Chapter Text
Satoru is covered in mud and blood. He's exhausted. The fight was horrendous. The slightest muscle contraction costs him. Some of his superficial wounds are still bleeding through his clothes. All he wants to do is clean up, fall onto his bed, and forget.
"Let me take off your armor," Nanami tells him.
Satoru grunts. They're heading back to his tent after the generals' report. Losses have been heavy on both sides, but they've managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The enemy troops have retreated, and Satoru's clan will reclaim the land they left behind a few months ago.
Still, their victory is bitter. All that bloodshed for a few acres of empty land. But at least the King will be satisfied and let him off the hook for some time. Satoru has asked Nanami to write the letter informing him of the victory. He can't bother with protocol right now.
"Your Highness!" a soldier calls out to him. A huge bruise covers his entire right eye. "Will you come to celebrate the victory with us tonight?"
"No," Nanami replies sharply. "His Highness needs his rest. Heavy responsibilities await him tomorrow."
"I'll be there," Satoru replies cheerfully. He would rather rest, but the pleasure of antagonizing Nanami is stronger than his weariness. He'll toast once, for the spirits of the troops, then go to bed.
Nanami gives him a sideways glance, but he knows it's pointless to argue. After all, Satoru is the Prince, and Nanami has no legitimacy to oppose his decisions — even if he does it all the time.
Satoru strides towards his tent, unclasping the pads around his arms. He's so focused on his task that he pushes aside the flaps without looking up. A squeak makes him lift his eyes.
He freezes.
There's someone in his tent. A stranger. A prisoner, judging by the ties binding his wrists to the central pole. The man jerks to his feet as Satoru enters and winces when the rope scrapes his skin.
"What the hell?" Satoru asks. Then the stranger's scent hits his nostrils.
It's a punch to the gut. The man is as dirty and bloody as he is, but his scent is fruity and sweet, despite all the fear that tinges it. An omega. There's an omega in his tent. Satoru hasn't seen one for months, since he left the palace and its courtesans.
He approaches. The omega tugs at his bonds, trying in vain to take a step back. This is not just any omega. This is a magnificent specimen, with delicate features and long, dark, tousled hair, whose beauty is barely marred by the scratches on his face. The omega gives Satoru a terrified look.
"What are you doing here?" Satoru asks in a low voice. He doesn't want to scare him any further.
"A bed warmer," Nanami comments as he joins him. Satoru doesn't know how he can remain so stoic in front of such a magnificent creature. Nanami is mated, of course, but surely no bond could resist an omega like this one. "Our men captured him in the Easterners' camp after the battle."
Satoru lets out an appreciative whistle.
"That's the kind of bed warmers they have? I might consider switching sides."
"He's the only one they managed to catch. He's all yours for tonight, if you want him."
Satoru takes the time to examine the captive omega. Despite the fear, there's something proud and haughty in his eyes — something that prevents him from lowering his gaze in front of Satoru.
"How do you know he's a bed warmer?" Satoru asks.
"His clothes," Nanami replies in his usual factual tone.
"Who does he belong to?"
"We don't know. Probably someone important. A general, I'd say."
"Are you sure he's just a whore?"
"He wears no bite mark. What else would an omega be good for in an army camp?"
Satoru has to admit he's right. The only omegas that are ever taken to war are those used to comfort soldiers after battle. Bed warmers are often passed from one side to the other depending on victories and defeats. After land and gold, they are the most prized spoils of war.
The omega keeps staring at him with an insistence that's almost insolent. He's not so bold as to take on an air of defiance, but he refuses to lower his gaze, no matter how dominant the two alphas in front of him may be. Satoru gets lost in the dark purple of his pupils.
"Well? Do you want him?" Nanami insists. "The others are waiting for your decision."
"Leave him here," Satoru says. He tears himself away from contemplating the man.
"I'll get someone to clean him up and prepare him for you," Nanami declares.
"No," Satoru replies with an urgency that surprises even himself. There's no way anyone is touching that omega before he does.
Nanami raises his eyebrows, then shrugs.
"As you wish. If you want to attend the celebrations, don't take too long."
Satoru replies with a friendly pat that they'll meet there. Nanami rolls his eyes and leaves the tent.
Satoru quickly cleanses himself with cold water. He removes the dirt and blood of the battle from his skin. A few feet away, the omega doesn't move. He stands there, eyes closed, his forehead pressed against the pole he's tied to. He doesn't react, doesn't even cast a curious glance, when Satoru strips off his clothes and puts on clean ones.
His scent fills the interior of the tent. After several months without the scent of an omega, Satoru isn't sure whether his nose has lost the habit of it, or whether this omega's scent is particularly captivating. It feels like biting into a sweet after months of eating vile gruel on the battlefield. He wants more. He wants to bury his nose in his hair to fill his nostrils with his scent.
"I'll be back in no time," he announces as he hurries out of the tent.
He returns more than four hours later with more alcohol than blood in his veins. He can barely stand, so two of his guards, almost as drunk as he is, have to carry him back to his tent. His senses are clouded by the thick fog of alcohol.
His two comrades throw him unceremoniously inside his tent. Satoru sprawls on the ground, then gathers what little dignity he has left to stand up. At this moment, no one would believe he's a damn prince. His men, accustomed to his familiarity and uninhibited by alcohol, tend to treat him as one of their own. Satoru doesn't usually hold it against them. But tonight, as he meets the gaze of the tied-up omega in his tent, his ego is wounded.
Right. The omega. His prisoner is still here, of course. He probably dozed off on the floor, because Satoru's thunderous entrance causes him to leap to his feet.
Satoru rubs his eyes. His tall, slender body sways dangerously. This omega is really, really pretty.
"Tsyourname?" he mumbles.
The omega remains motionless. Satoru can barely see his face in the darkness. His guards could have lit a fire for him, he thinks, but then he remembers he doesn't want any of his men to be alone with the omega.
He clears his throat and concentrates to regain some semblance of composure.
"What's your name?" he asks again.
The omega shows no reaction.
"I'm Satoru," Satoru says, putting his hand on his chest. "You?"
The omega stays perfectly still.
"Alright," Satoru mumbles. Although he doesn't like bed warmers who talk too much, he prefers it when they at least show signs of life.
He lights the oil lamp lying among the cards on his camp table. The interior of the tent is immediately bathed in a soft light. Once again, Satoru is struck by the omega's beauty. He reaches for the knife at his belt and grabs the rope around his wrists. The man's fingers are stiff from hours of forced immobility. He flinches.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Satoru tells him. He's now almost certain that his prisoner doesn't understand a single word he says, but he hopes the tone of his voice is soft enough to reassure him.
Despite his alcohol-fogged mind, he manages to cut the bonds without too much trouble. The tension in his body, his suspended breathing, his pursed lips betray the omega's apprehension. But he doesn't move. He remains upright and proud in front of this alpha he doesn't know.
They both know how this night will end, but Satoru is determined not to frighten him.
Once he's removed his ties, he places a hand on the omega's cheek.
"Do what I say and I won't hurt you." His skin is frozen. His fingers seem to be resting on a marble statue.
He should have left him some warmth before going to celebrate his victory... he should have... he can already feel the beginnings of the headache that will overwhelm him at sunrise.
He slips behind the omega and wraps his arms around his body. The man stiffens in his arms. Satoru buries his nose in his hair and takes a long breath. His scent is divine. It travels along his nerves and spreads a warm sensation all the way to his lower abdomen.
"I want you," he moans in a whisper. "Let's warm you up."
He deserves this omega. He fought, he won. He took him from the enemy. He owns him now. Those are the laws of war.
With clumsy gestures, he slips his hands into a hole in the man's torn-up robes. The omega's soft skin shivers under his touch, but he still doesn't move. Satoru's fingers explore his chest and belly. No sign of pregnancy. Then one of his hands ventures a little lower. This time, the omega gasps.
"Trust me," Satoru murmurs into his ear, "it's going to be alright. I fuck better than any jerk you've been with on the other side."
He's too drunk to deal with the omega's clothes. His hand works its way through the layers of fabric until it reaches his cunt. The omega breathes in sharply.
"Easy..." Satoru whispers, stroking his clit, prodding his slit. "That's a nice cunt you have. Wish I could taste it, but sadly I don't think my cock can wait that long."
He slides a finger inside him. Warm and wet. So sweet and perfect.
While he lazily finger-fucks him, the omega finally relaxes against him. Maybe because he resigns himself, maybe because he understands that it's in his interest not to fight.
"That's better," Satoru purrs, sliding his other hand under the omega's clothes to rub his clit. The omega leans back against his chest, like he's giving himself up to him. Good. At least the bitch knows how to behave.
Satoru rolls up the cloth around his prisoner's thighs. Damn, he wants that man. He needs to own him.
"First dick you get from the Gojo clan is the master's himself. You lucky bitch."
He clamps his hand over his mouth, adjusts his hips to a position that satisfies him, and slides inside him. The omega winces, his brows knit, but takes him without a sound.
"Good boy," Satoru says.
His thoughts blur again. Nothing exists except the warm tightness of the omega's body, the scent of his hair, the softness of his skin.
He pulls out a few inches, then starts fucking him against the pole of his tent. His alcohol-ridden rhythm is a bit erratic, a bit brutal, and he comes way too early, but it doesn't matter. He just needed to empty himself to relieve the stress he accumulated in battle. He knots him with a grunt, but the best he can do in his state is a pitiful swell.
"Very good," he tells the omega as he pulls out of him. He lays a kiss in his hair. "Now get on the bed."
He needs him on all fours, ass up, face down. The omega doesn't move. He looks petrified against the pole.
"Get on the bed," Satoru repeats in a slightly menacing voice. Surely a trained whore can't be sore after such a deceitful knot.
Then he remembers. The omega doesn't understand their tongue. He grabs him by the arm and pulls him to his cot. This time, the omega resists. Satoru makes him crash onto the bed, pins him to the mattress by sitting on his belly, and proceeds to strip him of his clothes. The omega struggles like he's possessed. Satoru is much stronger and more massive than he is, yet he finds it hard to avoid the blows.
Suddenly, the omega lands a resounding slap. Satoru is stunned. He's exhausted, drunk beyond reason, intoxicated by the omega's heady scent. The blow is the last straw.
He loses consciousness and collapses heavily on the omega.
The next morning, he wakes up with a pasty mouth and a terrible headache. He waits for several minutes with his eyes closed, hoping the pain will subside, in vain. A hammer is pounding inside his head at regular intervals. He hasn't taken the time to undress, and the contact of his clothes against his skin is uncomfortable.
He lets out a long, plaintive groan, and something moves inside the tent.
Immediately, all his senses go on alert. He straightens up and opens his eyes. A flash of pain strikes his skull.
Oh, well. The fucking omega.
The man is tied by a single handcuff to one of the tent poles, and he's in a sorry state. Satoru has no memory of tying him there. In truth, all he has of the previous day is a succession of hazy memories.
He gets up and leaves his tent to take a leak.
"You shouldn't leave him unattended, Your Highness," the posted guard tells him when he returns.
"Were you the one who tied him up?" Satoru asks.
"He almost escaped while you were asleep, Your Highness," replies the suddenly nervous guard.
"Don't ever touch him again," Satoru says in a calm voice. He extends his hand towards the guard. The man immediately understands and drops the key to the handcuffs into his palm. "Go and get me a bucket of warm water and a sponge. And something to eat."
He returns to the tent and collapses onto the bed with a sigh. He's in for several more hours of headache. He shouldn't have let himself get carried away and drink so much. He's annoyed just thinking about Nanami's admonitions.
After a few minutes, he resigns himself. He's not going to get back to sleep. He shifts at the edge of the bed.
"You still don't want to tell me your name?" he asks the omega.
The man doesn't move. He doesn't even deign to look at him.
"Fine."
The guard returns with a bucket of water. Satoru motions for him to place it at the omega's feet. Then he releases him from the handcuff. The guard hesitates.
"Leave," Satoru orders. As soon as the guard is out, he indicates the bucket to the omega. "Clean yourself." He hands him some soap. The omega doesn't move. "You look like shit. Clean yourself, or I'll clean you myself."
The omega remains perfectly impassive. Satoru struggles to decide whether he understands him or not. It's quite possible that the omega doesn't speak a word of his tongue. Then, suddenly, he understands what's blocking him. He stands up and rummages through one of his trunks for clothes, until he finds a ceremonial robe that will easily fit the omega's smaller, slimmer body.
"You can have this."
The guard has brought him a bowl of rice and some poultry. Satoru ostentatiously turns away from the omega as he eats.
After several minutes of immobility, the omega grabs the sponge. Satoru pretends not to notice. Very slowly, the man begins to wash his face, removing the dirt and sweat from the previous day's battle.
Satoru makes a point of not looking at him. At the slightest indelicacy on his part, the omega will tense again. He doesn't want to upset him. He didn't think he was that scary, but for now the omega is reacting like a wild animal caught in a cage.
The omega undresses. Satoru averts his eyes. The omega's body is his — he won him — but he can wait a little before reminding him of it, if it makes things easier. He doesn't allow himself to look at him again until he's put on the ceremonial robe.
After washing, the omega brushes his long hair. This takes an infinite amount of time, and Satoru has to watch every second of it. He's hypnotized. The man's movements are delicate, precise, elegant. Satoru understands he'll have to fight at the palace for this man not to end up in his father's personal harem. And while he's brooding over him, the omega pretends to ignore him.
Satoru prepares a plate for him with the food brought by the guard. He has no idea what the Eastern barbarians eat — he doesn't really care — so he puts on a little of everything. The omega looks at the plate he hands him with a disdainful look.
"That's all you'll get for today, princess," Satoru says. "Take it or leave it." He approaches him. "I'll be out for meetings and shit. Don't try to sneak out of this tent when I'm not here to protect you."
The omega pretends not to understand him, but Satoru thinks he sees a flicker of defiance in his eyes. He smirks. He really likes that bitch — his beauty, his dignity, his haughty air. He can't wait to settle this in bed.
He leans forward to kiss him. The omega turns his face away to dodge it. Satoru smiles again.
"See you later," he whispers.
Going through councils and debriefs that day is torture. His head hurts like hell, and all he can think of is that damn omega in his tent, waiting to be fucked. Of course Nanami notices his lack of attention and is an ass about it.
"Your carelessness is unworthy of your royal blood," he tells him when Satoru sneaks outside for some fresh air. "Go back to that table."
Satoru responds by giving him a dirty look. Nanami is the only one on Earth he allows to give him orders, in the name of the friendship that has bound them since childhood. He goes back to the table and endures his misery.
When he returns to his tent in the evening, the omega is asleep on his cot. The poor creature is catching up on a night of anxious vigil. Satoru sits on the edge of the mattress.
Even in his sleep, the omega's features are strained. Satoru brushes his fingertips over the black hair spread out on his pillow. He shudders to think of the scent he'll leave on the sheets.
"Wake up," he says smoothly. He places his hand on the omega's shoulder. The man wakes up with a jolt of fear.
"Calm down, it's just me."
The omega doesn't seem to find this information reassuring. He cowers in the corner of the bed.
"Still won't tell me your name?" No answer. "I'm Satoru," he repeats, resting his hand on his chest, just in case the omega didn't get it the first time. "You really don't understand shit about what I'm saying, do you?"
The omega remains impassive. Satoru considers the possibility that he might, in fact, be deaf. Or just plain dumb. But he doesn't look either.
"You're such a beautiful thing," he tells him. "Come here. Let me see you." He pats the mattress.
The omega takes a long time to make up his mind, but Satoru is patient — surprisingly so, for someone so hungover. If he wants to keep him, he'll have to tame him, if not seduce him. Using strength won't help with such a proud being. He has to find the subtle balance between adapting to his pace and showing him that he's the dominant one. Too bad Satoru isn't exactly known for his subtlety.
Finally, the omega surrenders and lies on his back. Despite his submissive position, every muscle in his body is tense, and he looks ready to bite any hand that dares get a little too close to him.
"Let me see you," Satoru repeats. "Just see. I won't touch you if you don't want to."
With slow movements, he unties the belt of the omega's robe. He hardly dares to breathe, for fear of shattering the fragile trust between them. With the tips of his fingers, he pushes aside the flaps of the robe to reveal the omega's body.
"Stunning."
A little too lean, a little too muscular for an omega. Maybe a dancer, or an acrobat, before he was chosen to be a whore. Satoru will soon find out.
Out of modesty, as if this could stop Satoru from admiring every inch of his body, the omega turns his face away.
"What's this?" Satoru asks.
He points at about the long scar across the man's lower abdomen. It's puffy and dark, and at least twenty inches long, cutting diagonally below his navel.
"What happened?" No answer, of course. Wild theories pop up in Satoru's mind. Maybe the omega got pregnant by the wrong person, and they wanted to get rid of the child. Maybe the scar is accidental, and — given its location — it's that wound that has condemned him to a whore's life.
The omega's chest rises and falls at a quick pace. He's so nervous.
"Can I touch?" Satoru asks. No answer. So he lets his fingers run along the scar. The omega's entire body tenses. "Easy…"
Then slowly, inch by inch, his fingers trail below his navel. The omega's skin shivers under his touch.
"Part your legs," he says, lightly patting the omega's knee. His voice is calm, but it's also an order.
The omega closes his eyes and does as he's told.
"Really? Why so shy? Or is it because you find me repulsive?"
For fuck's sake, Satoru wishes he could kiss his parted lips. His fingers venture between his thighs. The man takes a shaky breath.
"Male omegas are a gift from the Gods," Satoru says. He gently strokes his inner thigh. He's not so optimistic as to think he'll arouse him, but at least he'll let him know he won't hurt him. "And you are my special gift from them."
He doesn't undress. His torso is still covered in bruises and barely closed wounds from the previous day, and he doesn't want to gross out the omega. With a firm gesture, he makes him roll onto his stomach.
He knows exactly how to tame him. He pulls his cock out of his pants and, without rushing, positions himself on top of him. His body covers the omega's, shields him, protects him.
"Arch your back, like a good omega craving to be bred" he murmurs into his ear, stroking himself to hardness. "Give me your cunt."
He puts his lips on the omega's sensitive nape to relax him, and slowly fucks in at the same time. He grunts. Damn, the omega's body feels so good. So hot and warm, so tight around his cock. The man's breath shortens. But he's not fighting. Satoru has won.
"Let's make you feel good, baby," he purrs into his ear. "See how well I fit inside you. Your body was made for me."
He pulls out, then back in. The omega gasps. Satoru begins with slow thrusts. The skin of his chest is pressed against the omega's back. His weight is pressing him into the mattress. The shape of his ass is fitting so well with his crotch. His curves are divine.
"You're a very good bitch," he groans, picking up the pace.
The omega's hands grip his pillow. Satoru lifts himself to give his movements more range.
He fucks him until the bed's creaking, and their skin is gleaming with sweat, and everything around them disappears but their bodies flushed together. Possessivity is running hot in Satoru's veins. He needs to own him, to mark him with his scent. This very thought sends him over the edge and he comes inside him with a groan. He doesn't knot him right away, though. He wants more.
He pulls out to release the omega. Fuck, he wants to fuck him like a whore in a brothel. To slam his cock inside him.
"Get on all four for me. Be a good pet. Show me how good you can take alpha cock."
Of course, the omega doesn't understand, so Satoru has to position him himself. He pauses to admire the shape of his ass. So round, so soft, so perfect. "Lean forward, just a bit, just like this."
He grabs his hips and resumes fucking him. Satoru places a hand on the small of his back and grabs a handful of his hair to keep him from hiding his face in the pillow. He's obsessed with the view of his dick sliding in and out of the omega's cunt. Fuck, he's really owning him.
Someone enters the tent. The omega immediately hides his face in the crook of his elbow, which has to be the most useless move possible. Satoru slows down, but doesn't stop thrusting into him. He doesn't care about the visitor seeing them. Soldiers have no modesty between them. He'd fuck him in front of the whole camp before he'd renounce fucking him at all. However, he's pissed about being interrupted.
"What do you want?" he barks.
The man — a guard — feezes.
"You...Your Highness."
"Anything urgent? If not, get the fuck out."
The man turns around and leaves as fast as possible. The omega moans. Satoru can feel that something's off. He clicks his tongue and pulls out. The omega slumps down onto the mattress.
"What is it?" Satoru asks. He's still hard as fuck, and he needs to empty himself. "You're ashamed? You really shouldn't. I've seen their dicks more times than I've seen cunts those past few months." He wraps his arm around the omega's shoulders and holds him tight. "I need to finish," he whispers. He slides a hand up the man's thigh and lifts his leg to give himself access to his cunt. The omega barely tenses when he guides his cock back inside him.
"You'll stay with me here," he declares as he fucks him slowly. "You'll be mine and mine alone. I need you. I need this."
The omega docilely lets him finish inside him again. He winces when Satoru pushes his swollen knot inside him, but no sound comes out of his throat. Satoru places little kisses in his hair to reassure and soothe him. He feels so good, so calm, so powerful, that he has to refrain from biting his exposed nape. Nanami would kill him on the spot if he did.
He stays inside him until his knot deflates and his dick softens. He's dozing off. The omega reaches out to grab the sponge Satoru gave him to clean himself. Satoru can guess what he wants to clean. He holds him close.
"Keep it. One does not wash a Prince's seed off their thighs. Keep it and be proud of it."
It's silly, he knows it, and he doesn't plan on insisting if the omega really needs to clean himself up. But the man lies back on the cot. Satoru snuggles up to him.
"I need your body heat," he mumbles. "You're the only comfort in this shitfest."
And as if it had heard him, the rain begins to fall, pattering softly against the tent fabric.
He wakes up the next morning clinging to the omega for dear life. Or rather, Nanami wakes him up.
"You're late," he spits.
"Can you blame me?" Satoru answers, gesturing at the naked omega nestled against his chest. He doesn't know whether the man is asleep or not; he just feels his warm, steady breath in the hollow of his neck.
"Yes, absolutely. I'm even going to kick your ass out of this tent if you don't get up right now."
"Oh, wow. Is that a way to address your Prince? That early in the morning?"
Nanami doesn't dignify that with an answer. He grunts, then adds, "And don't be an asshole—cover your omega's body when someone comes in."
Satoru gets out of bed, full of regret and resentment.
"What's his name?" Nanami asks. "Come on, hurry up, we're all waiting for you!"
They're talking out loud, as if the omega weren't there. Satoru is now sure he's just pretending to be asleep.
"No idea," Satoru says. "He won't tell me."
"He won't... tell you?"
"He won't talk to me at all! You'd think the bitch is mute or deaf, but I'm pretty certain he's not. Even when I fuck him, there's barely any sound coming out of his throat."
"Does he understand what you say?"
"Not a damn word."
"Have you tried speaking to him in barbarian languages?"
Satoru clicks his tongue. He's long forgotten the three barbarian words he learned from his tutor.
"Let's go," Satoru says, with an impatience that borders on insolence.
Before returning to his tent several hours later, he sends for someone who can speak Eastern barbarian languages. The omega is waiting for him on the bed. He has braided several strands of his hair to pass the time.
A few minutes later, his guards bring in a man whose face is vaguely familiar to Satoru.
"Talk to him," Satoru orders.
"Ask for his name, please," Nanami adds in a less imperious voice.
The omega glares disapprovingly at the newcomer. The soldier stammers out a few words, and even though he can't understand what he's saying, Satoru can tell that his accent is a disaster. The omega raises his eyebrows. He looks in total disbelief.
"Again," Satoru demands.
The soldier stammers out a few more words.
"Try something else. Any language you know."
It's an abysmal failure. Satoru lets out a frustrated groan. Nanami stares pensively at the omega.
"Get out," Satoru snaps at the guard.
"It's more than just a language problem," Nanami says. He crouches down in front of the omega.
"I'm Nanami," he says, pointing at his own chest. "You?" The omega stares at him. "Nanami. You?"
"I've tried that," Satoru comments. "Doesn't work."
"It's strange."
The omega's attention is now on Nanami. He looks at him with such intensity that he seems to want to read his soul.
"He doesn't look dim-witted to me."
"Told you he's not." He sighs. "But never mind. As annoying as his silence can be, I don't really need him to speak."
"Don't be a jerk."
Nanami stands up. "Respect him, or none of your soldiers will. You know how dangerous that can be for the group."
Satoru responds with a noncommittal grunt. But as if the Gods had conspired against him, his idiotic men prove Nanami right that very afternoon.
Three of them come into his tent while he's eating with Nanami, their steps hesitant and their eyes riveted to the ground. Their lack of confidence irritates Satoru even before they open their mouths. The omega steps back and disappears into the shadows of the tent.
"Your Highness," the boldest of the three begins, "we're here on behalf of all the officers of your personal guard." Satoru tilts his head to encourage him to continue. The man is sweating profusely. His two acolytes nod in support. "Your Highness, during the last battle, which we won for you, we managed to capture an omega. It was a gift to you, from us, to celebrate your might."
He pauses.
"And I thank you again for this gift," Satoru says. He's pretending he doesn't know where this conversation is heading. "Fighting by your side is the greatest of honors."
"But... the war has been harsh on us, Your Highness. And we thought... maybe you could..."
Satoru is growing impatient.
"Speak your mind loud and clear, my friend."
"A little body heat would do wonders for the troops' mood. Maybe if you could grant us his company for one or two nights..."
"Your mood? And what do you plan on doing? Fuck him in turns? How many of you?"
The man frowns. Satoru is certain Sukuna is behind this. Sending his minions instead of coming himself to beg is typical of him. It pisses him off more than it should.
"We wouldn't hurt him."
"How many?" Satoru insists. Anger makes his voice quiver. "How many are interested? Have you discussed this matter?"
The man turns pale.
"We could start with the generals, Your Highness," one of the other two intervenes. "We deserve a reward for our recent victory."
Satoru's fist clenches.
"I think you should leave, all three of you," Nanami cuts in. "This omega is not for anyone but the Prince to touch."
"These are not the rules of a war camp, if I may," the third man says.
"Rules? What rules?" Satoru barks. "Who makes the rules here but me?"
"Satoru..." Nanami tries.
"Get the fuck out of this tent. And don't even think of this omega ever again."
The men don't insist and rush out of the tent. Satoru is shaking with rage. What audacity do they have, to show up in front of him and demand his omega?
"You shouldn't antagonize your men over an omega," Nanami tells him in his calm voice.
"It's not about the omega. It's about respecting my authority."
Nanami remains silent. He must know Satoru isn’t in the mood for a lecture, so he takes his leave. A heavy silence settles over the tent.
"Come here," Satoru says. "Did I scare you?"
The omega emerges from the shadows. He doesn't look very frightened. His face rather conveys weariness.
"Come here and eat something."
Satoru spends the rest of the day in his tent. He never does that. Usually, he prefers to go out and train with the others, to see people and pass the time. But now, after today's exchange, he feels it's his duty to look after the omega.
The omega is sitting on the floor on a mat, waiting. He probably doesn't even know what he's waiting for. Satoru watches him. Beneath the dignified air he forces himself to display, he looks sad. Sometimes, for a few seconds, the mask falls away. There's something tragic about this omega that Satoru can't quite grasp yet.
Night has already fallen when he gets an idea.
"Come!"
He wraps a cape around the man's shoulders and pulls the hood over his face. When he realizes he's about to drag him out of the tent, the omega recoils.
"You're with me. It's going to be fine."
He takes his wrist and guides him to the council tent. They pass several people, but they bow without remark. The Prince is free to go wherever he wishes.
"Come in," he says, slipping through the tent opening under the inquisitive gaze of the two guards posted outside.
If Nanami found him there with the omega, he'd kick him out. But his general is probably already asleep, making the most of these few days without fighting.
He drags the omega over to the table, where a huge map lies, covered with pieces and counters that are moved as information about enemy positions comes in.
"Show me where you're from," he tells the omega. "We are here. This is the Northern Kingdom, my homeland. And here are the Eastern troops' positions, where you were a few days ago."
He scans the omega's face. His guest looks very uninterested in the map. Instead, he slips into the space between the table and Satoru. His scent immediately fills the alpha's nostrils. With a sharp, almost provocative movement of his shoulder, he shrugs the cloak off. Their faces are inches apart. Satoru is dying to kiss his lips.
He lets the omega come to him. He lets him read his emotions — his instincts, his desires. The man knows what Satoru wants; he hasn't exactly been subtle about it. But this time, he lets the omega decide whether he wants to give it to him.
"Do you want to go back to my tent?" he murmurs.
The omega doesn't understand the question. Instead, he turns his back to him and bends over the map table, his ass pressed to Satoru's crotch in a clear invitation. Satoru gets dizzy. This is the first time the omega has initiated sex.
"Here?" he pants.
The omega shifts back slightly, pressing his ass against Satoru's already hardening cock. Desire builds in Satoru's gut at a blazing speed. His two greatest conquests lie before his eyes: land from the Eastern King, and the omega's body.
He peels away the layers of clothing between them and slides into him. The omega contracts around his cock for a few seconds, then begins to slowly rock back and forth, allowing his cock to slide in and out of him. Watching the omega try to take control of their fucking is driving Satoru nuts. It turns him on greatly, but it also rubs his pride the wrong way.
He grabs the omega's wrists and pins them to the map. With a sharp roll of his hips, he forces his legs wider. In that position, his body covers the omega's, trapping him beneath him, holding him at his mercy. Satoru regains control of their movements.
He settles into a steady rhythm. The omega lets out a groan, loud enough that Satoru clamps a hand over his mouth.
"Shh, little one. We shouldn't be here." A surge of arousal floods his mind. "Though my cock is exactly where it belongs."
He fucks him in a silence punctuated only by sighs and muffled moans. He climaxes, and the omega lets him know with a little jerk of his hip that he doesn't want to be knotted.
Satoru pulls back and clenches the base of his cock in his fist, gritting his teeth.
They sneak back to Satoru's tent. There, they snuggle together in his bed, under the blanket. Satoru is lulled to sleep by the remnants of his orgasm.
"Fuck, I wish we were at the palace," he mumbles.
He hates that the cot is narrow and uncomfortable, that the air is cold even inside the tent, and that the smell in the camp is awful. He hasn't felt clean for months. If only they were at the palace... he pushes the thought from his mind. At the palace, everything would have been different.
The omega falls asleep against him. Satoru still doesn't even know his name. He doesn't know where he comes from, how he got here. He has no idea how he feels about this whole situation. He knows nothing about him, yet he knows he wants him to stay.
The next morning, Nanami forcibly pulls him away from the omega, growling that it's high time to get back to work. Satoru grumbles, but he has to admit that he hasn't shown himself worthy of a military leader in recent days. He spends the morning training, has lunch with the officers, and dedicates a few hours to the soldiers.
And when he returns to his tent in the evening, weary and exhausted, the omega is gone.