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“It won’t.”

“It will, Tadashi.”

Tadashi sighs softly and steels himself, takes a deep breath in and draws the zipper up, slowly. It nestles snugly against Ainosuke’s groin. Tadashi exhales. Ainosuke does not.

It takes all of Tadashi’s self control to not sink his fingers into the give of Ainosuke’s hips. He tries to calm his breathing, to dispel the smoldering in his ears. There is a softness that was not there before months ago. There is softness, and it is making Tadashi feel like a wild animal in a tailored suit. He can feel his cheeks burning from where he wants to tear through the charade of his dignity and bury his face into the soft dip of Ainosuke’s hip, sink his teeth into where the flesh swells minutely over the waistline of his tailored suit pants.

From here he can smell Ainosuke’s familiar scent, masculine and heady at the top, the notes of his actual designation subtle.

Tadashi exhales raggedly as he rises from his knees, buttoning Ainosuke’s jacket over his waist. He does not meet Ainosuke’s eyes for fear of snapping the single gossamer thread currently keeping him in check.

Ainosuke is twirling an unlit cigarette in his fingers, gaze straight stock ahead, jaw set tight. They are not talking about it, yet. Not now.

They will not be late for their next appointment, miraculously. Today’s business lunch is with some of Ainosuke’s friendly-rivals. They cannot afford to be late.

Tadashi watches Ainosuke’s face in the rearview mirror as it settles into its familiar mask, impassive and congenial. As dramatic as Ainosuke can be, Tadashi finds himself speaking truthfully when Ainosuke demands praise. Ainosuke, when he sets his mind to something, can do most anything. He phases into identities of competency flawlessly, charming people left and right. His agreeable-but-firm bearing commands both respect and a strategic approach. Tadashi can always spot the frayed edges when they present themselves, but the average person is none the wiser. Even his colleagues, more conniving than the average person, rarely spot his slip-ups. “He’s a very promising young man,” they often say. “A little strange sometimes, but ah, we were all young once.”

Tadashi quietly amuses himself with the idea of any of Ainosuke’s colleagues getting up to a fraction of what Adam has wrought, and then stows those thoughts away for a later moment. They will have many instances of still, sternum-chewing boredom ahead.

Today’s schedule, as described by Ainosuke: Agonizing, but politically, tactically, disgustingly mandatory. Tadashi allows himself a small moment of warmth in his chest recalling Ainosuke’s words from that morning, remembering Ainosuke’s sleepy eyes and hastily-subdued-and-styled behead as they’d peeled themselves out from under the covers.

The thought carries him through brunch as he observes silently, watching Ainosuke, watching Ainosuke’s colleagues, watching them watch Ainosuke. Another day of wolves circling one another, always. He shutters his expression–or rather, simply keeps his face in its usual neutral. The help does not emote, and at this point in Tadashi’s life it takes more effort to release any emotions he’s feeling than to naturally let them be distantly contained. It’s one of his greatest advantages as Ainosuke’s secretary. Years ago Ainosuke had called him, “The most infuriating wallpaper of a man,” as he’d slid tipsily into the back of Tadashi’s car after one of many galas. It had sat like a poison stone in Tadashi’s stomach then, but certain mannerisms, once adopted for survival, had become hard or impossible to change.

He turns his thoughts to the present as he watches Ainosuke eat his eggs benedict with a fork, motions careful and almost dainty. The Western-styled restaurant is too ostentatious for Tadashi’s taste, but he admits that Ainosuke and his associates fit right in. He watches Ainosuke take a bite and pause for a moment, savoring it with pleasure. It is a new, recent sight. It makes Tadashi’s heart feel as if it’s restarting in his chest, beating against his ribcage like it wants to press against Ainosuke’s lips. The thought of Ainosuke’s soft hips yielding under his fingertips invades his thoughts like a battering ram, and he hastily pushes it aside. He takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee instead, hoping it will cool the heat that he feels must be emanating from his core.

He needn’t worry though, he realizes. Ainosuke’s compatriots have taken no notice of him. They are watching Ainosuke–perhaps more attentively than usual, in fact. There’s a hint of sourness in the air that makes him fight not to wrinkle his nose. Most alphas in their position are too proud to flaunt their scents like common animals in professional settings like these, but clearly one of the servers did not get the memo. Ainosuke’s omega designation is a secret, but his pretty face and scent–often alluring and confusing to individuals of all designations–are not.

They are thankfully spared the indignity of a confrontation as the bill is paid and everyone makes their polite exits to the next appointments of the day. Tadashi feels something in his shoulders relax as he wordlessly trails after Ainosuke’s confident steps back to their car.


Tadashi tries to calm his breathing on the drive back with mixed results. He waits for Ainosuke to settle into the backseat and watches the politician’s mask fall away in the rearview mirror.

“Filthy jackals,” Ainosuke mumbles under his breath, reaching for his cigarette case. A familiar wrinkle reveals itself between his brows. His eyes darken, the revealed harshness bringing life and fire back to his expression. Tadashi feels himself exhale in quiet relief. Ainosuke is unpleasant this way, but it is a genuine unpleasantness. In their many years before his race with Langa – a strange but effective breaking point that reset something in both of them – driving Ainosuke had been just another time of teeth-grit tension, clipped words, and verbal barbs from Ainosuke in the backseat. These days, it’s just an opportunity for them to unwind, free from prying eyes.

Tadashi lets himself relax into driving them home, his own tension draining away as he watches Ainosuke shed this uncomfortable skin. The sweet scent of expensive tobacco wafts through the car, even as Tadashi cracks a window to let some of it out. Ainosuke looks at him in the rearview mirror in a way that he surely knows is making eye contact, somehow, and pushes the button to close the window once again. There’s a humor to Ainosuke’s defiance today that relaxes Tadashi.

It is relaxing, until it isn’t. Another scent fills the car, so heady that Tadashi almost swerves on the road. He tries to calm his heart rate and relax his white-knuckled grasp on the wheel, but it’s hard when his nerves feel like an agitated beehive under his skin. He almost slumps forward at the next stoplight but restrains himself, then checks the rear-view mirror.

Ainosuke has unbuttoned his jacket.

Tadashi can see the light stains of sweat under Ainosuke’s armpits on his white button-down as he crosses his arms behind his head, cigarette smoked to the filter as he leans as far back as his long body will allow. If he is aware that he is scenting all over the car, he doesn’t show it. Had the other alphas at lunch smelled him first? Tadashi knows that Ainosuke has several layers of defense to prevent discovery of his designation, but this scent is stronger than usual.

Tadashi has white-knuckled his way through his entire tenure as Ainosuke’s companion – playmate, assistant, scapegoat, nemesis, secretary – with the truly dizzying task of maintaining his self control despite being an alpha to Ainosuke’s omega. He remembers the smell of Ainosuke’s first heat when they were teenagers, remembers the scar he’d worn into his lower lip for years by accidentally puncturing it when his canines had suddenly rapidly unsheathed from their normal length to something longer, more monstrous. He remembers blood in his mouth mixing with Ainosuke’s scent, the taste of iron and the animal desire to breed, his fangs sharp and ready against his lower lip, ready to bite, even with Ainosuke a room away. He’d been training his self-control under these conditions for years. Compared to the animal that rages inside of him, Tadashi is a bastion of control, and always has been.

So why, then, is it not enough this time? He swears that something is different in Ainosuke’s scent. It is suffocating him in the enclosed space of the car, all seemingly beyond Ainosuke’s notice.

“Is everything alright, Tadashi?”

Or perhaps not. Ainosuke’s voice sounds far away in Tadashi’s ringing ears.

“Yes, Mr. Ainosuke.” Tadashi manages a shaky response, knowing that Ainosuke does not believe a word of it. They will talk about it later, he is sure.

Tadashi grips the wheel tighter and tries to focus on the soothing silhouettes of familiar palms as they take the sleepy streets towards home.



Tadashi doesn’t trust himself to watch Ainosuke get undressed, and so he busies himself hanging up Ainosuke’s suit jacket, folding the royal blue pants over the hanger for the dry cleaner, readying the towels, and preparing the bath. He can feel his blood pounding with a violence through his veins, his lips tight against his teeth in the restraint of a snarl. Ainosuke’s scent is still in his nostrils, settled in his chest and blooming through his senses like ink through water. He runs his tongue over his sharp canine teeth. Ainosuke is undressing in the other room.

They have been dancing around one another for so long. He’d grown so used to it over the years, used to the dull ache in his chest, the constant hunger. Years of expecting nothing, and then that race, Ainosuke’s direct gaze, and that velvet-rich declaration. Dog for the rest of their lives, indeed. Ainosuke has always had a way with words. Tadashi feels more dog than man right now, his animal instincts rattling at the edges of his consciousness. It’s only been a few months since Ainosuke declared their mutual devotion in that office, standing triumphantly in the smoking ruins of his political rival’s career. Tadashi had been floored by the way Ainosuke’s scent fanned out the moment his colleague had left the room, barely a whiff of what was to come.

And they have gazed, and they have spoken, and they have walked side by side, and skated, and hungered. Tadashi sometimes feels as if he’s waking from a dream when he sees Ainosuke looking at him. Amusement has replaced vitriol. Teasing has replaced cruelty. There is still a catlike joy in Ainosuke’s taunts, playing with his prey, but no longer with intent to kill. Tadashi has been instructed to have his own opinions, and while they feel like dust in his mouth still, he wonders if someday they might not.

Their relationship notwithstanding, the changes in Ainosuke have been marvels in themselves. Instead of smoking through his meals, he eats – seems to actually taste the food, noticing it, reveling in it. There is color in his cheeks on occasion, even in his moments of measured cruelty. Ainosuke feels full of life, moreso than he has since their teenage years, but also there is something hovering there that is hungry, feral, wanting. Ainosuke’s scent has become more noticeable over the last few months, sometimes trailing gentle fingers down the column of Tadashi’s neck, catching its fingers in his throat when he is caught unawares.

It had been under control, Tadashi thinks, up until today. And now that he thinks about it, it has been increasing in intensity since that day, that declaration. It has been decreasingly manageable every day, but he’s been too preoccupied with everything else.

He produces a fresh robe for Ainosuke in an attempt to scatter his thoughts, folding the plush fabric over the rack near the lavish bathtub. Ainosuke had insisted on a large ostentatious claw-foot tub – “Like a French queen, Tadashi, but perhaps with a less dramatic end,” – with all the trappings and inconveniences therein. Tadashi recalls Ainosuke’s last race and decides to say nothing about dramatic endings. He feels a shaking relief in his bones and tries to fold that set of thoughts away like starched sheets on a high shelf.

It’s been months of Ainosuke’s career righting itself, a cat landing on its feet as if no fall had occurred and climbing back up to the highest point once again. Tadashi is no stranger to sorting and arranging his needs and observations and tucking them away for later. This must be how everything has caught him by surprise. Instead of something so dramatic as a dam breaking, it is like cracks in concrete, a dangerous rumble and a trickling of water through a growing fissure. They are waiting for the dam to break, and Tadashi can feel the quake of it growing closer.

Tadashi turns the tap of the bath and remembers the touch of Ainosuke’s lips on his after that final race, remembers Ainosuke’s tongue parting his lips, the hot and wet kiss that had turned deep and hungry within seconds, Ainosuke’s guttural moans into his mouth, fists in his jacket. He adjusts the temperature of the water–almost hot enough to scorch the skin, just how Ainosuke likes it–and remembers Ainosuke climbing into his lap, his complex indigo costume falling away under deft fingers. He remembers Ainosuke grinding slick against his thigh. He remembers being so hard he felt sure he would pass out, the way Ainosuke had shuddered against him, and how he, Tadashi, possessed by an animal boldness apart from anything he’d ever experienced, had drawn his fingers through the slick seeping through Ainosuke’s clothing and licked his fingers clean, his gaze meeting Ainosuke’s as they breathed in the hot, acrid air of the car’s backseat.

He realizes that he is hard.

After so many years of wanting they have finally touched, they have finally kissed, Tadashi has felt Ainosuke shudder against him…and so far, nothing further. They have been so busy with Ainosuke’s skyrocketing career, with their new whatever-this-is and what it is becoming, with this new way of being around one another. It’s hard to escalate when he feels so unsteady on his feet on this new, unsteady ground.

The bathroom has become oppressively hot. Tadashi allows himself the luxury of taking off his suit jacket, carefully draping it on a hanger and storing it safely. He swears he can smell traces of Ainosuke on his own jacket, despite them having barely touched today once they’d gotten dressed.

Something is odd, Tadashi realizes, and has been for a while. He tries to organize the pieces in his head, even with the throbbing in his lower body distracting him. Little changes, all subtle, all building up to something.

Ainosuke has a new lust for life. He looks at Tadashi with desire, eats with gusto for the first time in his life. His jaw is still sharp, and it’s barely noticeable to anyone who does not know him–or in Tadashi’s case, dress and undress him daily– but there is a softness around his middle and hips that was not there before, a give to the flesh that makes Tadashi’s mouth water and his pulse quicken.

And more than that– he smells hungry. Wanting. When they kiss, he can feel Ainosuke opening like a lotus, feel heat and wetness against his palm even as he touches Ainosuke through his clothes.

Ainosuke’s scent has never been stronger in all the years they’ve shared together. It had always been mild when they were younger, then sour and fearful, then muffled by the strange experimental suppressant-and-worse drugs that Ainosuke’s family had shoved down his throat, one concoction after another at his father’s and aunts’ urgings. “Surely the heir cannot be an omega,” had been the declaration, lips curled with disgust, and oh, had they wanted that to be the end of it.

It hadn’t been. Ainosuke had swung in and out of feral states, muffled and then wild, man and beast, perhaps worse than if they’d just left his nature be. They’d eventually settled on something, though Tadashi had heard whispers– “highly experimental” and “not sustainable” were never generally a good sign–and Ainosuke had been pacified for a time. His omega status had been curtailed, or at least hidden, and to all appearances he remained the perfect alpha heir.

When Tadashi had presented, there had of course been retaliation. What an injustice that the help should be an alpha to the master’s omega! What bad luck indeed, they had said. He remembers the bitter, chalky taste of the suppressant pills shoved into his mouth, coughing around manicured nails, choking at the proximity of a perfumed wrist pressing against his jaw.

Ainosuke’s designation had never changed, never faltered, but its expression had suffered.

The bath is overfull, and Tadashi sighs as he turns the tap to off.

It really has been so many years.


His master strides into the bathroom a moment later, a robe falling off his shoulders. Ainosuke is wafting such a potent scent that Tadashi almost pitches forward into the tub. He is at once glad that he’s divested himself of his jacket–perhaps it would be prudent to remove the tie as well. Ainosuke does tend to like assistance, especially with washing his back, but often insists that Tadashi stay clothed. Something about the ceremony of it, at best. Or perhaps just for the titillation of it all. Tadashi assumes it is likely a bit of both. Both of them are shaped by formalities, even in their most twisted selves when left to their own devices.

“I drew a bath, sir.” Tadashi’s words feel dry in his own mouth, unpracticed. He tries to busy himself by upending a small vial of the scented bath oil that Ainosuke has been partial to lately. It has a mild sandalwood scent with a hint of rose, a touch of oak. It seems at first that it will neutralize Ainosuke’s own scent, but that notion is quickly extinguished as Tadashi inhales carefully through his nose.

“Of course you did, puppy,” Ainosuke purrs. His eyes squint in pleasure, catlike. The fan of his eyelashes looks decadent against his cheeks, flushed from the heat of the bath. He removes the robe and throws it imperiously over a hook, which it misses completely, landing on the ground.

Ainosuke steps into the bath like an expectant empress, one long-fingered hand reaching for Tadashi’s as he daintily lowers himself into the claw-foot tub. The scalding water presses a long sigh out of him, and Tadashi tries not to stare at the lush rise of his pectorals above the water’s surface. He looks at Ainosuke’s curves visible through the clear water in the bath, the way his belly has a soft indent now when he sits down, the way it rolls just a little more into his lap – to his occasional visible dismay. Tadashi has heard his laments before in dressing and undressing, has felt the changes and softness under his fingers when he lingers on zippers and buttons just a little longer than necessary.

Ainosuke is naked in front of him and somehow it is more shocking than it has ever been before. His scent is hungry, cloying, drenched with sex, filthy with want. Tadashi tries not to whine like the dog he is.

His master tilts his head back against the edge of the bath and turns his scrutiny to Tadashi.

“What are you staring at, hungry dog?”

Tadashi considers his words. “You look…healthy.” Fertile, thinks, but doesn’t say it. He feels his face heat nonetheless. Ainosuke looks fertile, luscious, breedable, like the omega he has avoided being read as his whole life. Tadashi is moving towards Ainosuke before he realizes he’s doing it, that scent pulling him closer, stalking him like a wild animal.

Ainosuke’s lips curl in an animal snarl of his own, ready to protest. “You–”

“No,” and Tadashi cannot help himself, he is leaning forward and his already rolled-up shirtsleeves are getting wet but it is too late. “No, you look, god, Ainosuke–” and he is reaching forward and cupping one soft pectoral in his hands, feeling Ainosuke’s burning gaze, the give of the flesh that makes his cock strain to escape his fitted suit pants. “You look…” He trails off, groaning at the give of flesh and relishing at the heat of Ainosuke’s startled exhale on his face. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he gropes Ainosuke’s body. The way his pectorals, still strong, have softened around the edges, nipples hardening under Tadashi’s gaze. Tadashi wants to put them in his mouth. He rubs his thumb over the nipple and Ainosuke stills, shudders.

“Tadashi,” he whimpers, voice low and ending on a whine.

“I can’t hold back anymore, Mr. Ainosuke, I’m sorry, I can’t,” Tadashi pants, feeling broken.

“Tadashi, don’t you dare–”

Tadashi leans forward and kisses him filthily, drinking up the taste of him like a man dying of thirst. He feels his white dress shirt stick to his body as he leans further into Ainosuke, pressing them both downwards into the water. Water sluices over the edge of the porcelain, but Tadashi cannot care, too busy breathing in Ainosuke’s wet, desperate gasps as he fucks his mouth with his tongue. Ainosuke is mumbling obscene nothings into Tadashi’s mouth and against his cheek, pleas and prayers and garbled moans as Tadashi runs his hands down Ainosuke’s slick body. He marvels at the give of the flesh, his ample tits, his soft belly over a solid core, his strong thighs. He can feel Ainosuke trying to scowl at him pointedly in between wanton breaths as Tadashi handles him roughly, but he spreads his legs, sinking his teeth into Tadashi’s shoulder when Tadashi parts his thighs with a sure hand.

“Tadashi, please,” Ainosuke groans into Tadashi’s shoulder.

Tadashi can barely think, never mind form words. Ainosuke is writhing against him, his legs are spread, and Tadashi is fully leaning forward to reach between his legs and find his prize that he’s been waiting for for most of his adult life. Even through the bathwater Tadashi can feel how wet Ainosuke is, the slick unmistakable even as he brushes Ainosuke’s straining hard cock with two fingers before moving further downward to part slicker folds. His fingers slide inside before he even has time to contemplate that it’s happening, it’s finally happening, and he is inside Ainosuke, who is slick and tight and gripping him back.

Ainosuke wails and grips the edges of the bath as Tadashi fingerfucks him, deep and thorough. Tadashi curls his fingers and strokes Ainosuke from the inside, relishing the way Ainosuke tightens around his hand and lifts his hips to meet Tadashi’s knuckles, right up to the hilt.

“Tadashi, please–”

Ainosuke’s pleading cry is cut off as Tadashi takes one of Ainosuke’s nipples into his mouth and sucks, worrying the flesh with his teeth. Ainosuke is gushing slick onto his knuckles and into the bathwater. They are both drenched. Ainosuke wraps a strong arm around Tadashi’s shoulders and pulls him impossibly closer, crushing Tadashi against his chest. It is suffocating in the best way, the way Ainosuke’s scent surrounds him, seeming to thrum through his very nervous system. Tadashi can feel his teeth lengthening in kind, his body begging him to claim, to breed.

“Tadashi, please, I want it, give it to me,” Ainosuke begs, his voice cracking in a whisper.

“Yes,” Tadashi rasps, unable to form further coherent words. His response is a snarl, a baring of teeth. He is practically lifting Ainosuke up at the hips with the power of how hard he’s thrusting his fingers inside. He strokes the ridged spot inside Ainosuke and feels Ainosuke tighten around his hand, savoring the way he shakes around him.

At once he hears a gasp, a groan, and Ainosuke’s fist tightening in his hair and pulling. He stills his thrusts momentarily, jarred by the pressure in his scalp and meets Ainosuke’s eyes. Ainosuke’s pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed. He looks as wild as Tadashi feels. And then he finally, finally asks.

“Enough of this, Tadashi. Take me to bed.”

Wordlessly, Tadashi slides his fingers out of Ainosuke and licks the slick off of them. The taste is so intoxicating he worries his own heart will stop from want.

Instead, he takes them to bed.

It’s a miracle that they make it to the bed at all. Ainosuke tears at Tadashi’s clothes with clumsy want, ineffectual but demanding, until Tadashi rips them all off himself. He tries to dry them off hastily with a towel but then gives up, pulling them both onto the dampening sheets. The air is thick with both of their scents and Tadashi can already feel Ainosuke slick against his leg. The lush mattress gives beneath them as Tadashi braces himself over Ainosuke, positioning himself between those strong thighs and kissing him messily. Ainosuke moans into his mouth, crushing their bodies together so forcefully that Tadashi swears he can hear his own ribs creak under the stress.

“Tadashi, please,” Ainosuke near-whimpers into Tadashi’s mouth, and it’s too much suddenly for Tadashi to bear, and he realizes now he is free to touch, and to taste.

He touches Ainosuke’s body like he’s never touched anyone in his life– grasping, squeezing, drawing his nails down Ainosuke’s flank in a way that elicits a delighted gasp. There is so much naked skin and Ainosuke smells so good in a way that makes his ears nearly ring with it. It is with great effort that he rips himself away from kissing Ainosuke’s mouth, presses kisses down his neck, bites down his chest, squeezing and touching his way further downwards, on his way to the scent that is making his instinct thrash like a hungry caged animal. He makes it to the source and slides his arms underneath Ainosuke’s hips, moaning softly as he leans forward.


Ainosuke cries out as Tadashi buries his face into Ainosuke’s slick hole and eats him like a starving man. Ainosuke tastes so heady and sweet, musky and intoxicating. Ainosuke brackets his head with muscular thighs and Tadashi digs his hands into the ample flesh of his hips, feeling the new softness there and holding on. He grinds his hips against the bed and parts Ainosuke’s folds with his tongue, humming a moan into the wetness, drinking a taste that makes his whole body shiver. He can feel his knot forming as he grinds his hips against the bed, seeking the heat that he’s currently plunging his tongue into. Ainosuke reaches down and grasps his hair roughly, fisting fingers into the strands and pulling Tadashi closer. He can barely breathe. It’s what he’s always wanted.

He loses time for a while with his face buried in Ainosuke, Ainosuke’s cries muffled by the thighs bracketing Tadashi’s ears. Tadashi braces himself on one arm and lifts Ainosuke’s hips – relishing the delighted cry that echoes up the bed – and drags a pillow underneath them for easier access.

Ainosuke’s thighs begin to quiver as Tadashi slips two fingers inside his sopping entrance, moaning as Ainosuke grips him back. Tadashi’s pulse is beating like a drum in his ears, his knot throbbing distractingly as he leaves streaks of precum on the increasingly ruined sheets beneath them. He sucks and licks Ainosuke, trying to bite back a growl as Ainosuke comes apart beneath him, shaking and moaning as strong legs grip him.

“Tadashi,” Ainosuke gasps. “Please. I’ve waited long enough.” He reaches down and grips Tadashi’s hair and forces eye contact. “Put it in, Tadashi.” Ainosuke’s eyes are unfocused with need, tears at the corners. His hair is a mess of indigo, strands plastered to his face with sweat.

Tadashi’s heart is fit to beat out of his chest at the sight. He tries not to let his teeth pierce his lip in his excitement, and then he is crawling up the bed, body roiling with heat and need as he slings Ainosuke’s legs over his shoulders, not breaking eye contact for the dizzying thrill of it.

“You are so wet,” he hears himself saying, and it’s a ghost of his former voice, gravelly and low. It’s a whisper and a growl. “You are so wet, Ainosuke.” He feels as if he’s praying, the way the reverence leaves his lips.

Ainosuke can only keen in response and try to pull him closer.

Despite himself, he doesn’t press in all at once, instead choosing to drag his cock against Ainosuke’s wet folds, shivering at the slide and slickness, the way Ainosuke gives softly underneath him. Ainosuke wails in frustration and pulls him closer and it only sends him into a further frenzy. He thrusts against Ainosuke’s sloppy hole, the slick sounds obscene in the bedroom.

“Tadashi, you insolent mutt,” Ainosuke gasps, “if you do not put it in soon I will do it myself!”

“Yes sir,” Tadashi says, and finally slides in.

They both groan as the head of Tadashi’s cock pops inside. Ainosuke is still tight, a soaking heat around Tadashi’s cock that at once makes him feel somehow even more naked than before.

It becomes hard to think of anything else but the heat surrounding his cock, and then he moves, and Ainosuke’s breaths are in his ear as he draws him close, and he is surrounded by scent and warmth and rightness. He lets himself pause for a moment to catch his breath and ducks his head down to rest his head on Ainosuke’s plush chest. He breathes in Ainosuke’s scent, strangely sweeter here. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks it until Ainosuke sobs a wavering plea. If he holds Ainosuke tighter, it’s like they are almost merging together. He rocks his hips slowly, feeling his knot swell, trying to will it down, not yet, not yet, not yet.

“Tadashi. Move.” Ainosuke’s command is ragged above him.

Tadashi does. He lets himself give in to his most base instincts, like surrendering to a tidal wave, and pounds into Ainosuke, growling as their hips slap together with the force. Ainosuke gasps and digs his nails into Tadashi’s back as he speeds up his thrusts. And yet, even then, it seems not to be enough.

“More,” Ainosuke cries, and when Tadashi speeds his thrusts, he says it again, “More, Tadashi!”

It spurs something in Tadashi’s chest, so much that Tadashi’s ears ring, his teeth bare, his fangs come out as a growl begins to build in his chest. Ainosuke wants to be fucked, and Tadashi will see to it. He leans forward and uses his strength to flip him over, pressing Ainosuke’s face into the bed and lifting his hips higher so that Ainosuke is presenting. If he wants to be used, like an animal, Tadashi will comply.

“Is this what you want?” Tadashi gasps. “You want me to breed you?”

“Yes,” comes the muffled reply. “Yes, god, Tadashi, please. Yes.”

Ainosuke is sobbing incoherently in drooling breaths into the sheets as Tadashi slams into him, feeling his knot swell larger inside Ainosuke until the thrusts become more difficult. He can feel the knot catching on the rim, the wet sounds obscene. Tadashi can smell Ainosuke’s want permeating the room.

He slams into Ainosuke harder, gritting his teeth as he begins to feel his orgasm build, and Ainosuke begins babbling louder.

“Take me, breed me, I’m yours, you’re mine, you nasty animal, filthy mutt, fill me up,” Ainosuke cries, and Tadashi feels his face heat even further as he hears those words tumble from his master’s lips. He complies, feeling like he must be fucking the life out of him, but Ainosuke is practically tearing the sheets underneath him, drooling onto the bed as his sighs jump in pitch.

“Yes–” Tadashi grunts, and slams all the way in and holds, gasping, as his knot swells to its full size and locks him in place. His breath hitches in his chest as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into Ainosuke’s shoulder, growling, and he’s filling up Ainosuke, far more than he thought possible, emptying himself into Ainosuke’s belly as the sweet tang of blood fills his mouth, drips down Ainosuke’s shoulder and onto the ruined bedspread. He slides his palm underneath Ainosuke’s hips, at the swell of his belly just to feel, and surely there must be a curve from how much seed Tadashi has emptied inside of him.

“Look how much I’ve bred you, Mr. Ainosuke. You’re all mine,” Tadashi whispers, in awe, feeling barely like himself as he cups the slight rise there. “This is mine.”


He feels Ainosuke come around him before he hears it, a shuddering, a gush of wetness that reaches his fingers and soaks the sheets, and then a soft sigh that crescendos into a raw, shaking cry. Ainosuke clenches around his knot in the aftershocks, his legs shaking as his muscles begin to loosen.

Tadashi, feeling his senses begin to return, licks at the bite on Ainosuke’s shoulder in an attempt to soothing. Ainosuke is nearly dead weight, muttering futile protests and non-words as Tadashi maneuvers them to a spooning position. The room smells like sex, and they are lying in their own mess, and Tadashi is too tired to do anything about it right now. Even if he wasn’t literally locked and knotted inside Ainosuke, he doesn’t think his legs would hold up underneath him. He settles instead against Ainosuke’s back, nuzzling his neck and inhaling softly, letting the scent calm him.

“Good dog,” Ainosuke mumbles, clutching a pillow closer and nestling into it.

Tadashi listens to Ainosuke’s breathing even out and tries to let his own body relax. He looks at Ainosuke – his mate, he realizes, looking at the drying blood on his shoulder, on the bed. He looks at the soft strength of his mate’s body, the slight swell of his belly that Tadashi put there just moments ago, and has to close his eyes from how overwhelming it all is.

So much has happened so quickly, he thinks as he settles back against Ainosuke’s solid warmth. For now, he allows himself peace. Any other thoughts can wait until tomorrow.