It started off small, innocently enough.
Atsumu was already known for taking Osamu’s clothes without asking, so a sweater or two missing wasn’t uncommon. It was especially frequent after they presented—Osamu as an Alpha, but Atsumu as an omega, and built like he was it wasn’t a surprise when he started getting harassed by Alphas left and right, so he’d wear Osamu’s clothes—to get them off my ass, apparently. Osamu didn’t think much of it, wasn’t too aware of or informed about omegan struggles, but if lending Atsumu used clothes with Alphan stink kept him safe and unbothered, he didn’t mind.
The escalation was gradual, so when the tipping point came, Osamu already had a whole foot off the precipice.
The tipping point being his brother wearing Osamu’s used jersey, gently shaking him awake in the middle of the night during their last nationals and stinking of sun-warmed sand and orange flowers.
“‘Samu,” he whispered in a panic. “I’m in heat.”
Osamu should’ve seen it coming.
Really, it was stupid that he didn’t. Because the gradual escalation involved Atsumu sleepily dragging Osamu’s dirty laundry to his bed and sleeping with it—not one, not two pieces, but by the time he had started yelling at his brother for not leaving him any clothes to wear, Atsumu was sleeping on a pile of sweaty jerseys and used underwear.
Looking back, a smack upside his head was probably not the appropriate response.
“...Aren’t ya on suppressants?” Osamu murmured back sleepily, head spinning from the sudden information.
“I’m supposed to! They must’ve… messed up my cycle somehow—can we talk outside?”
Atsumu ran panicked hands through his hair as his eyes darted around the room to check that none of their other teammates were awake.
Osamu stood up silently and followed his brother out, wincing at the strong scent wafting off him. He pointedly looked away from the wet patch forming in the back of his pants.
When they were safely away from their teammates, locked behind the hotel floor bathroom door and comfortable enough to speak in a regular volume, Atsumu decided it was safe and reasonable to start freaking out in a normal volume.
“‘Samu, I can’t miss this game, I need to play, I’m captain! Kita trusted me to be captain!” He gritted out, running in circles. “These were fuckin’ prescribed suppressants!”
“I heard they can fail with stress an’ high impact exercise,” Osamu added.
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because Atsumu was on his face immediately, snarling like an animal. “Ya think I don’t fuckin’ know that.”
“No, no,” he raised his hands submissively and tried for a smile. “I’m sure ya know all there is to know.”
“The fuck do you know about suppressants?! Uhhh I peeeersonally heaaard that—fuck off, ‘Samu, d’ya know what’s at stake here? D’ya have any idea what the fuck this means?”
“Ya can’t play.”
Again, the wrong thing to say going by the growl deep in Atsumu’s chest and the way he bared his fangs openly at him. “I’m going to play.”
Osamu decided to just be silent for the rest of the very one-sided, hormonal conversation.
Atsumu walked in circles, muttering to himself, panicked and furious, and worse of all, wafting off his sickly sweet scent with each step. It didn’t help that he was wearing Osamu’s shirt, mingling their scents together like some sick invitation. Osamu gritted his teeth, trying to breathe through his mouth before he popped a boner for his brother of all fucking people.
It apparently didn’t work, because the universe had decided Osamu was to be a target of Atsumu’s untimely heat in every possible way tonight.
“Are ya fuckin’ hard?” His brother hissed out.
And Osamu noticed—yes, he was, in fact, hard. He raised his hands again in defeat, doing his best attempt at puppy eyes as the omega eyed him like a hungry animal. “Yer stinkin’ up the bathroom. It’s just a natural reaction.”
Atsumu didn’t take kindly to that, stepping into Osamu’s personal space and shoving a finger on his chest. “Yer fucking hard over this? And blaming me too?! Ya fucking sick—wait.”
It was like a switch had flicked in his poor, heat-melted brain, and all the growling ceased suddenly. Osamu went very, very still.
“Wait, this can work.”
Osamu did not like the tone of his brother’s voice.
“...What can work?”
And then Atsumu, with all the seriousness he could muster, grinning like he had discovered a new planet and named it after himself, eyes suddenly dangerously clear, said with an unwavering tone, “If I get knotted, it staves off my heat for a couple days.”
The bathroom went eerily quiet as the gears turned in Osamu’s head before he winced in disgust. “Absolutely not. What the fuck is wrong with ya?”
“I am not pullin’ that crap. And ya can’t fuckin’ make me. Ask someone else.”
“Ask who, ya moron?” Atsumu spat. “Everyone else will report me to the coach! He’ll send me home! Plus—” He pursed his lips, looking downward as he tugged at the hem of Osamu’s sweaty jersey, and ah, this was dangerous, fucked and freaky and dangerous, because there was a corner in Osamu’s brain that whispered that Atsumu begging to be knotted by him, wearing his jersey, and smelling like him was, in fact, hot. “Plus, I don’t trust ‘em.”
“But ya trust me?” Osamu pleaded. “I’m yer fuckin’ brother…”
“That’s why, ya idiot,” he growled at Osamu. “I know ya ain’t gonna try to mark me, or court me, yer just gonna knot me and then we’ll pretend this never happened.”
Osamu ran his hands down his feverish face, pleading with whatever god that was listening to please kill his boner, or his brother, whichever was most convenient, before he did something stupid.
Because he knew deep down Atsumu always did talk him into every damn stupid idea he had. Atsumu was the mastermind, Osamu was just there for the ride.
And what a bumpy fucking ride.
“I’m not gonna fuck my brother,” he finally gritted out, but it sounded more like a plea than a statement.
Atsumu fisted his shirt and slammed him against the tiled wall, body suddenly flush with Osamu’s as he stared into his eyes with a viciously deadset gaze.
“‘Samu, knot me.”
Osamu breathed in sharply, lips pursed in a straight line as he tried desperately to will his body to cooperate, to stop reacting—but it was too little, too late, because Atsumu could apparently smell his pheromones and grinned just a little this side of animalistic.
“‘Samu,” he whispered in his ear. “I know it smells good, I know yer rarin’ to go, c’mon, baby brother…”
“‘Tsumu, ‘m gonna fuckin’ kill you…”
“‘S my first time too, I gotta feel so fucking tight…”
Osamu whimpered deep in his throat, slamming his head against the wall to knock some sense into himself, or clarity, anything, but all it did was give Atsumu free access to his scent gland, which he then licked, slow and wet and with an obscene moan that Osamu wished he would’ve never heard from his own brother—and wished it didn’t make his pants tighter.
“C’mon, ‘Samu…” Atsumu murmured, lips grazing his twin’s scent gland as he pressed their crotches together and Osamu could fucking feel the hot slick seeping from Atsumu’s pants and soaking through his own. “It’ll be quick, ya ain’t even gonna break a sweat. Never knotted any bitch before, have ya? I’ll let ya come deep, bet ya can reach my womb…”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, ya fucking slut…”
Atsumu smiled against his neck, because he knew it was working. Worked like a fucking charm—Osamu was achingly hard in his pyjamas, overwhelmed by his brother’s scent wafting off him like musk, pride twisting at the edges as his resolve faltered, peeled off to leave him bare.
Osamu couldn’t bite down the groan when Atsumu grabbed his cock through his pants and squeezed him at the tip, fabric sliding easily around him, soaked with his brother’s slick.
“‘Samu, don’ be a pussy, c’mon,” Atsumu spat out. It was teasing, but there was an edge of warning in his tone. “I’ll make it good.”
“Yer sick,” he tried. “It’s the fuckin’ heat talking and that stupid fuckin’ competition ya can’t get over, just tough it out, ‘Tsumu, please, yer gonna regret this—”
Atsumu dropped to his knees immediately, and Osamu made the mistake of tilting his head down to look at him—and was faced with his brother nuzzling and mouthing at Osamu’s cock through his pants, stroking the tip of his cock with a trembling fist.
“I might,” Atsumu finally murmured. “But I know I’d regret not playin’ a lot more. Now…” he tugged Osamu’s pants down to his hips, freeing his aching cock from the trappings of fabric. “Ya wanna knot me here or in one of the stalls? Also, fuck, yer already swelling? Am I that good? Hah.”
Atsumu was teasing, joking, but Osamu could see the way his hands shook, could hear the way his voice wavered. He was in heat, his body getting ready to nest, court, get knotted and impregnated, and the way he stared at Osamu’s cock with hungry, desperate eyes spoke volumes on how affected he was by this.
And Osamu was no better.
His fingernails dug crescent moons into his palms as he managed to keep himself still, very still, to stop himself from snapping, because Osamu was a good guy, a good brother at times, and his dumb cum-filled brain was struggling to figure out which was the good guy action to take right now: reporting Atsumu to the coach the day before the finals of their last nationals, or knotting his own brother in a dirty hotel bathroom stall.
What was more important to Atsumu?
Atsumu licked a long, wet stripe up the length of his cock, wrapped his lips around the tip and gently took it all, all in while staring up at Osamu like a goddamn invitation. Osamu clenched his jaw painfully hard, feeling sweat beading on his forehead.
What was more important to Atsumu? Was it volleyball or was it his pride? And weren’t they so intrinsically connected at this point that it didn’t matter anymore?
Was he even coherent right now? Was he capable of consent? What the fuck did the teacher say during sex ed?
Osamu’s brain felt sluggish, and yet his thoughts seemed to zig-zag at a million miles per hour, searching for the elusive fucking answer to this situation because he was 18-years-old and scared and horny and a goddamn virgin having his cock sucked by his brother in heat.
Atsumu’s head bobbed slowly, fisting the base where it didn’t fit. He pulled out with a wet pop and licked his lips clean.
“‘Sumu, ya smell kinda nice…” he slurred out.
“How do I taste?” Osamu blurted out, suddenly, stupidly.
Atsumu looked up at him, blinking too slowly for a man who should be making sound decisions right now. “...What?”
“How does my cock taste, ‘Tsumu?”
He was heaving, feverish and wild eyed, could feel his heartbeat on his fingertips.
And then Atsumu gave him a lopsided grin that made him look by all fucking accounts like he was already fucked stupid.
“Tastes like fuckin’ Heaven.”
Damn it. Fuck, fuck. Fuck.
Osamu pulled Atsumu up by the front of his jersey—Osamu’s jersey, like he fucking owned him, like Atsumu was his. And if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be wearing it, would he? He could hear himself snarling, a deep growl building in his chest as his nostrils flared and his whole head swirled with sun-kissed sand and orange flowers like incense smoke.
“Are ya sure?” He tried to ask normally, gently, but it came out like an animal growl.
Atsumu’s breath smelled like toothpaste and cheap hotel mints.
“Yeah,” Atsumu murmured. “Fuckin’ knot me, ‘Samu.”
There was no need for the kiss.
It wasn’t part of the agreement, it wasn’t necessary at all, there was nothing instinctual about it, Osamu just wanted to taste his own pre-cum and Atsumu’s slick still pooling in his mouth—wanted to taste his brother’s spit when he licked between his lips, snarling as he pulled Atsumu by the back of his hair into a bruising, drooling kiss.
Atsumu practically melted into it, didn’t even try to push, just fisted Osamu’s shirt and pulled him closer, grinned into the kiss and tilted his head to give Osamu more room, let him fuck his brother’s pretty mouth with his tongue.
He turned Atsumu around and pushed him against the wall, kept kissing him and drinking in those moans while he shoved his brother’s pants down, raised a foot to push them all the way down and waited until Atsumu stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Osamu tugged at his hair again, earning a whimper against his lips, but when his other hand travelled straight to Atsumu’s dripping cunt, it earned him a wail. He dipped three fingers inside unceremoniously, groaned low in his throat when he felt the slick absolutely drenching his palm
“Jesus, ‘Tsumu,” he murmured, just a little dumbfounded. “That’s how wet ya get?”
Atsumu chuckled teasingly. “Makes it easier, don’t it?”
“Bet I can slip inside so fuckin’ easy.”
“Ya can,” he murmured into Osamu’s lips. “But s’no fun if ya don’t take yer time…”
God, Atsumu was stupid in his heat. A useless, useless hole. Osamu wouldn’t say it out loud, wouldn’t tell anyone how he felt about omegas in heat, how he thought they’d take any knot no matter who it came from, as long as it got them stuffed, daddy’s knot or uncle’s knot would do just fine—it wasn’t very progressive to say and would get him a reprimand from most of his friend.
But fuck if Atsumu wasn’t proving him right.
“Want me to take my time?” He growled. “Thought it was supposed t’be quick, ‘Tsumu. Getting heat stupid, now?”
“Don’t say that, that’s mean…”
“The fuck am I supposed to say?” Osamu curled his fingers inside his brother, watched his face warp into a drooling mess of pleasure. “S’that not heat stupid? Asking yer brother to knot yer virgin cunt just to play volleyball?”
“Nah,” Atsumu growled back, snarling at him with the last of his coherent thoughts. “‘M asking my dipshit fuckin’ brother to help me win this fuckin’ tournament. And yer gonna help me. And I’m gonna fuckin’ win.”
Osamu wanted to say no, out of spite. Considered the idea of fucking Atsumu silly then coming all over his face, knot be damned.
But he wasn’t that petty. Even horny and bestial as he was, Osamu still cared about the moron, so if Atsumu wanted to play the stupid fucking tournament, Osamu would help.
And if he got to get his dick wet in the process, well. Two birds, or whatever.
He fisted Atsumu’s shirt and dragged him to one of the stalls, watched him hit his back against the wall as Osamu locked the door behind him, then tugged him again to press Atsumu against the locked door, chest first.
“Ya drag me into the shittiest fuckin’ situations, I swear to god,” Osamu barked out, bending his brother over and spreading his asscheeks with his thumbs. He watched Atsumu’s cunt dripping over his own hard cherry red clit before the slick stretched down and pooled on the bathroom tile.
“Are ya gonna complain the whole time?” Atsumu panted, bracing himself on the stall door. “Because if so I can ask someone else.”
“Shut the fuck up, ‘m thinking.”
He could hear the eyeroll. “What is there to think? Stick yer dick inside me already, please…”
There was an edge of urgency underneath the annoyance, and it wasn’t about time—Atsumu wanted this, was aching to get stuffed. To get stuffed by Osamu.
“What if ya get pregnant?”
“I’m taking a pill, ya stupid prick.”
“What if it doesn’t work?!”
“‘Samu,” Atsumu snorted. “Don’t flatter yerself.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“It will work, just fuck me, ‘Samu, please, Jesus…”
It was begging, plain and simple. Osamu’s head swirled with confusion, fear, need, and he was sure his brother felt the same.
He grabbed his cock with shivering fingers, still spreading Atsumu’s ass with the other hand. Osamu pressed the tip gently against his brother’s weeping cunt, and his mind went blank at the guttural, needy sound that spilled from Atsumu’s lips like a fucking prayer.
“‘Samu, please, please, fuck, please, oh go—”
Osamu shoved in, maybe a little too quickly, maybe a little too deep, but frankly he had no idea what he was doing and the noises Atsumu made, head dropping heavy between his stiff shoulders, as Osamu pushed his cock inch by inch into his cunt, weren’t the best encouragement for sensible thinking.
He watched the hole stretch to accommodate the head, the length, and then the barely swollen knot at the base with glossed over eyes until he finally bottomed out, crotch flush with Atsumu’s ass.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Atsumu breathed out. “Hold on—hold on, please, wait, wait…”
“Yeah. Okay. Okay…” Osamu clenched his jaw, feeling like he was about to go fucking insane.
He couldn’t stop staring at Atsumu’s ass the whole time, overwhelmed by the velvet soft heat around his cock and still unable to move his thoughts away from where they connected, from Atsumu’s ass pressed flat against his skin, from the way his muscles clenched and he could fucking feel them moving against his pelvis.
“This is fuckin’ insane,” Osamu snorted. “Jesus, ‘Tsumu, ya really fuckin’ outdid yerself this time.”
“If I tell ya to move will ya shut up?” Atsumu groaned. “Go, go on, fuck me.”
“Wait, really?” Osamu’s head snapped up.
“Oh, my god. Yes. What even…? Just get it done an—fuck!”
He snapped his hips just a little too hard—he would adjust, it was fine. Osamu built a slow rhythm at first, trying not to hurt his brother as he fucked deep into him. Atsumu didn’t utter another word, just moaned, whimpered pathetically as he braced himself against the stall door, moved his hips to meet Osamu’s thrusts like he wanted more, like he wanted faster.
Osamu did go faster, grabbed Atsumu’s waist in a deathgrip and leaned down to breathe in his brother’s scent while he plowed into his tight, dripping wet cunt.
“Jesus fuck, ‘Tsumu…” he gritted out. “‘S so good, it’s so fuckin’ good… yer so fuckin’ tight, feel so perfect…”
“St—ah, stop—fuck… stop… talking—ahn…”
“Ya got me into this fuckin’ mess,” Osamu spat out, maybe a little angrier than he intended. “Yer gonna hear ‘bout how good it feels.”
Osamu reached a hand down between his brother’s legs, found his clit with two fingers and pressed against it. Atsumu howled.
“No, no, s’too much—”
“S’no fair that only I get to come, right?” He grinned.
“‘Samu, ‘m gonna fuckin’ pass out—” Atsumu cried out, voice wet with drool and lost in pleasure.
“S’fine, if ya pass out I’ll make sure to knot ya while ya sleep.”
“Gross, can’t ya just fuckin’ do yer thing and—oh, oh god, god, god, god, fuck…”
Osamu rubbed his brother’s clit in close, tight circles, felt Atsumu tighten around his cock and saw his foot tapping desperately on the linoleum from the corner of his eye. Cute.
“‘Samu, ‘Samu, please, please, I’m gonna—oh, oh, oh-oh-oh—”
“Yeah, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu snarled, licking his lips. “Come on my cock, lemme feel ya coming around me.”
Atsumu curled in on himself, almost falling over before being caught by Osamu’s arm. But he didn’t stop his trusts or hand—plowed him deep and rubbed his twitching nub over and over as Atsumu cursed and wailed through his orgasm, slamming a closed fist against the door and clawing at Osamu’s arm with the other hand.
Jesus, male omegas were fucking animals.
But fuck if that didn’t make Osamu even more aroused.
“Hold yerself up, ya useless fuckin’ whore,” he barked out.
Atsumu didn’t reply, probably too dazed and gone to form a proper sentence, but he did manage to find his footing again even if it was on trembling legs, even if he had to press both arms on the door to stop his head from hitting the fiberglass directly.
Osamu didn’t relent, fuck, he held Atsumu’s waist like a fucking handlebar, fucked so hard into him he could see his brother’s whole body rocking violently with each thrust, was drunk on the obscene wet noises of his cunt stretching and drooling all over Osamu’s cock, on Atsumu’s moans dripping from his lips like he was fucking them out.
“Wait, ‘Samu—waitwait…” Atsumu slurred, but Osamu didn’t listen, didn’t fucking stop.
Stop for what? He could see his knot swelling, hitting flush against Atsumu’s folds and soon, fucking soon—
There was a disrupting and loud metallic screech, and Osamu stopped his hips in time to watch Atsumu slamming a hand on the short width of wall beside the door to stop himself from falling over—and his other hand clutched on the door handle, holding the stall door upright as the top hinge dangled uselessly.
One of the screws dropped on the floor, echoing in the empty bathroom.
They stood still for a long moment, waiting in fear for the sound of footsteps.
“Ya fucking animal,” Atsumu snorted, finally, when they realized no one had heard it. He gently pulled the door to rest in its closed position, carefully balancing it on a single hinge. “Ya broke the fuckin’ door—”
“S’not my fuckin’ fault.”
“So it’s mine?” He cackled.
“Oh, god. Did ya get it in at least?”
“‘M pretty sure ya’d know if ya were being knotted,” Osamu groaned, then pulled out momentarily, holding his brother up. “Hold on—c’mere.”
He pulled Atsumu’s chest against his, then pulled him up by the thighs, earning a squeal from his brother as he wrapped them around his own waist.
“Can ya carry me like this?” Atsumu whistled. “That’s pretty hot, ‘Samu.”
Osamu rolled his eyes as he pressed Atsumu against the sturdy wall that would definitely not break if he fucked his brother too hard against it.
“Might be difficult stayin’ hard if I have to watch yer ugly face the whole time,” Osamu grinned. Atsumu pushed at his face.
“Bet I look cute as fuck during sex.”
“Wanna test that theory?”
Atsumu grinned. “Go on, back inside, ya fuckin’ animal.”
Osamu squinted, still definitely too aroused to put two cohesive thoughts together, but not so far gone he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to fuck with his brother. He lined himself up with some difficulty (and Atsumu kicking at his back with a wrong hole, idiot yelled in his ear once), but when Osamu had his cock head safely inside Atsumu’s cunt, he just smirked at his brother before thrusting up all at once.
Atsumu wasn’t wrong, it turned out. He was gorgeous during sex.
His face twisted in a pretty display of arousal, mouth agape and eyes rolling back as he let out a long moan that was so loud Osamu should’ve been worried, but all it did was rile him up further. He held tight onto Atsumu’s thighs as he fucked up into him, watching his eyebrows crease in the middle, watching him lick the drool off his lips, watching his nose scrunch up when Osamu hit just a little too deep. Atsumu was flushed down to his neck, scent gland bulging slightly when he threw his head back and fuck, this was dangerous.
Because Osamu had been so busy staring at his brother’s o-face he had almost forgotten why they were playing this sick incest scenario in the first place.
He could feel his orgasm closing in, and even though it was stupid and pointless, he leaned in for a kiss—captured Atsumu’s lips with his own, drank in his moans, tasted his spit as he thrust in once, twice, three times until he finally, finally slipped his knot into his brother’s dripping cunt.
Atsumu practically wailed into his lips before it tapered off into a long, needy moan as he dipped his tongue into Osamu’s mouth and deepened the kiss. Osamu rode his orgasm with a low hum in his chest, licking into his brother’s mouth white slowly spilled into his stuffed cunt.
It was completely different from coming just by masturbating, it was a weaker, yet longer, more intense orgasm—a continuous buzz in his gut and a white-hot pleasure whirlwind in his brain that almost overwhelmed him.
When it finally dwindled, Osamu suddenly noticed the ache in his legs.
“Hold on, lemme just…” He murmured into Atsumu’s lips before collapsing on his ass atop the toilet lid, his brother coming down with him.
They took a long moment to catch their breaths, Atsumu’s head slumped over Osamu’s shoulder and Osamu leaning back on the wall behind him, praying to fucking god the toilet wouldn’t try to open its lid or start beeping underneath them.
Osamu wasn’t sure if it had been a minute or an hour when he finally spoke.
Atsumu hummed. He struggled to sit up on his lap, wincing at the movement of the knot inside him before he settled more comfortably on Osamu’s thighs.
“Yeah… the burning in my gut s’gone… just fuckin’ tired now… I wanna sleep for 10 hours…”
His brother looked absolutely disheveled. Osamu had walked in on Atsumu masturbating before (several times, unfortunately), but he had never seen him like that. Sweaty, flushed red, drool glistening on his chin, lips trembling and eyes glossed over. He tucked Atsumu’s bangs behind his ear.
“Yer a mess.”
“Yeah… well, whose fault is that?”
“Yer fault, obviously,” Osamu gritted out, before wincing as he felt another onslaught of cum spilling from his dick. Atsumu froze on top of him.
“Oh, oh, that is weird. How long does it take for ya to unlatch?”
Osamu took a deep breath, stopping himself short of fratricide. “I don’t fuckin’ know, ‘Tsumu, s’not like I’ve done this before. Isn’t the general timing something like… twenty minutes to two hours?”
“So I’m stuck here for either a cartoon episode or a film?”
Atsumu looked almost as annoyed as Osamu felt.
Osamu sighed, fishing his phone from his pocket and unlocking it.
“What are ya doing?” Atsumu squinted.
“Ah… can I watch, too?”
“Fine, but you hold it.”
Atsumu grumbled, but took the phone from Osamu’s hands and searched for the app himself.
They sat there for a dangerously long time, Atsumu’s head on his shoulder while he scrolled through videos and either laughed at the funny ones or whoa’d at the more aesthetically pleasing ones. Osamu mindlessly rubbed circles on his brother’s waist with his thumb, the whole time holding back from pulling him into a last kiss.
“‘Samu,” Atsumu yawned at some point.
Osamu hummed. “S’what ‘m here for, right?”
It wasn’t. They were both keenly aware of it, but attached together by his slowly softening knot and covered in their own fluids, the taste of each other’s spit still lingering in their mouths… it was hard not to feel the dread settling low in their gut.
Dread that this would happen again, and the dread that it wouldn’t.
Osamu pressed a kiss to the top of his brother’s head while they watched a video of a cat chasing its own tail, Atsumu’s honey-sweet laughter the only sound in Osamu’s putrid, broken head as his heart thumped dangerously fast in his chest.