuck.”
“Let me,” Suguru whispers as he gently removes the packet from Satoru’s hands, eyeing him with concern. Satoru’s forehead is beaded with sweat. And for as much as every inch of his exposed flesh is flushed red and peppered with gooseflesh, he also looks pale. Petrified. “Hey,” Suguru says carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Satoru spits out, laughing manicly. “ Everything is wrong, Suguru. I’ve been taking suppressants since we started this dumb mission. Hell, I took three suppressants just today. But it’s obviously not working. Fuck– I– I can’t go into heat, Suguru. I’ve never had a heat before. I–” Satoru inhales shakily, his features contorted into terror. “I don’t have an alpha.”
Oh.
“An alpha,” Suguru mimics dumbly, voice cracking with nerves. So Satoru thinks about those things too. About sharing his heats. With an alpha. Suguru wants to come out then and there, confess his feelings and enlighten Satoru about how he’s been holding a torch for him for far too long.
“You’re making fun of me.” Satoru pouts– he fucking pouts and it’s so fucking unfair. Satoru is obviously suffering because of his heat but Suguru is suffering because of Satoru. It’s unfair. It’s unfair and tragic and fucking hilarious, everything all at once. “They never let me go into heat back home, being the successor to the Gojo clan and all that bullshit,” Satoru says, rolling his eyes. “And after I became a sorcerer, I just… never had the luxury of time to just let myself go into heat and fuck around, you know? Besides, it’s easier without all that shit. I can just take my suppressants and do a full rewind. But now–” Satoru’s breath hitches. “Fuck, Suguru, hand over the goddamn pill–”
“No,” Suguru says before he can even process his thoughts. The look Satoru shoots him in response is deadlier than his cursed technique and Suguru swallows nervously. At this point, he’s on auto-pilot, navigating through the chaos of darkness with no light in sight.
“The fuck do you mean ‘ no’ ?” Satoru’s voice is impatient and agitated. “Stop messing with me, man–”
“You’re the one messing with yourself.” Suguru tries to speak softly, calmly. But it’s hard when he’s so on edge, harder when his lungs are filled with his favourite scent in the world. “Taking so many suppressants is gonna fuck you up. You can’t keep doing that, Satoru. I think it’s time for you to face your heat and let it ride its course.”
“What?!” Satoru’s eyeballs nearly pop out of their sockets. “The fuck, Suguru? I can’t go into heat. I told you–”
“Why not?” Suguru asks, voice even, even though he’s barely holding together on the inside. “Because you don’t have an alpha.”
“Well, yeah–”
“Then, get an alpha, you idiot,” Suguru says with a sigh. “There. Problem solved.”
“Get an alpha?” Satoru stutters, going another shade darker, scent hitching endearingly. “Who the fuck is going to want to help me with this shit? What a fucking joke–”
“It’s not a joke, Satoru,” Suguru says with a sigh, wanting to reach over and touch Satoru, reassure him, but unable to do because it’s taking him every vestige of courage to keep going. “I know an alpha who’d be down to help you.” Suguru’s voice trembles and his throat goes dry. His heart pounds in his rib cage, threatening to burst right out any second.
“What?” Satoru squints, freezing up. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s someone you know quite well, actually.” Oh god, Suguru can’t believe this is happening, that he’s finally making a move after all these years. A lump lodges in his throat and he can’t swallow, can’t breathe properly, because he’s hanging onto Satoru’s every word, waiting with bated breath. Hoping for something he wants more than he can care to admit.
“Someone I know?” Satoru repeats, squinting in confusion. He blinks, once, twice, before his eyes fly wide open. It’s almost comical to see the metaphorical light bulb flashing behind his eyes. Suguru would laugh if he wasn’t so fucking constipated. “There’s no way,” Satoru whispers, voice trembling. He sounds shy and his scent is sweet and gentle and there is a fresh wave of hope blooming in Suguru’s heart–
“Is it Nanamin?”
Suguru’s heart breaks. It’s like a physical slap to his cheek that has him reeling back in pain. “Why do you think it’s Nanami kun?” Suguru mutters.
“I don’t know,” Satoru says, raking his fingers through his hair. “You said there’s an alpha that I know of, someone that I’m close to. And Nanamin is the only alpha in our circle.”
“There’s another one,” Suguru pushes, cringing inside at how desperate he’s starting to sound. “There’s one other alpha in our circle who wouldn’t mind accompanying you during your heat.”
For a good few minutes, Satoru stares at Suguru. Hard. and then, his brow shoots up. “There’s no way,” he says, scepticism dripping from his tongue, stabbing Suguru’s already vulnerable heart. “You can’t possibly mean…” Oh god, Suguru can feel the bile rush up his throat. “... Yaga sensei?”
“No, you idiot! I’m talking about myself!” Suguru doesn’t know what causes him to burst out like this. Maybe it’s the fact that Satoru considers Nanami– and even fucking Yaga sensei– as potential heat partners before he does Suguru.
Heck, Satoru probably doesn’t even see Suguru as an alpha in the first place. This whole crush– because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Just a schoolboy crush. Only they aren’t school boys anymore and at some point, Suguru had fallen way too hard for it to just remain a crush. This mountain for feelings that he harbours for Satoru is… futile. Suguru’s chest crushes in on itself with dejection. He gathers the last remaining shreds of his courage and braves a glance at Satoru. The confusion– the sheer bewilderment– on Satoru’s face is enough to deplete any remnants of hope that Suguru had been nurturing. Almost.
“I–” Suguru swallows, bunching his hands into fists by his sides and lifting his head so that he’s looking straight, his solemn face reflected in the depth of Satoru’s blue eyes. “I’m an alpha, Satoru,” he says slowly, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time, because of how fucking pathetic it must sound, saying it out loud, pleading for Satoru to notice that he’s an alpha. But at the end of the day, he is desperate. He’s come this far. There’s no reverse button; he can’t go back, he can’t turn back time. He has to live with the outcome of this– of today– for the rest of his life. So he’s going to give it his all, pathetic alpha ego be damned. “I’m an alpha and I have no issue with being your heat partner.”
An aborted gasp spills from Satoru’s lips, high-pitched and almost feminine. Satoru looks beyond himself, eyes so wide, lips parted in an ‘oh’ of pure bafflement. “The fuck are you saying?” Satoru finally manages to respond. His scent spikes with panic, ebbing and waning as his eyes flit around unfocused. “You’re pulling my leg–”
“The fuck I am.” Suguru groans, reaching out and grabbing Satoru’s shoulder and shaking him slowly. It’s scorching at this point of contact and that only pushes Suguru further. “I’m serious, Satoru. You’ve been abusing your suppressants for far too long. Your body needs a break. It’s time to go into heat.” He pauses and gulps audibly, pressing Satoru’s shoulder as if to reassure him– but maybe, he’s just trying to reassure himself. “I want to help you,” he whispers. “I care about you, Satoru.”
They stay like that for a while, with Suguru holding onto Satoru’s shoulder with one hand, pressing and releasing in resonance to his heartbeat that thuds so loud it’s almost like the entire room is drowning in it. Satoru’s lips are pressed, his eyes shining far too bright, his scent an unreadable chaos of honey and something strained.
The tension snaps when Satoru peels Suguru’s hand off. “No,” he says, voice firm and ice cold. It douses Suguru’s chest in ice and his breath catches. His entire body freezes up, crestfallen. And just like that, in one swift motion, Satoru makes a beeline for the packet of pills held loosely in Suguru’s other hand. He yanks it out and starts to pop the blisters, fingers trembling violently, eyes flickering with desperation. He shakes the packet and half a dozen pills fall into his palm. He brings it up to his lips, about to swallow them dry.
That’s when Suguru finally comes to his senses, jerking alert and reaching forward. He grabs Satoru’s hand, throwing the pills away. They scatter across the floor and Satoru makes a dejected whimpering sound. It eats away at Suguru. He can’t bear it anymore. Anger bubbles in his gut and fuels him forward. He grabs Satoru’s wrists, pushing him back until he falls onto the couch with a yelp. Suguru straddles him so that he can’t escape. Satoru pushes him but it’s weak and Suguru doesn’t budge. It’s hilarious because Satoru is so strong and he could throw Suguru off easily. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just lies back, looking defeated, chest rising and falling unevenly, maybe from preheat or maybe from panic.
“Why would you–?” Suguru’s voice cracks and he throws his head back with a laugh, guttural and low and fucking tragic. “Does the thought of spending your first heat with me repulse you so much that you’d rather overdose on suppressants?” He exhales through his teeth, blinking back the tears stinging at the corner of his eyes before looking back down at Satoru. He tightens his hold on Satoru’s wrists and slowly pushes them above and over his head. Satoru’s eyes widen as his back arches and he is pressed against Suguru’s frame, inch to inch, locked together.
“Do you hate the thought of being with me that much Satoru?” Suguru whispers, chest clogging with the weight of his rejection. “Because–” He slowly presses even closer, lines his groin against Satoru’s, and watches as Satoru’s eyes go wider. Satoru’s naked skin is warm against Suguru’s jeans, burning into the fabric. But nothing is as hot as his cunt, throbbing through two layers and eliciting a primal response from Suguru’s cock. “Because–” Suguru repeats lamely, throat clogged, blinking furiously. “Because I want you so much, Satoru. So much that it’s physically hurting me–”
“Suguru–?” Satoru stutters out, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. It’s my fucking pheromones– Fuck–”
“I’m not saying this ‘cause of your pheromones!” Suguru all but spits in Satoru’s face. “It’s not just now either. Satoru, I–” He inhales shakily, trying to fill his lungs with air, with anything that isn’t honey– that isn’t Satoru . “I–” The words are lodged in his throat, too afraid to be pushed out. But Suguru is tired, so tired. “I want you,” he admits, deflating in every sense of the word, a myriad of defeat and relief. Defeat because he knows he’s going to be turned down. Relief because he’s finally crossed the line, finally unloaded the baggage he’s been carrying for all these years. “I’ve always wanted you. Maybe even from the moment we met. I want you, Satoru.”
“Stop fucking with me, Suguru you fuck!” Satoru hisses through his teeth. Suguru’s hands are lax now and Satoru takes the opportunity to break free of his hold, slamming his fist into Suguru’s gut. It hurts and Suguru winces, trying to grab onto Satoru’s arms once again. Only this time, it’s futile. Because Satoru looks livid, utterly out of his mind.
“You can’t fucking say that. You can’t fucking look at me like that.” Satoru’s spit flies everywhere, as do his fists. “I can’t spend my heat with you, Suguru! That’s absurd–!”
“Why is it absurd?” Suguru refuses to budge, taking every blow, just taking it. “I know you better than anyone else, Satoru.” He is suddenly overcome with a fondness for Satoru, his feelings overflowing like a broken dam. “I can take care of you better than anyone else. Let me take care of you.”
“That’s exactly why.” Satoru’s voice is small and his fight suddenly dies out. He sighs, shuddering. His hands slowly come to a stop, tugging gently at Suguru’s sleeve. “You’re my best friend, Suguru. My one and only. I–” Satoru chuckles, small and vulnerable and Suguru wants to pull him close, hug him and protect him from everything. Satoru looks into Suguru’s eyes, looking small, so small, like he isn’t the towering six foot giant of a man that he is. “I don’t want to lose you,” Satoru whispers. “If we do this, I know you’re going to ruin me for anyone else. If we do this, I’ll–” Satoru swallows harshly, rubbing his hand down his face. “You’ll leave me someday and I’ll never be able to get over you.”
Huh?
Suguru blinks, wonderstruck by Satoru’s admission. So wait… Satoru isn’t repulsed by him? If he’s worried that Suguru will ruin him for anyone else, that must mean that he thinks Suguru will be a good fit for him– a great fit, in fact. That’s… a lot to digest. For a minute, there’s only silence. The only noise is contained within Suguru’s head, thoughts swirling around in turmoil, trying to piece themselves together. There is so much weight to Satoru’s words and it’s pulling Suguru down like gravity. He replays every word in his mind, breaks it down to the smallest details and allows it to sink in.
Hope blooms anew, a small bud curling towards the light, waiting to bloom. Any second now.
“Well.” Suguru is surprised that he is capable of coherent speech. “What if I promise you that you’ll never have to get over me?”
Satoru scoffs at that, opening his mouth like he’s about to respond. But Suguru doesn’t let him. He immediately takes Satoru’s hands in his, bringing one up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss against his knuckles, smiling when he feels Satoru’s fingers tremble beneath his lips. “You’ll never have to get over me, Satoru,” he repeats, voice raspy with emotion. He catches Satoru’s eyes and smiles, tenderly, hoping that his sincerity crosses over to Satoru. “Because I promise I’ll never leave you.”
“You can’t just say that–”
“But I can!” Sugaru nods his head with determination. “If anyone’s leaving, it’s going to be you. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been daydreaming about being with you for a long time, Satoru. I reckon I’d be happy with the real thing for a solid while.”
“Oh god.” Satoru blinks at that, ears red. “Fuck– you can’t just say things like that, Suguru! Especially not when I’m like this– Fuck!”
“I mean it, Satoru.” Suguru mouths against the pulse point on Satoru’s wrist, eyes closing as he allows himself to inhale the scent of honey wafting from his flesh. It’s sweet, so tenderly so. He opens his eyes, startling Satoru when their gazes meet. “Give me a shot. Spend your heat with me and if you’re not satisfied… then, we can drop this whole thing and go back to being friends. How does that sound?”
There is hesitation brewing behind Satoru’s eyes. He chews into his lower lip, looking away from Suguru. For a brief moment, Suguru thinks he’s going to be rejected again.
“Fuck... Okay,” Satoru finally replies, voice pitchy and really fucking adorable. “Fine. You can help me with my heat and we can see if we’re comparable or not. Fuck– I can’t believe we’re going to do this.”
Suguru can’t quite believe it either.
***
“More!” Satoru pants against Suguru’s mouth, digging his heels into Suguru’s ass and pulling him in closer. “Deeper– fuck–” Suguru yelps, his dick slipping another inch inside Satoru’s cunt, balls slapping against Satoru’s ass. He winces at how hot it is– how excruciatingly tight, because this is Satoru’s first time going into heat, his first time taking a cock.
But it’s not his first time having an orgasm. Not when he’s already had three over the past hour.
The first time had been when Suguru fingered him, just two fingers in, stretching his virginal hole by an inch, and he’d cum just like that, head thrown back over the couch, mouth open in a garbled scream. His playsuit had been tugged to the side, tits out, nipples sucked almost raw by Suguru. (That had him so close– so close but not enough to tip over.) Satoru looks beautiful this way, clothes ruffled and messed up, hair sticking up everywhere, sex in his blue eyes, mouth red and wet with saliva, skin singing as it begs for Suguru’s touch. For his tongue. For his knot.
The second time Satoru comes is when Suguru eats him out, lapping at the slick, honey on his tongue, in his nose– everywhere. He wouldn’t mind dying like this, he thinks, what a heavenly way to go. As if agreeing with Suguru through some soulmate-fuckery sexual telepathy connection, Satoru comes apart once more, drooling uncontrollably, hands shaking as they tug at Suguru’s hair, wavering uncertainly between pushing himself away from his cunt or pulling him closer so that Satoru can ride his tongue better.
By this point, Suguru’s face was a wet sloppy mess and he’d just risen up to find a towel to wipe it clean. But of course, an omega in heat is a needy little thing, immediately crawling out of the couch and latching onto Suguru, whining and whimpering and begging him not to leave. When Satoru reached up and started licking his own slick off his face, that’s when Suguru lost it. Mindless with lust, he pressed Satoru down on the ground, spreading his lips apart before penetrating him in one go. Just like that, Satoru came for the third time, entire body wracked with tremors, limbs collapsing onto the floor and leaving him slumped down, ass up, like a rag doll. A litany of ‘uh uh uh’ s spilling from his lips with every thrust.
And that brings us to now. With Suguru pressing Satoru against the wall, drilling into him with no mercy. There’s honey everywhere, clouding their senses and leaving nothing but a depraved need to taste– to take . Satoru moans like a slut, throwing his head back with a thud. His hands wind around Suguru’s neck, curling into hair, pushing his mouth down to bite and nip against Satoru’s swollen scent gland.
“More,” Satoru whispers mindlessly, even as Suguru grinds into him. “Please, Suguru–” he moans, unabashed and loud. And Suguru’s dick throbs, his knot swelling. His head is a muddled mess, but not so much that he doesn’t know not to put Satoru’s body at risk. He slowly starts to pull out, stilling with a pained yelp when Satoru digs his nails into his back and starts to claw like an agitated cat.
“The fuck are you doing?” Satoru snarls, teeth out. He locks his ankles together, determined not to let Suguru go. It’s sexy and it makes Suguru pulse inside Satoru’s heat, which in turn causes Satoru to gasp lewdly. “You can’t leave me. You promised–”
“I–” Suguru swallows his own spit, trying to be firm, trying to think rationally and not with his dick. “I’m just gonna go get a condom, Satoru. I don’t want to be careless with you.”
“Well, I don’t fucking care!” Satoru whines, wiggling his hips and making Suguru’s knot expand as if by clockwork. “I wanna feel you cum in me, Suguru. Want you to fill me up, make my cunt leak– fuck, please fuck me–”
“You can’t just say that, Satoru, what the fuck–” Suguru groans, head swimming with a dozen depraved thoughts and images. “You could get pregnant–”
“I’ll just take a contraceptive after my heat passes,” Satoru is quick to supply. “It’ll be like switching up my pills. No more heat suppressants, we’re team birth control now.” He wiggles his brows and it’s almost funny, except it’s not because Suguru is balls deep inside Satoru’s cunt. “Besides,” Satoru drawls, playing with a stray strand of Suguru’s bangs. “I think it’d be pretty hot if you were to knock me up. I’d be so fucking round, carrying your– our pup– fuck– Give me pups, Suguru! Please– Oh god–”
It’s mortifying that Suguru can pop his knot like this, to the mental image of Satoru round from his seed, naked and swollen and pink, cunt spread open as Suguru fucks another load into him– fuck, he’d look so beautiful like that, even more beautiful than he is now. Fuck fuck fuck– Suguru’s knot lodges into place, stretching Satoru until he tears a second time, pumping his seed in batches, thick and heavy and seemingly unending.
Just like Satoru’s fourth orgasm of the night, the most intense one yet, making him squirt all over the place. He screams silently, tears streaming down his face, mouth open and drooling, eyes rolled back, perpetually coming, little gushes of cum and slick spritzing out every few seconds. There’s cum leaking past Suguru’s knot, even as Satoru’s stomach swells from all the cum that’s going in. Suguru gulps, palming at the distended flesh, knot pulsing and pushing out even more cum as he is overcome with awe.
“So full,” Satoru mumbles. “So fucking good, Suguru.”
“Yeah?” Suguru asks, voice low, smile small and lazy. He presses down at Satoru’s inflated stomach, sniggering when Satoru yelps and squirts again. “Good enough to make it worth spending your heat with me?”
“Don’t know,” Satoru purrs, swiping his tongue along his lower lip. “I’m not sure yet.” Suguru blinks in surprise], suddenly worried whether he hasn’t done a good enough job taking care of Satoru. But all his insecurities are dispelled when Satoru closes the gap between them with a kiss– their first kiss. It’s a mess of teeth and tongue, no finesse, no tenderness. Just fuelled by their orgasmic high, sloppy and intense and fucking amazing. It suits them, Suguru thinks as he laps into Satoru’s mouth, nipping at his tongue and making him moan. This kind of chaos suits them perfectly.
“Not sure yet,” Satoru manages to mumble through a litany of gasps and moans. Suguru smiles against his lips, swerving his hips and driving his knot in deeper. Satoru comes undone, not for the last time that night. He whispers with a satisfied sigh, “You’ll have to fuck me a couple more times so I can figure it out.”
***
The phone starts to buzz on the table and Yaga is taken by surprise. It’s an odd time to receive a work-related call. He picks up the phone, frowning when he sees the caller ID. It’s the bartender from the club in Kabukichou. The one where he’d sent Satoru and Suguru.
“Hello?”He asks cautiously. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything was perfectly fine,” the bartender says, his voice gruff and sharp. Oh no, did they fail to save another victim? Yaga presses the phone closer to his ear, dreading the bad news. “Until I found your boys having sex in one of our private guest rooms” he continues with a snort. “They were fucking like pigs. One of them was in heat and the other was too scent drunk to think straight.”
“Oh my god–”
“So I closed the room and decided to give them some privacy until the heat subsides.” The bartender yawns. “Heat cycles must be a pain, the poor kid. Can’t be helped.”
“You’re too kind,” Yaga begins, thankful that such good people still existed in the world. “Thank you so much.”
“No need to thank me.” The bartender laughs and Yaga can’t help but smile at the other end, appreciation and respect welling in his chest. “Heats usually last around three to four days. I’m gonna throw in a discount and charge you for just three days. I’ll message my bank details so you can pay me whenever. No rush, you can send the money sometime tomorrow. Good night, then.”
Fuck that, Yaga’s handing in his resignation right now.
Fin
