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Yuuji’s running late for class, his head is killing him, and he’s freaking the fuck out because his rut is coming up and he’s way too obsessed with Megumi to be normal about it.
As normal as one can be during a rut cycle, anyway, not that Yuuji is exactly famous for that, and since becoming aware of Megumi’s existence he’s only gotten more embarrassing and become more at the mercy of his instincts. Just last night he was on the phone with the omega having to hold back from touching himself from only the sound of his voice, feeling himself go red at the ears and down his neck when Megumi had said, something bothering you?
“No, nope, I’m good,” he had lied through his teeth, and Megumi’s barely there little laugh had confirmed he didn’t believe it for a second. Megumi’s playful judgement of his behavior only gets him going more, though, and he had to bid the omega goodnight before he ended up engaging in actions that would inevitably cause him to skip class the next morning.
Maybe the hours he spent staring at his ceiling, trying to resist the urge to pull up Megumi’s old videos, are why he has such a tense headache now. Megumi probably would have humored him on the phone, but he still has trouble initiating anything, always worried that he’s being pushy, that Megumi will think Yuuji only sees him as a sex object. (Honestly, that might be less embarrassing than the truth, which is that Yuuji would propose to him now if he thought he would say yes.)
When he reaches his lecture hall and collapses into his seat, checking his phone, he has a text from Megumi that reads: need your help with something today. when are you done with class? He’ll blame his upcoming rut on the way his alpha preens at the omega asking for him. He’s hopeless.
For the rest of the day, he wanders aimlessly from class to class, picturing what Megumi might be asking for help with. Images rise in his mind unbidden: Megumi, straining on his tip toes, peering coyly over his shoulder to ask Yuuji if he would get something from the top shelf for him. (Mind you, they’re like the same height; if anything, Megumi is a little taller.)
Megumi, cutting his thumb on a sheet of paper, then lifting it towards Yuuji with an imploring gaze to ask if he would lick it clean for him. (Ew? He would do it, of course.)
Megumi, doing his laundry, ass sticking out of the dryer and calling to Yuuji from where he’s stuck inside the machine, hips wiggling. (This is just humiliating; he thought he was better than this. Also, none of these scenarios warrant texting someone ahead of time to ask for help.)
By the time he’s leaving campus to head to Megumi’s place, he’s sufficiently worked himself up, and it’s all he can do to keep his scent under control on the train. He knows that he should probably discuss his upcoming rut with Megumi tonight— not that he expects Megumi to spend it with him, he couldn’t presume (nor can he consider it in public), but he should at least give the omega a warning in case he wonders why Yuuji goes MIA for a few days.
(Except— what if Yuuji starts rut-texting him, spamming his phone with calls begging him to come over and sit on his knot? Oh, god, he should probably block him during that time.)
He’s still ruminating on all of this as he approaches Megumi’s door, and the omega opens it before he can knock. Blinking in surprise, he stutters out a faint “H-hi,” unready to be met with Megumi’s face, his features smooth and attractive. Yuuji has learned that Megumi not grimacing at him is basically like receiving a smile, and he smiles in return, the tension from his day starting to seep out of him the slightest bit.
Inside, the smell of Megumi’s dinner is pleasant despite its simplicity, and Yuuji is ecstatic when he’s offered what’s left. (Normally he would decline, wanting Megumi to have the leftovers, but he can’t turn down an opportunity to eat the omega’s cooking, even if it’s room temperature from sitting.) They talk about their days for a bit; Yuuji mentions his headache, and Megumi reaches a hand out to place on his forehead, his expression focused. Immediately Yuuji is thrilled by the contact, his approaching rut only making him more sensitive to any attention the omega gives him. Megumi must notice, because he gives Yuuji a little look.
“I’m okay,” he says, concentrating on making his voice sound playful and not like a nervous teenager, “but you can touch me more.” Megumi smirks, taking his hand away. Yuuji wants to grab his wrist, pull him forward, crawl inside his skin, but he refrains.
“That reminds me,” Megumi replies, standing, and Yuuji cocks his head as the man steps out of the room. There’s a minute or two and some distant rustling as Megumi seems to look for something, and when he returns to the living space Yuuji’s heart drops out of his ass.
In his hands are not one, but two dildos, more than Yuuji has ever been in the same room with at one time (that he knows of). In his right hand is the dildo— the only one that Megumi has ever used on stream. If he’s used it more than once, Yuuji is unaware, as he only saw it in action the one time before he met Megumi, before they became whatever they are now, before he stopped watching the streams out of some mortifying possessiveness. The thought of Megumi’s continued use of it— on stream or otherwise— has heat prickling all over his body, and he shifts in his seat.
In Megumi’s left hand, however, is a toy Yuuji hasn’t seen before: a knotted dildo, also dark in color (makes sense, as he can’t imagine Megumi using something bright or garish), and quite a bit larger than the other. Yuuji’s eyes are so focused on the object that Megumi has to wave his arms to get his attention, huffing in impatience.
Yuuji doesn’t realize he has a hand on his bulge until Megumi makes pointed eye contact with it, and he hurriedly drops it back to his side. Megumi huffs again, but this time it sounds more humored. “I wanted you to help me with this.”
Yuuji flexes his legs, and then relaxes them. His brain is somewhat staticky at the moment. He clears his throat, and asks, “Like, how?”
Megumi walks forward, and Yuuji’s whole body tenses, but the omega simply hands him the smaller of the two dildos so that he has a free hand to gesture to the newer one. Yuuji doesn’t look down, doesn’t think about how what he’s holding has been inside of Megumi, doesn’t remember how he would have paid sickening amounts of money on some black market website to get his hands on this if given the chance, before he met Megumi.
Before he met Megumi seems to be a recurring phrase in his mind, and he doesn’t know what to make of that, but the way Megumi’s delicate fingers can barely wrap around the toy in his hand is currently monopolizing Yuuji’s attention.
“I haven’t used something like this before,” he muses, examining the dildo, “and I wanted to practice before I use it on stream.”
The static in Yuuji’s brain rises into a deafening roar, his ears ringing. Megumi looks in his direction as Yuuji sets the toy in his own hand down— he isn’t even sure where, off to the side somewhere, he’s already forgotten that it exists— and stands, pacing towards Megumi, fingers stretching restlessly.
When he gets close enough to touch, a shaky breath escapes him, and Megumi blinks at him, unimpressed. “What?”
The design of the toy is simple, thicker around the base without any needless complexities, and Yuuji looks down at it, head hanging, trying to rein himself in. He remembers the sight of his own knot inside of Megumi, how the omega had begged for it, cried for it, said that he wanted it more than he wanted anything else; Megumi shifts his feet, and Yuuji knows his scent must be overbearing.
“I don’t…” Don’t say it. Don’t be that guy. “I— fuck, Megumi.” He’s kissing him then, his arm reaching around his waist and pulling him in possessively, the dildo thudding on the floor beneath them. Megumi doesn’t seem particularly surprised by his reaction, settling into the kiss with ease; he nips at Yuuji’s bottom lip, and Yuuji clutches the back of his thighs, lifting him off the ground (and causing a yelp he would find adorable if he wasn’t so— distracted).
He starts walking, Megumi’s legs wrapped around his waist and pressing his hot core to Yuuji’s abdomen in a way that has his head spinning; he honestly doesn’t have the frame of mind to think of where to go, though, and so when Megumi’s back hits a wall, he figures that’s well enough.
“You okay?” He asks breathily between trying to suck Megumi’s tongue out of his mouth. In response, he gets another lip bite, and a “Shut up,” so he shuts up.
They’re content like that for a while— well, maybe content isn’t the right word; his heartbeat is echoing through his entire body, hips restless and neck burning under Megumi’s fingers. He keeps one arm supporting the bottom of Megumi’s thighs while the other starts pulling clumsily at his zipper, and he earns one of Megumi’s sexy, judgemental little laughs.
“What about the toy?” He teases, and Yuuji scoffs, struggling with his button. “I don’t want my viewers to be disappointed.”
Suddenly there’s a growl, one that Yuuji realizes is coming from himself, and he would be embarrassed if he had the ability to think of anything but the inside of Megumi’s body. “They can fucking deal.” He frees his dick finally, clutching it and pressing it against Megumi’s clothed center, and Megumi hums.
“What, you’re not supportive?” Despite the deadpan sarcasm in his voice, Yuuji’s head jerks up, struck for a moment by the idea that Megumi is upset with him. In a moment of normalcy, he starts to sputter an apology, only for Megumi to roll his eyes and kiss him again.
Megumi’s tongue traces the roof of his mouth, and it’s enough motivation for him to struggle the omega’s pants out of the way and start to press him down onto his dick. That tongue retreats into a gasp, barely there, but enough to make Yuuji feel like he could lift a car. His fingers grip the bottom of Megumi’s thighs hard enough to bruise.
“‘s big,” Megumi mumbles into his mouth, and his hips fuck up violently of their own volition, inspiring another gasp. He’s drilling into the omega, then, too absorbed to pull too far away; he trails messy, half-focused kisses down the side of Megumi’s face to his neck, his scent glands. While there, faced with an outpouring of that scent he’s so obsessed with, he works his tense jaw, sucking harshly at the skin to give his mouth something to do, to distract himself. He can hear the way Megumi sucks in breath after desperate breath, not the type to moan much but gasping for air like Yuuji’s dick really is splitting him open.
“Breed you,” Yuuji’s mouthing into his neck, barely even registering the words coming out of his own mouth, “wanna breed you so bad, Megumi, wanna— get you pregnant—” Suddenly the omega is tightening viciously around him, slick gushing, and his nails dig into Megumi’s thighs as he realizes he’s coming, mouth falling open and drool probably dripping as he fucks harder, faster at the realization.
A whimper; he pulls back just enough to see Megumi’s head thrown back, eyes clenched shut with tears beading at the corners, and he gasps out, “Gonna knot you, okay? Okay?” and watches Megumi bite his lower lip like he’s in pain.
The thought is concerning, that he accidentally hurt the omega, but— not enough to stop. He doesn't even know if he’s capable, the way his hips are moving on their own, forceful and unrelenting, like he’ll die if he slows for a second.
Megumi is still gripping him, slick gushing out with every thrust in, a sight that Yuuji admires as he fucks. He can feel his knot swelling, watches it starting to catch on the rim, struggling to go in; his mind is consumed with the idea of breeding Megumi, keeping him contained, showing all of his viewers that he has an alpha that plugs him up good— wait, what?
He forces himself in, unable to pull out anymore, and grinds deep, finishing at the mental image of Megumi on stream, Yuuji’s come dripping out of his abused hole, brandishing it for the camera like a badge of honor.
Fuck, dude. He grunts an “Oh, god,” as he comes, pulling Megumi’s body as close to his as it will go, shoving his head onto the omega’s shoulder, pointedly facing his mouth away from his scent glands lest he screws up and lets his instincts run more wild than they already have.
Later, after he’s carried Megumi over and laid them both awkwardly on the couch, still connected with Megumi grumbling all the while, he apologizes, muttering a “Sorry for saying I wanted to get you pregnant,” into the nape of Megumi’s neck.
Megumi just laughs softly, the sound hot and demoralizing in a way that makes him shift back and forth, his dick pulsing inside. “I’ve heard worse.” A reminder he doesn’t enjoy, and he presses his frown into the top of Megumi’s spine. “Besides, it was kinda hot.”
More pulsing, twitching, breath hitching. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” They’re both silent for a bit, then, “I don’t want to go again, though. We need to focus on the dildo thing.”
“Right.” He steels himself. If his left arm wasn’t trapped under Megumi’s body, he would slap his own face in preparation.
They take a water break first, Yuuji guzzling multiple glasses worth from the tap while Megumi side eyes him, before getting down to business. Again.
“So,” Megumi starts, gesturing to the newly-sanitized dildo once more, “this. I wanted to use it at least once before my next stream to make sure it’ll be, you know. Fine.”
Yuuji nods dutifully, trying not to look at the object for the sake of his focus. Instead, though, he’s forced to admire Megumi’s face only, his gloomy eyes and pink lips and serious expression. Remembering his earlier fantasy of Megumi baring his hole for the camera, he realizes— Megumi’s streams are a one-angle kind of deal. He would show his whole body, sure, but his face was always plainly visible, never turning around or zooming in on anything. It makes sense, as Megumi’s face is Megumi’s face, and it also somehow satisfies that possessive instinct in him, just a little bit.
“Okay. Yeah.” He nods again, stern, then pauses. “But— do you need me for that? You usually…?”
An uncharacteristic blush comes over Megumi’s cheeks, and Yuuji relishes in it, fighting to stay focused. “I just want to make sure. Like, play it safe.” He looks down at the object, assessing. “At the very least you can be my practice-audience.”
Yuuji wants to say that he’ll be his audience of one for the rest of his life— that he would pay to watch Megumi eat or sleep or stare at the wall and be content— but that would be really weird, right? Is it his upcoming rut inspiring these thoughts, or is it just all him?
“Practice audience. Cool.” His voice cracks a little on audience, and Megumi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t tease. After a beat of silence, he asks, “Now?”
Not now— evidently Yuuji getting carried away earlier warrants a break— but Megumi invites him to stay the night and try it in the morning. Yuuji is buzzing as he brushes his teeth with the toothbrush he left after Megumi’s heat; he tries, embarrassingly, to search for any stray residual scent on the small object from that time, to no avail.
When he’s finished and walks into Megumi’s room, the omega is already in bed. Yuuji has to take a moment in the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fingers, thinking about how lucky he is, how the him of a few months ago would have passed out at the sight before him now. Megumi’s scent is always lovely, but in his bedroom it’s concentrated, intense, all-encompassing. He takes shallow breaths, and doesn’t realize how long he’s stalling for until Megumi looks up from his phone, frowning and patting the space next to himself expectantly.
Aside from Megumi’s heat, they haven’t spent a night in the same bed, and again— that time was a blur for both of them. (This thought also makes him realize their tendency to get down in places other than the bedroom pretty frequently; he blushes.)
Yuuji climbs awkwardly from the foot of the bed, taking the side closest to the wall. He feels large in this space, Megumi’s blankets and pillows and body and scent overwhelming him, caging him in, almost. It’s pleasant, but— a lot. He feels himself getting bricked up, and twists his body to try and hide it.
Foolish, evidently, because Megumi immediately goes, “Can’t even be in here, huh?” and he whines in response.
“I’m sorry.” He shoves his face into a pillow, but that makes it so much worse. Megumi snickers, still looking at his phone.
“You’re a mess. Can you handle seeing me take a knotted toy?”
Yuuji feels defensive all of a sudden, and pulls his face out to glare playfully. “Megumi, I just actually knotted you. With my penis. I can handle it.” Megumi’s eyes slide over to his, a beautiful, half-lidded, judgey side eye, and his dick twitches.
“Hmm.” Megumi shifts, fresh scent floating with his movements, the blankets jostled. “Yeah, you did.” His voice is still even, but it starts to take on a different tone; Yuuji’s hips, pressed against the bed, grind forward without him meaning to. Megumi sighs. “You talking about breeding me made me come so hard.”
“Megumi,” he shoves his face into the pillow again, giving in to the urge to bite it, his teeth aching. “Please. Thought you wanted to go to bed.”
“I do.” Yuuji tries not to grind down any more; his hips twitch. “‘m tired. Had a long day.” Yuuji wants to offer a massage or something, but instead is consumed by not shoving his dick so hard into the mattress he wears a hole into it. His head swims.
Despite his efforts, he doesn’t realize he’s been grinding steadily into the bed until, after a minute, Megumi says, “I can help you, though, so you can sleep,” and his face jerks up, mouth open in a gasp.
“You— don’t have to,” he breathes, raising himself onto his hands so his dick isn’t making contact anymore. Instead, it hangs heavy in his pants, twitching visibly. Megumi is looking at it, which makes it twitch more, and Yuuji could probably come from this small amount of friction alone.
“I know.” Megumi pushes at his shoulder until Yuuji gets the hint and rolls onto his back. He doesn’t climb over him completely, but leans over his torso, bringing them face to face and resting his cheek in one hand while he pulls Yuuji’s dick out with the other.
Breath rushes out of him. Looking at his dick, you wouldn’t know he was plugged up inside of wet pussy just a few short hours ago; it’s flushed and wet and jerking violently at the slightest bit of attention. Megumi thumbs at the slit, and Yuuji bites his fist.
“You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, starting to jerk him slowly, and Yuuji kind of wants to cry. “I like your cute little noises.”
“Cute?” He whines, cutely, and Megumi smirks. The slide of his hand is hypnotic, completely wet and smooth aided by how much Yuuji’s leaking.
“Yeah,” Megumi leans forward, nuzzling at Yuuji’s ear with his nose and making him squirm, “cute. You want me so bad.”
“Mhm. So bad.” He sounds so pathetic, dude, and the embarrassment of it is vastly overshadowed by how obsessed he is with Megumi, how lucky he feels to be the object of his attention. His hips fuck up to meet Megumi’s hand. “So bad. Please. Want to breed you so bad, wanna— fuck, Megumi, please.”
“Please what?” His voice takes on a teasing lilt, soft, and Yuuji’s vision is swimming.
“Please let me— just—” He slides the hand closest to Megumi over, grabbing at his hip, thumbing at it under his shirt. The omega doesn’t even flinch; Yuuji’s too ticklish to imagine. “I fucking— wanna keep you to myself, please, please.”
Megumi’s head tilts as if surprised, likely just for show; Yuuji knows it has to be obvious. He continues, “Don’t like other— people, seeing you,” his voice gets growly and he tries to tamp it down, “you’re so— nngh,” he’s squirming incessantly, he’s gonna come so fast again, he can’t fucking do this.
“Keep me to yourself?” Megumi’s voice keeps getting softer, and Yuuji’s eyes genuinely start to cross; his knot is growing. “So you want me to say that I’m yours? That other alphas can’t have me?”
It’s all Yuuji can do to nod. Megumi continues, voice low and melodic and way too nice, Yuuji should have seen this coming, “So when all those alphas watch me come on some fake knot, without you, what are you gonna do then?”
He starts to come, vision whiting out; he grabs frantically at Megumi’s hand with both of his own, forcing him to squeeze his knot, head thrown back; Megumi’s scent is warm and satisfied, and his alpha is so confused and so horny, and he feels like he comes for five minutes straight.
When he feels like a human again, Megumi’s mouth is pressed absently into his shoulder, his fingers still wrapped around his pulsing knot. Basic thought processes feel like a herculean effort, and he thinks that he should really tell Megumi that his rut is coming up. If it’s not obvious.
Then again, Megumi asked him if he was about to go into rut when they first met, and that was just him doing his best, so.
He cranes his neck, brushing his cheek against the top of Megumi’s head, dark hair thick and ticklish against his skin. Megumi makes a little mm noise, nothing in particular, scent spreading out like a blanket, and Yuuji’s not sure who falls asleep first.
Waking up next to Megumi is a dream come true— in that it’s very easy to mistakenly think he’s dreaming, as waking up with damp boxers and Megumi’s face behind his eyelids is something he’s no stranger to. During Megumi’s heat, Yuuji would often be dragged into consciousness by Megumi climbing on top of him, using the alpha’s dick like it belonged to him, his scent hitting Yuuji like a brick wall as soon as he was awake enough to notice it.
(He still jerks off to those moments where he blinked his eyes open to see Megumi’s slick dripping down onto him, the omega barely awake himself but already desperate for Yuuji’s knot— holy shit, he’s so fucking hot, Yuuji is so down bad.)
His dick is tucked safely back into his boxers, although is clearly ready to go again simply from being in proximity to the omega, who is laying on his side with his back to Yuuji. Keeping himself a healthy distance away from Megumi’s ass (which takes some willpower), he leans over his shoulder, seeing that he’s awake and looking at his phone.
“Morning,” he says, voice groggy from sleep, trying to focus past the blissful fog of Megumi’s scent, his neck tantalizingly close. Megumi hums noncommittally in response, and Yuuji climbs awkwardly over his body, avoiding jabbing him with his erection, to go relieve his bladder. Once he’s almost out the door, back turned, Megumi calls, “Let me know when you’re ready for our test run,” causing him to ram his shoulder into the door frame.
An hour or so later— bladders emptied, teeth brushed, doordash breakfast ordered— (“that’s such a waste of money, you know,” so is donating to camboys, but look where it got me, he doesn’t say)— they’re sitting on the bed, facing each other. Megumi is leaning against the wall, reminiscent of his streams, and Yuuji’s perspective from where he’s facing him makes him feel weird. It’s like he’s been dropped straight into one of his fantasies, like he climbed through his laptop screen to sit on Megumi’s bed and watch him work. It’s a little surreal, and his dick is conditioned to be rock hard at the sight.
The knotted toy lays between them on the duvet. Yuuji avoids looking at it. Megumi’s still in the clothes he slept in, shorts and an old t-shirt, and shifts back and forth, toying with the hem of his top. Usually it’s in a teasing, sexy way, but Yuuji can tell that this time it’s in an awkward, shy way.
“S-so,” he starts, a blush forming, the two of them just staring at each other. “You wanted me to be your audience, so. I’m an audience.”
Megumi scoffs lightly, turns to the side, still holding on to the bottom of his shirt. Yuuji’s eyes keep darting down to his hands and back up to his face. “Yeah. Um. This is really weird to do in front of someone.” Yuuji doesn’t respond, and when Megumi catches his face he sighs impatiently. “I know, but it’s— different.”
So you’ve never done this for anyone else, Yuuji thinks, so it’s just me.
“It’s okay,” he assures, trying to tamp down his own violent wanting and focus on what Megumi needs. “Just pretend I’m not here, I guess.” Megumi rolls his eyes, and Yuuji’s dick twitches.
Still fiddling with his shirt, he sighs again, saying, “I don’t want to take— I’m. Cold.”
Before Yuuji’s even registering what he’s heard, his own hoodie has been ripped off of his body, nearly taking his shirt with it in his haste to remove the garment and shove it into Megumi’s hands. The omega blinks in surprise.
“Here,” he says, too quickly, a little breathless. He notices Megumi’s eyes move down, taking in his mostly bare abdomen from where his shirt has ridden up, and heat swirls in his gut. “You don’t have to take your clothes off, right? You don’t always.” Mentioning the stream almost seems forbidden, like it’ll pop the little bubble they're in, despite the fact that what they’re doing is for the sole purpose of the stream. Megumi slowly receives the hoodie, pulling it over his head, his hair getting mussed in the process. Yuuji resists the urge to reach his hand out and pet it down.
“Right,” Megumi says softly, rubbing his thighs. Already the sight of him in Yuuji’s clothing is a lot to bear— the possessiveness of it, the knowledge that his scent is getting more and more embedded in the fabric by the second, but also the idea of Megumi actually wearing it on stream, a marker of Yuuji’s ownership over him, his place as his alpha.
Don’t own him, something in Yuuji reminds, while at the same time his alpha is foaming at the metaphorical mouth. He should really bring up the upcoming rut thing.
Megumi is sitting on his legs with his feet under him; one of the hands shifts over just slightly, sliding in between his thighs, and Yuuji’s mouth goes dry. Megumi swallows audibly, shifts back and forth, and then sighs, notably different from his earlier noises of discomfort.
That hand trapped between his thighs moves just so, sliding closer to his body. He squeezes at the meat of his inner thigh, his thumb brushing his center, his other hand moving to push against the bed for leverage.
Megumi’s known to take his time teasing himself— or teasing his viewers, rather— over his clothes, rubbing idly at himself without a care in the world, unbothered by the visibly increasing wetness building between his thighs. Today seems to be different, however, as he quickly escalates to sliding his hand beneath his waistband; Yuuji holds his breath as he watches, enraptured.
“I didn’t realize how wet I already was,” Megumi murmurs, then, and Yuuji leans back on his hands, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself.
“Yeah?” He can’t help but respond, matching Megumi’s volume. The omega’s eyes flick up to his, something challenging in them; he always imagined that Megumi was looking at him, but the reality of it is clearly different, the look in his eyes personal to Yuuji, searching in his gaze. Looking for a reaction, Yuuji realizes, and he clenches his hands in the duvet to avoid touching himself.
“Mhm,” Megumi says, leaning back, head resting against the wall, showing off the front of his throat. Yuuji’s teeth hurt with the urge to bite down, to draw blood, to leave marks, to hold him in place. “I woke up thinking about you. You smell good.”
Yuuji’s got to be flushed all over, skin hot and itchy from holding back from everything he wants. “I do?” He asks, sounding less secure than he’d like. Megumi nods, eyes lidded.
“Really nice. Comforting.” He pauses, his gaze going a little distant, and Yuuji’s heart can’t help but surge at the words. “More than usual, maybe.”
Right. That. “Yeah, about that, Megumi—” He’s cut off by another sigh, more drawn out, Megumi’s eyes closing. Speaking of scent, Yuuji can smell Megumi’s slick, growing stronger as he produces more of it while he touches himself. Yuuji’s hips lift up into the air, just slightly, the press of his dick against the inside of his pants and the scent in the room enough to have him biting his lip to hold back a noise of his own.
“Should I stretch myself out first, or just…” Megumi trails off, hips squirming and impatient from his own touch. Yuuji struggles to think.
“What would you do if, um.” He coughs. Stares at where Megumi’s hand is hidden beneath his shorts. “If you were on stream.”
Megumi rolls his pretty eyes again. “I’d drag it out. Make you beg for it.” You, Yuuji’s brain echoes, you you you, he means me.
“That’s mean,” he replies, the corner of his mouth ticking up a little, Megumi’s doing the same.
“You like it, though,” he says, and pulls his hand out again, revealing it to the air. His fingers are coated in slick, and Yuuji’s can feel his eyelids droop, his brain going mushy. “And I’d say something like, ‘I bet you wish you could taste it’—”
Yuuji’s nodding, quickly, desperately, his hips kicking up again. “Yeah.”
Megumi pauses, mouth still stretched up into a half-smile. “Yeah. But you can’t.” He sucks his two fingers into his own mouth, gently, eyes remaining open and watching Yuuji as his jaw drops. “Because you’re just watching. Right?”
Yuuji shuts his mouth, breathes out harshly through his nose, grabs his dick in his pants. Megumi looks down, tilts his head as if assessing it. It’s hot, and Yuuji squeezes, feeling that familiar itch where his knot already wants to expand.
“But maybe if people donate enough,” Megumi continues, bringing Yuuji back to earth a little, “then I’ll skip the prep and just go for it.” He watches Yuuji closely. “It’s not like I can’t take it. It’s just,” he takes a deep breath, “big.”
“It’s not that big,” Yuuji mumbles, voice low, petulant. Megumi smirks again, reaching for the toy that Yuuji forgot was laying between them; it almost feels like he’s breaking the fourth wall, like he’s reaching through Yuuji’s laptop screen and grabbing something off of his desk.
It is bigger than his, is the thing— not too much by length, but definitely girthier, and the knot in particular is intimidating, exaggerated in that classic sex-toy style. Yuuji feels a pang of worry at the idea of Megumi hurting himself on some stupid dildo, and isn’t sure if it stems from his alpha, or just him in general.
Megumi wiggles out of his shorts, discarding them off the side of the bed, but when he reaches for the bottom of the hoodie he pauses. Yuuji’s mouth is open, already about to ask him to keep it on, but he doesn’t have to.
The omega leans back further against the wall, body more horizontal now, reclined on his elbows with his bare bottom half exposed to Yuuji, and holy fucking shit, Yuuji is so fucking locked in. Megumi spreads his legs, pink pussy fully on display, and the alpha actually whines. Audibly. Then shoves his fist into his mouth to force himself to shut up.
“You gonna be okay?” Megumi asks, voice teasing. He’s staring up at the ceiling, left hand holding the dildo, but he reaches his right hand down to spread himself open for Yuuji, sighing. “This is for you, you know?”
He doesn’t realize it’s happening, but— suddenly Yuuji is holding himself over Megumi, the omega’s eyes wide with surprise, mouth open in shock. Yuuji probably looks the same, or worse.
“For— for my audience, I mean,” Megumi stutters, breathy, and Yuuji works his jaw, his teeth feeling too big in his mouth. “Need you to practice, right?”
Yuuji doesn’t reply, doesn’t really remember how to talk like a normal person right now; he tilts his head down at Megumi, admires his handsome, delicate features, his pale neck beneath Yuuji’s hoodie.
“You need me?” He eventually asks, and some far off part of himself is yelling that he sounds like a pretentious asshole, or maybe a needy loser, but it’s overpowered by the static noise of his instincts.
Megumi pauses, shifting, and nods once. Raises his chin up to Yuuji in challenge. Yuuji shoves his face into his neck, his hips rutting forward into Megumi’s.
Distantly, his right hand fumbles until it feels the toy, loosely gripped in Megumi’s fist. He grabs it from him with little resistance, nudging it off to the side for a moment so that he can squeeze Megumi’s hand in his own. He hears the omega’s breath hitch at the action, and he wonders if it feels as good to Megumi as it does to him, like every little boring part of his body is an erogenous zone when Megumi touches it.
He reluctantly lets go in order to trace his hand down Megumi’s body, savoring every divot he passes, even through his stupid hoodie he made the omega wear, until his fingers are making contact with that hot, wet place, sinking in like they belong there, like Megumi’s welcoming him in. Megumi turns his head to the side, and Yuuji leans back just enough to admire the dusty pink lining his cheekbones.
“I can help,” he’s mumbling without meaning to, “cause you asked so nicely, Megumi.” He nuzzles the side of Megumi’s face. “‘d do anything for you.” He pushes his fingers in deeper, curls them, feels the way Megumi’s whole body tightens up.
He’s still grinding absently into Megumi’s body as he fingers him, and the barely-there friction is already too much, everything is too much, so he pulls his fingers out, pulls back. Megumi takes a shivery breath, looks to him as if in question of why he’s leaving.
Yuuji picks up the dildo. Brings it down and holds it against Megumi’s pelvis, sticking out from his own as if it’s connected to his body. His dick twitches in his boxers as if to remind Yuuji of its existence.
“Think you’re wet enough, right?” Yuuji asks, looking at Megumi’s pussy instead of his face. In his periphery he can see Megumi nod, and so he starts to push it in.
He’s once again reminded of how it feels to be one of Megumi’s viewers— all the times that he stared slack-jawed at his laptop, watched that singular stream of Megumi fucking himself with a dildo, and imagined so desperately that it was his dick instead of plastic. Despite not being able to feel it himself, Yuuji can see the way Megumi’s hole is desperate to be filled, accepting the first few inches of the toy with ease, slick gushing out around it. He looks away to avoid wanting to come from the sight alone, but Megumi’s face isn’t much better; the omega starts squirming, his head thrashing against the pillow as he struggles to take more.
“You’re so pretty, Megumi,” he breathes, not stopping until the toy is bottomed out save for the knot. Megumi’s chest heaves, and he stares at the ceiling.
“Have you taken something this big before?” He whispers, not knowing why he feels the need to be quiet, but he does; like they’re live, like he has to keep his voice low so only Megumi can hear, so it’s only between the two of them. After a beat Megumi shakes his head no, and Yuuji swears under his breath, bringing the toy out and fucking it back in. As he does so, Megumi’s pussy makes a wet noise, and he brings a hand up to cover the lower half of his face in embarrassment.
“Knew you hadn’t. You just fuck yourself for me, right?” He actually doesn’t know what he’s saying, voice still low and intimate. They haven’t discussed either of their dating or sexual histories— not that they need to, necessarily, because it’s not like they’re exclusive or anything. Right?
Or maybe it’s just because Yuuji is too afraid to ask, not wanting anything to override his naive fantasy that the omega hasn’t been with anyone else. He doesn’t think he could handle it, he thinks, fucking the toy in and out and admiring Megumi’s face, his hiccuped breaths under his hand. Knowing that nameless alphas have seen Megumi come is hard enough, but he can at least hold on to the idea that he’s the only one who really has Megumi.
Not mine, not mine, some part of him again reminds, in direct opposition with his alpha that’s already pissed enough that he’s fucking him with a toy instead of the real thing. Why are they doing this again?
“Yuuji,” Megumi finally takes his hand away from his own mouth to say, voice raw, and Yuuji snaps to attention. “N-need to practice doing it myself.”
Yuuji blinks. “Why?”
Megumi huffs, but the effect is lessened by his pink, fucked-out skin. “‘Cause I have to do it on stream. When you’re not there.” Yuuji frowns.
“I can just be there with you. It’ll be easier.” The scent of Megumi’s slick is maybe to blame, or his pre-rut hormones, but holy shit what is he saying. Megumi seems to actually be at a loss for words, and his eyes shut in pleasure briefly before he gets back on topic.
“No.” The omega finally says, sounding shaky and a little confused, but the word is definitive. It shocks Yuuji into halting the movement of his hand, and Megumi whines before he can stop himself. He leans on his elbows to sit up a little, and Yuuji leans back to give him room.
“Yuuji—” He starts, and stops, and Yuuji really doesn’t want to hear whatever he’s about to say, but he doesn’t want to interrupt him either. It was probably only a matter of time before Megumi had to draw some line in the sand, had to acknowledge somehow that Yuuji is way too into him and he can only handle so much.
Unable to handle seeing Megumi’s face when he inevitably tells him that he has to put his streaming career before Yuuji (and feeling a little childish, which he’ll blame on his upcoming rut), he leans in once more, resting his face on Megumi’s shoulder. The air leaves the omega in a whoosh, and he deflates a little.
“Yuuji.” Yuuji makes a small noise of acknowledgement into Megumi’s clothed shoulder. “I don’t think you fucking me on stream is a good idea.”
“…Why not.”
Megumi laughs, and despite himself Yuuji feels victorious, elated at the sound, even as the words it followed were unpleasant ones. “You’ll make everyone jealous. The illusion only works if they think I’m, you know. Available.”
Yuuji hmphs, only to jerk his head aggressively up to look at Megumi when the words sink in. “Wait. You’re not? Available?”
Megumi just stares into his eyes. “No? Stupid.” They’re both silent, staring at each other and breathing, and then Megumi says, “Can you pull it out?”
“Oh, right, right.”
He reluctantly pulls the toy out of Megumi and sets it to the side, an uncomfortable third party to their conversation. Yuuji is buzzing, though, at Megumi’s assertion. “So, you’re saying you’re not available, like, as in—”
Cue eye roll, cue Yuuji’s dick twitching and reminding them both that it’s still present and very erect. “As in you’re my—” He cuts himself off, looks to the side, face getting even redder than when he was getting fucked. “You’re— my alpha.”
Yuuji’s vision goes white. The world stops turning. When he comes to, his face is once again pressed into Megumi’s neck, burrowed under the collar of his hoodie, and he knows that it’s dangerous to be so close when he wants to bite down so bad, but he can’t control his body.
“Say— can you say it again, please? Please.” He’s grinding forward, and Megumi reaches his arms up to wrap around Yuuji’s shoulders, tilting his head to give the alpha access. Teeth aching, he settles for kissing and sucking at the skin.
“Hmm?” He knows that Megumi is just fucking with him, but the questioning sound is too close to a moan, and Yuuji reaches a hand down to pull his dick out, finally, lining up.
“Please,” he whispers against Megumi’s mouth as he pushes his dick in, his knot already expanding. “Megumi.”
“You’re my alpha, right?” He asks, eyes bright, mouth dropping open as Yuuji starts fucking him. Yuuji nods pathetically, frantically. Megumi’s nails reach under the collar of his shirt, dig into his back. “Alpha.”
He comes embarrassingly quickly, locking himself inside of Megumi, eyes clenched shut because the way Megumi is looking at him is going to make him literally explode into a million pieces, probably. He grasps at his sanity just enough to rub Megumi’s clit until he comes, whining into Yuuji’s mouth, not pulling back when Yuuji licks past his lips like an animal.
It’s not until afterward, once again twisting themselves into a comfortable cuddling position while still locked together, that Yuuji says, tentatively, “Megumi, I have something to tell you.”
“Mhm.” Megumi’s face is pressed into the pillow, sounding not quite human, and Yuuji sort of almost feels bad.
“My rut is coming up. In, like, less than a week.”
Megumi doesn’t lift his head, but turns it just enough to make squinty eye contact with Yuuji. “Less than a week?” Yuuji nods shamefully. A deep sigh. “You should have told me sooner.”
He presses his face into the back of Megumi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I just have to let my professors know when I’ll be out.” His dick twitches inside of Megumi at the same time that he lifts his face from Megumi’s skin in surprise, and the omega gives him another dirty look.
“You really don’t have to— um. I don’t want to risk hurting you, and I really think that—” Megumi stretches, arching his back and pressing himself further into Yuuji, and he loses his words for a moment. “I really think that it would be dangerous, but I just wanted to tell you so you. Know.”
Megumi scoffs, finally seeming to get comfortable again after stretching and adjusting and making Yuuji question what his body is capable of. “You’re making it sound like such a big deal. You helped me through my heat.”
“Yeah, but it’s— different.”
Megumi nuzzles into the pillow, voice getting muffled as he does so. “How?”
Different as in— I barely even remember what my ruts are like once they’re over because my brain gets so rut-stupid, and you already make me regular stupid, so I have no idea what I’m going to do, he doesn’t say. Instead, he says, “Do you think our food ever got delivered?”
It did— it had been sitting on Megumi’s doorstep for a while now, growing cold, but at least it didn’t get swiped— and the process of reheating and eating it distracts them from the topic of Yuuji’s rut. Afterward, he has to leave to go work on some assignments, and the image of Megumi standing in the doorway watching him leave stays with him the rest of the day. He’s so fucked; his rut is going to actually kill him.
It’s true that he has a hard time remembering what his ruts are like after they’ve ended, but he can recall enough to know that it’s not pretty; usually by the time he’s fully lucid again his sheets are a lost cause, and he has at least one pillow or article of clothing that he’s bitten or torn somehow. He’s never had a partner during one, either, so this is completely uncharted territory.
Megumi seems fully willing to spend it with him— a fact that kind of makes him want to giggle and kick his feet, embarrassingly— but when he thinks about it for more than two seconds, there’s no way that he’ll have the self-control necessary to ensure Megumi’s well-being if they’re in the same vicinity. Spending it alone is therefore the safer option, but then again, how can he be sure he won’t just show up at Megumi’s apartment? The idea of him making the journey there all wild-eyed and erect is actually laughable, but— Megumi is that hot. He called Yuuji his alpha. Is there a way that he can lock himself up?
The next day he’s at the grocery store stocking up on protein bars and microwave dinners for the aforementioned upcoming rut when Megumi calls. He has to do some tricky maneuvering of his items to get his phone to his ear (he always forgets to grab a basket), and when he answers Megumi gets straight to business.
“Let’s talk about your rut.” He drops some of the microwave meals, and they hit the ground with a loud, frozen thud.
He manages to get Megumi to wait until he’s checked out, and calls him back as he’s walking home. “Okay. Hi. My— rut?”
“Yeah. I’m all set with school stuff, so let’s talk about it. When exactly is it supposed to start?”
It’s currently Sunday; Yuuji looks up to the sky to think, and responds, “Um, Tuesday-ish?”
“Holy shit, Yuuji, were you ever gonna tell me about this?”
“I’m sorry, I was nervous.” Megumi just huffs, but doesn’t push it further.
“Whatever. Should I just come over on Tuesday, or do you think I should come sooner just in case?”
Yuuji’s cleared to stay home from classes and work the whole week, and he wants to tell Megumi to just come over now, but that’s more out of selfish desire to be close to the omega than anything. He could blame it on pre-rut symptoms. “It’s up to you. Listen, are you really sure—”
“Yes, I’m sure. Nothing’s gonna happen.”
He gets to his building, and waits until he’s alone in the elevator to speak next. “But what if I get too— like, worked up and aggressive, and I hurt you?”
“That’s not going to happen, Yuuji.” The way he says it immediately, like he doesn’t even have to think about it, incites a funny feeling in Yuuji’s chest. He doesn’t know what he’s done to inspire this blind faith that Megumi has in him, but he wants to do whatever he can to live up to it.
“Okay. I just— I might get really, um.” How does he even convey the level to which he’s obsessed with Megumi, the violence with which he wants to fuck him over and over, breed him, keep him locked away? “Hey. You’re on birth control, right?”
Megumi makes a surprised sound. It’s kind of cute. “Yeah. If I wasn’t, I would be—”
“Right.” Yuuji reaches his front door, and has to press his forehead against the wood to calm himself before he unlocks it. “You don’t have to say it. Yeah. Just making sure.”
The time leading up to his rut goes by too fast, his nerves blurring everything; Megumi shows up Monday night, and Yuuji can’t help but find him cute waiting in the doorway, bookbag packed and everything. He gives Yuuji a look, like what?, because for a while Yuuji just lets himself stand there and look at him before inviting him in.
He still feels startlingly normal, which makes him suspicious, but then again— being absurdly down bad all the time is his new normal, so. Maybe being in rut will just feel like another day for him.
He cooks dinner for the two of them, something simple and low-effort, and barely tastes it because he’s so focused on watching Megumi’s reaction as he eats. The omega doesn’t comment much, but upon noticing how intently Yuuji is watching him, offers a little, “It’s good,” that makes Yuuji preen. He washes the dishes in record time, and when he returns from the kitchen Megumi has got his school supplies spread out on the coffee table.
“Oh,” he can’t help but sound disappointed, and Megumi gives him a look.
“I would have done my assignments ahead of time, but you didn’t really give me the chance,” he says drily, opening his laptop. “Just let me get some work done before it really starts, okay?”
Yuuji nods in forlorn acceptance, leaving Megumi to his studies while he goes to shower. He spends way too long standing under the spray, eyes vacant towards the shower wall, thinking of Megumi calling him alpha and palming absently at his erection.
Is it the omega thing, with you?
Megumi having a soft, soothing scent, and pretty, delicate features, and a warm, slicked up pussy is great and all (truly, truly wonderful, things that live rent free in Yuuji’s mind), but these characteristics are addicting because they belong to Megumi; Yuuji isn’t so much turned on by the fact that he can overpower Megumi, but that he doesn’t have to because Megumi wants him, that Megumi trusts him not to.
Megumi has quite literally countless people (alphas and otherwise) vying for his attention, parasocially or not, and yet he trusted Yuuji to fuck him through his heat; he sees Yuuji as someone that’s safe to be around, to fuck himself with a dildo in front of, to eat him out for the first time, to cook him dinner and share his bed.
Soon enough he’s leaning one arm against the tiled wall, head down, the slide of his hand over his dick aided by the cascading water. He can barely see, droplets running mercilessly over his face and eyes, but he’s picturing Megumi anyway: bent over every surface of his apartment, looking back at Yuuji with that mean, cocky glint in his eye, telling Yuuji that he can knock him up, can bond them together, just to see the pain on the alpha’s face when he inevitably has to be the responsible one and refrain.
The sound of the shower and his own ragged breathing drown out the sound of the door opening, but Megumi’s scent cuts through the steam of the room, alerting Yuuji to his presence.
“Megumi,” he calls, or rather breathes, meaning for it to sound questioning but instead it just comes out awed, powerless. There’s a pause, and he turns his head, looking at Megumi’s silhouette through the shower curtain.
“Hey,” the omega sounds uncharacteristically hesitant, “are you—”
Impatient all of a sudden, Yuuji jerks the curtain aside, enjoying the way Megumi’s eyes widen in shock. Those eyes quickly drop to Yuuji’s hand on his dick, widening further, and the omega’s scent shifts with his surprise, sweetened by arousal.
“Is it— starting?” Megumi asks, choked, and Yuuji cocks his head to the side, not understanding.
“Is what starting?” He asks in return, stepping out of the shower without bothering to turn the water off, led by a desire to be closer. Megumi startles, retreats a step or two, but doesn’t stop Yuuji as he crowds into his space, lets himself drip soaked and naked onto the floor, so close that water from his hair falls onto Megumi’s clothed shoulder.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Megumi mutters, as if to himself, and Yuuji doesn’t quite understand, but lets it go. He leans in, further dampening Megumi’s clothes as he sniffs at his neck, rubbing the scent of his own body wash onto the omega. It’s good, makes him happy, but— not enough.
Hands coming up to grasp at Megumi’s hips, he pivots them, pushing Megumi against the bathroom counter. He continues his scenting, drags his teeth along the bottom of Megumi’s jaw, his collarbone; he doesn’t realize he’s being forceful until he hears the threads popping, stretched almost to ripping, of Megumi’s shirt collar because of how tightly Yuuji is holding it to the side, out of the way so he can nose and lick and bite at the omega’s chest. Looking up in surprise, Megumi’s dilated pupils meet his own.
“I like this shirt,” he grumbles, and Yuuji hurriedly lets go, the fabric wrinkled and bunching as it attempts to return to its original state.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice sounding vaguely confused to his own ears; he doesn’t back away, and the realization that his naked, still-hard dick is pressed against Megumi’s clothed thigh hits him.
“It’s fine,” Megumi sighs, and this time it sounds more exaggerated for dramatic effect than like he’s actually upset. “I should’ve known not to wear anything I’m attached to.” Yuuji’s head tilts again, and a ghost of a smile comes to Megumi’s lips, teasing. “You’re acting like a dog.”
Yuuji’s brows furrow, immediately defensive. “No ‘m not.” His thumbs swipe back and forth on Megumi’s hip bones through his pants; he looks down, observing how he’s smearing precome on the dark material.
“You’d probably be into that, huh?” Megumi asks, voice getting more confident, and he brings a hand up to grasp at Yuuji’s chin in a move that freezes the alpha in place. His eyes are half-lidded, bored. “You want to be told you’re a good boy?”
He’s moving before he realizes it himself, twisting Megumi away so that he’s facing the sink, leaving just enough room to do so before he’s pressing himself firmly into the omega once more, sighing in pleasure at the contact, at Megumi’s ass.
“N-no,” he stutters, already out of breath somehow, hands traveling up from Megumi’s hips to palm at his stomach and chest under his shirt. Megumi starts squirming at his ministrations, and the movement feels good, makes him want to grind forward, so he does.
Megumi’s hands fly out, clutching at either end of the counter, holding himself up while Yuuji grinds on him, noses at his neck again. “Fuck,” he whispers, physically swallowing his urge to bite down.
Megumi isn’t saying anything, and Yuuji looks forward at the mirror; he’s staring down, lower lip bitten, but his cheeks are flushed pink, and Yuuji fucks forward harder, shoving him against the counter. He wonders distantly if it feels good, or if it hurts, and he wants to ask, doesn’t want to hurt Megumi, but when he opens his mouth to do so he loses his train of thought, continuing to mouth absently at Megumi’s scent glands, drunk on his scent.
“Yuu-ji,” Megumi stutters eventually, and Yuuji looks into the mirror again. They make eye contact this time. “Why don’t you— stop this, and fuck me for real, okay?”
Yuuji squeezes at the omega’s pecs, whining softly. “Don’t wanna stop,” he mumbles, lifting up Megumi’s shirt, admiring him in the reflection. He starts to dig his nails in, just a little, and Megumi bats his hands away; curling over him, he says in his ear, “You want me to stop?”
Megumi huffs, but it sounds more winded than frustrated. Why are they both out of breath? He realizes the shower is still running. “You want to knot me, right?” Yuuji’s forehead thunks onto Megumi’s shoulder, and he nods. “We have to do that— not here. Somewhere comfortable.”
Yuuji nods again, but makes no move to stop; after another huff, Megumi reaches behind them, grabbing at the back of Yuuji’s neck, turning enough to kiss him. If this was intended to distract him, it fails, because he grinds forward even harder, licking into Megumi’s mouth like he wants to live there, starting to dip a hand below his waistband, when—
“Stop, Yuuji,” is said into his mouth, and he reels back he’s been burned. His nudity is stark, now, making him feel especially vulnerable; Megumi turns and, before Yuuji can knock his head into the wall in guilt or something equally stupid, curls into his chest in a hug. His heart races.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” Megumi whispers, voice sounding gentle and almost loving, disaligned with his words. Yuuji feels so confused, and his erection hasn’t flagged. “Let’s go to bed.”
Megumi turns the shower off (thankfully for Yuuji’s water bill) and leads him by the hand towards his bedroom, all the while Yuuji is hanging his head; when Megumi falls backward onto the mattress, looking up at the alpha in wait, he gets over himself just enough to climb over top of him, wrapping himself fully around him and whispering sorry’s over and over into his hair. He can practically hear the eye roll that he gets in return.
“It’s not a big deal, oh my god,” he says, reaching up to ruffle Yuuji’s hair, “you’re still a good boy, okay?” Yuuji does not perk up at this, but his dick does twitch, so.
He fucks Megumi into the mattress, their foreheads pressed together and Yuuji doing his best not to think about Megumi’s pale neck the whole time, wanting to press his face into it so hard that their skin grafts together, wanting to live inside of Megumi’s body, wanting to rip Megumi’s throat out with his teeth and replace it with a new one that smells like Yuuji and Megumi. It’s primarily these thoughts that convince him that his rut is coming on in full force, and after his knot subsides he leaves to start pacing the kitchen in worry, a half-eaten banana getting mushed in his tense fist.
“This is literally the whole reason I’m here,” Megumi soothes— well, as soothing as his belittling tone can be— when Yuuji returns from his stress snack. “To help you through your rut.”
Yuuji isn’t convinced, but his stress isn’t strong enough to keep him from holding Megumi in his sleep, slipping into the void with his head buried vaguely in the omega’s armpit, an arm thrown over his stomach. He wakes to his own erection knocking into Megumi’s hip and whiny noises that take him some time to realize are coming from himself.
Megumi rolling over to face him is nearly enough to send him over the edge in the state he’s in, panting and desperate and barely even conscious, and he shoves up Megumi’s shirt, nosing and kissing at his chest while a warm hand snakes down to wrap around his dick; immediately he’s thrusting forward clumsily, hands squeezing at Megumi’s ribs, licking any patch of skin he can reach. He comes quickly without popping a knot, and curls into Megumi’s embrace as he does so, feeling wildly exposed.
“You lucid?” Megumi asks, voice soft and still hoarse from sleep. If Yuuji could purr, he would; instead, he nibbles at Megumi’s bicep, restless and needing to put his teeth on something, and Megumi just huffs instead of commenting on it.
“Megumi.” Yuuji’s own voice sounds foreign, and he feels as though every embarrassing thought he’s had about the man since he met him is audible through the way he says his name, longing and tender. He nuzzles blindly at Megumi’s skin, holding tightly when the omega moves to put any distance between them on the bed.
“‘Aggressive,’ my ass,” Megumi mutters under his breath, and Yuuji doesn’t have the presence of mind to understand what he’s implying, but it’s probably nothing. The mention of Megumi’s ass is notable, though, and he reaches around to squeeze it; Megumi makes a little squeak of surprise, and suddenly Yuuji’s desire is dire again, as if the result of a show of vulnerability from prey or something. (He doesn’t know how the animal kingdom works, he just wants Megumi more than he’s wanted anything.)
Megumi is moving again, and this time Yuuji lets him, watching with half-closed, scent-drunk eyes as the omega settles on his lap, hands resting flat on his chest. His hips tick up rhythmically and Megumi allows it, not saying anything for a moment. Being looked down on is already taking its toll, however, causing something itchy and uncomfortable under his skin from his alpha disliking it while at the same time he can’t help but find it hot, find everything Megumi does hot, want Megumi to look down on him forever.
“You’re so predictable,” Megumi says, then, something like fondness coloring his voice, and Yuuji wraps a hand around his hip, squeezing too tightly, probably. “This isn’t even that different from usual, honestly. You’re always desperate.”
Yuuji’s hips thrust up harder, jostling Megumi a bit, and he reaches to pull at his shirt, trying to yank it clumsily over his head for him before Megumi bats his hands away and does it himself. It’s a vision straight out of his fantasies, his skin toned and mostly pale, with some redness along his shoulders from Yuuji’s incessant attention. Yuuji reaches a hand up, palm wrapping with painfully exerted softness around the side of Megumi’s neck, feeling under his fingers the way Megumi’s pulse stutters, his breath catches.
“I love you,” Yuuji says, and somewhere deep inside of himself his rational brain is yelling at the top of its lungs that he’s being the world’s biggest idiot, banging against the metaphorical glass door of its enclosure with panic. Megumi’s eyes widen, his scent shifting unpredictably, but he doesn’t reply, opting instead to pull Yuuji’s dick out of his boxers and sink down onto it, so slowly that Yuuji claws at the bedsheets to avoid clawing at Megumi.
Time passes in a blur— his thoughts are not much more than vague grumblings of Megumi and wanting to knot inside of him, which he does, of course, over and over— with Megumi on top of him, gravity pulling him down onto Yuuji’s knot, slick leaking sticky over Yuuji’s abdomen and thighs, and he wants to bang his head against the headboard because it’s actually too much— with Megumi bent over the bathroom counter (despite his protests from the day before), as the poor omega had wanted to clean them up and Yuuji could only follow attached to his hip before pressing inside, becoming literally attached, the sweaty smell of Megumi’s hair in front of his face liable to make him pass out from pleasure if he didn’t have a job to do— with Megumi in the shower, subsequently, and Yuuji has a hazy desire at some point, wishing he were more present to marvel at the cuteness of Megumi with wet hair before the omega is throwing his head back against Yuuji’s shoulder, eyes closed as he comes, and Yuuji has to use every ounce of his lucidity for the lock in of the century to avoid sinking his teeth into the neck presented so nicely to him— with Megumi in his bed again, neither of them really having the opportunity to dry off, and when he sinks into sleep afterward he feels a vague tug at the sheets under him like someone is trying to pull them off the bed while he’s laying on them.
When he next wakes he thinks it’s been at least a day already, and Megumi isn’t in the room with him, a fact he finds troubling enough to get up and go search for him. He feels a little more conscious now, like there’s a space of fresh air in the cloud of rut, and he wonders if having a partner is helping to clear his mind, to ease some of the worst symptoms.
Megumi is curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, staring into his space as he chews a bite of one of the microwave meals. He looks over at Yuuji’s entrance, and the alpha feels a sudden rush of concern at what he’s been putting Megumi through, worried he’s hurt or exhausted him. There’s no hesitance in Megumi’s gaze, though, and he simply gestures to the free spot on the couch, continuing to eat.
It’s difficult for Yuuji to sit a reasonable distance from him instead of curling around him with the intention of being as close as humanly possible, but he manages. His troubles are probably betrayed by his scent, because Megumi snorts.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, and Yuuji shrugs. Continuing to eat, Megumi says casually between bites, “Don’t start the whole guilt thing. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Yuuji nods dutifully, his stomach suddenly growling loud enough for him to wander away from his omega to find something to eat.
They put something on the TV, and Yuuji is thankful for the distraction. As more time passes he starts to feel a little buzz under his skin, like his gravitational pull towards Megumi is getting stronger by the minute, and he’s trying to resist it, wanting to give Megumi as long of a break as possible. His instincts are fighting over the urge to plug him up with his knot and to make sure he’s fully fed and hydrated and relaxed (two realities which, during his rut at least, cannot always coexist).
At some point, however, he realizes Megumi has actually been migrating closer to him; he feels warmth at his side and looks over from where he’d been keeping his gaze painstakingly forward, and Megumi is looking at him expectantly.
“Yes?” He asks, and Megumi smirks at the way his voice shakes.
“You doing okay?” A hand comes to rest on his thigh, skin-to-skin because of his shorts riding up, and Yuuji breathes out heavily.
“Mhm. Great.” He feels twitchy, and Megumi’s expression is all smug and judgmental in the specific way that makes him want to give it all up. “Are you doing okay?”
“I guess.” The response is sighed, almost melancholic and clearly exaggerated, and yet Yuuji’s senses go on alert, immediately displeased.
“Megumi—” He’s cut off by the hand on his thigh beginning to slide upward, and holds in a whine. “Don’t be mean.”
Megumi’s eyes roll, and they both watch as Yuuji visibly twitches in his shorts. Usually the omega just makes fun of him for his reactions, which— he definitely is— but Yuuji can see the ways his eyes linger on that part of Yuuji’s body. “‘m not. I’m about to be really nice, actually.”
The couch cushion shifts as Megumi rises from it, only for him to slide to the floor in front of Yuuji, settling onto his knees, and Yuuji actually leans back in disbelief, hands over his face and eyes wide towards the ceiling.
He’s practically shaking, and his scent is thick enough to choke on, without a doubt conveying his desperation. “Megumi, you don’t—” He starts, voice trembling, and feels sweet pressure as Megumi seems to lay the side of his face on Yuuji’s lap. He shuts his eyes tight.
“You don’t wanna watch?”
It would be super humiliating if Yuuji started crying tears of joy, right? Like, totally unacceptable, right?
“I don’t know if I can,” he admits, voice gone from high and nervous to low and hoarse, and he swallows heavily, feeling a bead of sweat start to slide down his temple. “You’re— You really don’t have to, um.”
He risks a glance down, unable to help himself, and— holy fuck, Megumi is so beautiful, dark blue eyes gazing up at Yuuji with cool satisfaction, probably loving how he’s got Yuuji falling to pieces from doing nothing. His hips twitch, wanting to thrust up, and Megumi sighs again, the sound reminiscent of the many similar sounds Yuuji has heard over his time knowing Megumi.
Not just their time together, but all the times he watched Megumi come from the privacy of his bedroom when the omega didn’t even know him. The thought cuts through his arousal, shame and disgust with himself starting to rise over him, but then Megumi raises his head and pulls Yuuji’s waistband down without breaking eye contact.
“I might be— too rough—”
Another eye roll, timed almost perfectly with Yuuji’s dick swinging heavy out of his shorts and slapping against his stomach. “You’re not scary.” Megumi lowers his head, tilts it to mouth softly up the side of Yuuji’s erection, and he genuinely has to hold back from whimpering with a hand over his mouth; soon he’s biting down on his own fingers, his teeth constantly achy. Megumi continues, “I know you’ll be gentle enough. I can take it.”
Yuuji throws his head back again, just for a moment, wholly overwhelmed. “Yeah?” Megumi nods, licking down the other side. “You can take it?”
Megumi’s eyes seem to twinkle. “If it’s from you, yeah.” Yuuji’s hips fuck forward, smearing pre on Megumi’s cheek, though the omega doesn’t look particularly surprised. “You can’t stand it, can you?”
Yuuji’s chest is heaving, and Megumi hasn’t even put it in his mouth yet. Feeling overheated, he reaches to take off his shirt, mourning the seconds that the fabric crosses in front of his face and blocks his view. “W-what?”
Megumi blinks slowly, opening his mouth just enough to suck on the head; Yuuji breathes in sharply. After a few moments, he pulls off again, and this time Yuuji does whimper. Megumi’s scent is pleased. “You wanna bond with me so bad, but you can’t.” He licks up from the base, and Yuuji squirms. “And you feel bad that you want to.”
All Yuuji can come up with by way of response is a “Nngh,” and Megumi laughs a little under his breath. “You feel bad that I’m here, even though I want to be.” He makes hard eye contact, grasping the base of Yuuji’s dick firmly while it twitches and leaks in his grip. “What would you do if I wasn’t here, huh? Would you cry?”
Yuuji imagines it: spending his rut alone, cursed with the knowledge of Megumi’s existence; fucking his fist like his life depended on it, not even being able to pull up the videos he used to be so obsessed with because it would just torture him; suffering through deluded fantasies bordering on hallucinations where he’s buried inside of Megumi, where he’s biting his neck deep, where Megumi wants it as much as he does. If that’s even possible.
His thoughts are interrupted by Megumi taking him in his mouth, starting to sink down, and he can’t help but fuck up into that hot space, overcome with guilt while simultaneously wanting nothing more than to continue. He gasps, starts to apologize as Megumi pulls off to cough, eyes wet, but the omega just shakes his head in response and goes back to it.
Soon he’s fucking Megumi’s mouth, muttering little “Please, please,”’s and trying to at least be gentle where he cradles the soft hair at the back of Megumi’s head. He holds off from coming for longer than he honestly expects, but his mind is going hazy again, eyes lidded from pleasure and unable to think much past the single-minded focus he has on the task at hand.
When his knot starts to grow, it takes him until Megumi’s eyes start to widen to realize the problem. He forces himself to slow, guiding Megumi’s head off of him, but his thighs twitch and strain with the effort of holding back. “Um,” he says, somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and Megumi makes teary eye contact.
“It’s okay,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, “alpha.” Yuuji’s feeding his dick back into Megumi’s mouth before he even recognizes his own actions, and his knot is blatant now; Megumi is choosing to take it, stretching his mouth around it with pain and discomfort visible on his face, and Yuuji is coming down his throat, hands shaking where they’re forcing his head to stay down.
Megumi pulls off of him before his knot deflates— not immediately, but when he does he breathes hard, and Yuuji wants to apologize, wants to smash his forehead to the floor and beg for forgiveness, but he’s too preoccupied with being completely enamored. Megumi is— everything, and he was everything before Yuuji’s rut muddled his critical thinking.
Eventually, seeming to have collected himself, Megumi rests his face on Yuuji’s thigh once more, this time grimacing at the sweat. His face is tear-stained and red and Yuuji loves it; he’s in love with it. He’s in love with Megumi. This doesn’t feel like as big of a revelation as it should be, as much as just being incredibly unsurprising.
A few days later, Megumi is gathering his things to leave. Usually Yuuji surfaces from his rut feeling more dazed and exhausted than anything— residual headaches, dehydration, taking stock of what belongings he ripped up or got fluids on. He feels physically better this time around, but he’s been clinging to Megumi like a koala, becoming mostly nonverbal and almost somber.
The two of them have (clearly) touched each other plenty, but until now he’s struggled with how to approach casual touching; he would say this obstacle has been all but cleared, and Megumi huffs in frustration as he tries to zip his bookbag with Yuuji leaning his full weight on him.
“You got some work done, right?” Yuuji asks over his shoulder, quietly, remembering the omega griping about his last-minute decision to be Yuuji’s rut-partner. The shoulders under Yuuji’s chin lower, soften, and he feels Megumi nod.
“Yes.” He finally succeeds in closing his bag. “Stop moping. You’re ridiculous.” Yuuji, feeling particularly mopey, stands up straight, trying to be strong. When Megumi turns to face him, however, he wears a soft smile, and Yuuji’s chest hurts.
“Do you wanna— um. Do anything later this week?” Yuuji asks, sounding embarrassingly hopeful as Megumi starts to walk towards the door. “I don’t have work again until Sunday, so.”
“Probably. I have classes, but other than that I’m free. Except for, you know.”
Yuuji blinks. Megumi blinks back, shifting his bookbag strap on his shoulder.
“Except—” Oh. Right. He cuts himself off, feeling his face heat, more so at the embarrassment of forgetting than anything else.
Megumi shuffles his feet, reaches for the doorknob. Then, he says, “I mean, I guess you could always, um. Like.” He looks up, making eye contact. “Watch.”
Yuuji can almost feel the physical manifestation of a ?! hovering over his head, and of course, Megumi smirks, finding humor in his pain. The sad part is— he doesn’t even know if Megumi is being serious. Is he being serious?
“Are you being serious?” He asks, but Megumi is already halfway out the door. “Megumi! Megumi!”
(Later, Megumi texts him: i was being serious.
And then: btw, i meant in person. if that wasn’t clear.
Yuuji puts his head on the library table in agony, and he’s too anguished to notice the concerned looks his friends give each other across from him. Thinking he could focus on studying today was honestly laughable, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.)