Chapter Text
Megumi was, he was fairly certain, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He had chalked it up to his oncoming rut, but checking his calendar had ruled that out. He wasn’t due for his next rut until August, and it was only May. He had assumed that it was stress - Yuuji’s sudden late presentation had shaken him, especially because it had meant dealing with Yuuji’s terrifying uncle. The dorms had reeked of blood and incense for days after his visit, especially Yuuji’s room and the areas surrounding. Which had, unfortunately, included Megumi’s room. He’d doused everything he owned in scent-neutralizing sprays and lit countless candles, but nothing had seemed to erase it completely.
The lack of his own scent had only unnerved him further. His dorm room wasn’t a proper den, but it was as close as he got while on campus. The scent of a foreign alpha, one that his hindbrain had unhelpfully tagged as 'extremely dangerous, cower on sight', in his den was destabilizing in the worst way. Nobara had tried to help, contributing a few scented items of hers. So had Toge, much to Yuuta’s dismay. But even their familiar, comforting scents combined with his own couldn’t quite get rid of that lingering bloody tinge to the air.
The thing that had sent him into his current spiral, however, was none of those things. It was, humiliatingly, related to Gojo. Gojo, who had apparently dropped everything to magic a care basket into existence and drop it off in Yuuji’s room. Gojo, who had responded to Megumi’s frantic texts about his best friend’s potentially traumatic first heat with nothing but a “K” and a sticker of a cat giving a thumbs up. Gojo, who had disappeared into the wind immediately afterward and not sent him a word of communication since. Gojo, whose scent was now startlingly absent from Megumi’s room, and would not be back until who knew when to refresh it.
Really, it shouldn’t have been a problem. He was too old to still be this attached to Gojo’s scent. The scent of another alpha in his room, even the one that had raised him, should have had him snapping his teeth and overzealously scenting everything he owned to try and erase it. Nobara had teased him about it, said that he was more like a really prickly omega than an alpha when she had dropped off a spare throw blanket doused in her scent for his room. He had just stared, deadpan, and thanked her for the blanket before unceremoniously shutting the door in her face. He had then proceeded to quietly spiral about it for several hours.
She was right, he was behaving like an omega. He shouldn’t be asking his friends for scented items; he was too old for that now. He should be trying to maintain scent fidelity in his private space, no one else’s allowed. Even if the only ones giving him things were omegas, it was still strange. Stranger still was that he’d have asked Yuuta or Maki for scented things too if it wouldn’t have gotten him laughed off campus and teased until the day he died. Maybe he just didn’t have the same territorial reflex that the rest of the alphas around him did, or maybe there was something deeply, seriously wrong with him. There was just nothing that unnerved him about having their scents close. He found it soothing, a comfort when stress had his muscles knotted tight and a headache pounded behind his eyes. Catching the scent of an alpha he trusted helped him relax, settled something restless in his chest. Yuuta’s smoky black tea and Maki’s bright cut-grass scents didn’t register as threats, rivals, or anything at all combative - just friends, packmates, alphas that would protect him if he needed it.
And then there was Gojo— a peak alpha if ever there was one. His scent was blisteringly strong, had his alpha students raising their hackles and baring puppy teeth before they could tamp the instinct down. Megumi had heard his scent described by others countless times: an ice storm, a blizzard, pine tar fire, an avalanche you couldn’t escape from. It had all sounded overly dramatic to him; Gojo just smelled like himself. Snow, pine boughs, resinous tree sap, and a strange curl of sweetness that at the very end that had always reminded him of icing sugar. It put Megumi instantly at ease. Another problem, another step deeper into the spiral. He moved from his desk chair to the bed, laid down flat on his back to stare up at the ceiling.
Maybe he should go home. Yuuji was already gone, they had no missions and a break from classes while Gojo was off teleporting around Europe or Africa or wherever else the higher-ups sent him this time. The thought of curling up in his bed, his real bed, was deeply appealing. He could take the smaller items that Nobara and Toge had given him, the hoodie that still had Yuuji's pup scent clinging to the fabric.
He scowled, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Yuuji didn't smell like that anymore. It was strange, not knowing what his best friend's scent had settled into. Something soft and sweet, since he was an omega, but there was no way he could guess any of the specifics. Megumi had never been terribly happy with his own scent, a fact that he had kept entirely hidden from everyone since the day he presented. It was fine compared to some of the harsher alpha scents he'd encountered: muddled green and aquatic notes, like an overcast spring day. Damp leaf matter and growing things, a soft rain shower. Clean, almost universally described as pleasant by everyone he was close to, barely more obtrusive than a beta.
It had just never felt right, not in the way that his friends had described. No puzzle-piece click when he'd come down with a fever at twelve and his scent glands had begun working, sugary pup scent gone forever. His first rut had been horrifically uncomfortable. Locked away in his room, whining into his bedding as he tried to manage the fever boiling inside him. Humping pillows and pawing innefectually at himself for two days, little knot sore but too sensitive to touch. He'd survived it, barely. Gojo had popped in periodically to give him water and food, press cool cloths to his forehead when he was more lucid.
Megumi dragged himself up, shaking his head. He should go home. Maybe the stress was triggering his rut early, much earlier than normal. His chest felt tight, and dwelling on his own presentation was making him anxious. Even as he began moving, packing a small duffel bag with clothes, he couldn't stop thinking about it. The memories washed over him, tidal, as he carefully tucked the scented items he had from his friends into his backpack.
The only thing that had soothed him during that awful first rut had been Gojo's scent. The wash of snow and pine had cooled his fever, kept him more or less lucid while the onslaught of new hormones ravaged his body. He'd begged Gojo to stay, gripped his hand tight and rubbed his cheeks against the scent gland on the older alpha's wrist. Gojo had crooned at him, brushed his sweaty hair away from his forehead and allowed the scenting, but had ripped himself away when Megumi went from soft nuzzling to open-mouthed kisses and licks over the flushed, pink gland.
Megumi had cried and cried, begged for Gojo to come back. He'd even trilled, a high pitched sound that omegas made to call their alphas back to thier nests. It had been instinctual, rolling onto his tummy and arching his back. In his fevered mind, Gojo would come back if he begged prettily enough, arched and spread his legs like an omega. Megumi had touched himself like one, slicked his fingers with the clear fluid drooling almost constantly from the head of his dick and pet them over his hole. The relief had been overwhelming. He'd come like that, working one slick, slender finger into his ass and sobbing into his blankets. Gojo had found him in the same state later, whining and drooling as he fucked himself with his fingers, his dick lying hard and leaky on his belly, untouched.
Megumi couldn't quite remember much of his first heat after that point, just that it had eased. Gojo's scent flooded the room, made the full body ache finally dissipate and his head feel swimmy. Megumi had come back to himself a day later, warm and drowsy in the bath Gojo had drawn for him. Gojo had washed his hair so gently, like Megumi was something precious and delicate. Megumi had stayed quiet just to draw it out, pretended to be lost in the fog of his rut so that he could soak in all of the gentleness Gojo was willing to give.
The memories kept looping, over and over, the entire way home: Gojo's big hands in his hair, on the back of his neck, petting over his belly. The deep rumble of Gojo's voice in Megumi's ear, telling him that 'it'll be alright, you're doing so well, such a brave boy'. By the time he arrived at the front door, his hands were trembling so badly that he nearly couldn't manage the lock. He felt a distressed whine building in his throat, ground his teeth to tamp it down.
He shoved through the front door once the lock clicked, yanked his keys free and slammed it shut behind him. He stood with his back pressed to the cool, solid wood of the door for several minutes, just breathing, slid to the floor once his breaths stopped coming so quick and shallow. He was home. He was safe. His body would not betray him.
The lingering scent of Gojo was everywhere, a cooling balm for his frayed nerves. Megumi pulled it deep with every inhale, felt his muscles slowly unlock on the exhale. He shook his head, huffed a quiet laugh at the absurdity of it all. He was crumpled in the genkan, his duffle bag and backpack in a heap by his side, sweating and shaking like he had narrowly escaped death, not made the relatively short journey from his dorm on campus to Gojo's house. Megumi heaved himself up, toed off his shoes and padded toward his room, desperate for a shower and a nap.
The familiar routine of unpacking his bag and settling into his old room was soothing. Everything was just as he'd left it — his own scent a little stale from absence, Gojo's soaked into every surface as always. He pulled Nobara, Toge, and Yuuji's scented things from his bag and settled them on his bed, fussing for a bit before they felt settled correctly. The soft wash of their scents mixing with his own, with Gojo's, drained the rest of the lingering tension from his body. This is what he had needed. A stay in his den, quiet and warm and smelling of pack, of safety.
Satisfied, Megumi stripped off his clothes, tossing them haphazardly into the hamper to be dealt with later. There were too many outside smells clinging to the fabric, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste. He needed a shower— he still felt tacky with drying sweat thanks to his little panic attack in the genkan. He made his way down the hall to the bathroom, swiping a towel from the linen closet on the way. Even the faint smell of spring flowers clinging to the towel was a comfort, the same ridiculous laundry detergent that Gojo had used ever since Megumi could remember. It made his chest warm, fuzzy and light in a way he rarely felt when he wasn't here, at home.
He puzzled over it as he showered, that bleed of stress and hypervigilance that happened the moment he stepped through the door. He felt younger here, somehow, softer around the edges than when he was out in the world or even just in the dorms on campus. Like being so surrounded by Gojo's scent sanded away all of his sharp edges.
Megumi felt his dick stir with interest as he washed himself, the familiar scent of Gojo's soap and shampoo relaxing him further. How long had it been since he'd touched himself? Since his last rut, surely. He didn't like to do it in the dorms, too anxious that his friends would hear him or scent his arousal. Jerking off never did much for him anyway, really. It was difficult to come that way, left him fidgety and restless when he finally did manage to. Indulging in his preferred way of touching himself was absolutely out of the question anywhere but in his own room, and only when Gojo was off on some mission overseas that guaranteed he wouldn't teleport in unannounced.
Megumi shivered as he stepped out of the shower, flushed pink all over from the heat. His dick had already begun to swell, sensitive and leaky between his thighs. It wasn't uncommon for alphas to drip large amounts of precum when aroused, especially young ones, and Megumi had always liked it, after the panic from his presentation had faded. He'd liked the mess, the way it made him slick all down his thighs; embarrassing, nothing he'd ever, ever admit to anyone else.
But he could indulge, like this. Fresh from the shower, hair still dripping, he laid out a clean towel in the center of his bed, pushing blankets around until he could make a soft hollow to settle into. He told himself that it wasn't a nest, even as the rumpled blankets took on a distinctly nest-like shape. He fussed with the edges, huffing when he couldn't seem to get it quite right, couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. He shut his eyes, breathed in deep, let the subtle presence of his pack's scents ground him again: Nobara's crushed rose and geranium, Toge's bright citrus, Yuuji's milky sugar, his own soft rain. Gojo's pine and snow was more faint, a product of him living here for so long rather than recent scenting. That was the problem.
Megumi darted down the hall, still wearing only a towel around his hips, and poked his head into Gojo's room. His scent here was so much stronger, made the little hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He bit his lip, hovered at the threshold. Gojo would understand, surely. Megumi took scented items from him every rut, so it wasn't unusual for a shirt or pillow to disappear for a bit and then show up freshly laundered days later. Megumi padded softly to the massive bed in the center of the room, squinting in the gloom. He let his hand trail over the cool, soft comforter, slick as water from how fine the weave was. He hesistated for just a moment, fingertips hovering over the center pillow, still concave at the center from the last time Gojo had slept on it.
His hand trembled slightly as he snatched it, fingers twisted into the pillowcase, grip so much tighter than necessary. Megumi clutched it to his chest, feeling silly as he rushed back to his own room. No one was going to take the pillow from him, Gojo wasn't going to show up and scold him for it. The man wouldn't even tease him about it, unlike every other thing that Megumi ever did or said. It was an unspoken agreement between them, something fraught that existed at the center of their already strange relationship. Ward and charge, mentor and apprentice, parent and child — they were not quite any of those things, not really. Two unbonded, unrelated alphas living together should have been a disaster. Tsumiki, already having presented as a beta, had fretted and hang-wrung for weeks. But then Megumi had presented, and the disaster never came. No snarling, no territorial disputes, no posturing or pheremone spiking when they were both home. Just that tense, lingering something that stayed in the gulf between them. No, Gojo wouldn't mind or mention the missing pillow.
Megumi fussed with the blankets and clothes heaped on his bed a bit more, adding Gojo's pillow close to the headboard. Satisfied, he finally climbed in, settling on his belly with his face pressed into the fluff saturated in Gojo's scent and pheremone oils. The first hit of that scent, fresh from his recent presence, made an embarassing sound slip from Megumi's open mouth. He rolled his hips, content to just grind against the softness beneath him for now, the steady drip of precum from his slit making everything slick and hot.
He slipped two fingers into into his mouth, achy fangs soothed by the pressure for now. It felt good to have something to suck on, made him feel a bit more fuzzy at the edges. Letting himself have this, messy and drooling down his chin, was such a relief after weeks of tension. His shoulders slumped, hips tilting up before he even thought about it with any real intention — presenting.
He pushed the embarrassment from his mind, tried to focus instead on how good it felt. So easy to spread his thighs just a bit, prop his hips a little higher, imagine someone bigger and stronger than himself settling behind him to admire the view. No self-respecting alpha would do this, want this, but for now Megumi didn't have to be a self-respecting alpha — he could just be Megumi. He could have this, in the soft quiet of his den, no one to judge but the fractious little voice in the back of his own mind; a voice that only became easier and easier to ignore with every wet pass of his tongue along his fingers, every twitch of his hips against empty air.
His dick felt heavy between his thighs, hard and twitching from being ignored. He passed over it, pausing briefly to give himself a slow, tight stroke from base to tip, letting the precum dripping from the head coat his fingers. Megumi moved his hand further back, let his fingertips trace featherlight over the pucker of his hole, shivering all over at the feel of it. He moaned, eyelids fluttering — he had missed this. He stroked a little firmer, slow circles around his rim to ease himself into it. 'I could cum from this,' he thought, 'just this.' He let his hips roll, slow and filthy, into his own teasing touch.
He drew his other hand from his mouth, whining but unwilling to stop playing with his rim while he reached into his bedside table. He fumbled for a moment, hand trembling and mind more than a little foggy, before he pulled out what he needed: a bottle of lube, and a sky blue silicone knotting dildo.
The knotting toy had been an impulse purchase made before his last rut. His fingers had, embarassingly, stopped soothing the overwhelming need he felt to be filled during his ruts. The toy was very small by alpha standards, listed as a "good beginnger toy" or one that worked well for very petite or early blooming omegas. There were a few standout reviews from curious betas and only one from another alpha, but it had been enough to convince Megumi to buy it. His face heated as he squeezed lube over his own fingers, enough that they were dripping with it. The lube was scentless, thick and clear and a very, very good approximation of what slick felt like — from the reviews he'd read, anway, and that was enough. It would have to be enough for him.
Megumi whined as he brought his dripping fingers to his hole, spreading the mess of lube between his cheeks and pressing his middle finger inside, testing his body's give. It was a fight, always. He locked up for a moment, breathed through grit teeth as his stupid alpha hindbrain tried to take over. His instincts told him to close his legs, bite and snarl and fend off whatever alpha was trying to make him submit, was keeping him on his belly with his nape exposed.
And then, like always, it faded. His muscles slowly relaxed, and he began moving his finger slowly, so agonizingly slowly, inside. Gentle movements for now, just letting his body adjust, petting over the soft, scorching heat inside. He shuddered, let out a pitiful little sound when he grazed his prostate. It was too good, made him too greedy to wait. He drew out, rubbed over his rim again just to feel the wet mess he'd become, and sunk two fingers back inside. The sound was obscene, soft squelching noises filling his room every time he pressed deeper, twisted his wrist to get the angle just right. He could feel drool starting to puddle under his cheek. He wanted more, so much more, wanted to be pressed down into a slutty arch and be made to hold it, big hands and a low voice keeping him in place.
He'd seen it before, in porn. A slim, pretty alpha with his ass in the air. An older, bulkier alpha knelt behind him, big hands spreading his cheeks so that he could lean in and lick. Megumi had thought about it, probably too much, whenever he'd touched himself since. The high, breathy sounds the younger alpha had made, his whole body going pink and his cock leaking and leaking between his spread thighs, the older alpha lapping and growling and murmuring filth into his skin. That, more than anything, had taken center stage in Megumi's fantasies.
He added another finger, gasping and moaning at the stretch, and couldn't help but think about it, about him. Shame curled hot in his belly, warring with the aching, biting need. He tried to conjure someone else, anyone else, but the thoughts dissolved and drifted away before they could fully form. It was all him, like it was every time. Gojo. Gojo's hands spreading him, stroking him, pinning him down. Gojo's voice curling sticky sweet in his ears, spouting filth about how he thought Megumi was so beautiful like this, and how he'd take such good care of his pretty pussy, pinky promise.
Megumi gasped, little hiccuping sobs spilling out before he could stifle them. His thighs were shaking. His fangs ached. His cock was leaking a steady stream of precum onto the plush towel beneath him, fake slick sliding down his balls and dripping to join the mess. He fumbled for the knotting toy, turned clumsily onto his back to free both of his hands. They shook a bit as he poured lube over the head of the toy and spread it down, making sure the entire length was wet with it.
The head of it slipped a few times against him, slid over his taint to nudge under his balls. Megumi whined in frustration, his dick kicking against his belly— he just wanted it in, needed to feel full. Everything between his thighs was hot and slippery with fake slick, wet and messy in a way that was both humiliating and horrifically arousing. He breathed in deep, tried to steady his trembling hands, and slowly guided the toy into himself.
The first stretch was good, made his breath catch and come spilling out with a little choking noise. The toy wasn't big, was smaller than Megumi's own dick, and he was small for an alpha. It didn't matter. His body wasn't made to take, to be slick and open and needy like an omega's, and even the head of the toy notched just inside his hole felt massive. He tried to breathe, tried to gentle himself through it as he slowly sank the rest of the toy inside, mewling pitifully when the base was finally pressed flush against him. His dick was leaking a steady drip of precum, so much that it was gathering in a puddle on his belly, pooling in his navel. He needed more.
He withdrew the toy slowly, sinking it back inside with a careful push, trying to angle it so that the head would press against his prostate with every pass. It felt good, but it still wasn't enough, wasn't quite right. He felt restless, too exposed, his skin prickling. It always happened like this. Stuck between overstimulation and clenching need, fucking the toy faster and harder into himself until his wrist started to ache, and it still wasn't enough to make him cum. Megumi let out a little sob of frustration, arched his back and pressed down hard on his lower tummy to feel the toy moving from the outside. His dick twitched, flushed a dark, angry red, but he didn't want to touch it, didn't want to cum that way.
He rolled onto his front, propped his hips up, and buried his face in Gojo's pillow. The extra hit of that searing pine and snow and sugar scent had him melting, his eyes rolled back and the toy sliding slick and easy into his hole. He wanted to cum, wanted Gojo to make him cum. Wanted to be held down and spread open and fucked like a toy, like the fleshlights and knot sleeves he knew Gojo used during his ruts.
"Please, ah— I'll be good, want it—," he moaned, too out of it to stay quiet any longer. "Knot me, gimme your cum, tie me, please please please—"
He couldn't stand it, couldn't think of anything but big, long-fingered hands gripping his hips until they bruised, a thick cock bullying him open, making him cry from how deep it reached. Gojo was so stupidly tall, big everywhere, his cock would have to match, would spill so deep inside he'd be leaking for days, dripping cum and scented so thourougly that his own scent would be all but covered. His belly would swell with it, and after Gojo had fucked him and knotted him a few times he'd look pregnant—
"Fuck!" Megumi cried out, voice hoarse from the constant needy whines he'd been letting out. He fumbled with the toy, pressing the little button on the bottom that would inflate the knot. "C'mon, please, please, Gojo, Go- ah—!"
Megumi buried his face in Gojo's pillow and bit down hard, sobbing as the knot stretched him open and he finally came. His dick kicked under him, cum spilling into empty air and his knot swelling with nothing to lock into. He collapsed onto his stomach, knees giving out as the knot continued to stretch him, his hole fluttering and clenching like he was trying to milk it, get as much cum from the imaginary alpha breeding him as he could. He whined, teeth still locked around a mouthful of fabric and stuffing soaked in Gojo's pheremones, grinding his hips down against the bed beneath him. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, so intense he was dizzy from it. His lower belly felt tight, overwhelmed by the pressure of the knot inside him and the cum that seemed to just keep spilling from him, weak little spurts as he moved. Tears streamed from his eyes, the salt of them mixing with his spit.
He lay there slowly rolling his hips until his dick started to feel chafed, his hole sore from being stretched too wide for too long on something it was never supposed to take. He released the pillow, his jaw sore from being held tense and locked for so long. He was shivering. The comedown was harsh, and his hands shook as he reached behind himself to turn the toy off and deflate the fake knot. His whole lower half was sticky with cum and fake slick, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, drool and tears and snot all over his face. He felt wrecked.
Megumi let himself feel pitiful, wincing as he slowly slid the toy out. He flipped the pillow, avoiding the side wet with his drool and tears, and nuzzled into it, seeking more of Gojo's scent for comfort. He wanted so badly for Gojo to appear out of thin air and console him, wanted to be held close against his broad chest and be fussed over. He wanted to be babied again like he had been that first rut, Gojo's hands soothing him and washing his hair in the bath. He sniffled, balled up the soiled towel and flung it in the vague direction of his laundry hamper. He was too wrung out to shower again. His body was sore and his head was a mess, the old shame creeping back in like it always did.
He'd read things online, researched and then scrubbed his search history clean. They were possible, sometimes, the things that he fantasized about. There were alphas that wanted the things that he did, that felt wrong in their skin, that didn't feel the urge to dominate or bite or claim. It was taboo, the ultimate relinquishing of all the things that made and alpha what they were. Bitching— an ugly word, one that circled around and around in Megumi's head after every time he did this. An alpha forcibly turned into an omega, their scent sweetened, their knot gone, their ruts traded for heats. It was slow, allegedly painful, their body rearranging to accommodate the needs of the alpha feeding them pheremones.
Bitching, however, required something that Megumi did not have— an alpha. It felt useless to dwell on it. He would remain firmly an alpha, maybe settle down with a nice omega or even a beta, and life would go on. Gojo would remain just out of reach, their relationship maintinging its perpetual limbo. Megumi smelled his own scent souring, the haze of cum and sex and happy alpha now tinged with anxiety and sadness. He was spiraling, as he often did, and had been more and more recently, tucked into the cocoon of his definitely-not-a-nest because he was an alpha and alphas didn't do that.
He was settled firmly into his little ball of misery, set on sulking and maybe ordering takeout, when the scent of ozone and a sudden flux of cursed energy froze him in place. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. There was no way—
"Megumi?" that familiar, comforting, infuriating voice called out, right outside of his room.
"Megumi? Are you okay? You smell…" Gojo trailed off, sounding much more reserved than normal. "You good?"
"Fine— I'm fine, I'm good," he called back, clearing his throat. He was hoarse from all the noise he had been making earlier. Megumi felt his face heat, burning with embarrassment. The door being closed only provided the illusion of privacy. Gojo could almost certainly scent what he had been doing, and the Six Eyes would reveal the particulars.
"Okay," Gojo replied, sounding concerned. "I wrapped everything up early, and when I got back you weren't in the dorms. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," Megumi grit out, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. Why the hell was Gojo choosing now of all times to be a concerned guardian?
"I brought food, if you're hungry," Gojo offered. "Or you can just have it later?"
"Will you just stop?" Megumi's voice was pleading, thick with tears. "I'm fucking fine, I'm not hungry, I don't need anything—"
Gojo opened the bedroom door, and Megumi fell quiet, his teary protest cut short.
"Talk to me." Gojo said it like a command, not a request. His voice was low, more serious than Megumi had heard it in years.
"About what?" Megumi asked, affronted. "You didn't need to come in here, you know what I was doing. It's not like I can hide anything from you."
Gojo's brow creased, his face twisted in what looked like confusion. Which didn't make sense— what was there to be confused about when he could see and scent everything?
"When did you have an omega in here?" Gojo asked. He tipped his head up a little, breathed in deep to scent the air more fully.
"What?" Megumi looked around the room like an omega might suddenly materialize. "I haven't, I didn't—" he spluttered, wracking his brain for any clue to what Gojo could possibly be talking about. "Are you talking about the blankets?"
Megumi held up the little throw Nobara had given him, doused in her scent. "You know I like having them in my ne— in my room." Megumi's face flamed hot with embarrassment. He couldn't refer to his sad little hoard of clothes and blankets as a nest, he'd die of humiliation on the spot.
"No," Gojo said absently, wandering around the room. He kept sniffing, chasing the scent of some phantom omega like an overgrown bloodhound. "Not the blankets, I recognize those scents."
"Then what are you talking about?" Megumi's voice turned pleading. He wanted Gojo out, wanted to hide away and forget about everything that had happened today, and preferably the last forty-eight hours, too.
Gojo crossed the room in two large strides, pressing into Megumi's space. He gripped Megumi's jaw and tilted his head forcibly to the side to bare his throat. Megumi made a strangled sound of surprise, Gojo's sudden nearness and the flood of scent making his head spin.
"What're you—"
Gojo cut Megumi's slurred protest short; he leaned in close and inhaled, right up against the slightly puffy scent gland on the side of Megumi's slender neck. Megumi whined, squirming against Gojo's too-tight hold on his jaw. Megumi knew his own scent was spiking, likely some awful mix of fear and confusion and arousal. He couldn't fathom Gojo's sudden need to inspect his scent glands. He squirmed, shuddering all over when Gojo's tongue suddenly darted out and licked, soft and hot and wet, over the gland, tasting the sheen of oil there.
Megumi let out a pitiful little sound, a plaintive 'nooooo', and tried to pull away. Gojo just shushed him, his face still tucked in close to Megumi's throat.
"Why…" Gojo started, but trailed off without finishing the thought. He drew back, and pushed his blindfold down, leaving it to hang around his neck. "What have you done?" Gojo's voice was soft with something like wonder, something faintly reverent. His eyes, too bright, seared into Megumi, left him feeling flayed open.
"I don't…" Megumi let his voice trail off. There was a hectic flush spreading across Gojo's face, creeping down his neck. He was breathing hard, mouth open like he was trying to drink down Megumi's scent. "Nothing?"
Gojo trailed his fingers down Megumi's neck, petting and pressing over his scent glands, slicking them with the oil gathered there. When he drew his hand away, it was trembling.
"Gojo?" Megumi asked tentatively, voice small. Something was wrong, had to be wrong, with the way Gojo's eyes were locked onto him, wide and wild.
Gojo brought his shaking, oil-slick fingers to his mouth, licking over the pads of them, eyes still roving over Megumi like the blanket covering him wasn't even there. With the Six Eyes, it may as well not have been.
Gojo seemed to finish puzzling through whatever it was that had him so off-balance. He smiled, but there was none of his usual teasing warmth in his expression. It was sharp, predatory, his fangs gleaming in the low light of Megumi's bedroom.
"So sweet," he purred. He placed a finger under Megumi's chin, tipping his face up and forcing him to meet his eye. "Always so pretty, too pretty for an alpha. Should've seen it sooner."
"I don't understand." Megumi's voice was shaking. He felt frozen in place, small, a prey animal being toyed with by a predator much larger and stronger than they were.
"I've been neglectful, Megumi," Gojo said quietly. He leaned in close, breath tickling against Megumi's ear. "I should've taken better care of you. Let's fix that, hmm?" He placed a soft, open mouthed kiss against Megumi's neck, right over his scent gland, licking slow and hot before pulling away. "Let me give you what you need, sweetheart."
He leaned back just a bit, stroking over Megumi's cheekbone with his thumb, hand softly cupping his jaw. "Such a pretty little omega."