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It’s supposed to come naturally – breathing. Yet he finds he has to talk himself through the function, an internal chant to ensure it doesn’t end.
His chest expands and contracts, the only movement he allows. He heart thumps steadily, a beat too fast, too hard against his chest. His skin is slick with sweat, his blood buzzing underneath, churning in a desperate bid to get him moving, searching for something to scratch that unbearable itch, for something to–
Inhale. Exhale. Again. He’s better than this. He’s above it, not some damn animal unable to control his baser instincts. He will get a hold of himself.
Slowly, he grips his jersey, bringing it up to wipe off the sweat where it drips down from his temples. A mistake, bringing the material so close to his nose. His next breath in brings a rush of scents from the field. Topmost is grass, mixing unpleasantly with his own – soured by frustration and soaked through the fabric. Underneath is worse. Traces of the others – cedar and citrus and smoke. His lip curls, unconscious to him as he moves to peel the offending garment off. He just barely restrains himself from throwing it, simply shoving it across the floor from where he sits.
Just as the last match had come to a close, before he had even a moment to savor his victory, he'd felt it. A pulse in his chest, sending heat and want throughout his body, nearly taking him off his feet. Unmistakable for anything other than what it was. Rut.
He knows he hasn’t missed taking his inhibitors, he’s as meticulous about them as he is about everything else. Which means they must have failed, a stoke of bad luck – or maybe the result of the budget for this place having to have been cut somewhere. It doesn’t matter, at this point it’s too late. His rut is simmering just under the surface, somewhere between minutes and hours away from hitting full force.
He tries to keep breathing, to keep himself lucid enough to come up with what he should do, but everything he thinks of ends in the same conclusion. He’s fucked, and not in the way his instincts would like to him be.
He had all but fled the field. He’d been holed up in a random training room for who knows how long at this point, but seeing as that was nothing out of the ordinary for him, he figured he was safe from anyone seeking him out – assuming Isagi didn’t try to worm his way into his routine again. He just has to hope Bachira will keep the other striker occupied enough for him. The last thing he needs right now is Isagi trying to monologue at him about whatever the hell is going through his head this week.
Another wave pulses through him, slow and warm, settling heavy in his groin. He exhales, his fingers dig harder into his own thighs, desperately grasping for whatever self control he has left. For just a moment, he considers calling out. He’s certain Ego would manage to hear him, would pop up a screen somewhere, but-
He won’t risk it. They put them all on these inhibitors for a reason, he can’t – won’t risk getting locked off for something for like this. He can deal with it himself. He has to.
The only solace he currently has is that the patches on his neck and around his wrists seem to be functioning properly, keeping his scent and his predicament private for now. But after having worn them the whole game, he knows they’ll wear off soon. There’s no way he can go back to that shared room like this, so he needs to come up with something, and fast. But time is not on his side. His rut has always taken days to subside fully, and he has another match the next afternoon. He has to do something.
He tries again to get his breathing under control, finding that he’s nearly panting despite his sedentary state. Every breath in chips his patience a little more, has his fingers twitching against his skin. He's starting to feel unfocused, anger and arousal a heady mix around and inside him.
Maybe he should shower, get all these irritating scents off himself so can focus. The grass he can handle, his own sweat he can handle, but the rest? Most of the other players are at least competent enough at wearing the patches, but getting alphas like Barou or Shidou to do anything they don’t want to do is easier said than done. And the cloying, smokey traces of Shidou’s scent clinging to him may be his last straw. That fucking pest, he’s not even here and he’s pissing Rin off.
Dragging his head up from where he was staring at his own crossed legs, he finds his movements already starting to feel sluggish. The clock reads half past late enough for everyone to be done with the showers.
He can do this.
He stands, his body feeling too heavy, off-balance in way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He straightens, jaw clenching as he tries to reign himself in, to ignore the heat surging through his body with every step. He’s an alpha, not a dog, he can control himself. He’ll take a shower, and he’ll wait for this to pass.
Simple. Easy.
He steps out into the hall, and makes it maybe twenty somewhat shaky steps before he realizes what his rut-addled brain has neglected to account for.
“And where’ve you been, Lashes?”
Shidou fucking Ryuusei. Just his voice has Rin nearly snarling, something he won’t give his currently increased aggression credit for. He just hates him, and he’s perhaps the last person Rin wants to be near at the moment.
Shidou is coming from the other side of the hall, still a good distance away, and yet all together too close for comfort.
His hair is wet and loose around his face, he wears a towel around his neck in lieu of a shirt, keeping him from dripping onto the floor. Rin’s eyes linger over the breadth of his chest, the shadows along his throat, before returning to his overly smug face. He’s practically sauntering over to where Rin has completely stopped moving, unable to do much other than watch as he closes more distance.
Shidou, unpredictable as always, has no real reason to be here, wandering in this part of the building. Rin won’t waste brain cells wondering why the man is out here so late – or why he does anything he does, really. It doesn’t matter, what matters is Rin getting the hell away from him before he does something he’ll regret.
Rin makes fleeting eye contact – enough to show him that he sees him, that he’s heard him – before looking straight back down the hall, continuing without answering, his legs finally back under his own command. Shidou is disrupting his carefully laid out plan of seeing no one on his way to the shower, his blood was boiling before he caught sight of the bastard, and he really cannot afford to lose his cool here. Not in front of someone like him, not where someone could see.
It’s then that Shidou’s scent reaches him properly, several steps ahead of the man himself, tinged with obvious irritation at being ignored. The other alpha puts as much effort into controlling his scent as he does his anger – none. Rin is fairly sure it’s the freak’s personal brand of intimidation. It’s unsettling sometimes, how candid Shidou is for someone who shares so little about himself. Rin has tasted the entire range of Shidou’s emotions on his tongue, so really, he should be used to it by now. Especially given that, compared to on the field, it’s dulled, less intense.
Instead, he swallows thickly, stumbles. His shoulder knocks against the wall. A laugh, short and mean and too close for comfort reaches him, pricking at where his nerves are already raw. Shakily, he rights himself, hand braced on the wall.
His display does nothing to discourage Shidou, who gets closer, brings even more of his scent full force with him. Fresh, clean, unobstructed by anything else, by anyone else. He’s amused. Rin is once again rooted to the spot, his feet leaden, refusing to cooperate. Slippers step into his line of sight – when had he dropped his head? He jerks himself back up straight, and Shidou is right in front of him, eyes half squinted like he’s trying to figure him out.
As much as he loathes to admit it, Shidou’s not stupid. It takes only a beat. Rin catches the second Shidou realizes something is up with him. Watches the way his expression shifts, how his eyes slide up and down Rin’s frame, how everything about him seems to sharpen all at once, just before that unnerving grin stretches over his face. Too wide, canines exposed and glinting in the low lighting.
“Something wrong, Rin-Rin?”
Rin thinks that there is no scenario in which he doesn’t want fight Shidou. Usually, the rational part of himself remembers what happens when they do fight. Namely, that Shidou kicks his ass, and most lately, he's been walking away instead. There’s nothing Shidou seems to hate more than being ignored, so it’s satisfying enough. Usually.
Tonight, that rational part of himself has been turned off, killed by an instinct that is screaming at him to get his hands on the other alpha. Get him to fight back, to press bruises into skin, to sink his teeth in and – Rin shudders. He needs to be somewhere else, immediately.
It must be the freak’s scent, something Rin is finding hard to breathe through. Shidou smells like smoke, like a bonfire. Suffocating, all consuming, he swears he can feel it pressing down on him. It’s a scent as intense as his personality, one that Rin is typically more than capable of ignoring. But right now? Something about it, he finds intoxicating. His eyes drop from Shidou’s to his neck. He can’t see it, but he knows where the blonde’s scent gland would be, wants to be closer to it.
He clenches his teeth, feels the dull ache in his jaw. Unbelievable. He must be out of his fucking mind. It’s not him, he tells himself, it’s the damn rut. He’s not in his right mind – mostly, at least. Despite the whole point of the damn cycle being to get him to breed, it isn’t enough to override the fact that Rin simply is not interested in omegas. He never has been, has never seen the appeal. Their scents are too sweet for his taste, their bodies too soft. Even with his brain being a mush of heat and want, he still doesn’t want to fuck one.
This is why, he reasons with himself, he can’t seem to stop his eyes from roaming over Shidou’s exposed torso, drinking in the expanse of thick muscle, the dim lighting of the hallway accentuating every dip and curve. Can’t stop his fingers from itching to touch, can’t stop the way that oppressive scent has him wanting to bow down, to submit. The other alpha being Shidou is perhaps the only thing stopping him from dropping to his knees then and there.
He supposes, if you waterboarded him long enough, he might admit that Shidou is handsome, in the same way one might call a viper beautiful. Shidou has proven himself over and over to be dangerous, quick to anger and violent. When he’s not throwing punches – typically at Rin – he spouting off nonsense that has never served to do anything other make Rin violent. If it weren’t for his personality, or his insistence on trying to get Rin to tell him about his damn brother, he might have been appealing. His rut, however, is circumventing all of that, skipping past everything he knows about the other man aside from the physical. And Rin, despite himself, wants.
In this narrow hallway, with Shidou’s too intense stare pinning him in place, he wonders if it’s obvious. He’s used to the looks Shidou throws at him – curiosity, anger, elation. But looking into his eyes, in this moment, is different. It’s invasive. Like Shidou can see right through him, right into him. Like he might dissect him then and there, pull him apart and display on what he finds on the wall.
He has the presence of mind to be thankful that the patches on his neck will keep Shidou from being able to do anything confirm any suspicions. If Shidou could tell that his body – the traitorous thing – was responding to his, in any capacity, he’d never let him live it down. He’d have to kill him.
Shidou’s eyes are still locked onto his as he takes another step – too close, he’s always too close, but Rin holds his ground, doesn’t move. He would rather die than cede even a single step to someone like him, no matter how much he’d like to. Shidou’s head tilts, smirk widening and – fuck Rin hates him.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
He hasn’t answered him yet. He’s just been standing here, staring at him. How long has it been?
His tongue is too thick in his mouth, and his breathing is so unsteady – it’s loud in the quiet of the hallway. He keeps his face as neutral as his can, finally dragging his gaze away from Shidou’s.
It’s immediately easier to breath, to think, without the weight of those eyes shackling around his neck.
“Fuck off.” Is the only answer he gives, far too late. He walks around the other alpha, starting back toward the showers. Shidou makes no move to stop him, and Rin is not disappointed.
Behind him, short and high, a laugh rings out, “Just when things were starting to get boring.”
He can hear the way Shidou is following him, his footsteps are light, but by no means is he trying to keep himself unheard. He keeps talking. About how he stressed he looks, how pent up he must be. It devolves from there, all manner of nonsense that Rin doesn’t bother to really process, let alone acknowledge. His voice, that taunting, teasing lilt, slips down his shuddering spine, but he says nothing. The lack of response does nothing to deter the other man, neither does the way Rin outright refuses to so much as glance in his direction.
He gets to the door to the showers, nearly sighs in relief before catching himself from giving Shidou the pleasure of a reaction. He slips in, slamming the door shut behind him.
And finally, he’s alone. For the first time in hours, he feels like he can truly breathe. The air is too overpowered by soap and linen for him to pick out anyone specific. His chest is lighter, movement easier. He can still smell smoke, faint, clinging to where Shidou’s bare chest had brushed his shoulder in the hall.
His uniform shirt sticks to skin as he pulls it off, tossing it to rest on the nearest bench. Away from Shidou, his thoughts come a bit easier as well, some of the haze dissipating along with that smokey scent. He cannot believe that he – about that freak–
It’s fine now, he’s alone.
Rin has just enough time to let some of the tension bleed from his shoulders before Shidou – whom he already knew had no sense of personal boundaries, but did not quite think would go to this extent – opens the door after him. The creak of the door has him tensing all over again, just before he hears that damn voice again.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to walk away without answering someone?” Rin doesn’t even know what the question was. He doesn’t care, frankly. Coming back in here, so clearly fresh out of the shower himself, with no other possible purpose than to piss Rin off–
He tries to punch Shidou in the mouth.
On a good day, he likely would have caught him off guard, it would have connected. But he’s too slow, his usually immaculate balance still unstable. Shidou easily side steps him, uses the momentum to grab Rin’s wrist and twist it behind his back. He shoves, hard, walking Rin forward until his chest collides with the wall. Shidou presses close behind him, keeping his wrist pinned at a painful angle between his shoulder blades.
Rin’s instincts flare up from the position, a part of him bristling at being pinned down, a part of him reveling in the feeling of skin on his own. Even through the ongoing fog of his rut, the anger wins out. He shifts, his cheek pressing against the wall so he can glare back behind him.
“Get your hands off me, you filthy–” Rin cuts off on a grunt, Shidou pressing harder behind him, pressing his wrist into a more severe angle. And then a little more, for good measure.
Rin gasps. Shidou laughs, delighted, “Calm down, what’s got you so worked up, huh?” His voice is a knowing, lecherous thing, pressed right up against Rin’s ear.
He knows, probably has known since he happened across Rin in the hall. Rin exhales, body slumping against the wall. He’s in no shape to fight his way out of Shidou’s hold, he’s too tired, his limbs feel to heavy. The places where Shidou’s hands are wrapped around him, despite the pressure, seem to ache less. He settles for as venomous a look as he can muster.
Shidou stares back at him, the cut of his smile and his probing eyes not wavering in the slightest against Rin’s glare, “You look like you’re having a hard time.”
“What do you want?” He tries for threatening, but his voice comes out too breathy to sell it.
“Just trying to help, Rin-Rin.”
“You can help by letting go of me.”
Shidou laughs again, “You sure? Seems like you like it,” The hand on his shoulder shifts, slides down over Rin’s waist to settle around his hip. His fingers dig into the skin, and Rin closes his eyes. He’s able to bite back the sound that threatens to crawl out of his throat, but not the way he shivers in Shidou’s hands.
“I can help you, Rin. I could–”
Rin cuts him off, jerking slightly in his hold, “Say the word ‘explode’ and I’ll kill you.”
“Explode? Rin, I could make you sing.”
Is he fucking with him? Is he offering to fuck him? Rin can’t exactly tell.
Shidou sighs behind him, like he’s getting tired, like Rin isn’t amusing him anymore. “Should’ve known you’d be too prideful to admit it.”
“What is that supposed to–”
Fingers touch at patch on the side of his neck and Rin growls, wrenching his other hand from between his body and the wall to reach back to grip Shidou’s wrist, nails digging into skin as he tries to pry it away. Shidou is, unfortunately, stronger than he is. It takes him only seconds to regain control, to get his hand around Rin’s wrist and pin it to the wall next to his snarling face. Distantly, Rin can feel him laughing against his back.
“You know, Rin, that bitch attitude of yours just makes me want to treat you like one.” And that’s all it takes, confirmation of what Shidou is offering. Rin closes his eyes, trying to avoid picturing it, imagining what Shidou would look like on top of him, what he looks like now, pressed against him. He turns his head away, teeth grinding as his body begins to burn unbelievable hotter.
And that fucking word. Bitching. Nothing but an old wives’ tale. An outdated, half-assed attempt to try and steer young, pheromone chasing alphas away from each other. Not backed by a lick of research. Nonsense. And yet. Something about the ideal holds some sort of sick appeal to him.
Rin has always known who he is, what he wants. Omegas have never appealed to him, not in the slightest. Not even during the few ruts he’s went through has he given them much thought. Rather, Rin wants someone who can keep up with him, someone who can match him step for step. Someone capable of holding him in down, of fucking him through the haze of his rut.
Someone, regrettably, like Shidou Ryuusei.
The grip Shidou has on his wrist tightens a fraction, his thumb sliding up and down over Rin’s pulse, before it begins nudging under the edge of the patch. The adhesive gives easily, and Shidou’s thumb presses firmly into the scent gland underneath.
Rin gasps, the gland over sensitive. Shidou hums behind him, clearly having the time of his life with what is arguably the most embarrassing day of Rin’s. His voice is low and too close when he whispers, “I think you’d like it, if you got put in your place for once.”
Rin is too far gone to argue at this point, has been for a while, whether Shidou has noticed or not, but he tenses when he feels the barest brush of his lips against his neck, before Shidou is peeling the patch off with his teeth.
His scent is strong enough that even can tell how overpowering it is. Heavy with arousal, it fills the room easily, though not enough to keep him from being solely focused on Shidou’s, on the way the aroused pheromones are no longer only his own. Shidou lets go of his wrists, lets his arm drop back down by his side. Rin makes no move to push him away, too caught up in the odd feeling of loss at no longer having hands on his him.
"You’re a bad liar, Lashes. Now tell me, what do you want?”
He’s not proud of what he does next. If pressed, he would say it wasn’t his choice, that he wasn’t thinking straight, his brain function was severely hampered by the onslaught of hormones running a rampage in his body. He had done so well at maintaining his composure, at keeping calm. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to indulge himself in this one thing. Besides, there are no cameras in this room, Ego giving them at least that much privacy. No witnesses. And who would believe Shidou if he told them?
He drops his shoulders from where they were practically touching his neck, lets his scent out of his own grip. Slowly, and because there is no way he hell he will be saying it out loud with his own mouth, he does what he can to signal to Shidou what he wants, what Shidou can take.
His head tilts to the side, and as best as he can with the position Shidou has wrangled him into, he bares his throat to him.