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When Wakatoshi comes to watch the MSBY Black Jackals close out their season, he naturally gets dragged out to the post-game team dinner.
Hinata and Atsumu inconsiderately hog most of Wakatoshi's attention with Kageyama questions. Yes, Shoyo, he meant what he said. No, I don’t believe he’s mentioned you at all, Atsumu, not to the best of my recollection. Yes, I’m sure about it. No, I won’t be relaying that message to him.
Wakatoshi listens to each and every one of their inane questions and answers with undeserved gravitas, and this is how Kiyoomi is sure that Wakatoshi is a better man than he is.
“What’d I tell you? You shouldn’t have bothered coming,” Kiyoomi says to him when Atsumu finally shuts up to eat.
Kiyoomi snatches several skewers off the grill before Bokuto can get to them and puts them on Wakatoshi’s plate which has been sitting empty for the past ten minutes. Wakatoshi tilts his head in appreciation and picks up a skewer.
“I would never miss a chance to see you on the court.”
“I meant to dinner.” Nonetheless, Kiyoomi holds his glass up to his mouth and hides a small smile.
Meian calls Wakatoshi over to drink with him.
Kiyoomi watches leisurely as Wakatoshi interacts with members of his team, solemn as always and perhaps more handsome than ever. It’s clear to Kiyoomi that everyone adores him. He allows himself a beer, feeling pleased that he’ll have a little more time with Wakatoshi during the off-season.
Spending the night at Wakatoshi’s place nearby is an unsaid matter. On the walk to the station, conversation flows between them like a gentle current, fluid and practiced in the way of old friends, as they break down MSBY’s game at length.
Kiyoomi talks about where he thinks he could've applied more pressure and lets the back of their hands graze. Wakatoshi gives his thoughts on how the Jackals could optimize specific plays and takes Kiyoomi by the shoulder when he nearly collides with another.
The train is crowded enough that they’re squashed into close proximity. Kiyoomi angles himself away so that they aren’t awkwardly breathing into each other’s faces, which leaves Wakatoshi’s eyes gravitating to his neck. Kiyoomi is wearing a scent patch like he usually does.
The energy shifts when they're finally alone in the elevator of Wakatoshi's apartment, where all pretense for polite eye contact goes out the door. Kiyoomi leans against the wall, stares at him deliberately, and Wakatoshi stares back with keen interest. Were it any other alpha, it would’ve been an insult, the start of an altercation. But it only gets Kiyoomi thinking about the feel of Wakatoshi's large hand jerking the both of them off.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says, enjoying the predatory heat of Kiyoomi’s eyes on him. “Are you seducing me?”
Kiyoomi folds his arms and bites his lip.
“What do you think, Wakatoshi-kun?” His voice is low with a silkiness that wasn’t there moments ago. He tacks on the honorific just to tease him.
Wakatoshi is so easy for Kiyoomi.
But he has no reason to play games when he knows Kiyoomi wants it just as bad. He slinks an arm around Kiyoomi's waist and Kiyoomi lets himself be pulled in like the tide.
“Pardon me,” Wakatoshi says in a way that suggests he’s going to need a hundred pardons by the time he’s finished. He hooks Kiyoomi’s mask down and kisses him with an aggression he's been holding in all night. There’s nothing passive about Kiyoomi. He meets his mouth hot and eager, and tongues his lower lip, shows him exactly what he’s been missing, which is everything. Wet sounds fill the elevator. Wakatoshi's scent thickens in the enclosed space, smokey and leathery with bitter undertones of cocoa.
Cool air brings them back to alertness when the elevator door slides open. They break apart just enough to fumble their way to Wakatoshi’s door.
"Straight to bed?" Wakatoshi asks, having to blindly unlock the door since he’s got Kiyoomi pinned on it.
"Wash up first," Kiyoomi says breathlessly, managing somehow to make it sound sexy to Wakatoshi.
They part reluctantly and go through their pre-bedtime routines. Wakatoshi already has a spare set of everything at his place, all set out neatly for Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi spares the folded clothes a glance and doesn’t touch them.
They’ll only get dirty.
He finishes first and sits in bed, reading quietly on his phone. When Wakatoshi sinks into bed beside him, equally naked, Kiyoomi tosses his phone aside and turns to him, flinging a leg over Wakatoshi's legs. He’s eager to resume where they left off.
Wakatoshi reaches out and runs his hand over the back of Kiyoomi’s head. His fingers are hot as they rub down the short hair at the base of Kiyoomi’s neck and over the textured patch covering Kiyoomi’s glands. He's felt the way Kiyoomi stiffens every time he gets near his neck. Even with a drink or two in him, Kiyoomi's guard never fully lets up under his touch, and Wakatoshi is sure he has touched Kiyoomi plenty.
"Why do you always wear scent patches? Even outside of games." Wakatoshi asks curiously.
Really? Right now? Kiyoomi looks as if someone has just coughed on his face mask.
"Isn’t it obvious?"
“If it was, I wouldn’t be asking.”
Wakatoshi senses the point of Kiyoomi's annoyance, can tell Kiyoomi wants to push Wakatoshi’s hand away and drop the topic. But the thing about Kiyoomi is that he’s honest, even when it’s unpleasant.
"I'm afraid my scent might put you off."
Wakatoshi takes a moment to trace the edges of the soft patch with the pad of his finger.
"Why wouldn't I like your scent?"
“...You know why.”
I’m an alpha, and so are you. And while that had never seemed to phase Wakatoshi, Kiyoomi, out of an abundance of caution, had taken his own unprompted measures not to ruin whatever this unconventional...thing was between them, tender yet tenuous.
"I know your scent," Wakatoshi says. "I’ve smelled traces of it in your bed and on your clothes." And also on the soft skin beneath Kiyoomi's ear. Wakatoshi thinks of something else. "Do you dislike my scent?"
The question triggers the scent memory of Wakatoshi fresh off the court, stinking of sweat and pheromones. It gets Kiyoomi hard faster than anything else, but Kiyoomi doesn’t think that’s a normal reaction, nor is it something an alpha casually admits to another alpha.
But what they have is more than casual.
"I don't."
"So why wouldn't I like yours?" Wakatoshi presses again, rolling the corner of Kiyoomi's scent patch inward.
“You’re relentless.” Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at him. “Someone’s told you that before, right?”
“It’s the only way I managed to win over someone as beautiful as you.”
It sends a small flutter through Kiyoomi’s heart, but mostly he just wonders who’s been teaching Wakatoshi awful pick-up lines again.
"Fine. Don’t blame me if my scent makes you sick.” Kiyoomi turns over in bed, grumbling. “I have another patch in my bag if we need it.”
In case my scent disgusts you.
“We won’t.”
He shivers as he feels Wakatoshi's warm breath draw near, calloused thumb catching on the corner of the patch. With great care and reverence, Wakatoshi starts to peel the patch away. Static prickles in his fingers as he thinks about how lucky he is to get to strip another layer to Kiyoomi away. It’s a privilege he doesn’t take lightly.
Right away he's hit by a whiff of mint, and the scent blooms like watercolor on canvas.
It’s nothing at all like the sweet, vanilla warmth of an omega that gets most alphas going, and yet he wants to rip off the patch and smother himself in Kiyoomi’s neck. But he continues slowly and methodically, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin there. Beneath the sharpness of the mint, there’s a curious citrus note he’s never detected that captivates him, rounding out the scent—the scent Kiyoomi has been trying to hide from Wakatoshi all this time.
Those scent patches are as good as garbage, Wakatoshi vows. He throws the used patch on the nightstand and soothes over the now-exposed spot with his thumb.
"Did that hurt?"
"No," Kiyoomi snorts affectionately. "It's just a patch."
"Good." Because Wakatoshi is really tempted to suck the back of Kiyoomi's neck pink and tender. Instead he buries his nose into the nape of his neck and saturates his senses with Kiyoomi's intoxicating scent. Kiyoomi lets out a shuddering breath.
"You're hard."
Wakatoshi makes no effort to hide it. He works a hand up Kiyoomi’s shirt.
"How could I not be?" Wakatoshi says, teeth hovering over Kiyoomi’s neck. How easily he could sink them in and it takes all of his self-discipline not to. "You smell divine." His hand wanders over an erect nipple and captures it between his fingers, and Kiyoomi’s head rolls back. Wakatoshi catches him with a soft bite and sucks on instinct.
“Mmn—toshi—,” Kiyoomi punches out, body arching.
Wakatoshi doesn’t let go as he grinds into Kiyoomi, letting him feel the edge of his teeth as much as he feels how big Wakatoshi is right now. His lips pop off with a wet smack and the fragrance of Kiyoomi rich on his tongue.
”Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi rasps, his voice taking on a pleading quality. “I want to be inside you.”
Kiyoomi feels behind him and his fingers come across the trail of hair on Wakatoshi’s lower abdomen. He wets his lips. “If you want me to suck you off, Wakatoshi-kun, you only need to ask.”
But when he turns around in Wakatoshi’s arms and tries to slide himself lower, Wakatoshi tightens his arms around Kiyoomi, holding him in place. Kiyoomi meets his eyes, raising his brows in silent questioning.
“I would never turn your mouth down, but that’s not what I meant.” Wakatoshi slips his hands from the sensual taper of Kiyoomi’s waist to the swell of his ass, ample and well-developed with just enough give. He gives it a rough squeeze, a little harder than he intended.
“Oh.” Kiyoomi goes wide-eyed. “You mean…inside.”
Say yes. Wakatoshi looks back at him so openly and honestly that Kiyoomi has nowhere to hide.
“I’m not asking you to let go of your pride.” His voice is deep but gentle. “I would never ask you to do that, but I still fantasize about having you. The frequency of these thoughts are…becoming a problem.” It’s one of the closest Wakatoshi has come to looking embarrassed and Kiyoomi is weak for it.
He tries to imagine it. He tries to imagine another alpha on top of him, transgressing his boundaries, humiliating him. For Wakatoshi, perhaps he could. He trusts him. Even if his alpha pride bristles at the idea of being mounted, he wants to know what it’s like to be connected to Wakatoshi, the way alphas and omegas bond. The feeling burns like a wick straight to his groin.
Why not.
“How do you want me?”
Wakatoshi’s eyes smolder like a lit hearth.
“Presented on your hands and knees.” He hesitates and the fire in his eyes quells a little. “But we can do it another way if it’s not to your liking.”
It’ll be difficult to assume that position willingly and even harder to maintain. Kiyoomi’s eyes slide away. His lashes are such long, delicate things. Wakatoshi enjoys watching them flutter whenever Kiyoomi thinks. For any alpha, that was the natural position. It goes against every one of Kiyoomi’s instincts to be on the wrong side of it, but he wants to do this for Wakatoshi, even if it means letting Wakatoshi shove him on his face.
“What if…” He says slowly, as if he hasn’t yet made up his mind whether he wants to finish this sentence. “What if you hold me down?”
“Hold you down,” Wakatoshi repeats, like he’s not fully sure what that entails.
“That’s right, Wakatoshi-kun.” Kiyoomi’s voice gains confidence. “Put me in my place. Use those big muscles.”
He gives Wakatoshi’s strong, thick arm a squeeze, and Wakatoshi’s arm inadvertently flexes in Kiyoomi’s hand. He's gotten even bigger, Kiyoomi thinks idly, feeling the ripple of powerful muscles moving under skin.
Wakatoshi clears his throat.
“I can do that.”
Of course he can, and he can do it with relative ease, with or without Kiyoomi's cooperation. Wakatoshi has 10 kilograms on Kiyoomi and none of it is for show.
“Go on then.”
A low growl rips from Wakatoshi’s throat and Wakatoshi rolls them over, flips Kiyoomi to his belly in an instant. Kiyoomi barely has time to react and instinctively tries to get up, but Wakatoshi's weight presses down on him as Wakatoshi reaches over into the drawer of the nightstand.
Kiyoomi freezes for a moment to watch and wonders in a daze why Wakatoshi keeps lube around. An omega would have no need for it.
Wakatoshi eases off his back and Kiyoomi peers backwards to see Wakatoshi opening the bottle.
Obviously he had it ready for you. The bottle’s new.
He shudders as cold lube drips onto his cheeks. The lid snaps shut and then Wakatoshi is grabbing handfuls of his ass, thumbs gently parting him. Kiyoomi tenses. He thinks about writhing away, but Wakatoshi's grip is steady on his hips.
"Pretty," Wakatoshi murmurs like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His fingers edge near the hole, and Kiyoomi buries his face into the nearest pillow. He had been much more receptive to the idea when it had been just that—an idea. On the verge of its realization, he’s suddenly gripped by the thought of just how ill-prepared he actually is for this.
Luckily Wakatoshi doesn't go any further. He takes his time circling a thumb around the rim, smooth from the lube, and does only that. Kiyoomi's anxieties start to die down a little as Wakatoshi shows him how harmless the feeling is.
This is…this is fine, Kiyoomi thinks. This is…
Suddenly, Wakatoshi glides over the hole and Kiyoomi clenches right beneath his thumb. It's quick and it catches Kiyoomi completely off guard before Wakatoshi's back to rubbing circles again.
Fuck, this is not fine. Blood rushes to Kiyoomi's face. His fingers dig into the pillow.
Wakatoshi repeats this a few times, and each time Kiyoomi is a little less surprised and a little more pliant for him until Wakatoshi has Kiyoomi softened up and rocking subtly into the bed.
He presses his finger directly on his entrance, and Kiyoomi’s body flushes hot, his hole furling tighter.
"Look at you, so stingy." Wakatoshi leans down to tell him, breath on his neck, "You won't even let such a small thing in. And for what?"
"Small," Kiyoomi says, extra gruff to cover up his embarrassment. “You think you’ve got dainty maiden fingers.”
"They are compared to what's next. Tell me if I should stop."
“No,” Kiyoomi turns his head to make sure Wakatoshi looks him in the eye, that they have an understanding. Even though his face is burning in this humiliating position, Kiyoomi will be damned if they come this far with nothing to show for it. “You wanted to get inside, you make it happen. Even if I beg, don’t stop.”
Wakatoshi holds his stare and sees in Kiyoomi’s eyes what he’s entrusting him with. Kiyoomi—gorgeous, talented, and strong, and straight out of his teenage wet dreams—telling him that he needs Wakatoshi to take him all the way. Telling Wakatoshi to make a bitch out of him.
Wakatoshi clenches his jaw. “Understood.”
Wakatoshi bends down and kisses Kiyoomi's glands with the last bit of gentleness he can afford before pushing a slick finger all the way in. Kiyoomi grips his pillow. It feels uncomfortable to have Wakatoshi's finger in him, in a place it doesn't belong. But strangely, it also feels like relief.
Wakatoshi pumps his finger in and out, unable to look away from how Kiyoomi's hole swallows him. He knows it's just the lube but it's turning him on to pretend it’s Kiyoomi all slippery and warm and wet for him. He inserts a second finger and the way Kiyoomi's hot insides clamp around him—shit, that could be his cock instead. The thought gets him selfish, gets him impatient, and he immediately adds a third.
Kiyoomi cries out from the sudden stretch and turns his head sharply, glowering.
"Did you put it in? You didn't warn me you were putting it in."
Wakatoshi pauses. "What do you mean? I—it's just my fingers." He curls them in Kiyoomi as if to prove his point which earns him another glare. "It wouldn't be a question if it wasn't."
"Ugh," Kiyoomi complains. So you do know how big you are.
Wakatoshi gives him a few more finger thrusts and Kiyoomi squirms uncomfortably, trying with difficulty to imagine something thicker than Wakatoshi’s fingers. The moment arrives sooner than he anticipates when Wakatoshi withdraws from him.
"Consider this your warning," Wakatoshi says, and presses something hot against him.
It's his cock, Kiyoomi realizes in alarm. Wakatoshi is done with fingers and this is all the prep Kiyoomi is going to get. His struggles renew, but Wakatoshi hardly notices, single-mindedly bent on getting himself into Kiyoomi's wet heat.
But nothing budges. Kiyoomi's body is resisting his sheer size, and it only excites Wakatoshi to think the reward will be sweeter once he pops the head of his cock in. He pushes harder.
“This isn’t going to work,” Kiyoomi says, as doom sets in.
“You’ve never been a quitter, Kiyoomi.”
The pressure doesn’t let up.
“That’s...unfair...Waka–I...I can't, it's too big." Kiyoomi breaks down. "I'm not an omega, I wasn’t made for this—.”
Every excuse not to go through with this starts to spill out of him.
"You don't have to be, and I wouldn't want that for you." Wakatoshi's voice drops low. "Because it means you're going to be so tight for me in ways an omega cunt could never be."
Understanding dawns on Kiyoomi. None of his can’ts matter because Wakatoshi is going to make it fit.
It’s what Kiyoomi had sanctioned him to do.
The stretch is sudden and obtrusive and Kiyoomi tries his best to suppress the growls and the shame as he feels Wakatoshi forcing him open. It's like he's being sliced through like cold butter.
“Fuck.” Kiyoomi tries to get away but can’t get any leverage pinned beneath Wakatoshi like this.
"I’m sorry.”
He’s not fucking sorry at all because he doesn't fucking stop. Wakatoshi slowly, slowly sinks in and stretches, and stretches, and stretches Kiyoomi until Kiyoomi thinks he's going to tear open. He tries to ground himself with any passing thought, focuses on breathing through the burn.
Pain is just a mental game, even if there's a lot of it. Kiyoomi knows pain, he can contend with it. What's entirely foreign is this immense and overwhelming sense of being crushed from the inside out, like he’s nothing but walls clamped down around Wakatoshi, like he and Wakatoshi are vying to exist in the same space.
The mingling haze of smoke and mint, the deep vibrato of Wakatoshi’s voice in his ear, firm chest and powerful arms caging Kiyoomi in—it’s all too much. His body feels deadlocked, like he has no space to move, to breathe, and the most primal part of him starts to struggle, which only wedges Wakatoshi in deeper.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says, unable to keep the strain out of his voice. “I’m not asking for compliance. But if you keep thrashing like this, you’ll make me cum.”
“Cum in me and I’ll kill you.” Kiyoomi practically snarls, even though he doesn’t mean it. It’s mere posturing, a desperate attempt to prove he hasn’t been completely mastered by another alpha.
“I’ll make you feel good,” Wakatoshi promises, as if it’s up for bargaining.
“This is as good as I’ll ever be,” Kiyoomi snaps, still trying to deny him. Wakatoshi might’ve forced his way in, but Kiyoomi is never going to let an alpha cock make him moan. The fact he even let an alpha defile his body was a mistake. Fueled by the thought, he twists even more violently.
Then, Wakatoshi’s hand slips under his throat, closes over it, and the threat of its presence alone, holding Kiyoomi in such a vulnerable spot, takes the fight out of him. The growls die in his throat.
Wakatoshi begins to move. He pulls out nearly all the way, cock dragging along Kiyoomi’s insides, and pushes back in. Kiyoomi shakes and tries to resist every inch of him. He’s sure Wakatoshi can feel him trembling in his palm, so powerless and pathetic right now.
It hurts. Even with Wakatoshi being slow about it, it hurts. And Kiyoomi knows there’s a limit to his patience. The hand around his throat doesn’t constrict his airway, but it’s snug enough it keeps him essentially scruffed, letting Wakatoshi use Kiyoomi however he wants. A soft whimper catches at the back of his throat, so close to eeking out.
Wakatoshi pulls his hips back and makes a slight shift, re-angles himself before thrusting back in, and strikes pleasure along his walls. Kiyoomi goes rigid, a cry forced out of him. The air suffuses with mint. There it is, the moment Wakatoshi was searching for. He seizes it, grinds into Kiyoomi’s sweet spot, and Kiyoomi can’t even remember to hate him for it.
“I’ve heard that even alphas can feel pleasure from penetration.” Wakatoshi rocks into the same spot, practically preens when he makes Kiyoomi gasp out. “It appears to be true.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes roll shut. He can’t fathom how he’s being pleasured by an alpha cock, so he just doesn’t. His own cock, hard and trapped beneath him, leaks onto the sheets. His body involuntarily clenches down harder and he doesn’t know if that’s squeezing Wakatoshi out or just sucking him in deeper, but it makes Wakatoshi grunt out from behind.
“So tight,” Wakatoshi groans. “I knew you’d be.” He drives in with enough force that his hips slap against Kiyoomi’s buttocks, making them bounce, and Kiyoomi tries not to pass out. “Do you know how hard I have to try to stop myself from just fucking you?”
Kiyoomi knows, he knows. Only Wakatoshi, with his extraordinary restraint, could be trusted not to break him, and even if he did, he’d know how to put Kiyoomi back together. Only Wakatoshi, who works harder than anyone Kiyoomi knows, could dig out the pleasure from the pain, like the way he’s doing with a thumb and middle finger rolling on his hardened nipples.
“That’s it, let me hear you.” Wakatoshi works into a rhythm and Kiyoomi moans more freely. His hand finally slips away from Kiyoomi’s throat and Kiyoomi nearly chokes on the saliva that’s pooled in his mouth.
Suddenly he’s being dragged backwards, hips lifted into the air like he isn’t a whole eighty kilograms of man and muscle, but a toy for Wakatoshi to fuck on his cock. Whether Wakatoshi pounds him too fast or too hard, there’s nothing Kiyoomi can do about it. There’s raw power behind each thrust, punctuated by labored grunts, like Kiyoomi’s wringing him so tight that Wakatoshi’s about to lose it.
Pleasure builds faster than Kiyoomi can stand up to it, coming in waves, ebbing away the pain. Amidst the delirium of it all, a faraway part of Kiyoomi philosophizes on why he has an erogenous zone built into his ass only another alpha can reach, why his nipples respond to being fondled when he can’t even produce milk, and how his own dick can get so aroused and leaking despite being completely unserviced.
Maybe his place was right beneath Wakatoshi after all.
Maybe he exists to be humbled, to be filled so he can know how empty he is, for the thicket of hair on Wakatoshi’s crotch scratching his thighs, balls slapping heavily into him, scent dyeing his own and—.
“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi whispers with such urgency that Kiyoomi knows he won’t be able to say no, because that very same want has been making him ache all along. “Let me come in your pussy.”
“Oh fuck, ‘Toshi, I’m...I’m, fuck—.”
Wakatoshi’s thick alpha cock—designed to pleasure an omega cunt—sends Kiyoomi over the precipice and crashing into his orgasm, dirtying the sheets beneath him. The air turns fragrant. His voice breaks as he throbs around Wakatoshi’s cock, trying to milk everything it needs from him.
He nearly collapses, but Wakatoshi holds him up, keeps his ass positioned where he wants it. Kiyoomi is nothing but a hole Wakatoshi can’t get enough of, a hole he needs to breed.
Kiyoomi cries out when he feels Wakatoshi get even bigger. Wakatoshi’s knot swells but he doesn’t try to shove it in, just rams it hard and fast against Kiyoomi’s sore hole right before he tenses and shoots violently into him, low groans spilling into the air. He shudders with each jerk, and just continues to cum and cum, hips slowing as he pours everything he’s got into Kiyoomi, filling him past the brim. Eventually the spurts slow to a leak, Wakatoshi’s lips on him grow soft, and his bruising grip on Kiyoomi’s hips turn to a caress.
The air is musky with their scents. He massages Kiyoomi’s flank apologetically for a moment before pulling out, rolls a boneless Kiyoomi onto his back, and rakes greedy eyes over him.
Kiyoomi is completely ruined, blushing face and heaving chest, one mouth sloppy with drool, the other sloppy with cum, hair curling attractively around his sweaty forehead, eyes dark and glistening as if there’s moonlight in them—a portrait of immaculate beauty. It makes Wakatoshi want to plunge right back in.
So he does. Wakatoshi kisses him slow and settles in deep.
Kiyoomi’s soft but still so tight for him. He whines out from the overstimulation and digs fingers into Wakatoshi’s back.
“Too much,” Kiyoomi moans weakly.
“One more for me, Kiyoomi. You can give me one more.”
With the fever broken, Wakatoshi makes lazy, languid love to Kiyoomi this time, filling all the little cracks he’s created, stroke by stroke until he coaxes another orgasm out of him.
He finishes in him again.
By the time Wakatoshi is through, Kiyoomi is overflowing with Wakatoshi, stained by his scent, and on the brink of unconsciousness.
“Next time,” Wakatoshi tells him, “I’ll make my knot fit.”
“Please don’t,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “I’ll die.”
“Of ecstasy.” Wakatoshi kisses the moles on his forehead.
Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh and winces when he feels the cum in him seeping out around Wakatoshi's cock still buried in him. He pats Wakatoshi twice on the back, signaling him up.
“Shower, please.”
Wakatoshi slips out of him and picks Kiyoomi up effortlessly.
“Next time,” Wakatoshi continues to muse as he carries him to the bathroom, “you might even call me alpha.”
“Don’t push your luck.”