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Shinjiro noticed the scent before Akihiko even walked into the room.
It's thick. Like ozone and unvarnished steel, coating the back of his throat when it exploded across the roof of his mouth with a tar-like taste. Metallic and heavy. He breathed it in and froze. Something in him jumped, adrenaline spiking to counter an invisible threat, and he knew.
A second later, Akihiko burst through the door. He locked it behind him, heartbeat so loud Shinjiro could hear it all the way across the room. He looked–mad. Like he was going to erupt, something feral crawling under his skin. The full force of his scent hit Shinjiro's nose not five seconds later–Akihiko smelled humid, like a typhoon, like those late July months in Tokyo. He's panting.
Exhaustion colored his frame but something else was hollowing him out, making him sweat like that. It was early August. Summer had long come and passed.
He looked at Shinjiro. Shinjiro looked back. Akihiko opened his mouth to say something, shook his head, and scuttled off to his room.
Oh. Well, that's a problem.
Okay. So they haven't talked about their cycles. Fair enough, Shinjiro doesn't like to even talk about his own most of the time. He goes into rut, he locks himself in his room. It's just basic courtesy not to spread his smell everywhere when he's rooming with someone else, much less another alpha. They're generally unpleasant enough anyway without dragging someone else into it. 'S why Shinjiro's never shared his with anyone else. Too much could go wrong. He's so out of it that he can't trust someone else to fuck him and walk away intact.
So, yeah. Six days of him locking himself up and riding out the insane heat underneath his skin, rubbing his dick raw and pointedly not thinking about help, or fucking the nearest thing with a pulse. Akihiko's the only alpha he can stand near him when he's like that. Somehow, the guy's scent riles him, but not in the way that usually means Shinjiro's trying to peel out of his skin and beat the shit out of him at the same time.
More…hunger. Like, Shinjiro wants to eat him.
So obviously, Shinjiro hasn't talked about it with Akihiko. And he doesn't think Akihiko's rutted once in their apartment since Shinjiro moved in–he could smell a hint of it sometimes, on him, because Akihiko has a bad habit of not wearing his blockers or sweating through them anyway. And Akihiko smells alright, usually, but rut-Akihiko smells hungry. Volatile. Like a livewire ready to blow.
Not that he didn't always smell hungry in some form or another–Shinjiro has a very good theory that Akihiko just always smells like that because he's not getting laid enough and is too repressed to notice. And evolution is truly a bitch, because it makes Shinjiro feel all sorts of uncomfortable things. Anger, mainly. Territorial for insane reasons. And the instincts that would have originally urged Shinjiro to run or to beat the shit out of this invader in his space, trying to conquer a room with his scent alone–well. They're there, alright. There's definitely a reaction.
Shinjiro's just not sure if it's the right kind of reaction.
He knocked on Akihiko's door.
"Aki," he called. Steeled himself for whatever Akihiko says, because he's a good roommate and he would like Akihiko to not–fucking, die because he was caught unprepared. There's a reason Shinjiro's never caught Akihiko rutting at their apartment. Usually he's ready, has gone to a motel or a ward or something–even leaves notes so Shinjiro doesn't worry. It's sweet.
The panicked look Akihiko'd been wearing when he came home today says he was not ready, and he wasn't expecting Shinjiro at home, and Shinjiro'd be damned if he let Akihiko flounder without food or supplies or anything else.
There's no response. Akihiko might not even want to see him, he reasoned. He's layered some blockers on himself and a light deodorant, but that might still be too much for pre-rut.
Rut makes everything feel like it's been amped to seven thousand and more, and Shinjiro knew it was the worst kind of feeling, being overwhelmed in public like that. Still, he's gotta try. He knocked a little harder.
A second later, footsteps thud towards the door as Akihiko wrenched it open.
Shinjiro inhaled immediately, which was a mistake. Because the pre-rut smell has just gotten worse. This time, it's the full deluge of the rain as it drenched Shinjiro, and the lightning as it struck the ground. It pooled saliva in his mouth, made him sweat in the vicinity of something his brain's having trouble deciding if it's a threat or not. Made his heartrate pound, matching Akihiko's beat for beat.
Akihiko looked wrecked. Flushed, hair plastered to his forehead and arms trembling as he gripped the door so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His lips are turned down in an unhappy scowl, and he's looking at Shinjiro if he can't decide whether to kick him out or invite him. The confused want on his face was incredible.
"Hi," Shinjiro said. "You want some help?"
"What could you possibly," Akihiko said, gritting his teeth visibly, "help me with?"
It's like the start of a bad porno. Jesus. Shinjiro breathed through his mouth so he doesn't explode from the sheer vicinity to Akihiko's fucking…everything. "I was going to ask you if you wanted anything. Food, snacks."
“Is that all,” Akihiko said, in a strangely brittle voice. His eyes flickered over Shinjiro's face, cataloguing his expression. Flickered down to his mouth, up to his eyes, and then down to his neck. It'd be embarrassing if Shinjiro couldn't feel the frisson of want dance up his spine. Fuck. "'M not hungry."
"You're smelling pretty hungry for someone who says he isn't," Shinjiro said.
"That's just the rut," Akihiko said. Blithe like he doesn’t know what’s going on. “What are you doing–” Shinjiro reached out, touched his hand–the one gripping the doorframe for dear life–and lightly ran his fingers over Akihiko's. It was almost comical to watch. Akihiko’s eyes got wide, like he’d been presented with an opportunity, of sorts, and his arm jerked. His breathing got faster, and Shinjiro could see how his pupils turned huge, a pitch-black pit he could fall into.
“Just the rut, huh?" Shinjiro mutters. "You’re–” He didn’t know how to say it, the magnitude of what he was feeling. Akihiko was an enigma, a complicated puzzle he didn’t even know how to solve anymore. Hope began to blossom in his chest when Akihiko didn’t respond. “Aki.”
Akihiko clenched his jaw. His shoulders began to shake, too, with the effort of keeping it in. The smell of ozone and ink and tilled earth drifted, lazy in the air, but got thicker as Shinjiro edged closer. He eyed Akihiko’s pulse points, the fluttering of his throat. His hand quivered under Shinjiro’s, like he didn’t know whether to escape or to stay. When Shinjiro was nose-to-nose with Akihiko, it was like he’d stopped breathing–he’d frozen, hand still on the doorframe. His eyes were filmy, tracking Shinjiro’s own with barely hidden fervor.
“You want me,” Shinjiro said.
Akihiko’s scent spiked, like a punch to the kidney. “You have to say it like that?” Still, he didn’t draw away. Shinjiro laughed, somewhere between giddy and terrified, and if he didn't laugh he'd start yelling or something. They didn't do this: they'd never slept together, even though Shinjiro would have been lying if he said he'd never considered it. If he'd never laid in the dark and wondered what Akihiko might be like, between his sheets. If Akihiko thought about Shinjiro that way, too.
It’s like throwing two flint stones together and expecting to get a bonfire. The truth was, he should be repulsed, should be running in the opposite direction right now. And in the throes of pre-rut, Shinjiro’s scent should have repelled Akihiko so fervently that Shinjiro's not sure why he's here and not getting his throat torn out for antagonizing him like this.
Like polarised magnets, they should be repelled from each other, unable to stand being in the near vicinity. And yet.
“Akihiko,” Shinjiro said. He was a coward. “You should tell me to stop.”
“What?” Akihiko spoke. He was breathing a little harder, not outright panting but close to it. He kept licking his lips, flashes of a pink tongue that promised terrible things to Shinjiro. His eyes darted all over Shinjiro’s face, like he couldn’t decide where to look.
“I mean it,” Shinjiro murmured, drawing ever closer. He’s an inch away from Akihiko’s mouth now. They’re practically sharing breaths. “You don’t want this, we stop and we never talk about it again.”
Akihiko clenched his jaw. Worked his teeth together. He opened his mouth, and Shinjiro braced himself for the most awkward rejection of his entire life–only beat out by the time he’d tried to hit on Mitsuru Kirijo.
Instead, Akihiko looked right, looked left, and leaned in first.
Let it be known that Shinjiro was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t thought Akihiko–brash, earnest boy Aki–would be such a gentle kisser. It didn’t hurt, for the fact that he was kissing another alpha–and he wasn’t getting his throat torn out for it. Akihiko's mouth was soft and warm, hungry and demanding without teeth. It was awkward for about two seconds while Shinjiro recovered from his surprise, and then it got good. Real good. Shinjiro opened his mouth, let Akihiko venture in with that quicksilver tongue of his, pliant until Akihiko moaned.
It burned clean in his blood, and Shinjiro was suddenly hyperaware of everything around him, the warmth of Akihiko’s mouth, the fever-hot simmer of his skin.
A weak hum rose from the back of his throat, and Shinjiro could taste his desperation, the neediness burning its way through his mouth, the scent practically a flavour with how potent it was. It still didn’t turn him off. If anything, Shinjiro found the heat in his belly sparking higher, fanning to an almost feverish intensity. He didn’t know how to verbalize this, the way Akihiko made him feel–against all odds, all the time, driving him up the wall with his constant presence, at school, at the dorms, a shared apartment.
“We could move this to your bed,” Shinjiro said, once they’d had the presence of mind to draw slightly apart.
Akihiko looked ravenous, downright, fangs slightly too sharp and scent glands pumping all sorts of fucked-up hormones into the air. Fuck. Shinjiro could feel the aggression rippling under Akihiko’s skin, under his own, but the two never clashed. Instead, it fueled something deeper in him, the need to show this alpha–this alpha, not a rival, but an equal, his alpha–his own teeth, how good his knot could be. Fuck. Akihiko smelled like a challenge, dizzying and heady, and not cloying at all. He was sharp and clean and tasted like the tang of a blade, the blood in Shinjiro’s mouth after a punch, the burn of his muscles after a good spar. Fuck.
“Already ahead of you,” Akihiko grunted, spinning on his ankle and tugging him into the room proper. Shinjiro followed, excitement only ramping as he trailed after Akihiko. The entire room smelled like Akihiko. It stoked something low in his belly, the evidence of what he was getting himself into.
Akihiko had beelined for the bed, sprawled carelessly across it while rapidly shedding clothes. He’d somewhat prepared for his rut–his nightstand held a couple of bottles of water, a box of granola bars, and some extra electrolyte drinks he must have snuck out of the gym. The bed itself had a towel placed down, and Akihiko tossed his shirt somewhere behind him, beckoning Shinjiro over. He’s down to his briefs, and Shinjiro could see the hard line of him, against his thigh. God. Shinjiro swallowed and followed, helpless to obey. As soon as he inserted himself between Akihiko’s bare thighs, they were kissing, this time much more rabid and frantic than their first had been. When they broke apart, Akihiko groaned like he’d been stabbed.
“How long does your rut last,” Shinjiro asked, breathlessly. He laid a palm over Akihiko’s nape, absorbing the heat of Akihiko’s skin. He was burning up. Akihiko’s hands reached the hem of his wifebeater, lingering and toying with the seam. They were heavy, calloused and warm in small brushes against the skin of his hips, and he hoped his sharp inhale wasn’t too obvious.
“Usually about six days,” Akihiko said, closing his eyes like it would help. “It’s supposed to start tonight, but I think you, ah, accelerated it.”
Shinjiro bit his lip to avoid immediately making a fool of himself. He couldn’t say why that was so fucking hot, the idea that he could somehow push Akihiko over the edge into full-blown rut, be the reason Akihiko shuddered in need and—
”Okay,” he said instead. “I’ll take care of you. Is there anything you don’t want me doing?”
Akihiko opened his eyes, tracked the movement of Shinjiro’s mouth with his hungry gaze. “Damn… Uh, I’ve never been with another alpha before. I don’t know how this is supposed to work. I don’t even know why this’s even working, but it is.” He grunted, short and sudden, as Shinjiro slid his hips against his, a sharp friction that punched a breath out of him.
Thank the gods for Akihiko’s temporary lucidity, because Shinjiro had no idea how to tackle that monster of a problem either. He’d been with alphas before, but for quick hookups, midnight trysts in the dark where nobody could see. He wasn’t sure what would set off Akihiko’s rut-aggression, but he knew–at least going off his own rut–that Akihiko probably didn’t want to be fucked.
So. That left him a couple of options.
“Do you trust me,” Shinjiro said. Akihiko nodded so fast Shinjiro worried that he was going to sprain something. “Alright, lay down.”
Akihiko did. His eyes never left Shinjiro’s. “You should strip.”
“Be patient,” Shinjiro muttered, flushing a little. The air was too heady to be arguing like this. He reached down and pulled the wifebeater over his head, leaning down immediately to get back to kissing Akihiko. Akihiko opened up for him immediately, like a flower, hands coming to rest at Shinjiro’s bare hips, playing–this time–with the waistband of his sweatpants. His touch felt like a blaze, a brand. His cock dug into the space between their stomachs, and Shinjiro abruptly realized he needed to lose the pants before his problem got out of hand, too.
“One sec,” he mumbled, against Akihiko’s lips. Akihiko whined, but let him go. He turned around to pull his sweatpants off–and after a moment of hesitation, his boxers too–before returning to Akihiko, who’d shed his briefs to match. He paused. Akihiko was roving his gaze over Shinjiro’s body, like he could crawl inside with a look, the fevered hunger so evident in his face. His hand was between his thighs, stroking slowly, and he breathed erratically whenever his wrist twisted on an upstroke. His mouth hung half-open, lips kissed red, and his hair was plastered against his forehead with sweat.
“Look at you,” Shinjiro said. “You look like you were made for me.” At that, Akihiko moaned, actually moaned, a high note that broke at the end and rang in Shinjiro’s ears. Two feet away and Shinjiro could see how his cock jumped and flexed, a line of clear pre-cum flying to land on his own chest. Jesus.
Shinjiro found the wherewithal (and also his tongue, surprisingly, because for a second he’s convinced he’d accidentally swallowed it) to crawl forward and settle between Akihiko’s legs, this time positioning himself so he was at head-height with Akihiko’s dick. God. What a nice dick it was, too. Thick, pretty and cut, beading at the tip with clear fluid. Akihiko was so wet already, slicking the way for his own hand as he pumped himself lazily without mind, seemingly preoccupied with Shinjiro’s whole… form. Between his legs. Because Shinjiro was about to suck him off.
He reached out first, nudging Akihiko’s hand out of the way in favor of replacing it with his own. As soon as Shinjiro touched him, Akihiko’s hips flexed–back, and then forward, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted Shinjiro’s touch at first, but the pleasure took hold halfway through and guided him back into Shinjiro’s hand.
It was intoxicating, being handed that much control and with the power to make Akihiko feel as good as he did. Shinjiro stroked him slowly, trying to copy whatever Akihiko was doing earlier, and trying to remember what he did to himself to make it feel good. He touched and played with the loose skin at the base, something that Akihiko seemed to like, judging from the gasp that he let out, involuntary.
Shinjiro looked up. Made eye contact with Akihiko’s half-lucid expression. “If you don’t like something, Aki, kick me or something.” Akihiko only had time to briefly nod before Shinjiro was sliding his lips over the head and taking him, fully, into his mouth.
Akihiko moaned like Shinjiro’d shocked him. The weight of him was whole and heavy, pooling there on his tongue. He smelled bitter and musky, down here, where his scent was strongest. Shinjiro savored it. He knelt there and didn’t move, for what felt like an eternity, and let Akihiko slowly buck his hips every so often, gasping and grunting above him, in a shallow imitation of fucking his throat.
Something in the back of his mind said he probably shouldn’t have enjoyed it, half-kneeling naked on another alpha’s floor, shouldn’t be as hard as he was right now, coating a patch of Akihiko’s floor with his own precum. He was so fucking hard he could barely see straight, moaning around Akihiko’s shaft as it bumped against the back of his throat. Akihiko’s hand found its way into his long hair, the bun he’d kept it up in, dug into the tresses and pulled. Shinjiro choked, chin wet with spit, and reached under Akihiko’s cock to play with his loose, swelling knot-skin, and then—
Akihiko came, just like that, like he was on a hair trigger. Shinjiro blinked through the sudden tears, the realization that he was swallowing down an alpha’s cum and that he enjoyed it—that fine-edged shame bleeding into arousal—and kept swallowing, long after Akihiko had come dry. His knot was about half-full, thick and heavy at the base, and Shinjiro wanted it. So fucking badly. His own cock could cut steel, at this point, and as he rubbed back and forth on the hardwood floor, he could hear Akihiko swearing and panting like he’d just ran a marathon. Akihiko’s hand came back down to push Shinjiro’s head away from his cock, clearly overstimulated.
Shinjiro groaned, deep and low in his chest, and pulled off Akihiko’s cock. “Fuck,” he said, raspy. He looked up. Akihiko was staring at him with something close to possessed delirium, rut-fever etched onto his expression. He looked like he was close to crying. And he was still fucking hard, like he didn’t just come.
“Shinji, you–ah, you…”
“Told you,” Shinjiro rasped back. “I’ll take care of you.”
Akihiko’s hand found its way under his jaw, where his thyroid sat. It was a gentle pressure against it, like a reminder, and Shinjiro closed his eyes and let himself lean in. When Akihiko put his fingers on Shinjiro’s windpipe–not squeezing, not pushing, just there, Shinjiro let himself be guided up to be flush against Akihiko’s chest, cock to cock. Instead of taking them both in hand, Shinjiro curled a hand around Akihiko’s cock–wet with spit and precum–and began to stroke in earnest now, watching as Akihiko’s expression fell apart and reformed before his very eyes. He looked dazed, biting on his lip and gripping Shinjiro’s hips tight enough to bruise. His thigh kept twitching with overstimulation, bumping into Shinjiro’s, jolting him every so often. It was like an anchor to reality, one Shinjiro gripped tight onto as he nipped at Akihiko’s jaw and listened to his breathy sighs in his ear.
That was the other surprise. Shinjiro should’ve figured Akihiko was a bit of a screamer. The idiot’s never heard of subtlety in his life. He was trying to keep it down, clearly, chewing on the inside of his cheek and turning his head to moan into the pillows.
“Akihiko,” Shinji whispered, feeling like he’d fucking ascended from his body, and this was just some really fucking good dream he was having. “Akihiko, you’re close again, right?”
“Keep–ah, talking,” Akihiko groaned, cutting himself off with a whine on a rougher upstroke, “and I’ll get there–ah!–”
“You’re…” Shinjiro trailed off, watching the base of Akihiko’s cock begin to swell. He thumbed through the tip, dipped his finger into the slit and watched as Akihiko nearly yelled in response. “You’re going to knot.”
Akihiko nodded, fervently, tossing his head back. “Fuck, I need to… I need to fucking, I need to come, please, please, Shinji–”
Shinjiro inhaled, sharp as anything, and let go of Akihiko. Akihiko did yell this time, disappointed, but Shinjiro was busy–he was looking in Akihiko’s drawers, his nightstand. “Where’s your lube?”
“Fuck, I–Lube?”
“You won’t fuck me without it.”
“It’s, ah, last drawer,” Akihiko said, laid flat and spent on the bed. His skin glimmered in the dorm lights, much like the trophies he kept above his head and the medals that dangled off his bedpost. Golden. Shinjiro was simmering, on fire. He found the lube, half-empty, and the roll of condoms Akihiko kept.
Throwing them on the bed, he straddled Akihiko this time, leaning down to kiss him.
Akihiko didn’t object. He groaned, ozone crackling into a storm, electricity under his skin frying them alive. Shinjiro doesn’t know how he’ll go back to normal after this. How does he pretend he doesn't know what Akihiko looks and sounds like, under him like this, strung out and flushed? How can he sit at their tiny kitchen island and continue making him breakfasts and lunches without breaking a sweat? How does he carry on after?
He was coming apart at the seams. He shouldn't've kissed Akihiko.
Shinjiro pushed those thoughts out of his mind, firmly, leaning back on his haunches. He reached over for the lube—
Akihiko’s hand reached out and stopped him. “Let me,” he said, drawing away from Shinjiro’s lips. “I want to.”
It gets hazy after that. Shinjiro drops into a feeling, like all he wants to do is sit there and please Akihiko, and he…fights it, for a minute, before realizing that his dick’s not flagged at all, not even when he had his quiet freakout session in the safety of his brain. Fucking figures. Traitorous bastard. He licked his lips. Tasted the remnants of Akihiko on his tongue, the heat and the musk of him. God. Shinjiro sort of wants to drop back down, cover Akihiko's thighs in his mouth, drag his lips up Akihiko's cock until he wrings another, a second, a third orgasm out of him. He wanted it all, and that—that, Shinjiro will never recover from.
"Relax," Akihiko mumbled next to his ear. "You smell weird."
Belatedly, Shinjiro realized he'd been gripping onto Akihiko's thigh hard enough to bruise, half-kneeling between his legs still. His blocker patch's still there–the one Akihiko'd been nosing at, sending hot flashes through him every time his lips brushed Shinjiro's skin. That's right. Akihiko wouldn't be able to scent him properly with it in the way, even with the rut-sensitive nose, and Shinjiro needed to keep it that way. He's got no idea how Akihiko would react to his full-blown arousal, with the pheromones he's fucking pumping into the air. Shinjiro's…definitely affected. He breathed, slowly and out his nose, let Akihiko maneuver them until Shinjiro's the one with his back on the mattress with Akihiko hovering over him. They'd wound up facing each other, Shinjiro's knee bouncing as it hit the edge of the mattress.
The urgency had dimmed, somewhat, in the faint daze of Shinjiro's brain. He watched as Akihiko slicked his fingers up, rubbed them to warm them up, and felt his hands start to shake. "Aki," he said, as if trying to warn him. The back of his neck prickled, goosebumps erupting across his body. His dick still hasn't flagged. He felt like he could go mad, tear out of his skin and leave it on the floor and run, felt almost foreign to himself. Like he wasn't even really there, anymore. Like this wasn't happening to him, but to someone else.
"Shinji," Akihiko repeated back to him. He leaned down, grasped Shinjiro's face in a way he would call tender if he wasn't half out of his mind with want. Kissed him, full-bodied and heavy, physically heavy with all that bulk on his stupid skinny frame, pressed him into the mattress. At the same time, his hand snaked its way between them, between Shinjiro's thighs. Slick and wet. A finger probed its way inside, and Shinjiro—gasped, half-wheezed into Akihiko's mouth. Clenched his fists as he fought not to come.
His fingers were long. Calloused. It's so—it's so much. Something behind his navel wailed and writhed as Akihiko continued his slow exploration, hot breaths grazing his ear. It could have been ecstasy. It could have been terror. Akihiko's going so torturously slow that Shinjiro wondered if he would die right then and there.
Akihiko added another after a few minutes of Shinjiro staring past his shoulder, at the ceiling like he was seeing the face of God, gently curling and stretching them. Honestly, Shinjiro's amazed he's holding back. He can feel the way Akihiko's bicep is straining and shaking under his white-knuckled grip, knows he's not much better as he shuddered and tried not to writhe too badly.
It's just–he feels—a lot. The first time he'd done this, he'd huffed and gritted his teeth at the painful stretch of it, because they hadn't really had lube (unless you counted Shinjiro's spit), and the guy he'd been with had been clumsy with his hands. And Shinjiro–well, he'd sort of. Expected it to hurt a lot more. Kind of grown used to it. He didn't really enjoy this part of sex, because it was always too long and awkward and the people he let fuck him never knew how to lay him out right. It was a necessity but they sure as hell didn't enjoy it. Not like this.
Akihiko was clumsy, sure, but he was deliberate. Slow. And every torturous drag of that index finger, with that one callous Shinjiro knew he got from holding the gauze roll whenever he wrapped his knuckles, it was too much. Shinjiro reached down, grabbed Akihiko's wrist when Akihiko was about to add a fucking fourth finger, as if three wasn't enough, and how was he still so—
"Shinjiro," Akihiko whispered. His mouth was open in this tiny little o. Pooling with spit, wetting his lips. He'd been just. Staring. Like Shinjiro held all the secrets to the universe.
Shinjiro swallowed. His head felt soft, full of static. "Are you going to get on with it anytime soon," he said. Akihiko pulled his fingers out, and Shinjiro let out this exhale, part guttural-sigh and part strangled scream.
In his arms, Akihiko breathed. Shook a little. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I can handle it," Shinjiro said, lifting Akihiko's chin with his free hand. "I can take anything you give me."
And that was the truth. It bubbled, shook his ribs on the way out of his mouth, shivered and shuddered when he said it, but it was true. He'd never meant something more in his life. With his other hand, he reached between his thighs, wrapped his own rough hands around his own cock. Touched himself as he watched Akihiko tense and struggle to roll a condom on, fingers still slick from lube and whatever the fuck else they'd exchanged. Part of him, part of Akihiko, something else entirely. He squeezed the head of his own cock roughly, groaned when he saw Akihiko grasp his thigh and move it aside with a white-knuckled hand, the other busy lining himself up.That'll bruise later, Shinjiro thought.
Akihiko sunk into him with the fervor of a man possessed, inch by inch. He'd started making these fucking sounds, like he was getting ripped apart from the inside out, but Shinjiro'd stopped paying attention around the seventh second that Akihiko was in him. His cock wasn't—long, was around the same length as Shinjiro's in fact, but it felt longer now that Akihiko was actually fucking him with it. And Shinjiro felt it. He felt every fucking inch. Every time he thought he was done, that surely he'd gotten it all, there was just. More. More, until he was convinced he couldn't fit it all, that Akihiko was surely somewhere in his ribs, and Shinjiro'd had the hysterical thought that Akihiko would just try and keep going. Try and fit that half-filled knot in him. Plug him up, tie them together, and he hadn't even come yet.
In the end Shinjiro's body gave in. And Akihiko stopped, flush with the backs of Shinjiro's thighs.
Shinjiro hung on Akihiko's shoulders, clung onto him with his fingernails as Akihiko swore and curved his arms by Shinjiro's head. His alpha body resisted the intrusion, spasming around Akihiko like it wasn't sure if it wanted him to stay or leave, but Shinjiro'd fucking done it: he'd taken it all. He'd taken every inch. For a second, he thought he might black out, spots dancing in his vision, and Akihiko–stood still. Vibrating in place. Waiting for him to adjust.
He rasped out a heady half-laugh, turning into Akihiko's pulse-point, that swollen scent gland right under his jaw. Nuzzled it. Licked his lips, hearing Akihiko's heart thrum like a hummingbird under his skin, took comfort in that scent-spike as it hit his shivery, overstimulated senses.
"You, ah," Shinjiro said. He tried again, when it came out wrong: too strangled, too real for what he was doing. "You going to move?"
"S–ah, you're just, so…" There were going to be fingerprint-shaped bruises on his hips in the morning. On his knees, too, probably. He squirmed, clenching as Akihiko rocked back a little, slid back inside. Not enough to be called a thrust of any kind, but a kind of delicious stretch that made Shinjiro's insides feel weak. Dizzy. "You're just… really…"
Akihiko was definitely losing to the rut. The words slipped out of him like water, but his eyes were unfocused and the flush had spread to his shoulders. Shinjiro could feel how warm he was, both inside and out. His scent draped over him like a cloud, all muggy and heavy in its intensity, dragging against Shinjiro's sharp edges. And Akihiko looked like he was in pain, heaving and trembling as heat pooled low into Shinjiro's belly.
"'S too much?"
"No," Akihiko labored. "Just–you're tight. I didn't think…" He moaned, trailing off as Shinjiro experimentally ran his hands up his clammy skin. When Shinjiro brushed his hand over one stiff nipple, he could feel Akihiko's shiver, the twitch his cock gave inside him. "I–don't do that."
"It's fine, Aki," Shinjiro murmured, trying for reassuring and failing, probably. That voice didn't sound like his own, too breathy, too guttural. It was obscene. "Take what you need."
Akihiko gave a grunt that could have possibly been a laugh at some point or another. Shinjiro's eyes tracked the way his adam's apple bobbed, and watched the line of sweat trickle down his neck and past his collarbones, dripping. Jesus. Akihiko slid his hips out, slowly, like he was drawing a bowstring tight. It could have been almost languid if Shinjiro couldn't literally smell him, feel how tense he was. Raw lust on Akihiko smelt like—the feeling of putting your finger in a power socket, the rush when Shinjiro got on his bike, like pure lightning.
And then Akihiko let go, and they were off to the races.
If Shinjiro hadn't been holding onto Akihiko and Akihiko hadn't been basically holding his legs up, he might have fallen over dead. Akihiko fucked him like he was fuckin' getting paid, slowly dragging himself out and fucking back in with short, sharp thrusts, angling himself like he was going to die if he didn't. Fuck. He's—his cock hit fucking everything. Electricity bloomed in Shinjiro's brain, stars burst behind his eyes. His thoughts careened and collapsed in on themselves as soon as he formed them, because every time Akihiko grazed a small something inside of him Shinjiro found himself sucking down air like he'd been starved of it. There's not a single damn thought he can form to even compare it to. He's so hot he might burst into flame. Might have already. Static zigzagged up his spine, red-hot, like being branded with a poker, and Shinjiro registered that Akihiko had fucking–he'd fucking bit Shinjiro. Sunk his teeth into his shoulder, away from the scent gland there, just muffling his moans into Shinjiro's skin.
It was too close to what a real bite could have been. Something in Shinjiro lurched, like jumping off a too-tall cliff, the instinctive flinch tempered by the wave of all-consuming want that crashed over him. It was cold, and then it was hot, hotter than flame, and Shinjiro was groaning, fingernails scrabbling against Akihiko's back.
"What the fuck," he gasped. "Do that again."
He has no idea if Akihiko heard him. He can feel everything, the way the tip caught on his rim sometimes, the way Akihiko's jaw dragged against his own, sweaty and damp. The shocks of heat when Akihiko hit that spot inside of him, the way his own breaths came out ragged and wet on a particularly good thrust. His shoulder hurts. It's so much. It's so much, and Shinjiro's caught between pain and pleasure, the endless rolling waves tossing him back and forth.
He's—he's going to come like this, he realized. He could do it.
Akihiko shoved him further up the bed. Slung his legs higher around his hips, hair falling into his face. It was a stupidly good look on him, pained and strung out, groaning like he'd been hit. Take his pleasure he did, because he was a slave to it, moving his hips in senseless patterns and twitching whenever Shinjiro clenched around him. Gone. Lost to his instincts.
The livewire between them stretched and grew taut. Shinjiro could feel the telltale burn in his core, the way his traitorous dick twitched and wept against his own stomach, and he looked down to see his own knot was starting to swell. He's not going to be able to hold out forever. And Akihiko's rutting, he's going to be up and going again if Shinjiro doesn't make him pop his knot now, and Shinjiro's overexhausted alpha howled at the thought.
He leaned over, curled one hand around his cock and touched Akihiko's face with another. The blocker patch at his neck burned. "Aki," he panted, lost to the rhythm. "Aki, kiss me again."
Akihiko thunked his forehead against Shinjiro's, moaned full-bodied and thick, and turned his forehead to kiss him. Well. Kissing is a generous word for what it was. It was like Shinjiro opened his mouth and Akihiko was there, mouthing at him, like he was trying to eat Shinjiro. Nearly cut his own tongue on those fangs of his. Akihiko's always had pretty sharp teeth, that wicked smile, those teeth that clicked against Shinjiro when he tried to reciprocate—
And then Shinjiro got an idea. He huffed through his nose—bit Akihiko's lip to try and get him to calm down a little–and when Akihiko made a noise of pain, Shinjiro licked his teeth.
That did something.
Akihiko groaned into his mouth, but Shinjiro didn't let go of him, kissing him even as Akihiko's thrusts got faster, more violent. The world narrowed down to the heat spreading through Shinjiro's body, the scorching feeling spreading through his veins faster than he could think. Akihiko was no better, panting and whining into Shinjiro's mouth, trying to kiss away the taste of himself. Shinjiro could listen to it for the rest of his life. Wanted to wake up every day to this.
Shinjiro's going to come. He could feel it. The wind-up, the spiral, the cliff edge looming. He wanted this to last forever, and he wanted to come, guts lurching when he realized the knot at the base of Akihiko's cock was kissing his rim every time Akihiko sank in. Christ. It's not going to fit, Shinjiro realized. He can't possibly make that fit. Shinjiro knew what a knot looked like, he's seen his own. He'd been prepared for Akihiko to knot, yeah, had expected it, even—but he hadn't imagined taking it, that all-consuming heat pressed against his hole. He's not an omega and his body wasn't made for that, it—
It drove spikes of terror and confused arousal through him, the knowledge of what Shinjiro'd done to Akihiko. Shit. He leaned against Akihiko, dragged red lines through the pale skin of his back. When Akihiko wakes up after his rut, he'll redraw the boundaries of their friendship and go back to just being buddy-buddy with Shinjiro, wash his hands of him. But whenever Akihiko takes his shirt off Shinjiro will see the marks and remember. Remember what it'd been like to be fucked by him. Remember what he willingly offered.
"Please." Shinjiro said–begged. Didn't even know what for, but he didn't have to fake the pleasure threading through him, the way he felt like he was being cut apart and stitched together every time Akihiko hit that angle. "Aki, please."
Akihiko leaned over and took his cock in his fist, grinding his hips against Shinjiro's. He didn't stroke it or anything, just fucking held it, nosing at Shinjiro's jaw and making these little noises that sounded like they were being punched out of him. Shinjiro ignored the ache in his elbow when he propped himself up on it and fucked back on Akihiko's cock, desperate, forcing ten years of need into a singular act. If this was the only one he got, he'd damn well make good use of it. And in the end, it only took about three of those before Akihiko was stilling and freezing, harsh against him—
Oh. Shinjiro hissed, felt the way Akihiko's cock twitched and filled up, the way the head got bigger and wetter, even through the condom. Oh. He's—he—
Akihiko's knot, thick and full, pressed against him. Shinjiro choked back a half-sob, gritted his teeth as the reality of it forced the breath from his lungs. It's too much. Surely, now, Shinjiro's body would notice, would realize that there was no way he could take it, would make him stop and run. But it didn't happen, and Akihiko palmed his ass as he slowly, slowly pushed it in. Slower than the entire time Shinjiro'd laid there and watched Akihiko fuck him; like he thought Shinjiro was made of glass, or something. Shinjiro closed his eyes. Something in his stomach gave way as Akihiko's knot popped inside of him, and he was coming, too, in an instant, seized by the rush as it slammed into him. Literally.
He could have been coming for two seconds or five years. Shinjiro didn't know. He felt the pleasure spark through his veins, sent him reeling and agape, as he spasmed just from being knotted. His ears popped as he moaned, shocked by the speed of which it took him, and then again as Akihiko ground his hips in little aborted movements, limited by the knot—fuck—not enough to fuck him properly, but enough to be felt. Fucking Shinjiro through his orgasm as best as he could.
It was devastating. It was incredible. He'd done it, then; he'd done the impossible, taken it all, everything Akihiko needed to give. He rested his head against Akihiko's sheets and stared at the ceiling. Listened to his instincts snarl, satiated, happy even though he'd knotted nothing but thin air.
He opened his eyes again. Realized that Akihiko was staring at him. He was still fucking—impossibly, impossibly hard, tied together with his knot and nothing but sheer willpower, flushed with heat and something else.
"Shinji," Akihiko said. "Holy shit."
Shinjiro laughed. He couldn't help it. He liked the way Akihiko said his name. "Good?"
"So good," Akihiko murmured, drawing him close to press their noses together. Not to kiss him, just content to sit there and breathe Shinjiro's air. "I didn't think you could—do that."
"Mmm," Shinjiro hummed. He's still catching his breath. Up close, Akihiko's eyes were flecked with brown, little ships in a sea of grey-blue. "Don't doubt me." He pressed his weak, shaking hand to Akihiko's hair. Pushed it out of his face. "How's the rut?"
"Better, now," Akihiko said. "You don't gotta—"
"I want to," Shinjiro interrupted. "When you wanna go again, let me know, I think my legs are fucked." He wiggled one of his thighs in emphasis.
Above him, Akihiko shivered. Shinjiro caught him looking at—the place they were connected, the wet swollen mess of him, and smiled.
"Don't–do that," Akihiko said. "Not helping."
"Sorry," Shinjiro said, unrepentantly. He reached over and grasped a bottle of water, a nut bar he split in two for them both. Offered one half to Akihiko. "'S not like we can go anywhere for the next, what, thirty minutes? Better get comfortable."
"Right." Akihiko took the nut bar, and also the water. He twisted the cap off and took several long sips, after which he tilted it towards Shinjiro's mouth invitingly. Shinjiro drank, and drank, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done.
He looked up. Watched as Akihiko tracked the movement of his mouth with his eyes, entranced. "Aki, my eyes are up here."
Akihiko flushed. "Sorry." He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of an invisible fly. He reached over for a tissue, started wiping at the mess Shinjiro'd left between them. "I guess I should thank you."
"For what?"
"Helping me," he gestured between them, the drying come on both their bellies. "I know it's not—conventional. And I'm sorry I bit you." His gaze strayed to the purpling bruise on Shinjiro's shoulder, the trails of blood that led from the imprint of Akihiko's teeth. Ah. Shinjiro hadn't realized he was bleeding.
"Aki," Shinjiro said, endeared. "I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to." His own fingers drifted up to his shoulder, touching the bruise, and then the blocker patch, wet with his sweat. "Besides, I thought it was hot."
Akihiko swatted him on the shoulder, brilliant red to his roots. "'S not funny," he hissed, "I could've bit you."
The emphasis is not lost on him. Would that have been so bad, Shinjiro thought, eyeing the flash of Akihiko's canines. "So what? I don't think those take, anyway. I can think of worse people to be stuck with."
"Don't be so reckless with yourself next time," Akihiko said, curving his hand against Shinjiro's nape. He smelled dizzying, satisfied and warm, and everything in Shinjiro wanted to melt. "I just...wanted to say thank you. Anyway."
"You have a way with words," Shinjiro said, drily. Internally, he was frozen, thought about his neck and ripping off his patch and exposing himself, fully, to Akihiko. Maybe Akihiko could glean from his scent what Shinjiro couldn't say out loud. It wasn't anything Akihiko would thank him for.
So instead, he shut up, let Akihiko card his hands through his hair. Detangling it from the mess that it was. Shinjiro leaned against him, let Akihiko adjust them so they were both lying on the bed. His hip sort of hurt, but he was comfortable, and that was enough.
"Wake me up when you need to go again," he murmured in exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Distantly, he heard Akihiko's mutter of assent—right next to his ear—but Shinjiro was asleep before he heard the rest of it.