Chapter Text
“Have you ever bonded with someone?”
Kyouji looks up at him from across the table, seeming mildly surprised at the question.
“No, never. I’ve dated omegas before, of course, but… Well, I don’t think I’m cut out for it, to be honest.”
There’s that tight little kernel of hopelessness lodging itself in Satomi’s chest again. He’d known Kyouji was single, at least, but the fact that he’s not even looking makes that almost meaningless.
“Because you’re…” Right. They’re in the middle of a restaurant, so: “Because of your job?”
“Mm. Well, that makes it tougher, yeah. Omegas are supposed to like stability, right? Though a few of the boys have a mate back at home.”
That’s a relief, at least. He’d been worried it was some kind of taboo, that Kyouji would get laughed right out of the group for earnestly courting an omega or something.
“Why?” Kyouji waggles his eyebrows in that annoying way he always does. “Are you thinking about getting together with someone? Who’s the lucky alpha?”
You, idiot. Of course he can’t say that.
“The only dates I have time to go on are with old guys like you.”
It’s a little harsh, so he glances up at him, expecting the fake-hurt histrionics Kyouji always likes to put on. Instead, he’s giving him an oddly serious look. Satomi opens his mouth to ask him what’s wrong — maybe he accidentally ate something spicy? — but Kyouji cuts in before he can speak.
“I’m not that old, y’know. You always act like I’m eighty.” Even though he’s back to smiling, there’s something a little forced about it. Or maybe he’s just imagining it.
“You might as well be.”
Kyouji lets out a little laugh, and they both go back to picking at their plates.
“Hey, Satomi-kun,” he says after a bit. “Do you know what your scent reminds me of?”
“What?”
Kyouji has never broached the subject before now. It’s a little surprising in retrospect that he had ever bothered being polite about it.
No one can really smell themselves, of course, since it’s always around them. His family had tried to describe it to him once or twice, but it basically just boiled down to ‘like an omega.’
“It’s like… hm. It’s kind of bright… Fruity, I guess? And sweet.” Kyouji’s eyes land on the half-empty dessert glass next to him. “Like strawberry parfait.”
Well, it’s a little less masculine than he would have liked, but at least it’s a scent Kyouji seems to enjoy.
“What do I smell like to you?” Kyouji asks.
“Cigarettes,” Satomi replies automatically, as Kyouji frowns.
“I meant—”
“No, I mean,” he starts again, and while the scent is as comfortable and familiar as breathing itself, he’s never tried to put it into words before.
“Like tobacco, but it’s kind of spicy or something. And leather.” Like the seats of a car long since totaled.
“Hm. I’ve never heard it explained that way before.” Kyouji chews thoughtfully on a bite. “People usually just call it ‘musky’ or something. Kinda reminds me of my grandpa — he used to chainsmoke in the old family car—”
Satomi feels his cheeks beginning to heat up. He shouldn’t have said anything.
“But I guess I’m not that different from him now, huh? Maybe you were right about me being old, Satomi-kun.” Kyouji laughs, but stops abruptly when he looks back at Satomi.
“What’s wrong?”
“…I have to start work pretty soon, do you mind if I get going first?”
“Sure, don’t worry, I’ll finish up here.”
Kyouji smiles at him, and even if that expression makes his heart skip a beat, he wishes, just once, he’d get mad at him for being so selfish. For always making him pay, for leaving when it suits him. He imagines him frowning instead, complaining that they’d barely even spent an hour together, demanding he at least wait until the check’s paid.
“Let me know next time you’re in town.”
“Will do,” Kyouji nods, and Satomi turns, getting ready to face the cold winter air by himself once again.
Satomi doesn’t check his messages until his shift is over.
You left your scarf at the restaurant, so I grabbed it for you.
I had to catch my train, but I’ll bring it back next time, k? 😊
Sure enough, his scarf is simply not in his work locker. He’d been so distracted by his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed its absence until now.
He sends back a quick OK, thanks and shoves his phone into his coat pocket.
Satomi might normally be annoyed by something like this, but… it actually reassures him a little. It means there has to be a next time. It means he will see him again, even if it’s months from now. Unless Kyouji decides to just mail it. But no, he doesn’t have his address. He’ll have to come in person.
The tether keeping the two of them connected is so threadbare it’s pathetic. But it doesn’t matter as long as he can keep Kyouji coming back just one more time.
It isn’t until much later, when he’s all alone in his room, that he lets himself imagine exactly how they could strengthen their ties.
Satomi doesn’t take his coat off once he’s inside. It stays on even as he lays down on his futon, adjusting to get comfortable, curling up on his side.
He pushes his nose into the collar, inhales. It’s fainter than it would be in the presence of the real thing, but definitely there. Some alphas naturally produce more pheromone, and that’s probably the case for Kyouji, but he likes to imagine he does it on purpose. That he’s…marking him.
The thought used to scare him — still does, a little. Marking someone without permission, while not a crime or anything, is generally considered to be in very poor taste. But it just feels so comfortable, so natural, to be cocooned in his scent like this. If he is marking him, he doesn’t want him to ever stop.
Satomi unzips his pants, shimmies them and his underwear down and off his ankles.
If Kyouji wanted to, he could forge something between them that would never degrade, regardless of time or distance.
There are a lot of ways it could go down. Satomi takes blockers for his heats, like every good boy should, but the timing can be hard to predict sometimes. Accidents happen. Or maybe it isn’t even that. Maybe Kyouji just wakes up one day, realizes what’s in front of him, and takes it.
Satomi slides a few fingers between his legs, and it’s no surprise to find that he’s already a little wet. Stifling a noise against his collar, he presses one, two fingers inside, his other hand wrapping around his cock. He strokes himself a few times, until he starts growing thicker in his palm, until his breath starts to catch, then trails his hand up to his neck.
It feels so good to touch it when he’s all sensitive like this. The gland where all his pheromones originate, where an alpha instinctively knows to bite. It tingles as he presses against it lightly, makes him squeeze even tighter on himself down below.
Kyouji pressing him up against a wall, pressing incisors into his neck, but only enough to dent the skin. He licks over it — Gives him that look he gets sometimes — he’s so close to him—
Satomi’s aroused enough now to easily slide another finger in, biting his lip to suppress a moan. Kyouji would be so much bigger than just a few of his slim fingers. He could hold him down and split him open, make him stretch to fit. Satomi can only imagine how it would feel… would he even be able to take it all?
A different scene. In Kyouji’s old car, driving around the block, and he hadn’t even been sure Kyouji was really going to take him home. Satomi himself hadn’t realized he was an omega yet, but alphas are more sensitive to that kind of thing. He could have parked them somewhere — it would have been easy. Kyouji’s broad hand enveloping his shoulder, brushing his thigh as he released his seatbelt for him, sliding back over his waist —
Satomi stifles a moan, biting into the fabric of his coat. His other hand is back on his cock and he thrusts his fingers in rhythm as he strokes it, clinging to that scent, to the images in his head.
“Kyou…ji.”
He climaxes with that name on his lips, semen and slick staining on his hands as his breathing starts to even out. He always feels so dirty, so unsatisfied in the end — but he doubts he’ll ever be able to stop.