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Megumi just manages to not slam his dorm door behind him as he stumbles to his bed. His inner thighs are wet, his whole lower half hot, heavy, and throbbing, and he can barely stop himself from making plaintive sounds as he yanks off his shoes and throws off his pants and underwear.
He'd known Gojo was strong, had felt the pulled blows and the tamped-down techniques often enough, but watching him take on Ryoumen Sukuna without a flinch or a scratch, drive the King of Curses back-
Apparently power, displayed in his protection, is enough to make him present, the first waves of heat breaking over his body. He shoves his face into the sleeve of his shirt where Gojo's scent still lingers, gasps in a breath carrying amusement, protectiveness, power, and slides the trembling fingers of his other hand down, over the heaving flat of his belly, the crinkle of his curls, to the slick wet heat between his thighs.
Climax punches into him, shoves the breath from his lungs, the tension from his muscles. He slumps to the mattress on a reedy cry, bitten out around his mouthful of cloth, and yet-
Yet it's not enough, his slim fingers only the worst of teases, and the heat builds and builds-
And breaks at last a day later, Megumi sore and thirsty and unfulfilled, voice raw from gasping Gojo’s- Satoru’s - name.
He goes on suppressants and scent blockers the next day.
-
Shinjuku, and Geto, and the prison realm, and Megumi misses Satoru as he never thought he could, his body crying out, unfulfilled and aching.
-
The box that holds the prison realm shudders. The terribly familiar eyes glance up, around, close, the bright lashes trembling. The box's edges melt apart, and then a burst of power that shakes the hall to its foundations. A terrible silence, broken by a snarl, and Megumi rocks back on his heels, gasping, as Satoru's scent - protection and ferocity and wonder - enfolds him at the same time those beloved arms do.
"Megumi," Satoru whispers. His arms tremble where they wrap around Megumi's shoulders, and then he stiffens and growls when Maki dares a step towards them. He calms only when Megumi wraps his arms around his waist and hums, pushing out consolation, a reminder of 'I'm here, I'm yours, I'm safe.'
"How long?" Satoru's voice rasps, vibrating in his throat where Megumi's pressed his face to take in that familiar scent. His thumb rubs comforting circles on the sweat-damp back of Megumi's neck.
"Three years," Megumi whispers against the pulse in Satoru's throat. "Too long."
Satoru tenses, no doubt due to the Six Eyes pouring information into him. "Why are we on the Zenin grounds?"
Megumi pushes Satoru back, skin already regretting the lost warmth, and gazes up at him. He looks unchanged physically, but there's a fury in his eyes that wasn't there before, a hunger.
"I am, unfortunately, the Zenin head now." It never gets any easier to say, and over Satoru's shoulder, Maki rolls her eyes and leaves the room, arms full of the weapons and spell scrolls they needed. "Plus we needed some stuff from the Zenin treasury for the ritual, and-" he pauses as Satoru's brow knits, his cursed energy rippling through the world around them.
Satoru tilts his head, nostrils flaring. His gaze rests on Megumi's neck. "You still wear the patches." He reaches out to slide his thumb slowly, near a caress, up the line of Megumi's throat to rasp over the rough fabric of the scent patch. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch, and Megumi shivers, Satoru's ravenous gaze missing nothing. The power in his hand, bleeding from his frame, is dizzying.
"Yes," he manages, fisting his hands in the fabric of his trousers as Satoru's nail dips against the sticky edge of the cloth, threatening to peel it back. "I don’t want to be mated yet, so it’s easier to just hide it.”
Satoru blinks and tilts his head. His hand retreats. "It works? The alphas aren't bothering you with offers?" His tone is light, easy, but there's that new hunger beneath it, a fiery yearning that promises to scorch.
Megumi wrinkles his nose at the memory: endless offering boxes from the clans, all of them smelling like rot. "They've tried ever since I came of age." Megumi bares his teeth. The shadows of the room ripple, and Satoru whistles, impressed. "They've never been strong enough to deserve me." He heads for the nearest sliding screen, and Satoru falls into step beside him, comforting as ever. "Let's have Ieiri check you out and then take you to the estate; the staff will be thrilled to stop wearing black once they see you're back."
"Ughhh," Satoru groans. "Wait, one second."
Megumi pauses, turns, and his mouth goes dry, his skin surges with heat, as Satoru bends close, rubs his stubbled jaw over Megumi's cheek. "Satoru-?"
"There," Satoru declares, and his gaze narrows, gleaming with satisfaction. "Now you smell right again."
-
Megumi burns, his gaze blurred and his hands trembling as he strips the protective seal off the Zenin treasury doors. The scent of Satoru's power - ice and light and fury - clings to his skin, to his clothes, overpowers the dusty empty smell of the treasury in moments.
He hopes it was the last thing Kenjaku ever smelled, his last sight Satoru's snarling wild face as the strongest returned and tore him apart.
"Damn it." The patches scald, the chemicals inside unable to do anything against the hormones running wild in Megumi's system. He strips them off with an irritable hiss, flinging them to the ground, and pauses in the treasury hall to glance about.
Damn Satoru, too; he hadn't worn a patch or taken suppressants before the fight at all, even though Ieiri had told him that he was due for rut after so long in the prison realm. He'd seemed to take pride in his alpha prowess, too, his furious overwhelming scent all anyone could smell, his ruinous power on full display.
And lastly, damn Megumi for being so easy for Satoru, for knowing since the moment he presented that he wanted Satoru's care and power for himself, for waiting for him for so long, for being so pent-up and so needy that he almost went into heat on the sidelines. He's practically in heat now, his skin sensitive to even the breeze, his cock and cunt slick in his briefs, the world sharp and bright beyond bearing.
He plunges an absent hand into the shadow of a column as he passes and finds the familiar carved surface, then pulls it out. The golden offering box of the Gojo fills his palm, still luminous, still a promise. He'd carried it with him ever since Satoru was lost in a silent vow to himself.
There, yes, a cypress box marked 'handkerchiefs' that he plucks down from its shelf and opens. Silk and cotton unfurls in a riot of color, and, uh, these embroideries are rather forward. Split plums and ripe peaches, cherry blossom petals, rosy flowers unfurling into bloom, all spiraling across pale cloth in unsubtle invitation. It takes some digging and swearing to find one that fits: pale gray cloth, embroidered with billowing swirls of black, a perfect testament to his technique. The silken fabric slides between his fingers, and oh, he can imagine Satoru raising it to his nose, a growl rumbling in his chest as he scents Megumi's need.
Megumi runs the cloth over the unmarked skin of his neck, down the sweat-damp plain of his chest, the coolness of it a blessed relief. Then, biting his lip, his ears burning with shame and arousal, he slides it into his underwear, gasping as it slips across the damp head of his cock, unable to hold back the shiver as he presses it to his slick and aching cunt. God, he's wet, dripping with need, the pristine cloth soaked as he raises it to the light. His scent - pure plea, warm and seductive - overwhelms everything else as he folds the handkerchief and places it in the offering box.
Now to send it to Satoru. He cleans up the treasury, then finds a Zenin servant, managing to seem, well, somewhat normal when he hands them the box and says,
"Send this to the Gojo, for the clan head alone."
The poor woman he'd stopped gazes at the golden object, then nods, her blush an equal to Megumi's. While she rushes away, Megumi turns toward the Zenin's own ornamental lake. With both of the clan compounds dating from the Heian, it hadn't been much of an adjustment to get used to the layout. The Zenin even have their own Cherished Hall of Divine Union, although Maki also calls it the Fuck Room.
Megumi hurries over the bridge to the hall and slides the shoji aside to enter. The rattle of the shoji is barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The room's only a few tatami mats large, with a low table to one side, stocked with a carafe of fresh water and two cups, and on the other side a rolled out futon with the duvet folded back. So small a room, so ordinary a set-up, and yet Megumi takes in every detail as he folds to his knees in the center of the room to wait. The motion rubs his slick inner thighs against one another, draws his attention again to the greedy ache of his body, the staccato of his breathing.
Breathe. Slowly. Satoru may not even return Megumi's feelings, may send the box back alone. Or if he does, he's hardly been back that long, may not have the time or energy to spare. The tatami dig against the tops of his feet, tucked beneath him, and Megumi focuses on the ache. The low lapping of water against the island shores. The flickering shadows cast upon the shoji screens by the lanterns floating on the lake.
It seems forever, and yet only a heartbeat, when air moves against the back of his neck. His chest tightens. His mouth dries. His senses fill, brimming, with the certainty of Satoru's presence and power: the desire in his scent, the energy prickling all around them, the rasp of his breath.
He rises to his feet, straightens his shoulders, and turns to meet Satoru's burning gaze. Blue as sky and ocean and glacier, and yet when he looks upon Megumi his eyes hold the endless hunger of flame.
"Megumi," Satoru starts, and his voice rumbles in a way that turns Megumi's knees to water. Unmistakably powerful, a declaration: he is here to claim.
Satoru must have come immediately upon receiving Megumi's offer, his hair still damp, his clothes the loose black sweats he wears in private. His broad shoulders strain against his shirt, his forearms, dusted with white hair, tense and thick with muscle, veins swelling along the backs of his hands where he holds the offering box. His chest heaves, his nostrils flaring, as he scents the air, scents Megumi in all his wantonness.
Megumi's scent only thickens when he lowers his gaze to Satoru's cock where it presses against his trousers. Long, thick, a damp spot already forming where the rosy shadow of the head touches the linen of his clothes, and Megumi swallows, body clenching about emptiness, yearning to be filled and fucked and taken. God, he's hot, his skin sensitive to the slightest breeze, the mere trace of Satoru's gaze across him.
"Megumi," Satoru says, and he pulls his gaze up to Satoru's face: hard and hungry and beautiful beyond bearing. Satoru searches Megumi's expression - for what, he doesn't know - and then he says, undeniable command in every fiber of him,
"Strip. Kneel on the futon."
Alpha voice, the kind Megumi's spent years ignoring, rejecting, and yet this, this wraps itself around him, irresistible and undeniable. His whole being howls at him to obey.
"Yes, alpha," he murmurs, and his whole being twists in delight at Satoru's pleased growl. Holding his gaze, Megumi undoes the belt of his yukata, cool air slipping in to caress his thighs, his heavy cock, his chest, and shrugs it off. It puddles about his bare feet in a whisper of silk and leaves him standing there, naked.
Satoru's lips twitch in a snarl. His hands tighten about the delicate golden box as if to crush. His lust, his pride, his urge to plunder and possess and breed - they pound at Megumi's senses, make him stifle a whine.
His body speaks for him, a few droplets of milky slick falling to the tatami beneath him.
Satoru closes his eyes. A growl, a groan, rumbles in his chest. His cock twitches.
Holding his breath, not daring to speak, Megumi steps back onto the futon and returns to his knees. Heat prickles in his ears, the back of his neck, spreads in a pink wave down the narrow slope of his chest.
He fumbles with his hands, unsure where to put them, then lets them hang loose at his sides.
Satoru stoops to one knee, setting aside the box. The heat of him caresses Megumi's skin. His voice holds dark promise when he says, "Spread your pretty thighs. Let me see what's mine."
Megumi hardly dares to breathe as he obeys, closing his eyes as if he can hide his embarrassed arousal. The air slides cool and teasing across the damp skin of his inner thighs, flickers between the lips of his cunt as they part with a wet sound, and it's all he can do to bite back the plea for Satoru to do something, say something, touch him-
He stiffens at the first brush of Satoru's fingers across him, eyes flying open to see Satoru's ravenous gaze directed between his thighs. The roughness of his fingertips hardly registers, Megumi's so wet, and Satoru breathes in Megumi's shudder, the scent of his need, with something more a snarl than a smile.
"So sweet," Satoru says, and he uses thumb and forefinger to spread Megumi wide, admire the instinctive clench of his cunt about empty air. "Pink and slick and needy, just begging to be bred." His dark gaze flicks up to Megumi's face, to where Megumi's biting his lower lip. "Your little cock throbs with every beat of your heart, did you know?"
"Satoru," Megumi manages, only to tremble anew as Satoru slides a finger in, just enough to breach him.
"Do you feel that?" It's the worst tease, all light pressure, and Satoru's smile crooks when he rubs his fingertip around Megumi's rim. "Feel my finger inside your tight virgin cunt? You clench on my fingers every time I touch you here." His thumb rolls slow and inescapable over the shaft of Megumi's cock, forcing Megumi to rut up into the cup of his palm, and damn it, he's so easy, so needy, Satoru's only got one hand on him and he's so fucking wrecked-
"I want more," Megumi gasps. His thighs tense and tremble, his heart races, he's so close-
"More?" Satoru pulls his finger out, his hand away, and wraps his lips about them where they're glossed with Megumi's slick. The noise of enjoyment he makes, the rapturous expression on his face, eyes closed to savor, has Megumi shaky, his own hand creeping across his thigh to touch.
"On your back on the futon, hands above your head," Satoru orders, effortless, one eye snapping open to pin Megumi in place. "I'm going to give you what you need."
Megumi bites back his growl and spreads himself on the futon, thighs falling open in welcome as Satoru prowls between them, shouldering him wide. The stretch pulls his cunt open further, has him even more exposed, and it's all he can do to hold Satoru's gaze when Satoru deliberately lowers his own eyes to the wet plea of Megumi's cunt.
"You make me so hard just looking at you," Satoru says, lowering himself closer with each word. "I want to devour you, fuck your pretty cunt on my tongue until you scream." He laughs, low, dangerous, when Megumi gulps back a sob, hips stuttering up towards his face. "You liked that, didn't you, Megumi, my sweet omega? Look at you humping the air like this, so desperate for my mouth."
Before Megumi can snarl, before he can beg, Satoru scoops up his thighs, tosses them over his own broad shoulders, and opens his mouth wide over Megumi's cunt.
Megumi gasps, hands flying to Satoru's hair, thighs going taut about Satoru's neck. He bucks up into the heat, the pressure, the pleasure, and Satoru growls right against his aching cunt and pins him to the futon, broad hands digging bruises against his hipbones. He laps Megumi open like a beast, tongue dragging hot and wet and hard between his lips, flickering over his cock. He grips Megumi hard with both hands, tugs him into his mouth, into the driving wave of tension that mounts and mounts and-
Megumi cries out, shuddering, the wave of heat that ripples out from his core inescapable. His toes curl in the air, his thighs shuddering against Satoru's shoulders, and he can't help it, he grinds against Satoru's face, helpless to do anything but feel, unable to do anything but hold Satoru closer, beg him in every motion of his body to continue.
Satoru doesn't stop. He barely comes up for air. His rough hands slide down Megumi's hips, cup his ass, and heft him high, trap him beneath his mouth like prey, like a feast. He moans. His eyes, wide and glazed, fix on Megumi's face, trace the first hints of tears Megumi can feel beading at his waterline. Another moan that reverberates through Megumi's cunt. He closes his eyes, hitches Megumi closer, and fucks him with his tongue, presses him wide to feel the instinctive clutch of Megumi about him. His face is red, his nose and mouth wet when he rears back for a gasping, growling breath before he lunges back to take, a beast in frenzy.
Megumi's hands, knotted in Satoru's hair, weaken, slide as Satoru presses him further, rolls orgasm after orgasm through Megumi until he's shuddering, gasping, crying, his hitched little moans and pleas barely audible beneath the filthy wet sound of Satoru's mouth on him. Satoru hears him, though, shudders with each cry, each reaction he can pull from Megumi. Breathless and helpless beneath Satoru's power, the weight of his desire, the endless pleasure he demands.
His grip loosens, his hands, trembling, falling to the futon. His thighs, shaking, slip from Satoru's shoulders. He surrenders, lies spread and open and defenseless, head turned aside, eyes closed, all of him tuned to the deep drag of Satoru's tongue, the relentless pull of his mouth. Abandoned utterly to the power of his alpha.
Satoru gentles. The furious pace of his mouth slows to a steady pass, soft where Megumi is sore, pressing slow wet kisses to the insides of Megumi's thighs where friction has burned him pink and raw. "Megumi," he murmurs, "Megumi, my own." He lowers Megumi to the futon, runs his hands over Megumi's shuddering limbs, working the overstimulated trembles out.
Megumi drifts for a moment, letting his breathing slow, the rabbit-fast pace of his heart fade back to normal. His mouth twitches into a smile when he says, voice raw and husky,
"I guess your mouth's good for something after all." He peels an eye open to find Satoru gazing back with an expression of helpless fondness.
"That's not all it's good for," Satoru says, "but I'd rather show you what my cock can do."
Megumi can't help the clench and shiver, even as his body aches with a strange mix of overstimulation and desire, and Satoru, missing nothing, smiles. His scent spikes with possession.
"You want me to fuck you," he says, utterly confident. His hands drop to the hem of his shirt, the collar drenched in his own saliva and Megumi's slick, and he peels it up and off, the muscle flexing beneath his skin leaving Megumi's mouth dry. His head reappears, and the effortless dominance of the way his gaze rakes over Megumi has Megumi sucking in a breath.
"You want me to breed you," he goes on, rising to his feet to hook his thumbs in his waistband and shoving his pants down. God, his cock- it's huge, the head smacking just below his navel when it bobs back up, and Megumi takes a deep breath, every cell in him yearning for Satoru's nearness. There's no knot yet, but the girth is such that Megumi can't even imagine it full, can barely believe anyone could hold such a thing within them. "You want me to take you," Satoru's voice deepens, roughens, goes purely alpha, as he falls to his knees, stalks up over Megumi, "want to feel my cock enter you inch by inch, and I want to feel you tighten and tremble and moan against me."
His hips dip, the head of his cock smearing hot and wet over the inside of one of Megumi's thighs. One big hand cups the back of Megumi's head, his palm broad and strong and safe, cradling him like he's something precious. The other hand splays across Megumi's narrow chest where his heart stutters.
Satoru lowers his head to nudge at Megumi's jaw, press a surprisingly chaste kiss to the drying tear tracks beneath one eye. "I will treasure you and honor you," he murmurs against Megumi's ear, emotion aching in his words, "stand at your side against all enemies, and claim you for my own, if you will have me."
"The box with my slick-soaked handkerchief wasn't enough?" Megumi says, before easing the sting of his words by turning his head to catch Satoru's mouth in a kiss. "Of course I will," he says as they draw apart, "now do what you said and fuck me." He settles his hands on Satoru's broad shoulders, digs his nails in to feel Satoru shiver, his muscles tighten.
"As my omega wishes," Satoru says, his smile wolfish, his eyes dark. The hand on Megumi's chest trails down over his sweat-slick abdomen, curls about his cock and rubs in a tease that has Megumi shuddering, before moving to steady his own cock, the head rubbing and pushing against Megumi's wet cunt. "I'm going to fuck you full," he says, holding Megumi's gaze. "Can you feel me, so close, all I have to do is push-"
He drops his hips, and for a moment Megumi can't breathe, can't think, can't even imagine it'll fit, the head catching and pressing-
"Relax," Satoru says, and Megumi trusts, obeys. He breathes out the tension as Satoru pushes in, his expression stricken, awed, and God, he's so hot, thick, stretching Megumi's entrance wide almost to the point of pain. His hands tighten on Satoru's shoulders, his back arching, little noises bubbling from his lips to break against Satoru's mouth. His heels skid in the futon cover. He slams his eyes shut, tries to hold himself together, to not shatter on the altar of Satoru's need.
"So tight," Satoru whispers, his voice hot and trembling, "can you feel how you tremble around me? Can I push even deeper?" His hand slips around to spread across the small of Megumi's back, hold him still and steady.
"Yes, yes, please, harder," Megumi babbles, all thought driven from him by the unending friction and fullness inside him, the heavy weight of Satoru such that he can't even clench: can only be opened, widened, remolded to fit Satoru inside himself.
Satoru growls, the noise so near it prickles across Megumi's skin, and hitches his hips closer, presses his cock deeper as Megumi moans, scores deep lines into his shoulders and tightens his thighs about the narrow width of Satoru's waist.
"I'm in." Satoru kisses Megumi's lax mouth, drinks down his pleading breaths. He waits for Megumi to open his tear-glazed eyes, then murmurs,
"Now, my omega, let me fuck you full." His hips rock back in a slow, luxurious drag, and Megumi can do nothing but hold on for the ride.