Chapter Text
The deadbolt slid into place with a heavy click.
The moment the world was locked out, the dynamic in the room inverted. Outside in the rest of the estate, Suguru was the owner and the Alpha was the pet. But in here, amidst the velvet drapes and the scent of weirdly expensive beeswax candles, Gojo allowed himself to stretch out to his full height, no longer needing to appear meek and submissive.
Suguru collapsed into the high-backed armchair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned into his palms. Pretending had continued to not get any easier. It just felt like he was stuck wearing a mask he couldn’t ever take off.
"I can't do this," Suguru muffled into his hands. "Did you see the way that maid laughed at me? It’s all because I was trying to ‘glide’ like you said.”
"She wasn’t laughing because you looked clumsy," Gojo snickered back, his voice rich with amusement through his laughter. "It was because you apologized to the doorframe after you walked right into it. It was kinda cute, in a pathetic sort of way."
The Alpha wasn't sitting. He was pacing the length of the rug, moving with a restless energy that made his linen pants look like haute couture. He turned sharply at the window before prowling back. Suguru could feel his eyes sweeping over him.
There was something mesmerizing about the way Gojo moved. It was fluid and deliberate, and every step was placed with precision. It was the kind of natural grace that couldn't really be taught. Suguru had expected him to exude some level of confidence, given his supposed background, but this was something else entirely. This was someone who had been bred for this world and still chose to wear his old status like a second skin.
And yet, as Suguru watched him pace, he couldn't help but think there was something deeper underneath that he wasn't quite seeing yet. Something that drove this constant motion, this need to keep moving. Maybe standing still just felt too much like being caged again.
"You know, you have a tell, Suguru. You walk like you have somewhere to be."
Suguru was pulled out of his thoughts. He dropped his hands from his face, frowning up at him. "I do have somewhere to be. I have constant meetings and doctors appointments and fittings. It’s like it never ends.”
"And that," Gojo said, stopping directly in front of the chair to loom over him, "is why you look like New Money."
"I am New Money," Suguru snapped, feeling heat start to rise in his cheeks. "Actually, I'm probably more like 'No Money' pretending to be 'Some Money.' What's your point?"
Gojo sighed, but a smirk played on his lips. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, crossing both his arms and ankles.
"New Money rushes," he started lecturing, his voice dropping into a smooth cadence that made Suguru want to lean in. "They believe time is currency, so they have to hustle. They walk with purpose because they think looking busy makes them look important."
He pushed off the desk and resumed his prowl, circling the chair slowly. Suguru felt his presence like a sort of pull, his head turning to track Gojo as he moved.
"But Old Money, like the Zen’in and the Kamo? Like the Gojo?" he scoffed, a darker amusement now playing on his lips. "They drag their feet. Do you know why?"
Suguru blinked, his tired brain trying to focus on what he was saying and not the way the Alpha’s hips swayed with every step. "Laziness? Inbreeding?"
"Close, but no," he said with a sharp chuckle. "It’s power. They walk slowly because they know the world will wait for them. Think about it. Meetings don't start until they arrive. Nobody starts pouring the tea until they sit. Rushing implies you're beholden to someone else's schedule." He paused, letting that sink in, then added with a smirk, "And we can't have that, now can we? Heaven forbid anyone think a Gojo has to hurry for anyone."
Suguru stared at the empty fireplace. He was suddenly reminded of the New Bloom tea party.
"Zen'in Naoya and Kamo Noritoshi," Suguru muttered, the realization dawning on him. "When they finally walked into the garden, they were at least twenty minutes late. And Naoya stopped to look at a koi pond on his way to his table. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to do something, but he just... watched the fish."
Gojo's face lit up, and he looked at Suguru with a bright, boyish grin that almost made him catch his breath.
"Yes," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Exactly. That wasn't an accident, Suguru. Think of it like a flex. The little bitch was weaponizing his boredom by telling everyone there that watching a fish eat a fly was more important to him than their attention. And you know what? It worked. They all probably sat there and waited for him like good little dogs."
Gojo walked over to the chair, looking down at Suguru with a gleam of something that made Suguru want to squirm in his seat.
"It's good that you noticed," Gojo purred. "I like a student who pays attention. Most people just think he's rude."
"So you're telling me I have to be rude," Suguru concluded dryly, shifting under his gaze.
"No, you just have to be unbothered," Gojo corrected, that sharp amusement still playing at the corners of his mouth. "There's a difference. Rude is crass. Unbothered is art."
He moved behind the armchair.
Suguru tensed instinctively as he felt Gojo’s presence loom over him, blocking out the candlelight. The heat radiating from the Alpha was palpable on the back of his neck.
"Sit up," he commanded softly.
Suguru's spine straightened before his conscious mind even registered the order, his body moving to obey without his permission. It was only after he'd tried to correct his posture that he realized what he'd done. That he'd felt compelled to comply, like the Alpha's words had bypassed his brain entirely and gone straight to his muscles.
But in actuality, Suguru was so tired he only managed to un-slouch a few centimeters at most.
"No," Gojo sighed, the sound vibrating right above his ear, sending a shiver down his neck. "You’re curving your spine again. It hides your height, but it won’t make you look more like a 'traditional' Omega."
Suguru didn’t even have a moment to say that being a traditional Omega was the last thing on his mind before Gojo’s hands suddenly landed on his shoulders. His touch was warm, but firm, sending a jolt of electricity all the way down his spine. Gojo’s thumbs started to dig in, kneading against the tension there, his fingers strong and deliberate.
Suguru’s mind went completely blank, every coherent thought suddenly thoroughly scattered. The world narrowed down to nothing but the weight of the Alpha’s palms and the heat radiating through his shirt. Instead of melting under the massage, he felt his muscles lock up, pulling even tighter. He was rigid with anticipation, his breath hitching in his throat as he waited for something, but for the life of him, he didn't know what.
"You're so tense," Gojo murmured, his thumbs working a particularly tight knot. "Are you scared of me, Suguru? Or do you just like it when I handle you?"
God fucking damnit.
Suguru swallowed hard, and he couldn’t answer.
"Open your chest," Gojo instructed, his voice dropping into something lower and darker.
One of his hands moved to the center of Suguru’s back, pressing firmly between his shoulder blades to flatten the curve in his spine. The other hand came around the front, sliding up Suguru's chest to hook under his chin.
The contact was electric. Gojo tilted Suguru’s head back until he was looking up at the ceiling. The Alpha’s upside-down face hovered above him.
"You’re built like a mountain," Gojo whispered, his blue eyes half-lidded and seemingly focused now on Suguru's mouth. "So stop trying to be a pebble. It’s a waste of a good body."
Suguru held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was acutely aware of the Alpha’s fingers on his throat now, the way Gojo was molding him like he owned him.
"Better," Gojo murmured. His thumb brushed a sensitive skin under Suguru’s jaw with a slow, deliberate stroke, and it was all he could do to hold in his gasp.
"Keep your shoulders back," he added, leaning down so his lips nearly brushed up against Suguru’s ear. "You’re an Omega. You don't bow to the room, you make the room want to bow to you."
The lesson had moved from politics to posture and back to politics. More specifically, to the intricate hierarchy of the Inumaki clan. Gojo was going on and on about the importance of bloodline purity, but Suguru really wasn't listening.
It felt like he was drowning.
He couldn’t keep himself from watching Gojo’s throat, the way pale skin stretched over his Adam's apple every time he swallowed. He couldn’t help but stare at the way the cords of muscle in his forearms shifted and twisted beneath the skin as he gestured. It was mesmerizing. The Alpha was shirtless, as he’d been this entire time, so it wasn’t exactly new, but it gave Suguru a perfect view of, well, everything.
His gaze traced the lines of Gojo’s collar bones, deep and elegant, down to the expanse of his chest. It was unfair, really, how his broad shoulders tapering down to a waist that looked so snatchable. Suguru’s eyes locked onto Gojo’s nipples. They were soft and pink, stark against the milky whiteness of his skin.
Suguru felt the sudden urge to lick them.
He imagined just leaning forward, catching one of those pink nubs between his lips, and biting down just hard enough to bruise. He wanted to know what Gojo tasted like. Would it be like salt and sweat? He wanted to know what kinds of sounds he would make. Would he gasp or curse? Or would he let out a high, sweet whine, like what Suguru himself sometimes made when he touched himself?
Suguru looked down at the dossier on the desk, but the text started to blur. The words swam on the page, meaningless ink against the roaring static of his own lust.
A wave of cold dread curled in his stomach, warring with the heavy, molten heat pooling lower down.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He looked at Gojo again through his lashes, at this man who was practically naked and technically still his property. At this man who slept every night in a literal cage.
And he wanted to mark him.
Suguru suddenly felt horribly depraved. It was like he was sliding into the same moral sewer as the Zen’in. Was that what this was? Was he just getting off on the power of it all? Was he attracted to Gojo because he was brilliant, or was it because he was exposed? Because he was a captured predator that Suguru just liked undressing with his eyes?
I’m a pervert, Suguru thought, his grip on his pen tightening until the plastic barrel creaked. I’m literally fetishizing his captivity. I’m disgusting.
He tried to pull away. He shifted his weight in his chair to put even just a little more distance between his treacherous body and the shirtless Alpha pacing in front of him.
"You're not paying attention, Suguru."
Gojo’s voice cut through his spiral of self-loathing. And maybe Suguru was imagining things, but it sounded lower and huskier than it had been just moments ago. Before he could respond, Gojo swooped in, coming up behind his chair faster than his frame should strictly allow.
"Here," Gojo murmured.
He then leaned over the back of the chair, boxing Suguru in.
Gojo’s bare arm reached over Suguru’s shoulder to point at a specific branch of the Inumaki family tree resting on the desk. His naked chest pressed against the back of the chair, and against the back of Suguru’s head. His bicep brushed against Suguru’s cheek, his skin feeling solid and warm.
He was too close, suffocatingly so.
Suguru's breath caught in his throat and he felt like his lungs were just a moment away from seizing. He was trapped between the desk and the wall of Alpha heat radiating behind him.
And even then, once he felt like he could chance breathing again, the only thing he could smell was Gojo. On the surface, he smelled like the industrial detergent his staff had been using to scrub the Run clean. But underneath all that, there was something else trying to break through.
It was something electric, like the scent of ozone right before a lightning strike. He smelled like cold rain and static charge, and power. It was a scent that triggered some sort of ancient lizard brain instinct deep inside him.
Alpha.
Suguru’s heart hammered against his ribs. It was so loud and violent that he was sure Gojo could feel it through the frame of the chair.
And then, his body decided to betray him entirely.
A sudden, sharp warmth seized his lower belly, followed instantly by a flood. He felt a humiliating gush of slick dampen his underwear, threatening to soak through to his pants entirely. His body was reacting to the proximity of a half-naked, compatible Alpha like a flower tearing itself open for the sun.
Suguru froze, his face burning so hot he thought his skin might start peeling off. He squeezed his thighs together under the desk, locking his knees, and prayed to every god he didn't believe in that the sensation would just stop, that the scent of his own arousal wouldn't permeate the air.
Please don't notice. Please, please don't notice.
But Gojo paused. He didn't move away, still hovering over Suguru’s shoulder, his bare chest continuing to radiate heat against Suguru’s hair.
And then, Suguru heard it. A slow, deliberate inhale.
Gojo was smelling him. He was tasting the air, sampling the sudden shift in Suguru’s pheromones, the heavy, sweet scent of slick that was undoubtedly rising from Suguru’s slit.
He knew. Of course he knew. He was a Special Grade Alpha. He could probably smell the desire leaking out of Suguru’s fucking pores.
Suguru wanted to dissolve into the floor. He wanted to scream, or maybe just drop dead. Instead, he just sat there paralyzed, wet and trembling, afraid of what Gojo’s reaction would be.
The silence that followed was louder than anything else could’ve been.
Suguru sat frozen, his hands gripping the armrests so hard the leather creaked. He waited for Gojo to lean in and laugh in his face, maybe ask why his owner was leaking like he was already a bitch in heat.
But nothing of the sort came.
Instead, the suffocating wall of heat behind him receded. Gojo pulled back, creating a sudden, chilling vacuum of air against Suguru’s back that made him gasp. The Alpha let out a heavy sigh, something that sounded like it had been dragged up from the very bottom of his lungs. It sounded more like a sound of restraint than anything else.
"I think that’s enough for today," he finally said, his voice sounding very purposefully flat and tight.
Gojo then walked away from the chair, putting distance between them, moving toward the window with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't look back at Suguru. He stared out at the skyline starting to come to life with twinkling lights.
"Go get ready," Gojo added, finality in his tone.
Suguru blinked, his brain still short-circuiting. "Ready?"
"To take me back," he said. He turned his head slightly, just enough to show his profile in the dying light. He didn't make eye contact. "You should... probably take a shower first. If you go out there like... that... The Betas can’t really smell you, of course, but if you end up hosting any Omegas in the next week or so…"
The shame hit Suguru like a bucket of ice water. Of course he could smell it. He was telling him to wash the scent of his own desperation off his skin.
"Right," Suguru choked out. "Shower. Right."
He practically threw himself out of the armchair, keeping his back to Gojo as he scrambled out of the room. He tried to ignore the damp patch he could feel clinging to his thighs.
Suguru bolted through his bedroom and into the bathroom, locking the door shut with trembling fingers.
The moment the lock clicked, Suguru started to strip. He tore his clothes off, the tailored jacket, the silk shirt and pants, leaving them all in a heap. When he peeled off his underwear, the fabric was fully soaked through with slick.
He groaned into his hand as he stepped into the shower. He didn't even wait for the water to warm up. He just turned the handle and gasped as the spray hit him.
Suguru meant to just wash. He was just going to scrub the scent of vanilla and burnt sugar off his skin and regain his dignity. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out so that he could get back to Gojo and bring him back to the run for the night. But the moment his hands brushed against himself, his knees buckled and a moan was ripped out of him.
He looked down. He was painfully hard, his cock twitching in the air. But he ignored it. It felt like a useless distraction from the real, screaming void opening up beneath it.
Suguru braced his forearm against the cold tile wall, burying his face in the crook of his elbow to stifle the sounds, and reached down. He bypassed his aching cock entirely, his hand sliding past his smaller-than-they-should be balls, through the water gathering on his skin to find the source of the heat.
His fingers found his slit, swollen and dripping. It was leaking so much slick that it had yet to wash away, continuing to coat his thighs.
Suguru didn't hesitate, pushing two fingers all the way inside. The sensation was blinding. His walls clamped around his fingers like a hot, wet mouth, suctioning tight, desperate to be filled.
"Fuck," he choked out, his hips bucking involuntarily to meet his own hand.
Suguru's mind then wandered without permission, slipping into dangerous territory. He started imagining that it wasn't his own fingers inside him, but instead Gojo's. He imagined those pale, elegant hands filling him even more completely as they worked him open with maddening slowness. He could almost feel the Alpha's breath hot against his neck, could almost hear that commanding voice murmuring filthy praise in his ear.
The image started to shift until he could almost feel Gojo pinning him against the cool tile of the shower wall, the contrast of temperatures making him gasp. Those strong hands gripping his hips, holding him in place as he lined himself up. The blunt pressure of an Alpha's cock, so much bigger than his fingers, pressing insistently against his weeping cunt. The stretch as Gojo pushed inside, filling him until Suguru couldn't tell where he ended and Gojo began.
In his mind, Gojo didn't stop. He didn't hold back. He just took what he wanted with deep, rolling thrusts that hit that perfect spot every time, reducing Suguru to nothing but sensation and need.
He came with a broken gasp that got lost in the steam.
His body shuddered, his useless cock not even spilling as he came, his insides clenching desperately around his fingers.
But it wasn't enough.
The ache was still there, a hollow throbbing deep in his gut that his orgasm had only momentarily stunned. He didn't stop. He couldn't. He shoved a third finger in, stretching himself even more, chasing the high, sobbing into his arm as he fucked himself open under the spray.
By the time he finally turned the water off twenty minutes later, his skin was pink from the heat and his legs were shaking so badly he had to sit on the edge of the tub to dry off. He ended up coming two more times, back-to-back, and he still felt like he was vibrating, his insides feeling loose and over-sensitive.
He stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror, at the flushed face and the dark, blown-wide pupils of an Omega in what could quite possibly be the worst pre-heat in the history of pre-heats.
Suguru could only groan as he pressed a towel to his face to hide from his own eyes.
Suguru knew he was in for a migraine whenever he found himself in Manami’s office. It was aggressively beige and smelled faintly of antiseptic cleaner trying to mask the aroma of very bitter genmaicha. Unfortunately for him and his sensitive Omega nose, the combination was near unbearable. The Beta probably didn’t even have a clue.
Suguru sat in the chair across from her desk, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He was conscious of every muscle in his body, forcing his spine to remain rigid, his shoulders back, his chin tilted up. He was performing a role Gojo had meticulously choreographed for him, but goddamnit, he was exhausted.
His head pounded with a dull throb behind his eyes. It was exhausting to sit here and pretend that he wasn't terrified of the woman on the other side of the desk. It was exhausting to pretend that he viewed Gojo as nothing more than a breeding stud.
Across the desk, Manami set down her porcelain cup into a saucer. She looked at him with an expression of approval that was exceedingly rare for her.
"I must admit, Geto-sama, I had my doubts," Manami said, folding her manicured hands over a stack of reports. "When you started taking the Alpha out of the West Wing on a daily basis, I thought it was a disaster waiting to happen. I expected accidents, or at the very least, resistance."
She tapped a finger on the paper, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"But from what I’ve seen in the hallway... it’s remarkable. You’ve been able to keep its head down, and it clearly walks at your pace just like a submissive Alpha should. It doesn't even try pulling on the leash. You’ve made so much progress with it."
Suguru forced himself to give her a calm, arrogant nod, sipping his own tea to hide the twitch in his lip. The irony was so thick it nearly made him feel sick.
Progress, she called it.
She didn't need to know that the reason Gojo didn't pull on the leash was because Gojo himself had spent a whole twenty minutes lecturing Suguru on the physics of leather tension.
If you pull too tight, you project weakness, he’d said, It implies you’re afraid I’ll run. Hold the leash like it’s a suggestion, not a lifeline.
"It’s beginning to know its place," Suguru lied smoothly, trying to project a sense of disinterest. "It just requires some... firm correction."
"Well, you’ve broken its spirit faster than a slew of facilities could ever manage," Manami agreed, unaware that she actually didn’t know a single thing she was talking about.
Then, her expression tightened just a bit. She took another sip of tea, her eyes narrowing over the rim of the cup.
"However, you taking it out and about as often as you have has been creating some... friction."
Suguru’s stomach dropped. His fatigue suddenly vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. "Friction?"
"Among the staff," Manami sighed, looking a little annoyed. "The maids have told me privately that they're terrified of seeing it in the hallway twice a day, every day, for your transfers. Even muzzled and chained, its presence is... disturbing at best. It disrupts the household rhythm to have a Special Grade Alpha paraded through the corridors so frequently."
Panic gripped Suguru’s chest. He in turn gripped the armrest, his knuckles turning white.
She was going to cancel the sessions. She was going to tell him that Gojo had to stay in the West Wing, in that cold concrete box. Suguru would lose the lessons, sure, but he would also lose the company. Gojo was the only person in this entire hellhole who actually looked him in the eye like he was a person.
"I can adjust the route," Suguru offered quickly, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I can use the service corridors instead. Or I can blindfold it so it doesn't look at them–"
"No need for that."
Before he could get another word in, Manami reached into her drawer and pulled out a booklet. She slid it across the desk toward him.
It looked like a sort of catalog for high-end hardware. The cover featured a gold-plated lock mechanism.
"I’ve been thinking," Manami said, her voice taking a more practical tone. "Why send the beast back to the Run every single night when you have plenty of space in the East Wing?"
Suguru stared at the catalog, his brain stalling. "Excuse me?"
"We can bolt a chemically hardened steel loop into the floor of your living room," Manami explained, flipping the catalog open to point to a photo of a heavy-duty anchor point drilled into a marble floor. "Maybe another in the bedroom. That way, you can keep it chained securely within your quarters overnight if you so wish."
She looked up at him, a helpful yet smug smile on her face.
"It solves the hallway issue. You won't need to transport it back and forth. The Alpha can simply... stay, tethered at the foot of your bed, perhaps. Like a proper guard dog."
Suguru stared at the photo of the steel ring.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a weird mixture of relief and terror.
If he agreed to this, Gojo wouldn't have to go back to his cage. He’d be able to keep him overnight. He’d be able to sleep in a warm room that had actual heating, instead of freezing concrete. It would be an undeniable upgrade.
But the implication made Suguru dizzy.
In my bedroom.
Manami wanted him to chain a Special Grade Alpha, one that Suguru was currently struggling not to sexually obsess over, to the floor of his bedroom. While Suguru was quickly approaching his first heat. While he was leaking slick in the shower and having fantasies about Gojo’s fingers.
It was insanity.
But if he said no, Gojo would be stuck in the box.
Suguru closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, the exhaustion starting to weigh on him. But then he steeled himself. He had a role to play, after all.
"Do it," Suguru said, and he sounded raspier than he intended. He cleared his throat and leaned back, channeling Gojo’s lessons in arrogance to mask trembling in his voice. "It would certainly help with the conditioning. If it sleeps on my floor, it learns who owns it even while it dreams."
Manami beamed, delighted by his display of casual cruelty. "Excellent. I'll have Maintenance begin the installation this afternoon."
Suguru barely even remembered the rest of the conversation.
He vaguely recalled nodding at something about maintenance schedules. He only truly remembered standing up, buttoning his jacket with steady fingers, and giving Manami a curt, dismissive nod that Gojo would have graded as a solid B-plus.
"Have it finished by the evening," Suguru said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I wish to feed it its meal in my suite."
"Of course, Geto-sama."
He turned on his heel, walking to the door with sure steps. He stepped out into the corridor, and pulled it shut behind him until the latch clicked shut.
Then, his facade proceeded to immediately shatter.
Suguru stumbled two steps and collapsed against the corridor wall, the back of his head hitting the plaster with a dull thud. He squeezed his eyes shut, sliding down until his legs remembered how to hold his weight. His breath came out in a shaky, ragged exhale that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
What did I just do?
He looked down the long, empty hallway in the general direction of the East Wing.
Tonight, there would be a steel loop bolted into his bedroom floor. He wouldn’t have to bring Gojo back into the cold. When Suguru turned off the lights for the night, he wouldn't have to be alone.
The realization washed over him, cold and thrilling.
He wasn't just bringing Gojo over for their lessons anymore.
Suguru pushed himself off the wall, staring at his trembling hands.
He was moving him in.
The hallway was filled to the brim with judgmental eyes, but Satoru walked through it with ease. Well, as much ease as he could manage, considering how the leather and metal strapping him into submission felt like fire on his skin. The rough friction of the straps were overwhelming, almost agonizing, but he pushed it from his mind. He was getting quite good at ignoring his body’s own reactions at this point.
He kept his head lowered with chin tucked as close to his chest as the collar would allow, his eyes fixed on Suguru’s back. To the guards posted at regular intervals and the maids shrinking against the walls, he was a confident Omega, dragging a broken, muzzled beast through the halls in chains.
Satoru, however, was too busy grading his performance to pay much attention to them.
Shoulders back, Satoru thought, watching the sway of the other man's coat. Chin up. Don't look at the maid. She doesn't exist to you.
Suguru continued to pass all his tests. And through it all, his hand on the leash that connected them was perfect.
Satoru controlled his breath as he felt the reinforced leather strap slacken and tighten with a rhythmic, indifferent tension. It wasn't a death grip anymore, which he was more than grateful for, but a connection. Suguru held the handle like it was a thin line of communication between Master and property.
Not bad, Satoru mused, fighting the urge to smirk behind the leather muzzle. He’s a quick study. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.
But then, the wind shifted.
A draft from an open window swept down the corridor, swirling around Suguru before hitting Satoru full in the face.
Satoru’s nostrils flared. While he was becoming used to the constant presence of the scent now, it didn’t make it any less thick and intoxicating.
To the Beta staff, Suguru probably just smelled like nothing more than expensive cologne. But to Satoru, the air was saturated with the distinct briny sweetness of slick.
It was the smell of an Omega deep into pre-heat.
Satoru inhaled deeply, letting the scent coat the back of his throat. His Alpha instincts roared to life, a sudden, blinding urge to bite, to knot, to claim. But his human mind just felt a hollow ache of envy.
He looked at Suguru’s back, broad but tense with apprehension, and felt a pang of bitterness. Not at Suguru, but at the unfairness of it all.
Satoru had lived his whole childhood being prepared for that. He spent the first fifteen years of his life learning how to nest, imaging what his eventual heat might feel like. He was ready for it, wanted it even. Now, restrained in this hallway as an Alpha, he couldn’t help but feel the resentment settling in his chest.
And here was Suguru, stumbling blindly through the very existence Satoru had been busy mourning for three years. Suguru treated the miracle of his own body like a burden. He didn't want the softness or the surrender or the power that came with it. He just wanted to get through the day without humiliating himself.
Which… was fair. Being an Omega was wasted on him, and Satoru couldn’t help but feel sad at the thought. Suguru hadn’t asked for this any more that he himself had asked for the teeth and the ruts.
He watched Suguru’s hand tremble slightly where it held the leash. He could smell the spike of cortisol mixing with the heavy pheromones. The Omega was afraid, that much was obvious. He was drowning in changes and instincts he didn't understand, surrounded by people who would eat him alive if he showed any hints of weakness.
Satoru sighed through his nose, the sound lost in the muzzle.
He wanted to help him.
Part of it was his own instincts. The Alpha in him was practically vibrating at the scent, desperate to soothe a distressed Omega. Another part of it was obviously survival. Suguru was his only lifeline. Without him, Satoru would go back to being caged in boxes, or worse.
But mostly, it was solidarity.
He really couldn’t help but think about how biology really had fucked them both.
And so if Satoru couldn't have a heat himself, if he couldn't live the life he was meant to, then the least he could do was make sure Suguru survived his. He would guide him through the fire, even if he had to hurt a little to do it. After all, if anyone knew how to navigate the hell of a body that just felt wrong, it was him.
They quickly reached the heavy oak door of Suguru’s private suite. It clicked shut, locking out the hallway and the performance.
Usually, this was the moment the routine settled. Suguru would exhale and slump his shoulders, heading for his desk while Satoru made himself at home on the sofa to critique Suguru's leash handling.
But today, Suguru didn't stop.
He kept walking, his grip on the leash firm, leading Satoru past the living room, past the unlit fireplace, and straight toward the door at the far end of the suite.
Toward the bedroom.
Satoru couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Well, well, he thought, a flicker of dark, electric amusement lighting up his brain. Is the New Bloom finally making a move?
He could still smell the delicious scent of vanilla and distress radiating off the Omega. It made sense, in a desperate, biological sort of way. His hormones were screaming at him to find a mate, and Suguru, despite his apprehension, was dragging a compatible Alpha straight to his bed.
Satoru prepared a teasing remark in his head. He was ready to reject the advance, of course, though that felt just a bit hypocritical considering he'd definitely led Suguru on multiple times at this point. Invading his personal space had just been fun and games and all that, pushing boundaries to see how far he could go before Suguru cracked.
But this was different. He wasn't about to actually do anything unless they talked about it first, unless it was something they both explicitly wanted. Not after that time when his instincts had almost overridden his better judgment.
Still, he was thoroughly prepared to enjoy the sheer audacity of this moment. He was actually rather excited to see Suguru try to stutter his way through a seduction attempt. The mental image alone of Suguru’s red face was delicious.
Suguru pushed the double doors open.
"In here," he muttered, his voice tight and breathless.
Satoru followed him silently over the threshold, forgiving him for leaving the muzzle on this long as he waited to see what would happen next.
But then he froze.
It was a ridiculously lavish room. The rug under his feet was thick and plush and the curtains were a heavy silk. The air smelled of expensive lavender laundry sachets and warmth. It reminded him of what he’d had from back before he’d ever presented.
But Satoru didn't look at the king-sized bed or the view.
His eyes went instantly to the piece of metal on the floor.
Bolted directly into the expensive hardwood, gleaming under the light of a crystal chandelier, was a heavy, gold-plated steel loop. It was very industrial, and unmistakably designed for one thing and one thing only, holding something very strong in place. Perhaps something like a murderous Alpha that was considered more creature than human.
All in all, it looked like something out of a high-end kennel. Or a very bad dungeon porno produced by someone with too much money and zero taste.
Suguru turned around, reaching up to unlock the muzzle. He barely felt relief as the leather straps fell away, and Satoru didn't even rub his jaw. He just stared at the floor, his expression flat.
"The fuck is that?" Satoru asked, though he couldn’t keep his amusement from leaking into his voice.
He trusted Suguru enough at this point to not be afraid of whatever he would try to throw at him. He was more just deeply offended on an aesthetic level.
"Is it supposed to be some kind of hitching post thing?" Satoru gestured to the floor with a flick of his hand once they were freed. "I know you're new to the whole 'owning people' dynamic, but this is tacky even for you. What, are you planning to tie me up like a pony now?"
Suguru jumped, his face flushing a brilliant, deep red that clashed horribly with his suit.
"It’s not for– I mean, I’m not going to use it!" Suguru stammered immediately, the rest of his persona crumbling into dust. "Not like that, I promise!"
Satoru leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He watched Suguru flounder with a distinct sense of endearment. It was cute, really, the way he waved his hands around, trying to physically block Satoru’s view of the offending hardware.
"Then explain," Satoru drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he enjoyed the show. "Because it looks like you're trying to set up a very specific kind of playroom. And I have to tell you, the gold plating is a bit much."
"It's to keep you out of the box!" Suguru blurted out.
He took a breath, running a hand through his hair, messing up the bun it had no doubt been meticulously styled into all day.
"Manami said the maids were complaining about seeing you in the hallway," Suguru explained frantically, the words tumbling out over each other. "They wanted me to stop taking you back and forth so much, and I was nervous that they wanted to keep you in the Run."
Satoru went still. The mockery died on his tongue. His amusement vanished, replaced by a sharp alertness.
Keep him in the Run?
"But then she told me about these loop things and told me I could keep you here," Suguru continued, and Satoru could see his eyes pleading with him to understand. "She thinks I’m chaining you to the floor at night as a security measure, but of course I’m not going to. As long as that thing is bolted there, I don’t think I’m going to have to take you back."
Suguru gestured helplessly at the room, looking almost like he was flailing.
"So you can stay here tonight. Every night, if you want. No more West Wing."
Satoru looked at the gold-plated abomination on the floor. Then he looked at the window, where the sun was setting over the city skyline.
Then he looked at Suguru.
The Omega looked exhausted, no doubt anxious that Satoru was going to hate him for the indignity of this whole thing. And yet, he had spent his day working with the devil just to get Satoru a warm place to sleep.
He felt something in his chest unclench.
Satoru walked past Suguru, ignoring the flinch, and nudged the steel loop with his toe. It was unsurprisingly solid.
"To keep me out of the box," Satoru repeated softly. He looked back at Suguru, his blue eyes softening. "You lied to your Beta handler for my sake."
"I... manipulated the bureaucracy," Suguru said weakly, looking down at his shoes. "It seemed... logical."
"Logical," Satoru scoffed, but there was no bite in it. "You really do suck at lying, Suguru, so I appreciate the effort."
He looked around the room again. It was incredibly warm, and the floors felt like they might even have been heated.
"Okay," Satoru said, nearly groaning as he dug his toes into the plush rug. "I could get comfortable here."
Suguru then stepped right into Satoru’s personal space, his movements jittery and sharp. The scent of anxious sweat rolled off him in waves, thick enough to taste.
"Hold still," Suguru murmured, his voice tight.
Satoru lifted his chin, arching his neck to offer better access. The movement pulled the heavy leather band tight against his windpipe, aggravating the skin that had begun to chafe beneath the material. He ignored the sting, his focus entirely on Suguru.
He watched what he could of Suguru’s hands through his lashes. They were trembling. Not from fear, Satoru realized, but from restraint. Going by his scent, he was shaking with the overwhelming effort of holding himself together while every instinct in his body was likely screaming at him to drop to his knees and surrender.
Suguru’s knuckles brushed the sensitive, heated skin of Satoru’s throat as he fumbled with the buckle. The contact was electric. Satoru could feel the heat radiating from Suguru, accentuated by the shallow, controlled rhythm of his breathing.
After another moment, the tension suddenly released. The strap fell away from Satoru’s neck, peeling off his sticky skin. A ring of raw, pale flesh was left exposed to the warm air. Satoru inhaled sharply, the oxygen hitting his lungs in a rush. He rolled his neck, wincing slightly as the blood flow returned, relishing the dizzying, sudden feeling of freedom.
He waited for Suguru to set the collar aside, to move on.
But he didn't. Instead, he sank slowly to the floor. Satoru watched as Suguru fastened and locked the other end of the leash to the floor loop. He then dropped Satoru’s collar. It hit the rug with a soft thud, still holding the warmth of Satoru’s body, now tethered to the floor.
"So here's what we're gonna do," Suguru said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stood back up, dusting off his knees. "We leave this here, bolted to the floor. If anyone asks, you're in it."
He pointed a finger at Satoru, his expression deadly serious, though his cheeks were still flushed a deliciously feverish pink.
Satoru felt something hot curl in his stomach at the sight. The Omega taking charge shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. Suguru was nervous, clearly out of his depth, and yet here he was, telling an Alpha what to do. Satoru couldn't help but straighten his back, his body responding before his mind caught up.
"If Manami knocks, or if she just uses her master key, which she does sometimes when she feels like it, you need to get the collar around your neck immediately. You'll have to be fast. If she walks in and sees you roaming free, we're both done."
Satoru looked at the empty collar on the floor then up at Suguru.
Regardless of the image he portrayed, however, the Omega was very obviously a nervous wreck. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, barely holding it together in the presence of the Alpha standing in front of him, and yet he was voluntarily conspiring with him just so Satoru wouldn't have to sleep in a cold cell.
That feeling in his stomach started to shift into something else. It was something softer, something dangerous. The Omega was clearly trying. He was terrified of Satoru, and possibly even more terrified of the Beta. Hell, he was probably even terrified of his own body right now. Yet he was still standing there, enduring all of that just to get him a pillow. It was stupid and reckless, but Satoru knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he was starting to become fond of the idiot.
"Anything else I should be aware of?" Satoru asked, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
"About that…" Suguru started with a heavy sigh. "Every morning, we’ll have to be up so that you can be secured before Manami comes by during her morning rounds. She normally pops in at seven, which means we need to set an alarm for half past six at the latest. You’ll have to be in the collar, on the floor, looking miserable before she opens that door."
Satoru made a show of groaning theatrically, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Half past six! That’s inhumane, Suguru! That might be arguably worse than sleeping in a cage."
"It's the price we’ll have to pay," Suguru sighed, though he looked apologetic, wringing his hands nervously. "Look, I know it sucks. But... I have extra blankets in the closet. I can set up a thick pile for you right here, near the loop. I'll make it as comfortable as I can."
Suguru then turned toward the closet, reaching for the handle to retrieve the spare bedding.
"Wait a second, I’m gonna stop you right there," Satoru said.
Suguru froze, his hand on the brass knob. "What?"
Satoru pushed himself off the wall. He walked over to the steel loop, looking down at the empty collar lying on the rug. It was a symbol of everything he hated, but tonight, it was just a piece of leather on the floor.
He stepped deliberately over it.
"I appreciate the accommodations, Suguru, I really do," Satoru said, playing with the drawstring of his linen pants to loosen them slightly, letting them hang lower on his hips. "But that doesn’t mean I’m about to sleep on the floor."
He turned his back on Suguru and faced the bed.
It was absolutely massive and had a duvet that looked like a cloud. Satoru didn't hesitate. He let out a small laugh as he ran at the mattress and jumped up onto it, testing the bounce.
"Gojo?" Suguru squeaked, watching him with wide, panicked eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I told you, there’s no way I’m sleeping on the floor," Satoru stated matter-of-factly. He swung his long legs up, sprawling out across the left side of the bed. Goosebumps instantly prickled along his arms at the shock of the cool fabric. He gritted his teeth, hating that his skin was still so overwhelmingly sensitive to every little texture. The biting chill of the Run really didn’t help.
His filthy pants were probably marking up the duvet, but he didn’t even care. He groaned as the mattress conformed to his body. This bed was quite possibly the softest thing he’d had the pleasure of touching in three years.
"I don't care what you say," Satoru continued, punching a pillow into shape behind his head. "I have a bad back from sleeping on concrete all the damn time, so we’re sharing the bed."
He couldn’t help but snicker as the Omega’s eyes went wide.
"But you... you can't," Suguru stammered, backing up until he hit the wardrobe. "That’s– I'm... I'm in–"
"Pre-heat? Yes, I know. I have a nose, Suguru," Satoru drawled, closing his eyes.
He cracked one blue eye open to look at Suguru. He looked like he was about to have a stroke. He was clutching his own chest, looking at Satoru like he was a bomb that had just armed itself in his sheets.
"Relax," Satoru said, his voice dropping into a more soothing register. "I’m well aware that your heat’s going to hit soon anyway, so what is the harm in sharing a bed now?"
Suguru’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He tried to speak, managing only a series of strangled sounds before his voice died in his throat. Satoru watched him, fighting back a smirk. It was awfully cute, seeing him so unraveled.
He patted the empty space on the right side of the mattress. "It’s a big bed, so there's plenty of room. I promise I won't bite unless you ask nicely."
A violent flush worked its way up from his collar, making Suguru’s entire face turn a brilliant shade of crimson.
"I’m taking this side," Satoru declared. He closed his eyes again and had to choke down a whine as he twisted his limbs into the covers. "And if you snore, I will use the muzzle on you."
He turned over and burrowed his face into the pillow, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up to him. As he drifted, he was fairly certain Suguru stammered something else, possibly a quiet protest from across the room, but Satoru wasn't even aware enough to process the words.
He was too busy sinking into the warmth, already gone to the world.