Archive of Our Own ^beta

Satoru Gojo’s never really given much thought as to how he would die.

Mostly because he’s not even thirty yet, but also because that’s kinda morbid, yeah? 

Thinking about all of the ways that he could eventually meet his maker is a real fucking downer, and so for the most part, he doesn’t. 

He pushes any and all bleak thoughts of his own mortality to the farthest fringes of his mind, preferring to focus on the finer things in life -

Desserts, for example. 

The video games that he likes. 

His big, plush bed in his big, fancy apartment, the one with the mountain of pillows and the thousand thread count sheets, and the pretty little convertible he’d bought himself after completing his PhD a couple of years ago. 

He certainly doesn’t spend his time ruminating on all of the things that could go so very wrong in his life, thank you very much. 

That’s just depressing, and so he ruthlessly shoves any and all of his pessimistic thoughts into a nice little box that he keeps in the back of his mind, never again to see the light of day.

But then, that’s what makes his current situation so odd. 

Because he’s pretty sure calling an anonymous emergency heat and rut partnership agency and offering his services as an alpha about to hit his cycle is mortifying enough to send him to an early grave, the thought of exposing his most intimate moments to a complete stranger incredibly fucking awkward, and yet -

Here he is.

About to beg whoever answers the phone to hook him up with an omega in need.

Fuck, how embarrassing. 

How awful, what the fuck -

Is this what normal people have to deal with, he wonders? Is this what people who don’t have a hookup experience? 

Though Satoru’s not too keen on relationships, he’s never lacked for willing partners. His dazzling good looks, ineffable charm, and (let’s face it) familial wealth have always meant that he’s never struggled when it comes to getting people into his bed, and while he likes to think that he’s not, like, obnoxious about it, the idea of not having anyone to help him out with a rut is kinda far-fetched. 

It’s completely fucking foreign to him, and not for the first time this afternoon, he’s left wondering if this is some kind of cosmic retribution. 

He has to stop and consider if this is maybe what he’s due after having such a long string of perfectly good, blessedly simple ruts, which -

Like, in the grand scheme of things, he supposes it all balances out.

He’ll take one really bad, embarrassing cycle in exchange for ten really good ones; he can suck it up this time and take the hit on the chin. 

And honestly, it might not even suck!

He might still get really lucky and have a really great time - because you never know what you’re going to get with these sorts of services. It’s always a bit of a grab bag, because the organizers try very, very hard not to discriminate or play favorites; assigning heat and rut partners is done on a needs basis, and so he’ll get matched up with whatever omega (or beta, if none have need of his services) is next on the list. 

They’ll assign him a partner, give him a log-in to the anonymous messaging service they provide in order to coordinate a meet-up, and that will be that. 

There’s no consideration for physical or emotional chemistry, no precautions taken other than the standard battery of questions they ask to make sure that victims of trauma and abuse aren’t matched up with fundamentally incompatible partners. 

And that’s as it should be, to be frank -

Because this isn’t a dating app. 

This isn’t a roundabout way of meeting his perfect match; this is a service, a government-mandated program intended to help people in need. 

He’s not going to meet his soulmate here. 

He’s not going to fall in love with whoever he meets up with. 

He’s just going to fuck them stupid a handful of times, satisfying a mutual biological urge and ensuring that neither he nor his future partner are stuck in bed for a week with nothing more than their hand to satisfy them. 

That’s no way to spend a heat or a rut - 

Again, not that Satoru’s ever had to spend one by himself. 

It’s not like he really knows what that’s like. 

But he’s read things! He’s heard stuff from his friends, has been taught in school that going through a mating cycle on one’s own is both incredibly unsatisfying and very, very lonely, and so the existence of these sorts of services is kinda important. 

As is plucking up the courage to finally make the damn phone call, and so with one final sigh, Satoru punches in the number and gets down to business.

It’s surprisingly quick.

Satoru isn’t super picky; he doesn’t have a preference for primary gender, and though he’d rather hook up with someone who’s easy on the eyes (who wouldn’t?) he also knows that he’s not really in a position to complain. 

After explaining his situation, and giving up a little bit of his personal information (and dignity), Satoru is told that he’ll get an email in just a few minutes. He’ll then be able to set up a profile, where he can share as much or as little information about himself as he desires, and once the service’s coordinators have assigned him a partner, they’ll be able to talk.

It’s all very practical, the process very efficient, and when he hangs up the call and leans back in his chair, he can’t help but be a little impressed.

Shoko, who’s sitting across from him, notices.

“That’s it, then?” she asks.

She twirls the lollipop in her fingers against her teeth, leaving her lips stained cherry red. Though Satoru knows it’s just a stand-in for her usual cigarette, that she’s just picked the cheapest, least offensive alternative to smoking that the convenience store could provide, he finds that he’s craving one himself, and so he holds out a hand, expectant. 

With a roll of her eyes, she digs into her purse and hands one over.

Satoru thinks it’s grape.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That’s it.”

He tears off the wrapper, pops the sucker between his teeth. 

“I am - officially - sharing my rut with a stranger.”

“You know, some people prefer it that way.”

Satoru waves a hand. “Yeah, well - some people have commitment issues.”

Shoko doesn’t take the bait, instead huffing out an amused snort. 

“Yeah, because what you and Mei Mei have is the epitome of commitment.”

“It works for us,” Satoru says, shrugging. “She’s busy, I’m busy… we have reasonably good sexual chemistry, and neither of us really wants to settle down anytime soon, so… ”

“It works for you,” Shoko finishes.

Satoru grins. “Exactly!”

Shoko hums, noncommittal. “How long have you two been cycle partners again?”

The question is unexpected -

Enough so that Satoru actually has to think about it, has to actually narrow his eyes and comb through his memories to try and find the answer.

“Since undergrad, maybe?” He nods, more sure of his answer as soon he’s said it. “Yeah, undergrad. Our cycles were pretty close; she needed someone to fuck her through her heat so she could get back to studying for her finals, and I was, y’know - there.”

“Wow, don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

“I mean, it was fine,” Satoru says, shrugging. “She needed help, I was tired of fucking a different person every time I went into rut.”

“And Mei Mei’s hot,” Shoko guesses.

“So hot, fuck,” he agrees. 

“She’ll sell you out for whatever piece of shit alpha supreme offers her more than you, but hey. She’s got great tits.”

Satoru laughs, crunching on the lollipop. 

“You think someone can offer her more than me?” he asks, incredulous. 

“No,” Shoko replies. “I just think that eventually, she’s going to ask for more than you want to pay, so… that relationship has a shelf life.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, even as he snorts out another laugh. Because like -

Shoko isn’t wrong here. 

She’s not mistaken.

What he and Mei Mei have isn’t special, it isn’t unique; it’s a partnership born of convenience, and while he doesn’t mind Mei Mei as a person, while he finds her funny, and easy enough to be around, and (it has to be reiterated) really fucking hot, they both know that it’s not going to go anywhere. 

It can’t, even, because the only person Mei Mei will ever truly love is herself. 

She is, at her core, a calculating, self-serving person, and while she’s pretty up front about it, never having led Satoru (or anyone else) on with false promises, she’s also never given him any reason to doubt that as soon as their arrangement stops benefitting her, she’ll leave.

Case in point, here and now. 

Because it’s not like Satoru hadn’t called her up as soon as he’d started feeling antsy; he’d sent her a message right after he’d taken a look at his calendar and realized he only had a week or so left before he went into rut, had hit her up to let her know that he was down to fuck. 

Hell, he’d even gone so far as to go ahead and book a suite at their usual hotel, had gone and purchased all the heat aids he knew she liked, all the snacks and pain meds and comfort items she wanted to have with her when they fucked. 

That was just basic fucking decency, and so when she’d politely shut him down, telling him in no uncertain terms that she’d be out of the country on business and unable to help -

Well, it had kinda stung.

Not because he cares, of course. He’s not, like, holding a candle for her or anything, and if she wants to call it quits, sure. No problems here. 

But it’s just - it’s just kinda sudden, yeah? 

Like, he’d always kinda expected one of them to eventually grow out of this little arrangement. He’d known it wasn’t forever. He just -

Hadn’t thought it would end now, fuck. 

What awful timing.

“Hey.”

Satoru blinks himself out of his thoughts, glancing back over at Shoko.

“You good?”

Though her expression is still pretty mild, Satoru can see the very real traces of concern in her big, brown eyes, the downturned tilt of her lips. 

She’s worried about him.

She’s concerned, if not because she’s interested in his sex life then because she’s invested in him as a person, and that’s -

“Aw, Shoko,” he coos, grinning. “You do care.”

The tension immediately snaps, Shoko’s eyes rolling spectacularly as she gags and  kicks him under the table. 

“Of course I care, you asshole,” she huffs. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be.”

“You haven’t spent a rut with anyone else in almost seven years,” she points out. “And you’re not exactly a casual dater. You don’t really meet all that many new people, and your social skills are practically nonexistent, so -”

Satoru lets out an indignant squawk. “What?”

Her eyes flash. “You heard me.”

“I - I do too have social skills, what the fuck.”

“You really fucking don’t.”

“I have friends,” he points out. “I’ve had relationships!”

“Holding hands with someone in middle school doesn’t count.”

Satoru snaps his mouth shut, glares. 

“Besides, that’s not what I meant. I don’t care about the people you dated back in high school; I’m not talking about the omegas your family tried to set you up with in the hopes of getting you to agree to an arranged marriage.”

He huffs, crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, then?”

“Just that you don’t really have a lot of experience in keeping things casual, because you’ve always had these fucking arrangements with other people, and so I just - just don’t get attached, yeah?”

“I’m a big boy, Shoko,” he snaps. 

“I know that.”

“I think I can handle an anonymous rut!”

“And you’re also a stage five clinger, so…” She shrugs. “Don’t get attached.”

“I’m… oh, my god, I’m not?”

“You are,” she asserts. “You’re so clingy, and obsessive. Like, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s kinda pathological.”

Satoru makes a face, pouts. “Rude.”

“You’re possessive. You may not have a lot of friends, but you keep the ones you do have really close, and that extends to your situationships. I mean, just look at this thing with Mei Mei. You don’t even like her, not really, and yet you called me up and whined about it for two fucking hours before my phone died.”

Satoru scowls, a retort already forming on his lips. 

But then he pauses, considering. 

Because now that he thinks about it, that’s more or less what had happened. That’s pretty much exactly how that conversation had gone down, his pouting the catalyst that had led Shoko to suggest that he seek out one of these agencies and try to find a replacement. 

Sensing victory, Shoko grins. 

“That’s what I thought,” she says, smug.

“Shut up.”

She just laughs at the weak retort, chuckling at his expense even as she pulls another couple of lollipops out of her bag. She hands one to Satoru, waiting until he’s shoved it rather petulantly in his mouth before she bothers to unwrap her own. 

Then -

“Look, I’m not trying to rag on you here.”

Satoru sniffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just want you to be careful,” she adds. “I want you to be prepared for the very high likelihood that you will never see this person again after your rut. I want you to be ready for the possibility that they don’t even give you their real name, that this is just as much of a necessary evil for them as it is for you.”

And here’s the thing.

Satoru knows this.

He does, because he’s neither naive nor an idiot. 

This is not a date. 

It’s not a relationship.

It’s an arrangement born of mutual convenience, one that will end along with his rut.

That’s how it should be, he thinks. That’s how he wants it to go.

Because for all that Shoko’s accused him of being a clingy lover, he’s also not very good at letting people in. He’s not particularly skilled at opening up to people, at letting others see him at his most vulnerable. 

Hell, that’s the entire reason he prefers what he and Mei Mei have (had? …had, he thinks), why he’s forsaken a personal connection and commitment for what he’s always known. Though he doesn’t necessarily like Mei Mei, he does trust her, because she’s always been incredibly blunt about what she wants and expects from him. Exchanging that for something new, then, is -

Kinda terrifying.

But it’s also kinda necessary, he thinks, glancing down at his phone and seeing the date that pops up on the screen. Like it or not, his rut is coming.

He’ll just - 

Have to be careful, he supposes. 

Realizing that Shoko’s still waiting on him for some kind of answer, Satoru sighs. He falls forward over the table, propping his chin up on his hand, and says, “Yeah, yeah. I know. No strings attached.” 

Shoko quirks a brow. “Do you?” 

“I mean, you’ve made it pretty fucking clear.”

She hums, nods. “Good.”

“Like, I kinda feel like I’m twelve again and being lectured by my mom, but -”

He breaks off with a yelp as Shoko pinches at his arm, shooting her an offended look.

“Mean!”

“So is comparing me to your mother, Jesus.”

Satoru cackles, leaning back just in time to avoid another pinch. 

“Aw, did I strike a nerve?” he teases.

“All at them at once,” she retorts. “Your mother’s a bitch.”

Satoru can’t really deny that.

And so he doesn’t, instead reaching forward to ruffle Shoko’s hair. 

It’s as much of a thanks-for-watching-out-for-me as he’s likely to give her, both of them a little too uncomfortable with bold declarations of love and friendship. Shoko glares and swats his hand away, Satoru collapses back into a pile of giggles, and once they’ve managed to collect themselves, it’s time for lunch. 

Shoko demands he buy her something as restitution, if not for her sage wisdom then for having to suffer the indignity of being compared to his mother, and Satoru easily agrees. He puts in an order for sushi at the place down the street, forking over the extra yen for faster delivery; then he pushes his phone to the side and stands and stretches, trying to work out the kinks in his lower back. 

God, he’s sore.

Too much of a workout yesterday, maybe, his normal back and shoulder routine pushed to the limits by that pre-rut agitation. 

Or maybe he’d just slept on his back wrong.

At his age, it’s getting to the point where it could be either, and while he doesn’t particularly care for the reminder that he is both A) getting old and B) a cranky, hormonal mess, it does serve as an excuse for him to go and take a nap after Shoko eventually ditches him, so.

Small blessings.

“Hey. Satoru.”

Satoru twists back toward the table, wary.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… If you need help at some point, if something weird happens and it makes you uncomfortable - ” 

Shoko trails off, makes some indiscernible signal with her hand.

But Satoru thinks he gets it. 

He understands what she's trying (and failing) to say, unable to help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

“Nah, Shoko, I’m good,” he says, waving her off. “I got this.”

Shoko studies him for a moment, her eyes searching. 

“You sure about that?” she asks.

Satoru gives it the briefest amount of thought possible, his confidence in himself leaving no room for doubt. 

Because he can do this, yeah?

He might feel a little like dying inside at the thought of being so open with a human being he doesn’t even fucking know, but…

He’s Satoru Gojo. 

He’s Satoru fucking Gojo, and he can do anything he puts his mind to, including anonymous rut sex with a complete and total stranger. 

There’s not any room for doubt.

“Yeah, Shoko,” he says, grinning. “I’m sure.”

Later that night, though, Satoru’s forced to confront the reality that he isn’t so sure of himself at all. He’s second guessing everything, chewing his lip to shreds with his teeth as he stares down at the phone in his hands, the unanswered messages that he’s sent to his supposed partner. 

Because why haven’t they answered him?

Why haven’t they responded?

He’s agonized over them for what feels like hours now, analyzed every little thing he’s said to make sure he hasn’t committed some kind of faux pas -

But there can’t be, he reasons.

There can’t be, because the only fucking thing he’s said so far is hello, how are you, my name is satoru gojo and I’m going to fuck you into next week. 

Respectfully, of course.

He hadn’t, like -

Just come out and said that. 

He’s not a total loser, thank you very much, no matter what Shoko and Nanami and Utahime so often tell him. He knows how to fucking talk to people.

But then again, maybe he doesn’t.

Because user1847490 hasn’t so much as even looked at his messages, not even once, despite the fact that Satoru had messaged them almost as soon as he’d gotten confirmation from the agency that he’d been matched up with a partner. It’s been fucking crickets, and that, more than anything, is starting to make Satoru a little nervous.

Like, has he already fucked this up? 

Has he already ruined it?

God, he hopes not; it’s too late to back out now, and four or five days spent having sex with someone who’s pissed off at him doesn’t sound too appealing. Hate sex is a thing, yeah, but pissy sex? Grumpy sex?

Yeah, not so much.

Running his hand over his face, Satoru tosses his phone aside in favor of staring blankly up at the ceiling. Because what is he doing? 

Why does he care?

He and this person don’t have to like each other; they don’t even really have to talk to each other, not beyond the basic niceties, and so maybe he’s making a big deal out of what is, essentially, nothing. 

His partner will contact him eventually.

They have to, if they’re going to make this work, and so it’ll happen when it happens. 

Until then, he just needs to go about his life; he just needs to act the same as he would if he wasn’t about to go into rut, as if this was just another normal Thursday night, and so he pushes up out of his bed, trying to find something to do. 

He putters around for a while, doing this and that.

He distracts himself with a video game, and then a shitty TV show, and then a pint and a half of his favorite ice cream, and once he’s finally exhausted all of his other options, he stalks off to the bathroom and takes a shower.

He washes his hair and scrubs himself clean, and after he’s done, he plops himself down in his bed and curls up in his warmest, softest blanket.

He’s just gotten settled when he feels a soft, gentle vibration against his thigh.

Snaking his hand down towards his pajamas, he pulls his phone from his pocket -

And is rewarded with several more messages coming in in quick succession, all from user1847490. 

< user1847490 - 22:17 > hey, sorry for the delay

< user1847490 - 22: 18 > I just got off work and saw these 

< user1847490 - 22:18 > nice to meet you, satoru

< user1847490 - 22:19 > my name is suguru geto

Suguru.

Huh.

A guy, then? 

Satoru’s never been with a male omega, but… he messed around with a beta in university, had been with him for a couple of months before it all kinda fell apart. He’d had no complaints with the sex, and he had said on his application that he didn’t care about his partner’s primary gender. That didn’t bother him. 

The way Suguru’s introduced himself is oddly formal, though.

A little stiff.

Satoru’s surprised to find that cute, and he quickly sends off a message of his own.

< user1690283 - 22:19 > oh hey stranger

< user1690283 - 22:20 > nice to know ur not ignoring me 

He softens the text with a burst of emojis, hoping that Suguru doesn’t take it too personally - and luckily for Satoru, he doesn’t, the next messages that come in just as easygoing as the ones before.

<  user1847490 - 22:21 > aw, did that make you sad?

< user1847490 - 22:21 > the thought that I was ignoring you?

Satoru scowls, nearly drops his phone on his face in his haste to respond.

< user1690283 - 22:22 > psh, no 

< user1690283 - 22:22 > but like

< user1690283 - 22:22 > I did think maybe u weren’t getting my messages

< user1847490 - 22:23 > nah, just working late unfortunately

Well, good.

Satoru is glad to hear it; he’s happy to know that there was a logical explanation behind all of that radio silence, especially since it has nothing to do with him as a person. He feels a little foolish, sure, but -

Mainly, he’s just relieved.

Just as he’s gratified to see Suguru quickly taking the reins of the conversation, steering them in the direction they both need this to go.

< user1847490 - 22:23 > so - I hear you have a rut in a couple of days

< user1847490 - 22:24 > and you need a partner to help you out?

< user1690283 - 22:25 > something like that

< user1690283 - 22:25 > why, u offering?

< user1847490 - 22:26 > that’s… literally what we signed up for?

Wow, okay.

That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? 

Still, it’s better than outright silence, and so he hastily explains the situation, in as broad strokes as he can: how he has a hotel room already, how he’s got everything handled and under control. His ruts usually last four to five days, and while they’re not severe, he does have a pretty high sex drive, so -

< user1690283 - 22:31 > u can expect to be knotted every couple hours 😜

Suguru’s response to that is… odd.

Instead of getting coy, or maybe even a little shy, he just says -

< user1847490 - 22:32 > that’s cute

- and like… what?

Getting folded in half and knotted is cute?

Satoru doesn’t really know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to address it - and so he doesn’t, sending over the details for the hotel, forwarding on a copy of his latest test results. Though it’s a requirement for the agency that all people who use their services have a clean bill of health, Satoru would rather be completely upfront about that kind of thing; he’d rather have it all out on the table, and so he only redacts out the personal info before sending over the file.

Suguru, he sees, is the same. 

He messages Satoru a copy of his latest test results, and once they’ve looked over each other’s paperwork, they make a plan to meet up.

Since Satoru’s rut is supposed to hit first, he’ll contact Suguru when it’s time; then he’ll head to the hotel, checking into the room and getting everything ready for them to -

Well, for them to fuck.

There’s really no other way to say it, and since there’s no sense in being awkward about it, Satoru just kinda handles it the way he always does - like it’s a joke, like the idea of them going at it like a couple of animals in a few days is funny. 

Luckily for him, Suguru seems unbothered by his bluntness. 

He seems utterly unconcerned with Satoru’s attitude. 

If anything, he actually seems kinda amused, assuring him that he’ll be there to help when his rut hits with a quiet sort of enjoyment that he shouldn’t really be showing, not when you consider the fact that they barely know each other.

It makes Satoru feel weird.

It makes him feel kinda funny, and also kinda… excited, maybe?

…maybe.

Mostly though, he just feels a little silly, and so he tells Suguru good night and forces himself to put his phone away, just out of reach of where he’s lying in the middle of the bed. He plugs it in, stares up at the ceiling, and tries to get some sleep.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t come.

He finds he keeps circling back to his conversation with Suguru, going over every little interaction they’ve shared so far in his head.

What does he look like, Satoru wonders?

What will he be like in bed?

It doesn’t matter, of course, not really, their partnership already kinda set in stone, but… never let it be said that Satoru Gojo wasn’t a curious fucking cat.

With a sigh, he rolls over onto his side, stares at the spot where his phone sits charging. He’s half-tempted to pick it up again, to shoot Suguru another text to see if he’ll send him a pic or something - just a tease, he thinks, something so he can pick him out of a crowd. Just so Satoru knows what he’s getting himself into here.

But he ultimately decides against it, because that would be both a little weird and kinda, sorta invasive, and so he squeezes his eyes shut, refuses to think about it.

He hopes Suguru’s pretty, though.

He hopes he’s as charming in person as he was over the phone.

That would be -

That would be nice, he thinks. 

Then maybe this whole thing wouldn’t be so embarrassing; maybe if Suguru turns out to be either a looker or a charmer, it’ll just turn into some great story he can bless (horrify) his friends with at happy hour. 

Nanami in particular just loves his stories, he knows he does, and since Satoru is always a fan of a captive audience -

Yeah.

He hopes that’s how this all goes down. 

Anything else would just be embarrassing, and what does Satoru do with those kinds of thoughts again? 

He grins to himself as he forces the what-if’s and the maybe not’s into that tiny box at the back of his mind, and with a happy little wiggle of his toes, drifts off to sleep.

Satoru’s pre-rut hits next Tuesday.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, leaving him hot and irritable and trembling in its wake. 

He feels angry.

He feels irate, getting incensed at every little thing that goes wrong that morning - and then he gets upset with himself for getting angry, well aware that his responses are vastly disproportionate to the offense. He has to apologize to his team a lot, even if all of them seem to understand he’s going through something. They all give him commiserating looks as he rubs at his face, as he offers up apology after apology for hitting the copy machine that refuses to work, for dumping the too weak coffee out into the sink in a fit of rage.

And when they tell him not to worry about it, when they give him the small, knowing smiles that let him know it’s really not that serious?

Well, that just makes inexplicably happy -

At least until the next minor inconvenience, and then the cycle repeats anew, his body spiraling through an entire gamut of emotions so quickly it’s impossible for him to process. 

It’s lunch time before he realizes what’s happening. 

As soon as he determines it’s his fucking rut making him this volatile, he sequesters himself in his office, feeling so stupid he could smack himself. 

But there’s really no time for self-flagellation here; there’s a few things he needs to finish up before he’s out for a week, and he has, at best, a couple of hours until his rut takes full effect, which… fuck, he really should’ve seen this coming when he’d screamed at Ijichi for forgetting to buy the cinnamon crunch bagels that morning. 

Because yelling at one of the marketing analysts is one thing; pissing off the finance team, too. They all know not to take him too seriously, and they definitely won’t take his insults too personally. 

But Ijichi, his glorified executive assistant?

The guy cries, and while Satoru’s always found him kinda pathetic, he’s also really fucking good at what he does, and he tries not to be in the habit of traumatizing his employees, fuck.

He’ll have to apologize later, he thinks. 

Take him out to lunch or something, give him some hazard pay. 

Because he is a hazard right now, both to himself and everyone else in this office, and so he does his best to type out a couple of emails to his boss and his direct reports to explain the situation, to get through the handful of awkward phone calls with his manager and human resources that come afterwards. 

It’s not easy.

Every little setback has him gripping at his desk chair hard enough to make the plastic armrests creak, to have his jaw aching with strain as he bites his tongue. 

But he manages. 

He does the best he can, and after one very long, very tortuous hour of human interaction, he shuts down his work station, gathers up his belongings, and heads outside into the cool, midwinter air. 

It feels good on his skin. 

It soothes some of the ache, some of the fire burning in his veins, and he lets himself take a couple of breaths before he sets off to find his car.

It’s not far. 

The parking lot is just a five minute walk down the street; it gives him plenty of time to pull out his phone and text Suguru the details. 

Though they’ve not really talked a whole lot since last week, Suguru’s responded to the handful of texts Satoru has sent him pretty quickly, and this is no exception. He gets an answer before he even makes it to his car, a short and sweet on my way, and then he’s plopping down into the driver’s seat, leaning forward to press his forehead against the smooth leather steering wheel. 

The pressure is grounding; it helps him steady himself, and after he squeezes his eyes shut, his skin prickling into goosebumps the longer he sits here in the cold with the engine turned off, some of the frenzy fades. 

It dissipates, enough that he feels that he can strap himself in and drive the handful of kilometers down the road to the hotel, and so after one final, deep breath, he slams the door shut, shoves his keys into the ignition, and sets off.

He gets there with maybe an hour or so to spare, handing his car over to the valet and grabbing his emergency bag from the trunk before heading inside to reception.

Luckily, the hotel knows him.

They know his family, know that he’s a frequent guest during his ruts; they have a room already prepared for him, one of the big, sound-proofed ones up on the top floor that they keep carefully free of any and all pheromones. The concierge hands over a set of key cards and dutifully writes down the name Satoru gives her, tells him they’ll be sure to send Suguru his way as soon as he arrives.

Satoru gives her his most winsome smile, hoping it looks better than he feels.

Then he’s padding off to the elevator, punching in the button for his floor with a bit more force than necessary before he slumps back against the wall, panting.

Fuck, he’s hot.

He’s so hot, the tie at his neck nothing short of suffocating.

He tugs at it irritably as he watches the floors tick by, already looking forward to yanking it off. He can’t wait to lose the tie, and the suit jacket, and his stupid fucking loafers, sweat starting to pour from every pore on his body.

It’s disgusting.

It’s also more than a little suspicious, considering he’s wearing neither spandex nor something to indicate he’s been a participant in some kind of foot race, and once the doors glide open, he’s pleased to find the hallway free of any other guests. 

He stumbles out onto the floor, leaning heavily against the wall as he makes his way to his assigned room. He counts the room numbers one by one, and when he finally gets to the one he’s paid for, barely remembering to pull the key card from his pocket before he yanks at the handle, he sags against the door.

He stumbles into the room in sheer, abject relief, abandoning his bag by the door as he pads down the hall and faceplants onto the first of the two beds.

It’s soft, he finds.

It’s soft and plush and (best of all) completely scentless, not even a trace of laundry detergent clinging to the sheets. 

He appreciates that. 

Mostly because strong scents can really throw off an alpha’s senses during their rut, but also because he just has a really good nose, yeah? 

He’s always been a little more sensitive to pheromones than most, certain scents enough to trigger these awful, debilitating migraines, and while he can tolerate most smells pretty well on a good day, the start of his cycle is anything but. It’s the exact fucking opposite, and so Satoru appreciates the hotel’s attention to detail in cleaning the room after the previous occupants.

But he can’t just stay here.

He can’t just linger, as much as he’d like to, and so after allowing himself a few more seconds to relish the coolness of the fabric beneath his cheeks, he stands.

He pushes himself to his feet, running a hand over his face as he kicks off his shoes and tears the sport coat from his shoulders. 

He doesn’t bother hanging it up; the sweat bleeding through the fabric has already guaranteed that he’s gonna have to take it to the dry cleaners, and so he’s not terribly concerned with whatever wrinkles he might incur in throwing it across the room -

Especially when tossing it into a corner fills him with such a savage sense of glee.

His pants are next, and then his shirt.

He doesn’t stop until he’s standing there in nothing but his underwear, and even then, it’s still too hot. It’s too much for him to handle with any sort of grace, and he irritably taps at the thermostat, turning the room into a veritable freezer before he heads into the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face. 

That, at least, helps a bit. 

It helps to clear his head, and also cools his flaming cheeks, and when he hears a knock on the door, just as he’s finishing up drying his hands, he feels put together enough to answer it -

Metaphorically, of course.

He’s still wearing nothing but a pair of very tiny, very tight blue boxer briefs, and while Satoru’s never really been one to feel even an ounce of shame, not really, he can admit that he’s maybe, perhaps not at best right now.

Because here’s the thing.

Satoru knows it’s probably rude to answer the door without a shirt on.

He knows it’s edging pretty damn close to impropriety to walk out into the hall in nothing but his underwear, but - 

He’s still hot.

He’s fucking dying, the momentary reprieve from the cold water doing nothing to prevent the sweat from dripping down his temples and collecting in the small of his back as his pre-rut enters its final stages. His body feels like it is on fire, his normally pale complexion already turned a dusty, rosy pink, and so he doesn’t think twice before flinging the door open.

There’s no hesitation in the way he half-steps out into the hall, a grin already tugging at his lips as he goes to invite Suguru into his makeshift den -

But then he stops.

He freezes, his eyes going wide as he drinks in the sight of the dark-haired man standing in the hallway, his lips parting in confusion.

Because this guy is big. 

He’s fucking massive, nearly as tall as Satoru and almost twice again as broad, with big, strong hands, and sharp, handsome features, and the way he smells -

God, it’s good.

His pheromones are warm and ashy, like a campfire, or maybe some kind of incense, and it washes over Satoru like a hot, fragrant cloud. He breathes it in like a man starved, already half-drunk over the scent; he sucks it down and holds it deep in his lungs, kinda like Shoko does with her nasty cigarettes, and that’s -

Fuck, it’s delicious. 

It’s absolutely fucking intoxicating. 

It’s also nothing like an omega’s usual sweet scent, or a beta’s more muted, floral pheromones, and so although it’s good, though it’s arguably the best scent he’s ever smelled in his entire goddamn life, there’s a growl already rumbling up and out of his chest at this unexpected discovery, this unprecedented threat -

The man seems to take this all very well in stride, though, smirking at Satoru’s involuntary reaction to his presence. 

“Aw, sweetheart,” he croons, leaning an indolent hip against the wall. “You gonna fight me?”

“Maybe, if you keep running your mouth.” 

“Mmm, feisty. I kinda like that,” the man admits with a wink.

Satoru gulps down another lungful of air, hating the way it makes his entire body flare red with heat. “I think you have the wrong room.”

His warning is met with a thoughtful hum, an incautious brush of the dark-haired man’s hand against the door frame. 

“I don’t think so,” he says, the curve of his lips shifting into something softer, something more genuine. “Unless your name isn’t Satoru Gojo, of course, but… something tells me it is.”

Well, there went that thought. 

He doesn’t exactly hand his name out to strangers, and while his family name’s pretty well-known, it really only comes up in certain circles, ones he’s pretty sure this guy doesn’t belong to - which means that this man, as unlikely as it seems, is the same guy that the agency had partnered him up with for his rut. 

Huh.

Satoru frowns, shifting from one foot to the other as he thinks on what to do next.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he finally admits. “And you’re…”

“Suguru Geto.”

Satoru blinks. “But you’re…”

“An alpha?” Suguru guesses. 

Yeah.

Pretty much.

Satoru’s hand tightens on the doorknob as he processes this little tidbit of information; it actually, physically creaks in his hand as he gets confirmation of what he’s already guessed, his own pheromones spiking in hot, agitated anger. 

Because, what the hell?

What the actual fuck, why is there an alpha trying to come into his hotel room? 

He didn’t ask for this. 

He asked the agency for an omega partner, or a beta, whatever, but this - 

Shit.

And like, it’s not that Satoru is prejudiced against relationships between the same secondary gender. He’s not, because why does it fucking matter? 

He doesn’t care who people love, or who they choose to date. 

It doesn’t bother him if people seek out relationships with people of the same primary or secondary gender. Mostly because it would make him something of a hypocrite, but also because that kind of outdated, backwards thinking should stay in the past, where it belongs, yeah? Love is love, and who a person is has no bearing on the depth or validity of their feelings for someone else. 

It’s no one’s fucking business.

But Satoru’s never been with another alpha, and trying to work out the kinks while he’s in the middle of a rut, when every instinct that he possesses tells him that Suguru is a threat, that he is competition? 

It’s a recipe for disaster, and so he takes a step forward, baring his fangs - 

Only to have Suguru lightly shove him backwards, continuing to grin at him as he stalks into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

“Don’t sound so surprised, Satoru,” he laughs, setting a bag down on the bench in the hall leading back to the bedroom. “This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

Satoru scowls, swatting away his hand. 

“You wanted another alpha to come and fuck you into submission -”

He snarls, forcefully shoving Suguru back.

“- to pin you down and knot you ‘til you’re satisfied.”

“Touch me, and I’ll punch you,” he threatens. 

Suguru laughs at that.

He laughs, the sound of it deep and rich, and drops down into one of the nearby chairs, his legs spread wide. It puts his breadth on full display, his shoulders spanning the entire width of the chair, and those thighs… 

Satoru kinda wants to go and sit in his lap. 

He kinda wants to yank on that thick, luscious hair and force Suguru to expose his neck, so he can lick a long, hot stripe along what is maybe the sharpest jaw Satoru’s ever seen on another person - 

But only a little bit, because he’s still way too annoyed at how easily Suguru is getting under his skin to act on any of those urges.

He’s still entirely irritated with the way he’s looking up at Satoru from beneath those long lashes, his eyes a dark, glittering gold.

Though Satoru hesitates to use the word smoldering, because he is neither the protagonist of a young adult romantasy or a writer for shitty make-up commercials, it’s really the only word that comes to mind as he stares down at the other alpha.

It’s the only descriptor that really fits, because holding his gaze for more than a couple of seconds at a time makes Satoru burn.

It makes him throb, the want that stabs through him so sudden and violent that it sends a little shiver down Satoru’s spine, and when Suguru notices, when he gives Satoru another long, slow once-over that has him sucking in a harsh, startled breath, he chuckles again, the sound dark with intent. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time now, Satoru.”

Satoru scowls, even as his dick gives a traitorous twitch in his underwear at that honeyed voice, the way the words drip from Suguru’s tongue. 

“Stop - stop fucking say my name like that.”

“Like what?” 

He has the nerve to look surprised, like he doesn’t know what Satoru’s talking about - it pisses Satoru right the fuck off, and so he stomps over to where he’s sitting, pulling him up by the collar of his dark plaid shirt and forcing him back to his feet. 

“Like you like saying it,” he snaps.

Suguru smirks up at him as he gently plucks Satoru’s fingers from the fabric, curling his (very big, very warm) palm around his hand and holding it tight. 

“I do like saying it,” he admits. “It’s a pretty name.”

Satoru flushes. “Stop it.”

“Satoru,” he purrs, really drawing out the syllables, and oh -

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

That shouldn’t make him feel warm and cold all over, the stab of arousal that lances through his belly strong enough to have him stifling a groan despite the irritation curling through his veins. 

But it is.

It is, dammit, and so Satoru jerks himself away, plopping himself down onto the bed with a harsh sigh and grabbing for his phone as Suguru watches. His anger fades as quickly as it had come, replaced with a strange combination of wariness and eager anticipation; he finds his fingers slipping as he tries to navigate to his emails, looking for the confirmation email that he'd gotten from the agency.

Suguru doesn’t miss it.

“Satoru,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?” 

For once today, he sounds serious.

He sounds like he’s dropped the act, like he’s done trying to get into Satoru’s pants, his coy flirtation replaced with what sounds like concern. 

And normally, Satoru would appreciate that.

He’d appreciate any and all attempts to put him at ease, even if they did nothing of the sort. But the fire raging in his blood can only be soothed by one thing at this point, and it sure as hell isn’t calm, deliberate conversation.

“It’s nothing,” he snaps, finally finding the email. “Just - gimme a second.” 

Suguru doesn’t reply to that, merely studying him curiously.

It gives Satoru the time he needs to read over the email he’s just located, poring over all of the details; he goes through each and every form he had filled out for the agency with meticulous scrutiny, looking for any discrepancies in the answers he gave and the options that person he spoke with selected.

To his very great frustration, though, there aren’t any. 

Underneath his name, in the dropdown menu where one states their secondary gender, the option for alpha is selected. 

And just below that, in the box where one can list their preferences for a partner, two out of the three available choices are selected.

Beta and omega.

The option for alpha is left unchecked, because Satoru hadn’t thought to check it, and so the fact that Suguru’s here, that he’s been given Satoru’s name by the agency in spite of his initial consultation - 

Fuck.

Fuck, what the actual shit - 

And maybe it’s just a clerical error. Maybe it’s just an honest-to-god mistake.

He seriously doubts this is a product of malicious intent.

But the fact remains that Satoru is quickly approaching a full-blown rut; he has very little time remaining before his lucidity fades away and he’s consumed with the urge to fuck and knot and breed whatever tight, little hole he can find, and so the two of them need to sort this out as quickly as possible.

He looks up at Suguru, fixes him with a wary eye. 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts. “But I think there’s been a mistake.”

Suguru quirks a brow. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“What? No, that’s not - fuck no, I don’t want to spend a rut alone.”

Suguru nods, as if that makes sense. “Then is it me you have a problem with? Do you not like the way that I look?”

Satoru likes the way Suguru looks very fucking much, actually. 

He’s probably the hottest person Satoru thinks he’s ever seen, except for maybe himself, and that’s not a compliment he gives lightly! 

But in a way, he does have a problem with Suguru.

If not because it’s a bad match, then because he’s not what Satoru was expecting. He is utterly unprepared to go through a rut with another alpha, especially one who is also about to go into rut. He is completely at a loss at for what to do, Jesus Christ -

He exhales out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair.

“You look fine. You look… really fucking good, actually,” he admits. 

Then, feeling like a grade-A piece of shit, he adds, “But I didn’t ask for this.”

Suguru blinks, glancing down at how his leg is tapping nervously against the floor, the way the sweat is literally dripping down his face. “What do you mean?”

“I asked the agency to set me up with an omega,” Satoru clarifies. “Or a beta, not -”

Understanding flashes across Suguru’s face, followed quickly by something that almost looks like - like hurt, maybe? It’s hard to say, because he tamps it down almost immediately, buries it down deeper somewhere Satoru can’t see. His entire expression shutters, concern replaced with something very carefully neutral. 

Satoru decides he hates it. 

“Ah,” Suguru finally says. “That’s…” 

He sinks back down into the chair, digging a thumb into his forehead. 

“Fuck.”

Satoru chokes out a laugh, grimacing. “Yeah, fuck.”

They sit in silence for a minute, both of them contemplating what to do. Satoru watches as Suguru slowly chews on his lip, the furrow of his brows only deepening the longer they go without speaking, and just as Satoru can take no more -

“What do you want to do, then?”

Satoru blinks. “Do?”

Suguru gives a helpless little laugh, throwing his hands wide in frustration. 

“I mean, you’re about ten minutes away from a full-blown rut,” he says, “and I’m not too far behind. You might not have signed up for this, Satoru, and it might not be what you wanted. That’s fair. But we both know it’s too late for either of us to find another partner. So I’ll ask you one more time - what do you want to do?”

Satoru hesitates. “I…”

“Do you want me to go?” Suguru asks, glancing away. “Do you want me to leave?”

No, Satoru realizes with a sudden pang. 

He doesn’t want Suguru to go. 

Though every instinct in his body is urging him to fight, to bare his teeth and toss Suguru to the bed and force him to submit, there’s another part of him that relishes the thought of a challenge, that’s thrumming with the heady anticipation of a fight. 

He wants to pin Suguru to the bed, wants to sink his teeth into his throat - 

Or maybe he wants to be pinned, to have Suguru on top of and all around him, fuck.

He doesn’t know.

He’s not sure which impulse is stronger, both thoughts making his dick hard as a fucking rock, and so he clears his throat, glancing back across the room.

“What do you want?” 

Suguru frowns, taken aback. “What?”

“What do you want, Suguru?” 

Satoru shifts on the bed, tossing his phone aside and sitting up straight as he gives the other man his full attention. The movement has his cock rubbing against the mattress, has his tip fucking leaking in his boxers; he only barely stifles his moan, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and Suguru stiffens.

His gaze is glued to the space between Satoru’s spread thighs, to the wet patch staining his underwear. His eyes are locked on the long, hard line of Satoru’s cock, pressing insistently against the blue fabric, and that’s -

“I want you,” he admits, exhaling out a sharp breath. “I want - fuck, Satoru.”

Satoru can’t help but preen under the attention. “Yeah?”

“You’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen, and this -” Suguru pauses, swallows. “It might not be what you asked for, Satoru. But it’s exactly what I like.” 

Satoru doesn’t bother trying to conceal the sound he makes this time.

Nor does he hide the way his cock twitches behind his hand, instead leaving it on full display for Suguru to see, and oh -

The way his eyes narrow has Satoru grinning, feeling a little feral as he asks, “Yeah? You fuck around with other alphas?”

“I fuck other alphas,” Suguru clarifies, the way he leans forward in his chair nothing short of predatory, and Jesus fucking Christ - 

This is a bad idea.

This is - a very bad idea, Satoru tells himself.

But he’s never been one to shy away from an occasionally glorious fuck-up, and Suguru has some experience and is also really, really hot, so - if he’s going to fuck around and find out, he supposes it might as well as be here and now, with the most beautiful, glorious alpha Satoru’s ever seen.

He takes a deep breath, his decision made, and glances up at Suguru.

“Okay, then,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Suguru doesn’t move a muscle; his eyes are glued on Satoru’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort, or maybe misgivings. 

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

Satoru huffs to try and hide the way his cheeks flare with heat, even as he knows it’s probably completely lost in the way he’s already flushed pink.

“I won’t make it easy on you,” he warns.

Suguru huffs out a laugh. 

He relaxes a bit, his fingers starting to toy with the buttons of his shirt. 

“I’d hope not.”

“And don’t assume. Maybe I’ll fuck you,” Satoru throws out.

The look that earns him is patronizing, entirely condescending. 

“You can try,” Suguru scoffs, and that -

It makes Satoru angry.

It also really, really turns him on, and he finds his hand trailing down his chest, palming at his cock before he even realizes what he’s doing. He fists a hand around his length, bucking up into his fist as Suguru pushes the shirt from his shoulders and his pants from his hips. He strokes himself hard and fast, not even bothering to remove his underwear, his tongue darting out to wet his lips -

But Suguru doesn’t come any closer.

He makes no move to join Satoru on the bed, content with watching him from afar, and so Satoru’s movements slow, his cock aching as his fingers brush teasingly over the head, tugging at his foreskin.

“What’re you waiting for?” he huffs, impatient. 

That seems to amuse Suguru. 

He grins as he snakes a hand down and grabs at Satoru’s elbow; his long fingers wrap around the joint, urging Satoru’s arm to resume its prior movements. 

“Get yourself off,” he murmurs, staring up at Satoru as he kneels between his spread thighs, making himself comfortable on the floor. “Make yourself cum.”

Satoru scowls, even as his lungs heave out another shuddering breath, his thumb sinking traitorously into the spot just beneath his cockhead. 

“Isn’t that your job?” he demands, eyes narrowing. 

“Maybe,” Suguru allows. “If you want.”

He hasn’t relinquished his grip on Satoru’s elbow, is in fact gripping him so hard it’s sure to leave a mark - but Satoru doesn’t mind. If anything, that just spurs him on, the extra challenge making him work a little harder to bring himself to completion, and so he forces his hand to speed up, frantically tugging at his dick.

Suguru makes an appreciative noise, watching intently as he tips closer and closer to the edge. He drinks down every little sound Satoru makes, every little noise -

And when Satoru’s movements go frantic, when his breathing gets erratic and he feels his balls start to draw up, his orgasm imminent, Suguru pounces.

He lunges forward, knocking Satoru’s hand away from his dick and pinning him to the bed with a precision as infuriating as it is sexy. A thigh is shoved into Satoru’s groin, an elbow pressed against his throat as Suguru forces him to submit.

Satoru snarls, as much at the sudden movement as because of his aborted release. 

He is furious, enraged -

But when he tries to flip them, he finds Suguru to be quite the immovable object. 

His weight is impossible to move, his bulk utterly resistant to all of Satoru’s attempts to throw him off. He can do little more than writhe around in his grip, his hips bucking pathetically as he seeks out friction, seeks out heat, and Suguru, the bastard, grins.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he coos. “Can’t move?”

“Asshole,” Satoru snaps. “You - fucking asshole.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, presses his elbow a little harder against his throat. “That’s no way to get what you want.”

Satoru finally gets his feet free, plants them firmly on the bed. 

He uses his long limbs to push Suguru up and off him, twisting at the very last second to duck up and under those firm, muscular arms. He pushes Suguru down, the hand he slaps against his neck crushing him into the pillows, and then slings his weight atop him, pinning him to the bed with his hips.

It’s a mistake.

It’s a big fucking error, because he’s still about five seconds away from blowing his load; the heat and friction of Suguru’s abs as they press against his cock is more than enough to make him shatter, and he falls forward with a ragged cry as he cums.

Suguru doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He flips them again, this time pressing Satoru face-first into the mattress. He brackets his hips with his thighs and his head with his elbows, leaning down to bite at the shell of his ear, to press his nose against the column of his throat and his big, fat cock into the cleft of his ass, and Satoru, dammit, is still fucking coming.

He whines at the pressure. 

He whines at the way the mattress presses against his sensitive, still-twitching dick, and when Suguru fists a hand in his hair, forcibly lifting his head from the pillows, he gasps, barely able to draw breath. 

“Last chance to back out,” Suguru murmurs, slowly rutting against him. It feels amazing, Satoru thinks, far more than it should. It has him pressing back against Suguru’s weight, canting his hips up and back in the hopes that his cock will slip and press against something more sensitive - between his thighs, maybe, or perhaps nudging at his balls. “Last chance to change your mind.”

The growl that rumbles up and out of Satoru’s chest at the thought of stopping is low, rough - a warning. He glares back over his shoulder, irate -

“I won’t go easy on you, princess.” 

The pet name has Satoru’s cheeks burning. 

It has him snarling at nothing, even as his spent cock starts filling out again between his thighs; he jerks uselessly in Suguru’s grasp as the fingers threaded through his hair tighten, pulling painfully tight. 

“You want my cock?” he murmurs, licking at Satoru’s scent gland. “My knot?”

Satoru gets an arm free, thrusts his elbow back.

It catches Suguru in the jaw, the hit drawing a low, pained grunt from his lips; he snaps his hips forward with brutal force, the hand in Satoru’s hand shifting to press against the nape of his neck, squeezing. 

“Careful, Satoru,” he warns. 

Satoru bares his teeth, defiant. Though a part of him realizes it’s probably a bad move to antagonize the alpha pinning him to the bed, the baser, more primitive part of his mind is telling him to fight, to refuse to submit. It’s making his vision go red, and when Suguru just presses into him a little harder, his grip on Satoru’s arm hard enough to ache, he rebels. 

He resists, summoning all of his considerable strength in a last-ditch attempt to kick Suguru up and off him. And for a moment, it works -

He manages to push Suguru off him, to shove him far enough away that Satoru can grab him by the wrists and put him flat on his back. 

The movement drives the breath from his lungs, and Satoru grins down at him, a little wild; the glee that courses through him is absolutely unhinged, and he grinds his hips down into Suguru’s lap, forces their cocks together. 

“Or what?” he sneers, enjoying the way Suguru’s eyes have gone dark with lust. “What’ll you do?” 

He leans forward, presses their foreheads together.

“You gonna punish me? Tame me into submission?”

Suguru huffs out a laugh, lips curling up into a smirk.

Then he surges forward, capturing Satoru’s mouth with a kiss that is more teeth than tongue, biting at his mouth hard enough to sting.

Satoru moans, his hips stuttering forward as he grinds down.

His boxers are a hot, sticky mess at this point, stuck to his body with a disgusting mixture of sweat and cum - but Suguru is hardly in better shape, and when he presses their cocks together, when he shifts to the side a bit and really ruts up against him, it is just so good, the pleasure that rushes through him enough to have every thought in his head evaporating, replaced with pleasant, hazy white noise.

He leans into the kiss, forcing his tongue past Suguru’s lips - 

And Suguru sucks him in, his teeth scraping Satoru’s mouth, drinking him down. 

He crushes Satoru to him, overpowering the hold Satoru has on his wrists in favor of wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He wraps his thighs up and around Satoru’s hips, the heel of his foot digging into the small of Satoru’s back; it forces them even closer together, every last bit of distance between their bodies disintegrating as Suguru slowly grinds their hips together, and Satoru keens.

His lips go slack, his grip loosening.

When Suguru thinks to flip them again, caging him in without breaking the kiss even once, he doesn’t protest. He can’t, even, too dumbstruck with pleasure to complain.

Instead, he just focuses on the hot slide of Suguru’s tongue against his, the insistent press of his lips; Suguru licks into his mouth like he owns him, the hold he has on Satoru’s jaw proprietary.

And Satoru fucking loves it, pressing in close even as he tries to shrink away.

Suguru chuckles at that, pulling back so that he can hook a finger into the fat of Satoru’s cheek. He pulls it taut, staring Satoru right in the eye as he fucking spits in his mouth, and that’s -

“Swallow it,” Suguru urges. 

Satoru refuses, gags.

The hand Suguru has at his shoulder comes up to his neck, pressing firmly against his throat, his windpipe. It makes Satoru light-headed, dizzy, the sounds he makes as he sucks down what little oxygen he can raspy and harsh. 

It makes him throb, his cock once again so hard he feels he might burst.

Still, he shakes his head. 

He won’t give in, he won’t submit -

But Suguru’s eyes just flash, the gold almost completely eclipsed with black as his rut‘s taken effect; his gaze is hot, heated, burning.

It makes Satoru want to obey, want to give in to his every whim - 

Because Suguru will take care of him, yeah?

He’ll make sure to give as good as he gets, he’ll give Satoru what he needs. 

Though he’s only known the guy for a few days now, Satoru is sure of this assessment; he’s sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that if Satoru submits to him, if he bares his throat and stops fighting, Suguru will make it worth his while. 

It’s strangely appealing.

Probably because Satoru’s never done something like that before, but also because he kinda hates being in charge all the time, yeah? Like, he’s the manager at work, and he’s the heir to his family’s business; he is the person that people look up to, that brilliant, dominant alpha that everyone thinks has all the answers.

And sure, most of the time, he does. 

But the idea of relinquishing that title for a minute is kinda hot; the thought of ceding that responsibility to someone else is… god, it’s intoxicating, the more he thinks about it the more he desperately wants it.

Just this once would be okay, right?

Just this one time?

It’s not like anyone else would ever know. 

The whole point of an anonymous rut partner is that it’s fucking anonymous, and so maybe, just maybe, he can let himself go. 

Maybe he can take, instead of give.

And so Satoru swallows, choking around the spit and saliva pooling in his mouth.

He gags, eyes watering as the pressure at his throat momentarily increases, his vision going a little black around the edges. Though Suguru hasn’t so much as touched him, his cock is dripping between his thighs, so hard it fucking hurts, and when he pulls back, shifting his arm to remove the pressure from Satoru’s throat -

Satoru sobs, coming so hard he sees stars.

He gasps, tears leaking from his eyes as he sucks down oxygen, and goes limp, all of his muscles relaxing at once as he sags back into the bed.

Suguru makes a low, soft noise of approval, nosing at his cheek.

“Good boy,” he purrs, the satisfaction evident in his voice. “You did so good, Satoru, so good for me - so pretty when you cum, baby, so beautiful.”

Satoru whines, pulling away.

Because it’s not enough. 

Though Suguru’s praise of him is nice, it’s not what he needs right now; it’s not quite scratching the itch, and so he squirms beneath his grip, his cock still inexplicably hard. The fire is still burning under his skin; he hasn’t popped a knot yet, and so he snakes a hand down between their bodies, sliding his fingers through his own spend before he grabs his dick, tugging at himself hard enough that the pleasure borders on pain.

“Suguru,” he chokes. “I…”

Suguru nips at his jaw, his lips skirting over his cheek to the scent glands beneath his ear. He licks at the sensitive skin, covering Satoru in his dark, ashy scent -

And Satoru, too far gone in his own need to protest, just lets him.

He lets him, baring his throat and whining like a goddamn brat.

“What is it, sweetheart? What do you need?”

Satoru shakes his head, stroking his length a bit more firmly.

Suguru clicks his tongue, batting his hand away.

“Use your words,” he chastises, even as Satoru growls out his displeasure.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, reaching for himself again.

But Suguru holds him fast, grabbing his sticky hand and pinning it to the bedspread. He gets right in Satoru’s face and snarls, refusing to let him touch his cock -

And when Satoru just falls back against the bedspread with a weak, wounded noise, he croons, smiling down at him even as he pulls Satoru’s hand to his face. 

He licks him clean, licks the cum from his palm.

The way he slides his tongue between Satoru’s fingers is lewd, obscene; it makes Satoru’s cock twitch and leak against his stomach, makes him wonder what it would feel like to have Suguru’s mouth around him. 

It makes him desperate to have something hot and wet around his dick, and so he forces himself still, hoping Suguru will have mercy on him.

Suguru purrs at the display, sitting back on his haunches. 

He hovers over Satoru, not quite touching him as he stares down at him - and when Satoru doesn’t move, when he doesn’t immediately take the opportunity to fight back, he grins, smoothing the hair back from his face. 

“Look at you,” he breathes. “All pliant for me, all obedient.”

He hooks a hand in the waistband of Satoru’s boxers, easily tugging them off.

“You’ve made such a mess of yourself, Satoru,” he chastises.

As if to emphasize this, he bends over, licking a long stripe up Satoru’s stomach. He cleans the mess from his skin with his tongue, and when he glances back up from between Satoru’s thighs, his eyes are wicked.

“You taste sweet,” he teases. “Almost like an omega.”

He presses his lips to Satoru’s cock, sinks down on him in one fluid movement. The way he tongues at his length as he swallows him whole has Satoru throwing his head back against the pillows, the moan that rips its way out of his throat deep, guttural.

“Suguru,” he pants, his hand darting out to catch Suguru’s head, to hold him fast. 

But Suguru doesn’t like that. 

He pops off Satoru’s dick with a loud, wet smack, yanking Satoru’s hand from his hair. He twists it, shoves it behind his back so that Satoru is lying on top of it, and when he makes a weak, pathetic noise in response -

“Don’t touch me,” he grins. “Not if you want to cum.”

Satoru whines, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Just lie there and take it,” Suguru urges. “Be a good boy, just for me.”

A sob leaves his mouth - but when Suguru pulls back, relinquishing his grip on Satoru’s arm, he doesn’t try to yank it free. 

Instead, he obeys, and Suguru hums, pleased.

“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” he asks, thumbing at Satoru’s lips. 

“No, I - I was good,” Satoru says.

“You were very good,” Suguru agrees. 

“Can I - will you suck me off now?”

Suguru laughs, shoving a finger past Satoru’s lips. He chokes at the intrusion, at how the one finger is quickly joined with another; he gags at how Suguru hooks his entire hand into his mouth and pulls, forcing his head down, to the side.

“Do you think you deserve that?” he asks. 

Satoru nods, desperate. 

“Do you deserve to fuck my mouth?”

Please.

Though he tries to speak it, his mouth is too full for anything but a low, plaintive noise to spill free, and Suguru smiles, laughs again.

“It would make it easier for me to fuck you,” he muses, glancing down at where Satoru’s length is twitching uselessly against his stomach. “And you have such a pretty, pink cock.”

Please please please please please -

Suguru bends at the waist, his smirk mischievous. He hovers over the tip of Satoru’s cock for a moment, watching the way it fucking leaks. 

He seems to relish the sight, pinching at Satoru’s thigh a little meanly -

But then he swallows him down again, not stopping until Satoru’s length is hitting the back of his throat, and Satoru keens. 

He wails, the urge to touch Suguru almost overwhelming. 

Only almost, though, because he doesn’t want this to stop. He doesn’t want Suguru to let up, the hot, wet slide of his tongue so good he thinks he’s in real danger of popping a knot. He licks and sucks his way all the way up Satoru’s dick, one hand at the base to keep him steady, and when the other rips free of his mouth to slink down and toy with his balls -

“S‘guru,” he slurs, gasping for breath. “Knot.”

Suguru hums, swirling his tongue across the rapidly expanding base of his dick. “I can see that,” he says, reaching for something in his discarded pants.

“Can I - can I put it in your mouth?”

Suguru pulls back, his smile sweet, kind. “No.”

Satoru feels like he could cry, the noise he makes inhuman. 

But then Suguru’s putting something on his cock, some kind of sleeve that sinks right over his knot and pulls tight - like a compression sock, almost, or some kind of wrap. It’s warm from where it’s been sitting in his pocket, and combined with the pressure -

Fuck, it feels just like a cunt.

It feels tight, and warm, and sinful against his dick, and he can’t quite help the way his hips start stuttering up into nothing.

“You can’t knot someone’s mouth, Satoru,” Suguru chides, watching his pathetic little movements with amusement. “Not without dislocating their jaw.”

Satoru just shakes his head, too close to really pay much attention. 

“You can cum in my mouth, though. Would you like that?”

Satoru does hear that. 

He nods furiously, moaning, watching intently as Suguru sinks back down onto his tip, as he wraps his lips around Satoru’s cockhead and sucks -

Fuck, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

It also feels really fucking good, and Satoru manages only one, two, three more thrusts of his hips before he’s coming hot and hard on Suguru’s tongue.

He can’t swallow it all, of course.

This is a knot-induced orgasm, one intended to breed - there’s too much cum for Suguru to take all at once, and so he just sucks him down until his mouth is full. 

Then he pulls back, gently pressing Satoru’s cock up towards his abdomen so that he’s coming on himself instead of all of the bed. Even that slight pressure has Satoru seeing stars, and he groans, soft, painting his own chest white with his release.

Suguru helps him through it, his gaze never once leaving Satoru’s face as he stares down at him, as he presses against his cock.

It’s surprisingly intimate, and Satoru finds himself blushing.

But if Suguru thinks it’s humiliating, if he thinks the way Satoru turns his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut is funny, he doesn’t say. Instead, he just coaxes him through it, murmuring soft little encouragements under his breath as Satoru floats in the haze of a knot-induced orgasm; he waits until Satoru’s dick has stopped twitching before he pulls his hand away, and even then, he doesn’t go far. 

He just heads over to his bag, dragging it across the room so that it’s within arm’s reach, and plucks it open to grab a towel.

“Here,” Suguru says, gently pressing the towel into his hands. “Clean yourself up.”

Satoru groans, pulling his aching hands from behind his back. 

“I’ll leave the sleeve on your knot until it goes down, but then we need to take it off. Keeping them on for too long can cut off your circulation.”

“How do you -” 

Satoru winces, bringing a hand to his throat. It’s surprisingly sore, though whether it’s from how much he’s been moaning or Suguru’s earlier rough treatment of him, it’s hard to say. Still, he tries again, forces the words past his lips.

“How did you know to do that?” he asks, glancing down at his cock.

Suguru smirks, patting at his thigh as he flicks the cap off the bottle of lube that’s suddenly appeared in his hands. 

“Like I said, Satoru - I mostly fuck other alphas,” he says. “That means knowing how to care for someone through a rut, how to… improvise.” 

Fuck. 

Satoru can’t help but shiver, looking down at the substantial bulge in Suguru’s underwear. It’s just as big as his own cock, he reckons - bigger, maybe. And he’s definitely already cum once, if the wet spot on the front is any indication. 

He’s a little embarrassed to realize that he has no idea when it might’ve happened, too caught up in his own pleasure. 

Suguru doesn’t seem to hold it against him, though. He’s still looking down at Satoru like he‘s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, like he wants to fucking devour him whole.

Satoru’s of half a mind to let him. 

But… how is that going to fit inside him? 

On a purely practical note, how is he going to take Suguru’s knot?

He’s surprised at how much he wants it.

He’s startled at how very good that sounds.

But though he can admit he’s played around with himself a bit in his free time, that he knows what it’s like to have his own fingers up his ass, toying with his prostate, he’s never taken someone else’s cock before. He’s never even used a dildo on himself, and those are much smaller than an alpha dick complete with an alpha knot.

His trepidation must show on his face, because Suguru chuckles.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby? You scared?”

“No,” Satoru spits out, automatic. Then, thinking better of it, he adds, “Yes.”

Suguru grins, spreading his fingers around to get the lube nice and warm before he presses his hand against Satoru’s hole, circling around his rim. 

“Don’t worry, Satoru,” he croons, slowly sinking the first finger into him.

Satoru makes a low, soft noise at the intrusion, head falling back against the sheets.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” Suguru continues. 

Satoru takes a deep breath, hums.

Then, exhaling it all out, he says, “Okay. You can move.”

Suguru gives him a pretty little wink as he pushes Satoru’s leg up to his chest, moving one of his hands to hold himself open. 

“I won’t even knot you, if it’s too much for you to take.”

“And if I -” Satoru pauses, swallowing. “If I want your knot?” 

Suguru smiles, pleased. 

He leans down to press a kiss to the inside of Satoru’s knee, to mouth at the jut of his hip, his teeth scraping over the bone hard enough to leave a mark.

“Then I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Satoru.”

Dangerous words, Satoru thinks. 

Satoru wants an awful lot. 

But he also doesn’t want to get ahead of himself here, and so he tries to focus on what Suguru’s doing between his legs, on the slow, insistent plunge of his finger in and out of his ass. He lets himself get lost in it, the initial burn fading fast to a dull, pleasant fullness, a promise of things to come. 

Then, once he’s feeling a little more like himself, he glances back down at Suguru, almost shy as he says, “You can add another.”

Suguru lifts a brow, but complies. “You done this before?”

Satoru nods. “Few times, yeah. When I’m in the mood.”

Suguru’s eyes darken, the next thrust of his fingers a little sharper. “And how often are you in the mood, Satoru?”

He shrugs, letting out a shaky breath at Suguru grazes against him, as his questing fingers tease at his prostate. “Not that often,” he admits. “Just - fuck, right there.”

Instantly, Suguru removes the pressure.

Satoru glares up at him, jaw clenched tight - but the snarl that Suguru makes has him sinking back down into the sheets with a whine, pliant and submissive once again. 

“I’ll ask you again, Satoru - how often are you in the mood?”

“It’s not like I count,” he snaps.

Suguru hums. “Your best guess, then.”

“…couple times a month. Maybe.”

Those dark eyes flash with something possessive, something wanton. It makes Satoru’s breath hitch, and when Suguru slips in a third finger, followed quickly by a fourth, he whines. He pants, shallowly rocking his hips back to meet each thrust of Suguru’s fingers, each press of his palm against the sensitive skin beneath his balls. 

Fuck, it’s good.

It’s rougher than he usually is with himself, more focused - but he’s also a lot more relaxed than normal, his limbs still loose and limber with pleasure. Popping a knot earlier means the fire burning in his veins isn’t quite so strong now, and so Suguru presses into him easily, curling and spreading his fingers like it’s nothing; after just a short while, Satoru doesn’t even feel the stretch anymore and he looks down, about to tell Suguru he’s ready -

Only to find that Suguru’s gotten something else out of his bag.

He’s twirling a long silicone rod in his hand, about the same diameter as three of his fingers. It’s vaguely shaped like a dildo, and Satoru barely has the time to wonder what he’s going to do with it when he feels it slide between his cheeks, pressing insistently against his hole.

The noise he makes is confused, a little panicked.

Suguru shushes him, bending forward to nip at his jaw. “It’s just a toy,” he says, bearing down with his shoulders to pin Satoru to the bed.

“So?” Satoru shoots back. “Why do you need it?”

Suguru hums, withdrawing two of his fingers so he can slip the dildo inside. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Satoru,” he teases. “But I’m kinda big.”

Satoru groans, trying to get used to the increased stretch. Though it doesn’t hurt, exactly, Suguru’s initial prep very thorough, it’s still kind of a lot; he still feels… really, really full, pushed almost to his limits. Each press of Suguru’s fingers and the toy against his walls has him gasping for breath, little moans and broken noises punched from his lungs with each and every thrust. 

It’s too much, he thinks. It’s too much.

But it’s also really, really good, and soon enough, he finds himself meeting Suguru halfway, snapping his hips down as Suguru presses his hand up. 

The stretch is delicious. 

It burns.

Satoru is writhing against the sheets, the desire flooding his body leaving him aching and desperate. Every movement of Suguru’s hands has the toy pressing against his prostate; it has him back to full hardness again in no time, his cock dripping as it bounces back against his stomach, and Suguru -

“Fuck, you just keep sucking me in,” he groans. 

He snakes a hand down, rips the compression band from Satoru’s cock.

“Want my cock now? Want me to fuck that pretty little hole?”

And like, objectively, yes. 

Satoru does want that.

But the word triggers something in his subconscious, a growl ripping its way out of his throat before he can think to draw it back as his instincts flare. He shoves Suguru away, kicks out at him with his feet as he tries to gain the upper hand -

Only for Suguru to catch him by the knees and splay him wide open, his fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as he forces Satoru back down to the bed.

“I thought we were past this, Satoru,” he hums, laughing.

Satoru jerks up, fangs bared. 

Suguru only barely moves out of the way in time, and when he glances back down, his good humor is gone, replaced with something darker.

He easily avoids the next punch Satoru throws his way, ducking into his chest and then rolling the both of them over so that they’re on their sides. The angle allows him to lock an ankle around one of Satoru’s knees, to tug him back by the elbow until the joint threatens to dislocate; then he’s pressing his other hand to Satoru’s face, shoving him ruthlessly down into the pillows as he growls into his neck.

The way Suguru grinds his cock against Satoru’s ass is humiliating.

It makes every instinct within him rebel.

But Suguru doesn’t let up the pressure. The next time Satoru tries to break free of the cage of his arms, he bites down, hard; his fangs rip through skin and muscle, digging deep into the flesh, and Satoru wants to fight back, he does.

He wants to push Suguru off him, get in his face, and snarl.

The fight’s done nothing to cool the red hot arousal pooling in his belly, though, and when Suguru’s tip catches on his stretched rim, when the leg he has wrapped around his knee slips forward, makes him arch his back -

He moans.

He moans like a fucking omega in heat, so wanton even he can hear it, and goes pliant enough that Suguru can manhandle him onto his stomach. 

In no time, Suguru has him presenting; he has him on all fours, face pressed into the sheets, supporting his weight on his elbows as he tilts his hips up. The hand he has splayed against Satoru’s lower back is firm, possessive, the other curling around his hip to make sure he’s not going to try and flip them again.

But Satoru is getting desperate.

The urge to fuck something (or to be fucked, what the hell, he doesn’t know anymore) is so strong he’s shaking, his fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. 

There’s spit dripping down his chin and blood trickling down his neck, and if Suguru doesn’t get on with it, if he doesn’t fucking help a guy out here -

Suguru shoves all the way into him with one hard thrust. 

It is sharp, brutal; the noise Satoru makes is so loud and guttural it echoes off the walls, and when Suguru doesn’t give him any time to adjust, when he just pulls his hips back and then thrusts them back forward, he keens.

Above him, he hears Suguru chuckle.

“Look at you,” he coos, grabbing at Satoru’s hips. “So pretty for me, on your knees.”

He picks him up and spreads him open, spitting on his hole and then fucking it into him, and when Satoru just clenches around him in response, the pleasure and sting all bleeding together into one, big hazy feeling he doesn’t know what to do with, he moans. 

“This is my favorite part,” Suguru admits, bending over so that he can speak directly into Satoru’s ear. “This is what I like the most.”

A particularly vicious piston of his hips has Satoru seeing stars, has him throwing his back against Suguru’s shoulder. 

Suguru abandons his hold on Satoru’s waist in favor of digging a hand into his hair, keeping his neck on full display as he buries his face in his throat, scenting him.

“Getting another alpha to submit, to beg for my cock… there’s nothing else like it.”

Satoru hiccups out a delirious laugh, eyes rolling.

“Do you hear me begging?” he demands. 

Suguru hums and bites his ear. “You will,” he retorts. 

“Make me,” Satoru tosses back.

Only to yelp when Suguru makes good on his promise, when he jerks back up to a kneeling position and takes Satoru with him. He wraps an arm around his waist, fucks into him fast and hard and deep - 

And Satoru can just barely manage to hang on, the hand Suguru has wrapped his jaw keeping him locked into place.

“You wanna cum, Satoru?” he pants.

Yes. 

“You wanna pop a knot over nothing again,” he asks, the hand at Satoru’s waist snaking down to brush against his dick, the softest glide of his knuckles against his heated skin, “want me to jerk this useless cock off ‘til you cum?” 

Yes, god, fuck yes. 

But he won’t give Suguru the satisfaction of a verbal response. 

He can’t, isn’t quite far gone enough for that.

As if he knows this, Suguru grins against his face, presses a wet, sticky kiss to his cheek right before he pushes him back down into the sheets. 

“I won’t touch you until you beg for it. I won’t touch you until you’re sobbing for me.” 

…okay, maybe Satoru is that far gone.

Because the thought of not getting to cum, of Suguru denying him an orgasm, makes him both furious and despondent. He twists his head over his shoulder, beseeching -

Only to find himself literally lost for words at what he sees.

There’s blood smeared across Suguru’s mouth, sweat dripping down his temples. His dark hair is plastered to his neck, a handful of pieces springing free to fall into his eyes; Satoru lets his gaze follow the dark, silken curtain of it down to his shoulders. He watches the way it flows across his chest, the way each muscle in his abdomen clenches and shifts as he steadily pumps his cock in and out of Satoru’s hole, as he fucks him hard enough to sting.

Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone quite so beautiful.

He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone he’s wanted as much as he wants Suguru Geto in this moment, and so he opens his mouth, tears pricking his eyes, and begs.

He pleads, the words dripping from his lips of their own volition.

“Touch me,” he gasps. “Touch me, Suguru, please, fuck, please -”

Suguru grins, beatific. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he agrees, leaning forward to palm Satoru’s cock as Satoru trembles and shakes beneath him. 

He presses a kiss to Satoru’s temple, noses at his ear.

“All you had to do was ask.”

Neither of them lasts long, after that.

Suguru’s barely even started jerking him off before Satoru’s knot begins to swell; instead of pulling away, he just tightens his grip, and when Satoru cums, when his breathing goes ragged and his eyes roll back and his lips part, he cums hard.

He all but collapses into the sheets, fucking down into the mattress with a gasp. 

He ruts into the sheets, even as Suguru fucks into his ass, so far gone that he barely even notices the extra pressure pressing against his rim, and when he can finally speak again -

“Suguru,” he croaks. 

Suguru just grunts, grinding his knot into him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.

“‘s too big,” he slurs. “Won’t fit.”

“Shhhhh,” Suguru murmurs. “It’ll fit, baby. You’ll see.”

Satoru’s pleased to hear how strained his voice is, how much he’s focusing on not losing control. Though he’s an alpha in rut, an alpha in his prime, he’s still capable of keeping his head and maintaining his focus, and that’s -

Fuck, it’s hot. 

It’s really, really hot, and when he finally forces his knot past Satoru’s rim, when it locks into place as he cums, he makes the most beautiful sound Satoru’s ever heard as he moans into Satoru’s shoulder.

He’s inordinately pleased to have been the one to draw it out of him. 

They stay like that for a moment, both of them breathing hard. 

But it’s not a very comfortable position; Satoru’s hips are starting to hurt from how wide he has them canted, the cum on his stomach gone tacky. His shoulders ache from holding his weight up for so long, and his ass -

He must make a noise, because Suguru noses at the nape of his neck and makes a soft, inquisitive sound. “Need me to move?” he guesses. 

Satoru nods, and slowly, they tip over onto their sides.

They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, Satoru’s back pressed against Suguru’s front, and after settling in, Suguru hooks his chin over Satoru’s shoulder.

“See?” he breathes, licking at the bite on his neck. “Told you it would work.”

Satoru scoffs, shrugs him off, annoyed when Suguru just lets out an amused hum.

“You’re so precious,” he muses. “Taking your first knot, thinking it wouldn’t fit.” 

He presses another kiss to the back of Satoru’s neck, the warm, wet slide of it making Satoru want to both squirm away and press back into him. 

“Think you can take it again?”

The question has Satoru’s breath hitching, his cock twitching valiantly against the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhales a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Maybe,” he finally chokes out. “If you, like - give me an hour or two, prep me really well. Go slow.”

Suguru laughs, squeezes his hip. “I can go slow. I’m not an animal.”

“You sure about that?” Satoru snorts. “You sure bit me like one, fuck. That shit stings.”

“Mmm.” Suguru pulls back enough that he can look at the wound, gently brushing the hair back from his neck. “It is kinda deep.”

Satoru glares up at him. “Like I said. Animal.”

“You were the one acting like a brat,” Suguru informs him. 

And like, yeah.

A bit. 

But that doesn’t excuse that kind of behavior! 

Not when he’d bitten Satoru hard enough to scar -

And it’s not like Satoru’s concerned about a mating bond, or anything; the bite’s too low for that, sitting a good couple of centimeters below his scent glands, and he can get a bite guard out of his bag for the next round. 

That also means it’s going to be more difficult to hide though, that everyone who gets a good glimpse at his neck is going to see the faint imprint of Suguru’s teeth, and like.

What the fuck.

“I have some ointment and bandages in my bag,” Suguru says. “I can clean it up after we -” He pauses, clears his throat. “After we can, um, move again.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“And we should probably sleep in the other bed. This one is…”

“Disgusting? Gross? Wet?”

“…you know, I was gonna say dirty, but - yeah, fuck. It’s really fucking wet.”

Both of them laugh at that. 

Softly at first, and then, the more they think about it, harder. By the time they get it together, Satoru is wiping tears from his eyes and from the looks of it, Suguru isn’t much better. It puts him a little more at ease, and they spend the rest of the time it takes for their knots to go down trading gentle insults and cracking jokes.

Suguru pulls out of him slowly. 

The drag of his soft cock has Satoru wincing, curling up a bit involuntarily. The motion makes all of Suguru’s cum start to leak out of him at once, dripping down his thighs and onto the ruined sheets; it’s not an… entirely unpleasant feeling, he thinks, some part of him taking satisfaction in how much he’d made Suguru cum, how turned on he’d been to fuck Satoru.

But there’s just so fucking much of it, like -

Is this normal?

He has a brief feeling of guilt for every omega and beta he’s ever knotted without a condom now, fuck, because Jesus Christ, is it excessive.

“What the fuck,” he says as he sits up. 

Suguru raises a brow, already wiping off with a towel. “Problem?” 

“I am sitting in a pool of cum. Literally, sitting.”

Suguru glances down at the bed, sees that Satoru is, more or less, correct. 

Then, biting at his lip, he peers back up. 

“I mean, it’s kinda hot.” 

Satoru throws a towel at his head, even as he privately agrees. “Asshole.”

Suguru’s laughter follows him all the way into the bathroom, echoes in his mind as he steps into the shower and scrubs his body clean. It lives in his head rent free as he towels dry and slips a fresh pair of underwear over his hips, and when he finds Suguru waiting just outside the door for him, leaning against the wall like he has something he wants to say, he swallows.

But Suguru stays silent.

He doesn’t speak, and so Satoru clears his throat, jerks his head back towards the room at his back. “Bathroom’s free, if you wanna clean up.” 

Suguru hums. “In a minute.”

With a shrug, Satoru makes to brush past him - because whatever, he’s not gonna make the guy talk if he doesn’t want to. 

But at the last second, Suguru twists and catches his wrist, pulling just firmly enough to make him pause. 

“Everything good?” he asks.

Satoru frowns, not certain what he means.

“I mean, that was your first time with another alpha,” Suguru clarifies. “And I was kinda rough on you, so…”

Oh.

He’s concerned Satoru’s having regrets, wondering whether or not he’s having second thoughts about letting Suguru stay.

That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

It’s also entirely unnecessary, because that was some really great sex; like, he’s pretty sure it’s in his top five sexual encounters, no contest. 

Satoru has no regrets and no qualms about doing it again -

Which he tells Suguru, as bluntly as he can, right before he flicks open a menu for room service and asks if he’d rather split something or get his own meal. 

Suguru stares at him for a moment, blinks at him long and slow.

But eventually, he relaxes, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he peeks over Satoru’s shoulder, points out a couple of things he sees that he likes. He even rests a warm, gentle hand against his hip as they finalize their dinner order, squeezes his waist when Satoru tells him he’ll make the call.

“Thanks, Satoru,” he murmurs.

Then, with just a little hesitation, he leans forward to press a kiss to the side of his mouth before he slips away and locks himself in the bathroom, and Satoru -

“Yeah,” he croaks to an empty room, face red as a beet. “Don’t mention it.”

It’s the best rut Satoru thinks he’s ever had. 

Though a lot of it passes by in a bit of a blur, sure, there’s still plenty of time that Satoru spends completely lucid; there’s still a lot of moments where he and Suguru have time to talk, when they’re pressed together so closely that it’s hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends. They speak of everything and nothing as they wait for one (or both) of their knots to go down, talking about their jobs and their friends and their shared interests, and eventually, something shifts.

Something between them changes.

Though Satoru still finds it hard to just roll over and submit, though Suguru still has to snarl at him, and bite him, and put him in his place, it takes less and less time each round. He gives in a little quicker each time, ceding complete control to Suguru -

And each time, the reward is a little better.

Suguru worships him, adores him.

He presses his lips to Satoru’s neck and runs his hands all over Satoru’s body, reverent. He takes such good care of him, wringing orgasm after orgasm from his increasingly tired, desperate body, and afterwards, when his hips hurt from being held open and his neck throbs from where Suguru’s bitten him, when he’s so fucked out he can barely think -

Well, Suguru takes care of him then, too. 

He wipes Satoru down, and brings him snacks, and forces him to drink water. He rubs his back, and helps him into the shower, and tucks him into bed.

And Satoru tries to return the favor. 

He tries to remind Suguru that he too needs to eat, that he needs liquids and sleep and an occasional bath as much as Satoru does. 

But it seems Suguru is the type of person who’s more satisfied to give than to receive. He seems to get what he needs just from taking care of Satoru, from spreading his legs, pushing him down into the mattress, and fucking him slow, and hard, and deep, and like -

Satoru’s not gonna complain. 

He’s not gonna object to being spoiled rotten.

And so he doesn’t, content to simply bask in Suguru’s presence.

He’s kinda like the sun, Satoru thinks - warm and radiant and kind, and though he quickly learns that Suguru can also be really fucking mean when he wants to, he also finds that… he kinda likes it? Like, he enjoys the gentle ribbing, enjoys the way that Suguru will smile at him even as he calls him all sorts of names and criticizes his behavior. Mostly because Satoru can tell that he doesn’t really mean it, but also because Satoru’s kind of an asshole himself, right?

Like, it takes one to know one, and so instead of getting offended, Satoru just laughs.

He laughs, bright and loud and free, and tucks his head in against Suguru’s chest, chuckling into his sternum as a big, warm hand squeezes at his back.

It’s nice, he thinks.

It’s… really, really nice.

Which makes it difficult to pretend that none of this is real, that it’s all just anonymous rut sex - because sometimes, when Suguru looks at him, Satoru sees… something.

A glimmer, a glint of something true, something real.

It’s enough to make him wonder if maybe Suguru likes him back, if he’s become just as taken with Satoru as Satoru is with him, and that -

Well, that just kind of makes him want to cry. 

Because what had Shoko said about not getting attached again? 

What had she said about not getting too invested? 

Yeah, that’s gone right out the window. 

It’s been ruthlessly tossed aside, her good advice abandoned somewhere on the second day - when Satoru had settled himself down in Suguru’s lap and ridden him until he’d cum. He’d wrapped his arms around Suguru’s shoulders, their foreheads pressed together as he rolled his hips, and when Suguru had glanced up at him, looking at him like he’d hung the fucking stars in the sky -

Satoru had kissed him.

He’d kissed him like he never wanted to stop, until he was so fucked out that he could do little more than pant into Suguru’s mouth as he bounced him on his cock, and when his knot had caught, when Suguru had forced it past his rim and made him take it, he’d kissed the tears from Satoru’s eyes.

It’s… different from anything he’s ever experienced, what he’s done with anyone else. 

Better. 

Even with Mei Mei, who he’s been fucking for years now, they’d never - he’s never felt anything like that before. 

He thinks it might be impossible to find again, and so he debates with himself whether or not he should bring it up. He stays awake, late into the night, and tries to figure out whether or not it’s worth asking Suguru if he feels the same.

Because on the one hand, what does he have to lose?

It’s not like he and Suguru are friends. 

They don’t even really know each other; the worst that Suguru can say is no, and while that would definitely hurt, it’s also not the end of the world. Because then Satoru’s right back where he started, with a great job and great friends and a pretty damn good life.

…but on the other hand, Suguru would make it so much better.

He could fill the void in Satoru’s heart, be the source of comfort and trust and love that Satoru hadn’t known he was missing until he’d felt it. 

And maybe that’s a bit fucking much.

Maybe he’s being a little ridiculous here. 

He’d only just met Suguru last week, after all; a handful of heartfelt conversations and tender moments aren’t enough to make him think he really knows someone. 

But he just… he just thinks this could work, yeah? 

Because Suguru sees him. 

He gets Satoru, in a way that so few people do; he understands what he’s trying to say even when he can’t explain it, sometimes even finishing his thoughts for him, and he listens to Satoru, no matter how stupid or silly the tangent. 

And so he can’t just throw that away without trying, yeah? He has to at least make some kind of attempt to keep him in his life, even if he gets ruthlessly shot down, which - honestly, he’s not even sure that that’s gonna happen.

Because Satoru likes to think he’s a pretty good judge of character. 

He likes to think that he’s taking a good, objective view at his own chances here, because he’s always been really good at reading a situation. That’s what makes him so damn successful at his job, after all, why is so talented at handling fussy clients and getting ahead of his competition. 

He is always one step ahead, always planning three moves in advance, and Suguru -

A warm breath gusts against Satoru’s neck, lips pressing against the hollow at the base of his ear. One of Suguru’s arms snakes around his waist, tugging him close with a low, rich chuckle, and Satoru can’t help but shiver.

“You’re not sleeping,” he murmurs. 

Satoru shakes his head. “Nah,” he says softly. “Couldn’t.”

Suguru makes an inquisitive noise. “Need my help?” he offers, the hand at Satoru’s waist already trailing down his hip, between his thighs. “Need me to -”

Satoru catches his palm, curls their fingers together over his stomach. 

“No, I’m - I’m good,” he says.

“…yeah?”

He exhales out a breath, lets his eyes slip shut. “Yeah. Promise.”

Truthfully, he’s not even hard. 

He doesn’t feel even the faintest urge to get off, his rut almost completely dissipated. It will likely be gone by morning. 

Part of him still wants Suguru to touch him, though. 

Part of him still wants to buck into his hand, to twist back over his shoulder and kiss Suguru until he can’t breathe, if not because he needs it then because he wants it, wants to feel Suguru’s hands on his skin and his mouth on his cock, and that’s -

Fuck.

He is genuinely so fucked here, what the shit.

As if he can sense his distress, Suguru’s hold on him tightens. 

He presses a leg between Satoru’s knees, buries his face in Satoru’s hair as he lets his warm, ashy scent wash over him, and like -

Satoru’s never really been held before.

As a kid, sure, but as an adult? 

Nah.

Most people assume he’s too big for that, too aloof. They assume he can take care of himself, and while they’re not wrong, while he is perfectly independent and strong and capable, he can also admit that seeking comfort in someone else’s arms for once, taking refuge in their warmth, is kinda, sorta nice. 

It’s kinda, sorta perfect, and so Satoru tries his best to shove his fears from his mind.

He tries his best to just enjoy the moment, to linger in the present as Suguru falls back asleep, his breaths soft and slow against Satoru’s neck. He tries his best to put all his nasty, self-deprecating doubts in that box.

Alas, he fails.

When Satoru wakes in the morning, he’s cold. 

The rut making his blood boil has finally subsided; for the first time in days, he feels neither angry nor irritable, and the urgent need to fuck his fist is gone. 

Instead, he just feels tired.

Tired, and hungry, and a really, really sore, fuck. 

He twists over onto his back, lips already parted to ask Suguru if he wants to order something off the room service menu for breakfast -

But the other side of the bed is empty. 

It’s cold, the sheets already pulled up and neatly tucked under the pillows, and when Satoru pushes up to a seated position, looking around the room in bewilderment, he sees that Suguru is nowhere to be found. His bag is gone, the only jacket hanging up by the door his own, and when he looks towards the nightstand, hoping to see two phones plugged in to charge -

There’s just the one.

Satoru blinks, taken aback.

Because Suguru had just… left? 

He’d just gotten up, packed up his things, and walked? After everything they’d shared the past five days, all the raw conversations and tender, intimate moments?

That stings.

It hurts, even though Satoru knows he has no reason to feel that way, and so he just kind of slumps over and runs a hand through his hair, dejected. 

So much for asking him if he wanted to maybe see each other again.

The answer to that is obviously a big, fat no, one he hadn’t even had the guts to give Satoru to his face, and honestly? That kinda ticks Satoru off. 

Because he should at least have the courage to reject him in person. 

He should grow some fucking balls.

…but then again maybe he hadn’t known what Satoru was thinking. It wasn’t like he’d ever come out and said anything. He’d just - assumed (hoped) that Suguru was on the same page as him, that that warm, affectionate glint he’d seen in Suguru’s eyes was mirrored in his own. 

But maybe not.

He wasn’t good with things like feelings, after all. He wasn’t used to telling people how much they meant to him, or how much he cared for them. 

Maybe Suguru had thought he’d be happy if he left first, if he got out of Satoru’s hair before they had to go through a series of awkward good-byes as they checked out of the hotel, walked to their cars, and went back to their everyday lives. 

Fuck.

Fuck, he should have said something.

It’s too late now, though. 

Suguru’s already left, and there’s no real way for Satoru to track him down; though he could send a couple desperate messages to the guy through the agency’s messaging service, their accounts will be automatically suspended after a month. He’ll have only a few short weeks to try and get in contact with him again, and since Suguru doesn’t really have any need to check the app now that his rut’s over…

Why would he?

Who’s to say he hasn’t already deleted it from his phone? 

Satoru kinda feels like punching something - or maybe screaming into a pillow.

But neither of those things is productive, and he’d always known there was a chance that something like this could happen, so…

With a sigh, he pushes out of bed and heads for the bathroom, trying to ignore the way his scent sours, how it turns bitters and ashy in his mouth. He tries to tamp it down as he turns on the shower and steps underneath the water, washing the dried sweat and cum from his skin, and if he sheds a few tears, if he sniffles a bit as he works the hotel-issued shampoo into his hair and the soap into his skin, well.

It’s not like anyone’s around to hear it.

By the time he steps out, the water has long since gone cold. He shivers as he reaches for one of the two remaining clean towels, pressing his face to the slightly scratchy fabric and breathing in, deep. 

It smells like absolutely nothing, and that’s -

Wrong.

It’s all wrong, not comforting. It’s not warm, or ashy, or fragrant, it’s not Suguru.

But that’s probably for the best, he thinks, and so he quickly dries himself off and wraps the towel around his waist before padding back out into the main room, adjusting the thermostat back up to something more normal before he slumps down into the bed they’ve been using for sleep.

Now, this smells like Suguru.

The pillows still hold traces of his scent, mixing with Satoru’s own sharp, almost electric pheromones; they bleed together into a heady, potent mix, one Satoru has quickly learned to love. 

Now he finds he kinda hates it.

He curls up into a ball on his side, wraps his arms around his chest.

And somehow, despite the hurt that’s bleeding off him in waves, the regret, he dozes off. He falls back asleep, not even bothering to tug down the sheets.

It’s kinda pathetic.

It’s also very rudely interrupted only a half an hour or so later by the door opening, by the sound of someone puttering around in the entryway. 

Satoru rolls over onto his back with a scowl. 

Because what the fuck, had Suguru gone ahead and checked them both out? Is this the cleaning staff coming to tidy up the room? 

On top of being hurtful, that’s just rude, because he’s the one who’d fucking paid the bill. He’s the one who’d gone to the trouble to book them the room, and so he pushes to his feet, wiping at his red, puffy eyes as he goes to see what the hell’s going on -

Only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees Suguru laying out a bunch of takeout containers on the table in the hall, the plastic bags crinkled up in his hands.

He looks up at Satoru’s entrance, a smile brightening his face.

“Hey,” he says, standing up straight. “I thought you might want something to eat, so -”

“How did you get in the room?”

Suguru blinks, his smile slipping a bit as he pulls his key card out of his pocket. 

“With the card…?”

“You checked out.”

“Satoru -”

“Your stuff is all gone, you left.” 

Now, Satoru tries very hard not to sound accusatory here. 

He tries not to let the hurt seep into his voice, because that is A) entirely Suguru’s prerogative, well within his rights, and B) Satoru is a big boy. 

He can handle a little rejection, even if it stings.

But he must not do a very good job of hiding the way he truly feels, because Suguru’s face softens in sudden understanding. He sets the key down on the table, abandons the trash in his hands as he takes a step forward.

“Baby,” he says, grabbing for Satoru’s arm. “Did you think I’d just walked out?”

Satoru yanks his hand away, sniffles. “You did.”

“Just to get us something to eat,” Suguru says. “Neither of us had dinner last night, and - c’mon, you have to be hungry, Satoru. I know I am.”

As if to confirm this, Satoru’s stomach lets out a loud, angry gurgle, the smell of the take-out Suguru’s brought back enough to make his mouth water. 

But he’s not about to give in so easily! 

Not when Suguru had just abandoned him like that, letting him wake up alone.

Like, what the fuck, that is not cool - 

And so he turns his head away, wiping irritably at his face with his hand.

He doesn’t miss Suguru’s sudden intake of breath.

“Are you -”

“No,” Satoru snaps. “No, I’m not.”

Suguru stares at him for a moment, quiet. Though he doesn’t make any more attempts to get closer to Satoru, neither does he pull away, and when he finally speaks up, his voice is soft, gentle.

“Satoru. Why are you so upset?”

Satoru exhales out a shaky breath. 

“Because like I said, you fucking left,” he retorts. “You left me to wake up alone, didn’t even fucking leave a note, or say good-bye, and I just thought -” 

He bites his lip, frustrated with his own outburst. 

“Whatever, I know it’s meaningless rut sex. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done me a fucking solid just by fucking sticking around and helping me out through it all, so -

“Thanks for the food, I guess.” 

Dropping down into the nearest chair, he grabs for the nearest set of disposable chopsticks, ripping through the packaging and then tearing them apart. 

He pulls too hard.

One of the chopsticks breaks in half, and he feels like he might scream.

But just as he’s about to reach for a second set, a warm hand curls around his jaw, gently twisting his head to the side. He’s forced to look down as Suguru kneels on the floor at his feet, as his thumb pets at Satoru’s cheekbone, and that’s -

“I’m sorry,” Suguru murmurs. 

Satoru squints, chokes out a watery laugh. “Are you?”

“In my defense, you were completely dead asleep,” he adds, his lips pulling up into a tentative smile. “I tried to wake you up, but… short of screaming in your ear, I didn’t really know how to.”

That… tracks, Satoru can admit to himself.

Though he doesn’t sleep a lot, he does sleep pretty hard. Once he’s out, he’s out.

But Suguru still could’ve given him some clue as to where he’d gone before he left, and when he points that out, he has a grace to look a little sheepish.

“Ah, yeah. Probably,” he admits. “I just… really didn’t think you’d wake up before I was back. I mean, I know you didn’t sleep well last night, so…”

He frowns then, his hand going still on Satoru’s face.

“Is this why?” he asks. “Were you - were you upset that our ruts were ending? That we’d never see each other again?”

Satoru squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, hoping against hope he won’t have to seriously answer this question. 

But when he blinks them back open, Suguru is still staring up at him, entreating, and so he just shrugs and looks away.

“Yeah. Kinda.”

Suguru’s breath hitches. “Satoru. Baby. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say?” Satoru shoots back. “You don’t - you don’t know me, Suguru. I don’t know you. We’re not -”

“I want to, though,” Suguru interrupts. 

Satoru’s mouth snaps shut.

“I want to know you. I want to - I’d like to take you to dinner sometime, if you want. Maybe go back to my place, after. Or yours,” he quickly adds, “I’m not picky.”

“That’s -”

Satoru’s annoyed to find his voice is more of a rasp; it is entirely too emotional for a guy sitting in a towel with a pair of broken chopsticks in his hands. 

Or maybe it’s perfect for the situation, fuck, he doesn’t know.

Either way, it seems a little too good to be true, and so he just chokes out, “That’s against the rules. We’re never supposed to see each other again.”

Suguru grins at that, winks. 

“I won’t tell the agency if you don’t,” he says, and oh -

It would be so easy to believe him. 

It would be so, so easy to fall into his arms and kiss him senseless and then walk out of this stupid hotel hand-in-hand, with Suguru’s phone number in his pocket and his lips on his cheek. 

But Satoru is maybe a little too afraid of a good thing, and so he just squints down at him, suspicious, and says, “Is Suguru even your real name?”

His laugh is stronger this time, louder. 

Satoru loves the way it rings in his ears - just as he loves the way Suguru raises his other hand so that he’s cradling Satoru’s face, gently tugging him down until he can press their foreheads together.

“Yes, Satoru,” he says, fond. “That’s my real name.”

Then, pressing a kiss to Satoru’s cheek, he adds, “I also really do want to get your number and take you out on that date, so… what do you say?” 

For a moment, Satoru does nothing. 

He just stares, caught in the warmth of those pretty, golden eyes, the way they seem to see right through him. They see him, all of him, and instead of making him feel silly, or small, or stupid, he just feels so, so wanted.

The sound he makes as he surges forward is kinda pathetic.

But Suguru kisses him back just as eagerly, pulling Satoru out of the chair and down into his lap. He holds him close and licks into his mouth, humming in satisfaction when Satoru wraps his arms around his waist, his thighs around his hips. 

Though it’s not as frantic as it was during their ruts, it’s just as intense.

The way Suguru eases their mouths together, sucking on his tongue like he fucking owns it, still leaves Satoru breathless and wanting and desperate -

And were it not for the way his stomach makes another, completely embarrassing noise (what the fuck, cockblocked by fucking borborygmus), things might’ve progressed further. As it is though, Suguru pulls away with a startled laugh, grinning at Satoru as he gives him a final quick peck and then pulls him to his feet, pushing him back into the chair and insisting he eat something.

“Don’t make that face at me,” he grins, reaching for a plate of grilled fish and rice. “I’ll still be here after the food’s gone.”

“Will you?” Satoru shoots back, already shoveling breakfast into his face.

“Mmm. I mean, we have the room until what, eleven?” 

“Noon,” Satoru corrects. 

Suguru shrugs, a devious glint in his eyes as he leans forward. “We might as well make use of it, then,” he teases, eyes lingering on the expanse of Satoru’s chest, the way the towel perfectly cinches his trim, narrow waist. 

The obvious want in his gaze leaves Satoru feeling so, so warm, and so he just grins, unable to stop the happy little laugh that bubbles up and out of him as he flicks a couple grains of rice Suguru’s way.

“Yeah,” he agrees, grinning. “We might as well.”