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The light pouring into the room is faint, the sun barely rising through another night. The shy rays are slowly waking up, and so is Gojo. It’s still quite dark, but even the weakest of flares is enough to disrupt his sleep. He’d forgotten to pull the curtains down, and such a small, silly mistake bitterly reminds him he hasn’t seen his better half for almost a week now. Geto would never let him go to bed without making sure everything was perfect for him.
But that ends today, he suddenly remembers.
He doesn’t try to go back to sleep; countless nights of overthinking had taught him that once his brain was awake, there was no fighting it. There was no point in trying to coax his hyperactive mind into resting for just a little bit more. No amount of bargaining had ever convinced the Six Eyes that five more minutes in bed would be truly special. It used to be quite frustrating; now, however, he barely has to negotiate, because ever since becoming mates, Geto takes care of him like nobody has ever done before. He knows him so well, as if the other alpha had pulled him apart to dissect him, to study his veins and his brain, the way his muscles jump, the way his heart pumped blood, the way his skeleton moved. Nothing about Gojo Satoru was unknown to Geto Suguru. And he hadn’t even needed to crack his skull open or pull his ribs apart to understand him.
All he had done was observe him.
Gojo wonders sometimes if he had, at some point, dissolved willingly into nothingness just to rebuild himself under the attentive eyes of the only person who has ever made him feel human. Right in front of his face, eyes in the lookout for any tiny display of displeasure, he had put himself together into the shape he hoped Geto would like the most.
Maybe a little bit of this, a little bit of that.
He’s awake now, but he remains on his bed, legs exploring the empty bed. Where it's supposed to be warm, there's a type of cold that can't be changed even when the heaviest blanket in the house rests on top of his body.
Soon, he hopes very soon, the sun will make his appearance to melt the thin layer of ice that seems to cover the bed and permeate through his thin skin, burrowing deep within him. He should probably move, get up, before he falls into that lonely winter that threatens to weaken his heart.
It's easy, leaving the bed. Nothing in there is enticing enough to prompt him back to sleep.
Without turning the lights on, he moves around the house like a ghost that has forgotten he no longer belongs into the world of the living: aimless and without purpose. There's no ticking of the clock to fill in the silence; Suguru had gotten rid of everything that made noise. A small digital clock is all they have. It's still pretty dark, but that has always been a relief, not a nuisance.
He makes no sound as he makes his way towards the curtain of the balcony. The heavy curtain makes way under his fingers, presenting a day that's still trying to valiantly break through the last vestiges of the night. Perhaps it was even earlier than he thought.
The cushion of the deep blue loveseat no longer dips when Satoru sits. It's an old thing that's filled with too many memories to throw away, and its cushions don't hold the rectangle shape they used to; now the stuffing has moulded into the shape of two people who spend countless hours watching movies or playing video games.
There, he watches as the sky turns into a collage of soft oranges and deep yellows. Time is always so slow when he's by himself. He knows it's not healthy, to feel this level of despair just because he can't see nor touch Suguru for a couple of days. But nothing about the way he feels about the other man feels healthy; the elevated heartbeat, the sweaty palms, the impossibility to look somewhere else. He's diseased, but it's a state he's gone into willingly.
He sits there, waiting for his mate to come back, like he's sat for the last four days. He knows Suguru doesn't like it when he gets like this, it's what makes him so reluctant to leave him alone for extended periods of time. Satoru tries to reassure him it's alright, he's a big boy, he's not gonna die just because they can't be together for some time. It's the lie he tells him, at least.
He had tried to blame this uneasiness to the bite he sports on the back of his neck, on his nape. Suguru had dug his fangs in way too deep, Shoko had told him. It had been dangerous, actually. It didn't scar prettily, but he doesn't mind. How can he, when Suguru caresses the elevated skin with such fondness, with such pride in his beautiful eyes? The pain had been worth it, even if he felt like he was going to pass out from the way his blood boiled under Suguru's jaw. Although mate-bites between alphas didn't have a high chance of success, Suguru had made sure he branded Satoru well enough. The thought of it swells his chest with affection.
What he feels doesn't stem from a chemical reaction to the mate-bite of his alpha. He knows as much. It's all in his head and his heart and there's nothing he can do about it. There's nothing he will do about it, either. What is there to do? Nothing he's willing to go through, at least. In some masochist, self-inflecting way, he enjoys this. The emptiness that tells him he'll never be better off alone. That void that grows when Suguru isn't around.
It's like playing on the edge of the abyss: how far can he go without falling into the waiting mouth of the darkness beneath him? How long will his balance keep him tethered to the ground? He's won every single time. The vertigo is real, he feels it in the way his stomach sweeps, but he knows it means nothing in the face of the relief that Suguru pours into him when he inevitably comes back to him.
Thus, he just lets this wave of sadness sweep through him, drown his heart into the icy waters of loneliness, and tries to stay afloat.
When the front door finally opens, the sun is high in the sky, and Satoru can't feel his legs from his unchanged position on the sofa. Still, he perks up, trying to fight through the numbness of his limbs as he tries to stand up on wobbly legs.
"Satoru," he hears, and all at once, the world brightens. "I'm home."
Like a fawn that's trying to walk towards its mother, Satoru stumbles his way to him.
Suguru frowns, probably because he can already imagine why Satoru is walking all funny. He quickly closes the distance between them, and gathers the white-haired Alpha on his arms, hugging him tightly.
"Welcome home."
There's a small laugh; Satoru's cold nose pressed against the warm skin of Suguru's throat must tickle. He inhales, starved, like the oxygen in the house had been too thin before, unable to properly make his lungs work. Now, though, he feels a rush, like Satoru is able to take a full, fresh breath for the first time. It makes him a little dizzy.
He trembles a little, and although it's involuntary, he loves the way it has Suguru holding him tighter, scent turning a little sour from worry.
Indeed, his mind supplies. You should worry about me. Look how I am just because I couldn't see you. It can always be worse. Don't make it worse. You won't like it.
"I'm back," Suguru whispers, a quiet sound meant only for Satoru's ears. "I missed you."
Satoru doesn't say it back, he never does. It's okay. He guesses that letting himself go adrift when Suguru isn't around has the same impact as those measly words.
They don't say anything else, they stand there, holding each other, letting the other make sure through hands and nose that they are real. With each slow caress of Suguru's hands on his lower back, Satoru finds strength filling his limbs again, dispelling the fog in his mind. He makes him a person again, gathering the pieces held by a thread he left behind all those days ago. He reattaches him, thread by thread, until he becomes whole again.
Satoru is obsessed with this feeling, with this rush of adrenaline.
He loves belonging, to the extent of making it the most important aspect of him. He is because he belongs. And not just to anyone.
The bite mark on his nape throbs when soft fingers prod lightly at it.
Geto Suguru, each pulse says.
Geto Suguru.
{-}
The floor underneath their bed is spotless, Satoru acknowledges, a little awed. It's not him that keeps it like that, of course. Years of conditioning have left him slightly useless when it came to house-chores. Not once did Suguru let him do anything around the house. The shame of being an adult and not knowing his way around mundane chores makes his ears burn more times than he likes to admit, especially when Suguru and him go over to Shoko's for dinner and he just sits at the table, not knowing how to help. Suguru has always reassured him he doesn't mind, that he prefers if Satoru didn't do anything.
He knows the glint in Shoko's eyes when she assesses their relationship isn't understanding. It's worry.
Satoru huffs, starting to get frustrated. He stands up and dusts his knees, the action useless since he's sure his trousers are dirtier than the floor. He can't find his favourite socks, the ones he always packs for important events. He's looked everywhere, and he's positive he didn't throw them away.
Suguru swears he hasn't seen them either, even though he is the one in charge of doing laundry, of collecting the dirty clothes. Satoru doesn't believe him, but he can't say it out loud. His boyfriend always got quite pissy whenever Satoru had to leave.
It's funny, the different ways they try to cope when they are away from each other. Satoru doesn't get difficult, he even helps Suguru pack, making a list for him so he doesn't forget anything. Solo missions are rare for them, but the chances are never zero.
Satoru gets sent away far more than Suguru, but it's always short stays, maybe two nights max. Suguru leaving the school grounds was more of a rare occasion, but it always involved several days of disappearance.
China isn't far, and Satoru would be back after only two days. He knows it's not the length of his stay in the country that pisses his boyfriend off. It's the school. The 'mission'. There is no mission, per se. One of the schools in Shanghai had asked for Gojo Satoru to give a special lesson regarding cursed objects. China and Japan had always had a very difficult relationship, so both countries try not to cross any lines when it came to asking for favours. Denying a small act like borrowing the most powerful sorcerer of current times for something academy-related would certainly incur into something far deeper than just a surface-level rejection.
He agrees, of course. Satoru is difficult, not stupid.
The problem isn't the lesson either.
The problem is the school.
China was a lot more conservative. Co-ed schools were rare, and the school that had requested all powerful Alpha Gojo Satoru was an only-omega school.
Suguru had snorted when Satoru told him, and then he had asked him if he had refused. Like it was the only, obvious answer to such a stupid demand. Satoru couldn't even bring himself to answer, a bit perplexed by the reaction. Why did it matter?
Absolutely not, he had said, a certain finality bleeding from his words. As if I would allow such a thing. Suguru was funny like that sometimes. Talking and acting like he could do anything to stop Satoru from doing anything. As if he could allow him to do anything. Seldom did he remember that the brand on his nape hadn't been an act of taking. It had been a concession. It had been a promise from Satoru, as much as from Suguru.
Don't be stupid, he had replied. What's the issue?
An Alpha? Going to an all omega school? You tell me, oh, all-knowledgeable Gojo-sama, if there's any issues with that.
He had rolled his eyes. Suguru wasn't a very jealous mate. He was a bit possessive at times, like all alphas were, nothing wrong with that. Perfectly healthy, reasonable behaviour. He knew Satoru would never, in a millions years, take interest in anyone else, so he didn't understand his attitude.
You know I'm not gonna try anything.
Suguru had laughed, a small incredulous sound.
Oh, I know that. You think I don't know you? Satoru, who are you if not mine? That's not the issue.
He had just stared at his mate, still clueless about the actual problem.
You'll come back reeking of those inferior omegas. Now, we can't have that, can we?
Suguru was hard to deal with when he got like this. Mean, and something else he didn't like naming out loud. It wasn't like him, at all. Satoru knew him; he was the best person ever. But he had his days and honestly, he knew it was just the possessiveness in him speaking. He always regretted his words later, in that sweet, soft saccharine voice of his that almost made his apology seem insincere.
You'll just have to scent me again once I'm back. You love doing that.
End of discussion. Gojo didn't allow for any more arguments and so that was it.
He had almost forgotten about the whole thing, but now that he couldn't find his favourite socks anywhere, the small disagreement popped back into his mind.
It isn't the socks only. His shirt too. He had perfectly laid it on the chair in their room the day prior, so it wouldn't wrinkle. Now, it was nowhere to be seen.
He hates these stupid games Suguru plays. He is not in the mood, and he is already behind schedule because he spent the better part of the morning crawling around their place searching for the stupid socks he knows Suguru hid.
Ah, truly, his boyfriend could be so fucking difficult.
"Suguru," he calls him.
"Yes?" Comes the reply from the dining room, where the other alpha is grading tests.
"Suguru, I need to leave soon. Please give me back my socks and my shirt."
He looks around their room, to his open bag with the few necessities he was going to need for his short trip, to the picture of them he had glued to the mirror. Their place. Their safe heaven, who had witnessed the violent waters of their fights as well. He senses that there is another one incoming.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Gojo closes his eyes, trying not to scream. He does not need this right now.
"Suguru, please. Don't be difficult. I'll be back before you know it."
The sound of the chair being pulled back, legs dragging on the floor, reminds Gojo he should've gotten those crocheted legs covers a long time ago.
He smells it before he sees it, the acrid smell of displeasure permeating the air. And then, the hard lines of Suguru's mouth.
"Really, Satoru? You're calling me difficult?"
"Listen, I really need to leave. I want my shirt and my socks, so if you could please stop being so childish and give them back to me. The sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be back."
Suguru laughs, a condescending sound that rings horribly in Satoru's ears.
"Childish? Really rich coming from you."
Satoru bristles.
Why was it always like this when Suguru didn't get his way? Why was there always a confrontation? Calling his mate out when he's pretending to be polite and wholesome was always fun, but it wasn't very fun when the true calculating personality of his was directed at him.
"There's nothing you can do or say to stop me from going, Suguru. I'm going, and you're going to suck it up like a champ, or you can stay here and sulk like the big baby you're acting like. Be my guest."
"Just like you do when I leave, Satoru? What's so wrong with not wanting my mate to smell like a rowdy crowd of omegas? If you truly loved me, you wouldn't go."
He feels like screaming. He hates this, whenever Suguru used that fucking annoying tactic of downplaying his love, he felt like he was about to blow a fuse. To destroy it all, so there would be nothing, nobody left to question the obvious love he carries within him. Ah, Suguru truly knows how to push his buttons.
"You're not being fair, and you know it." He hates this too, that he can't say anything mean back. He wants to hurt him— whether verbally or physically, he doesn't know. But when he is always about to bridge that gap, he stops himself. Perhaps he should just blow both of them up and save them the constant heartache of fighting and tearing each other down with fake words and actions.
"Am I? Is it only me, who feels like just the thought of you smelling like someone else is enough to drive me crazy?"
"I'm already taking your scented jacket, and you know I won't take it off, not even for sleeping. What else do you want me to do?"
"Don't go."
Satoru sighs, tired.
At least he didn't start blaming Satoru for not being able to get pregnant, like he had done in the past. His mate truly thought that if he got Satoru pregnant, something absolutely impossible, his possessiveness would calm down. The mark wasn't enough. If Suguru fucked a baby in him, Satoru would always smell like him. His bump would show everyone he was taken, knotted down for life.
It was especially bad during ruts, "if you loved me you would give me a baby", "if you wanted you could grow my pup inside you", and all sorts of impossibilities that made Satoru roll his eyes. After the heated fog cleared from Suguru's mind came the apologies. Sweet words that were meant to reassure Satoru that it was the rut talking, that he knew Satoru was an alpha and thus unable to get pregnant, that he would never hold something biologically impossible against him. That he didn't care, that he loved him, that it was just dirty-talk, please don't mind me, you know I don't mean it. I love you, I love you, I love you.
It was so easy to forgive Suguru when he got teary-eyed, wet mouth glued to Satoru's nape, distress rolling in waves off him because he truly couldn't stand when Satoru got mad at him.
"I can't," he finally replies. "I've already agreed and I can't back down. I don't want to."
Suguru looks at him, his beautiful amber eyes flickering with a thousand emotions Satoru wishes he couldn't read. Satoru doesn't break the eye-contact, just lets his mate read the resolution on his open expression, lets him assess if the fight was worth continuing or not.
"Fine," he says with that sort of detachment that Satoru loathes. He had found something he didn't like in Satoru's face. He walks to the bed and pulls the pillow from underneath the blanket. The vibration of the zipper opening breaks through the silent room like thunder. Suguru fishes Satoru's shirt and socks from inside and arranges them neatly on the bed.
"Enjoy your flight." He sits on his side of the bed, denying Satoru of the reprieve he knows he needs away from him after one of their fights.
There is something lodged in his throat now, heavy and painful and cold. Silently, he makes his way to the bed and grabs the shirt and socks, quickly putting them inside his bag.
Fuck. Suguru always had a way of making Satoru's few wins feels like absolute crap. Like it wasn't worth it.
"I'll miss you," he confesses. He hesitates a little and then rounds their bed. Suguru accepts his swift kiss, and the knot in his chest loosens a little. "I'll call you when I land."
He turns around, unable to meet Suguru's eyes for one last time, and walks towards the door. The moment his shaky hand close around the door knob, he feels Suguru's presence behind him, his body glued to his back.
"Wait." He rests his head on Satoru's shoulders. "I'm sorry. Don't go like this."
"Suguru—"
"I'm not letting you leave like this. I'm sorry, Satoru. I'm sorry."
Satoru allows Suguru's hand to travel all the way down his arm, until he reaches his fingers, closed tightly around the handle of his bag. Easily, he coaxes them open, and helps Satoru leave his bag on the floor.
Weak, weak, he is always so weak, so easily swayed.
"I'm sorry," Suguru repeats, in that tone that melts the ice on his resolve. "I can't help it. When it comes to you, nothing is rational," he justifies himself, lips lingering on the bite mark of his nape that seemed to be on fire now.
Satoru allows him, lets him embrace him, lets him kiss the sensitive scarred tissue of their lifetime commitment.
"Let me make it up to you. I don't want to see you go like this. I'm sorry, Satoru."
Snake. Geto Suguru is a snake and Satoru falls for the bright colours of his scales every single time. His body does too, slowly reacting under the soft kisses being laid on his neck, to the sneaky hand that is slowly getting under his jacket, his shirt, until the pad of his fingers is in contact with the skin of his belly. His thumb brushes the light trail of white hairs beneath his navel.
"I'm gonna be late," he tries to protest. But the words ring weak even to him. They are feeble, like his willpower.
"I'll be quick, don't worry. I'll make it good for you, you know I always do."
And really, what else is there to do? The fight leaves his body at once— how ridiculous to call it 'fight' when he had never stood a chance, when his body followed Suguru's demands like it was trained to do so. Satoru knows that, by design, he would never win against that soft voice that could become cold and sharp as a knife one minute and turn into the sweetest of lollipops the very next second.
Every word that beautiful mouth spoke, Satoru tattooed on his heart like an apostle writing down the words of his promised prophet. Be it evil words or sweet promises, he kept everything inside, treasuring it.
The heat is bubbling in his lower belly now, and the temperature continues rising and rising with every caress of Suguru's rough palms over the sensitive skin of his stomach.
Instead of voicing out his surrender, as if Suguru needed it, he turns around and kisses him. Kisses the man he was so weak for, the man he would always allow to push his boundaries, the man he would always allow to win over him. Isn't that what true love is? The complete surrender of yourself to someone else? To give yourself away wholly, until there was nothing left, praying that the recipient of your affections wouldn't tear all your limbs apart? Gojo wouldn't know any better, that's all he had ever done, the way he had always loved.
It works. With its ups and downs perhaps, but Suguru had always put him back in place.
The other alpha welcomes him, a small smile on his lips.
They kiss; slow at first, letting the frost of tongues and words melt away, drip by drip, until the warmth of their true feelings peeked through.
It's fine, Satoru tries to convince himself, it'll be quick. I have plenty of time.
Suguru suddenly pushes his body against the door as he deepens the kiss, tired of playing coy. He licks into Satoru's mouth with purpose, eagerly, desperately. And Satoru meets him halfway, arms locking behind Suguru's neck, keeping him place, pulling him towards him even deeper, as if having their chests touching wasn't enough.
It never is, and Satoru always pulls his mate harder and harder against him, as if trying to fuse their rib cages together, wanting to break bones and solder them together again so they could became one. Inseparable and impossible to tell where one begin and the other one end.
Soon enough, kissing isn't enough, that pleasant rubbing of tongues, of tracing each other's canines, roof of their mouths, only fans the steadily-growing flames. Suguru chuckles into the kiss when he feels the way his mate is insistently tugging at this shirt. He laughs even harder when Satoru growls the moment he tries to put some distance between them to undress.
"I can't take this offending thing off if you don't let go," he explains, fingers tracing soothing patterns beneath Satoru's clothes.
Satoru huffs, clearly annoyed, but ultimately relents and uncrosses his arms from behind the other alpha. Suguru takes a step back and quickly takes his shirt off, and before Satoru can put his greedy hands on him again, he hooks his finger on Gojo's belt and turns him around, using the momentum of his unexpected spin to push him on the bed.
"That was pretty hot," Satoru admits, groin now aching. Fuck Suguru for being so fucking strong and hot. Fuck him for being able to thrown him around like he was weightless.
He doesn't receive any replies. Instead, Suguru makes quick work of his belt and pants, yanking them down in one swift motion, underwear following suit. He makes himself comfortable between his legs, and he bats Satoru's hand away when he tries to take off his vest and white shirt.
"No, leave it. I like how you look like this."
"I'm gonna sweat buckets through this thing."
Suguru grabs one of his legs and puts him on his shoulder. Satoru smiles when he feels the feather-light kiss on his ankle.
"For me?"
He groans and huffs but doesn't try to get rid of the rest of his clothes.
There's a small smile of satisfaction, but Suguru is quick to cover it lest Satoru decides he doesn't wanna give in.
"Now, lay back and relax. I want to make it up to you."
Satoru wants to say there's nothing to forgive, there's nothing Suguru will ever have to do to "make up" for something. But he lets him have this small grace and does as told, heart not unlike a caged bird trying to break free.
There is no urgency in the way Suguru kisses his way up Satoru's leg, making sure to nip at his inner thighs, tongue quick to soothe the sting. He completely forgoes Satoru's dick, although it's right there: hard and red and already leaking a little from the tender foreplay.
He doesn't mind, because he knows what Suguru's after, and he knows it'll be a thousand times better than having his dick sucked. He loves getting his dick sucked, for the record, but there's something animalistic in the way his mate loses himself when rimming him, it's hypnotizing to see.
The first puff of air he feels down there has goosebumps blooming on his skin, and the way Suguru spreads his ass cheeks makes his ears burn.
"I got you," is all the warning he receives before Suguru licks and sucks at his rim like it's a particularly juicy peach, mouth sucking powerfully not the let the sweet juices go to waste.
Satoru remembers their first time, both nineteen-year-old boys that knew nothing about sex, about how two alphas could be with each other, knew nothing but the desire in their veins that pushed them to kiss harder, deeper, to bruise and take and bite. Satoru laughs a little every time he remembers the way Suguru came almost immediately after getting his dick in him. It had been painful and overwhelming and absolutely everything his younger self desired. Suguru had stammered, a little self-conscious, that it was way too tight, and was it supposed to feel like Satoru's insides were about to rip his dick off with how tight they were clenching? Was it normal? They didn't know, they just knew it felt too good to stop, and so they went at it again and Satoru stopped feeling so smug when he felt his best friend's knot swelling, trying to go past his rim. It had hurt like fucking hell, he had even tried to bite Suguru to get him to stop, but Suguru's eyes were blown away, a feverish glint in them that told Satoru all he needed to know: there was no stopping.
It had been absolutely mind-blowing , and the intensity of it all had almost made Satoru pass out. It didn't get easier with time, not for a little while at least. But Suguru liked it like that, he had said. He liked that what they had wasn't 'effortless', he liked that they had to make it work. There's nothing rewarding in things that come easily, doesn't it feel like a conquest when you get it right after so many tries? That's us, Satoru, he had said, with stars in his eyes as he opened him up. Are we meant to be? I don't know and I don't care. Because we are, we belong, despite everything. Because this is something greater than biology. This is will and decision. I want to be with you. Forever. Don't you want the same?
And Satoru, love-struck, had agreed with an eager mouth. You're right, you're right. I choose you, I will always choose you, he had replied, as he intertwined their hands and accepted that small sting that came with loving someone like Geto Suguru.
Satoru is still love-struck, he doesn't think he feels any different from how he did when he was younger. He knows it's difficult between them sometimes. But it's worth it, and there's so much work behind them, so much effort. He chooses this, them, despite everything.
His body has changed, though. Now, it gives way easily under Suguru's fingers, under Suguru's tongue. The pleasure shoots up his spine and he moans, mouth filling with spit, his teeth pulsing.
It's too good, it's always too good with Suguru.
The other alpha is relentless, eating him up like he's having his last meal, mouth glued to his ass and slurping like he's never tasted anything tastier. The sounds are filthy and Satoru has half a mind to feel a little shy; yet the tongue prodding inside of him with acute expertise refrains him from doing so.
He wants it deeper, licking up that spot that makes his toes curls and his breath rag. He tells Suguru what he wants, and his dear mate does as told, folding him almost in half first, before diving back to grant him his wish.
He screams as he grabs Suguru by the hair, grinding on his face as he chases his high, unable to stop the stuttering of his hips. He doesn't even care if Suguru can breathe. He probably can, in some capacity at least, since he's still abusing his hole with his mouth. The tongue on his prostate, the fingers teasing his rim, the nose rubbing against his perineum, it's all to much and the fire in his insides climbs up quickly, too quickly.
His legs lock up and he comes like that, with Suguru's name on his tongue, and Suguru's mouth on his asshole. His back arches off the bed, almost obscenely so. The intensity of his orgasm not unlike a discharge from a live wire.
Suguru keeps eating him out, even when Satoru grabs him by the hair to pull him off of him, oversensitive.
"Give me a break, you dickhead," he pleads. He's drenched in sweat, and he knows he'll have to shower. His shirt and vest are soaked as well, with sweat and his spent now as well, and they stick uncomfortably to his skin. He'll have to pick fresh, clean clothes.
At this, Suguru finally stops his assault. He looks a bit dazed when he emerges from between Satoru's legs; chin and mouth shiny with spit, long hair a mess from where Satoru had pulled almost violently so. The embodiment of everything Satoru wants, that's exactly what he looks like.
He's so handsome like this, when he looks a bit out of his mind. Suguru is always beautiful: with his sharp cheekbones and high nose, pretty rounded mouth with sharp teeth. He has an air of melancholy to him that makes him irresistible, that perfect balance of hard and soft that draws people in effortlessly. How can someone so ethereal exist? Satoru wonders, eyes scanning down the hard lines of his body, the strong muscles, the mouthwatering tone of his skin. Slightly caramel, a light tan from training shirtless outside with a lot more frequency than Satoru.
The embodiment of beauty. And it's all his. Only his.
Suguru leaves a soft kiss on the inside of Satoru's thigh, and then another on a days-old bite mark, near the skin where his thigh meets his ass. Satoru reclines on his elbow, to see him better. From his position, he can see the front of Suguru's pants tenting. It's a big bulge, and Satoru knows it must hurt, but the dark-haired alpha has always been quite good at ignoring his own needs in pose of Satoru's.
He should just leave now, he's cutting it to close for comfort. He got his orgasm, and Satoru almost forgets about the fight. What were they even fighting about? Nothing too serious, surely. Not serious enough to stop Suguru from loving him in the best way he knows, at least.
But.
He wants him, and that's all he has ever done when it comes to the alpha in front of him. Want. Want him as a friend, want him as a lover, want him as a mate, want him for himself and himself only.
"You're not planning on leaving like this, right?" Suguru cuts through the spiralling down of his mind, grabbing his crotch. "Not like this, Satoru. Don't be so cruel to me. Let me have this."
And then, he's pulling down his grey joggers and his black briefs, showing Satoru just how much he wants him, too. Nestled in between a forest of dark, thick pubes, his heavy cock stands proud, an angry red. The head is shiny already, wet with precum, and Satoru's own dick starts filling once again.
He's beautiful, so, so beautiful. And no matter how many times he's held that cock in his hand, his mouth, has had it inside of him, it will always make his brain malfunction. Satoru jokes that it's his favourite part about his mate, but in times like this, he's not so sure about it. About it being a joke.
"See how ready I am for you?" Suguru keeps talking, as he takes his cock on his hand and gives it a few, slow pumps. He makes himself comfortable between Satoru's legs again, hand on his chest to slowly make him lay on the bed again. "Let me give you a proper goodbye."
And Satoru just opens his legs wider, inviting him.
Suguru wastes no time in aligning the fat tip of his cock to Satoru's asshole. Lube would be great, but there's no time for that, and Suguru's spit would have to suffice. It probably won't, it'll probably sting and he'll feel it for days. He can't wait.
In one slow, long thrust, Suguru sheathes himself inside Satoru. Usually, he would wait a little, giving Satoru time to adjust to his girth. However, he seems to be in a rush today, because he starts snapping his hips immediately. He groans and moans as he pounds into the other alpha, his barely contained frustration bleeding through the insistent assault on Satoru's asshole. He won't let Satoru breathe, won't let him think, just keeps fucking him like a man on a mission.
It works like a charm because all that urgency he felt before has faded. Now, all he wants is to keep Suguru inside forever, responsibilities be damned. He needs this, the reassurance that Suguru's body is synchronized with his. Because they've worked so hard for this, for this chemistry to be pleasurable, for their instincts to simmer down just enough not to tear each other to shreds.
It makes him feel like there's purpose to everything, when his body welcomes Suguru so greedily and easily.
Satoru is way too lost on the snapping of Suguru's hips against his ass to notice at first. It feels like Suguru's leaking a lot. A whole fucking lot, actually. Then Suguru suddenly stops his thrusts, but it's not him cumming. He knows all the tell-tales whenever his mate cums; it's not like this.
But something warm is filling him up, that he can feel.
What…?
It's the smell that makes him realize all at once. Strong and a little acrid and incredibly charged of Suguru's pheromones.
Did Suguru just…
"Suguru, are you fucking pissing inside of me?"
He doesn't answer at first, and when Satoru tries to break away to face him because what the actual fuck, he feels himself being pressed against the mattress. Suguru is using his entire body weight to lock him and place and make him take it.
Satoru feels like crying, what the hell? Suguru is still pissing, and he can feel the urine running down his thighs, soaking the duvet beneath him. He can feel it inside of him. He's not even sure how to feel.
"You mother-fucker, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I'm just marking what's mine, Satoru."
Holy shit.
Suguru is fucking insane.
"If you're not gonna listen to me and still go that fuckass omega school I have to make sure everybody knows you're mine, Satoru."
Satoru remembers that once, Suguru and he had gone to a mandatory lecture about secondary-genders and the lecturer had talked about extreme measures omegas and alphas took in order to mark territory. These were heavily discourage and those who had recurrent thoughts about any of the methods was urged to seek guidance. Satoru had laughed at some of them: omegas putting their slick in their significant other's coffee, or putting some of their small belongings up their assholes; alphas pissing all over their omega's clothes, pissing inside their omegas, and so on. It was gross, and he couldn't believe people went to such extremes to display dominance.
Urine, the lecturer had said, was the means that had the highest count of pheromones. Following suit were sweat and spit.
Crazy.
Suguru hadn't laughed, and Satoru had attributed this to his mate's innate nature of paying attention and behaving during lectures and lessons.
Now, he isn't so sure.
"Suguru, this is gross, get off me!"
"This is me showing everyone how much you mean to me, how can it be gross, Satoru? Do you think my love is gross?"
Finally, Suguru stopped pissing, but he didn't pull out.
"Also, I don't think you mind it that much. You're purring, actually."
The mortification sinking rapidly down his stomach left him breathless.
Because he is.
Purring.
The thought of Suguru going to such extreme lengths to mark him as his made him feel—some type of way. A little bewildered. A little puzzled. Plenty aroused, he was quickly discovering. How mortifying. How absolutely mortifying, Satoru couldn't even say anything back, trying to assimilate how his mate pissing inside of him had made his dick harder, had made him clench mindlessly.
"Look at you," Suguru keeps going, hips slowly regaining its previous rhythm. "Accepting what I give you so readily. As you should."
Suguru had fucked his cum back into Satoru plenty of times, to many too count, and the sensation of it was always quite particular. It felt a little like that, Satoru realized. It was warm and slippery, more than regularly at least. It was similar and quite different at the same time.
If his mate was feeling a little mean, a little playful, he would pull out just to paint Satoru's back or belly white with his seed, knowing Satoru very much preferred when he came inside. The sudden image of Suguru doing exactly that, pulling out, but not to cum on him—but rather to piss all over him, made his lower belly contract so tight he thought he was about to come just from the image alone.
"What are you thinking, love? You're clenching so hard right now."
And how to voice his thoughts, that had frighten him so badly? He bites his tongue, afraid that he would give Suguru exactly what he wanted. To endure it, and secretly enjoy his alpha getting crazily territorial was one thing; to say it loud was a different battle. One he wasn't ready to face yet. Not like this, so sudden and during such a vulnerable moment. He was at odds already with his body for betraying his mind, reacting so eagerly to anything Suguru gave to him. For submitting so easily, for allowing Suguru to do with him as he pleased. For deriving pleasure from such an act.
Suguru bended over, getting closer to the alpha beneath him, his cock going ever deeper. The squelching sound that came from the action made Satoru terribly embarrassed.
"Look at me, and tell me you hate what I did," he demanded as he grabbed Satoru by the jaw to force him to look at him.
Satoru tried to bite him, shaking his head, but Suguru just tightened his grip, almost painfully so.
"Tell me, Satoru, do you hate me now?"
And it was that tone, the one he was so acquainted with: that demanding tilt mixed with genuine concern. It was the tone Suguru always put whenever he tested Satoru's limits, with his words and his actions. The tone that suggested that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't sorry about it, but at the same time, that he would whip himself if Satoru did say he didn't like it. If Satoru agreed he had gone too far this time.
It had never happened, because there was no action nor word that could be considered as going "too far" for Satoru.
And that wasn't going to change now.
Worse were the eyes, pleading almost. Satoru knew he would cave in, because there was no place on Earth he could hide from the golden embers shining in Suguru's eyes.
"You know I don't."
Suguru let himself fall all over him, pushing Satoru's thighs even further, the muscle protesting at the sudden stretch.
"Thank you, thank you," Suguru repeats like a mantra, mouth glued to Satoru's neck. The relief in his voice always made Satoru a little bit uncomfortable. He was always so emotional, and despite having been together for years, Satoru never knew what to do with this: a Suguru that wore his heart on his sleeve so proudly. So unabashedly. So unlike him. "Of course you don't. You like being mine. You're so perfect."
And he doesn't wait for Satoru to answer—what could he possibly say to such overwhelming display of poor restrain? —and just gets back to it, hips snapping like crazy against Satoru's ass, against the back of his thighs.
The smell in the air was just so incriminating, that sour smell full of Suguru's pheromones permeating the air, overriding even the smell of two horny alphas.
It was embarrassing and exhilarating at the same time and Satoru knew he wasn't going to last too long. He was at his limit. His belly tightened, and he felt that familiar lick of fire climbing up his throat, igniting his insides in its wake. No matter how well-acquainted he was with the way his body was reacting, it never failed to punch the breath out of him.
It was good, so good. Sex with Suguru was always intense and all-consuming. It unearthed the most animalistic of instincts within him. That fierce need to own and be owned back, all starting and ending with Suguru's name, with this tongue and his fangs that were now flirting with the thin skin on his collarbone, with his cock buried inside a place that had been carved for it by force.
It was bigger than anything they could say to each other. There was no place to hide as they tried to become one again and again, tried to get underneath each other's skin; all that was hidden beneath snappy words and careless actions was disinterred and laid naked in front of them to confront.
It was useless to hurt each other when all they had been doing was sewing their insides together.
To love was to relent and burn and reborn and accept that the you that was left in the ashes would never be wholly yours again. It would die buried in someone else's self.
"Suguru—"
"I know, Satoru. I know." Suguru's rhythm is frenetic now. "Look at how greedily you're sucking me, how much you're drooling. Does the thought of using your body as I please arouse you this much? Show me, Satoru. Show me how much you like it."
And Satoru did, by cumming all over himself, toes curling until they cramped, Suguru's name on his tongue as if it were the only word he remembered.
Suguru fucks him through his orgasm, and Satoru, oversensitive as he is, just lets him. He lays there, mind empty as his mate used his body for his own pleasure. It doesn't take long for him to cum as well, his mouth easily finding Satoru's neck to muffle his scream.
Satoru thinks he should feel gross, as the mix of piss and cum now leak from his ass. He doesn't and the revelation doesn't surprise him. His mate was right: anything Suguru give him could never be gross. He wishes he could just kill him right there and now, so his warm body could remain buried inside of him forever.
Instead of flickering his fingers in Suguru's direction, he hugs him tighter against his frame as he feels the first wave of fresh tears soak his collarbone. Ever so gentle, Suguru cries, probably consumed a little by guilt, and a little overwhelmed as well.
He lets him, although he's sure he'll have to buy an emergency flight ticket if he stays even another extra second. Suguru is worth all the seconds in the world, so he pets his long, black hair and coaxes him out of the terrible thought inside his mind instead of standing up to shower.
True love is, above everything, completely altruistic.
{-}
On the plane back from China, Satoru looked at the last message in the chat he had with Suguru.
Took the day off to be with you. Can't wait to see you again.
Satoru dipped his chin a little to smell himself. It was a bit of an odd mix; he was wearing Suguru's jacket and the smell was still there, but the sweet perfume of all the omegas that showed up for him was quite noticeable as well. There was only so much the pheromones of a single alpha could do against a swarm of omegas' pheromones.
He knew Suguru would be displeased, that he would sulk and tell Satoru he should've listened to him, would nag him to hell and back.
But he'd also be quite gratified that his orthodox idea had had the desired effect. Clothes were easy to scent, the fabric sucked in whatever smell was the strongest in the room. It wasn't hard to override. Satoru's skin, though? Satoru's everything? A completely different story. It was as if he had a bath in Suguru's sweat. The smell of his alpha was so pungent, it was impossible to miss.
Who would've thought that urine could be so strong.
Maybe he could entice Suguru into claiming him back again, using that method that worked so perfectly well. The thought of it made his groin grow warm and a little sensitive.
He couldn't wait to see Suguru again.