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The way Yaga tells it, Satoru had been called into a meeting.
“Satoru… Satoru…”
Its purpose was to decide the fate of Okkotsu Yuuta, a middle school student whose status as a Cursed Human made him dangerous to his peers. Suguru had his sights set on the boy too; the curse that’s attached itself to him is a Special Grade. Either he’d recruit the boy or… well. He’d make an attempt to collect the spirit and force Satoru’s hand at last. But the higher-ups in the Council got to him first.
“Satoru… let’s talk things out.”
The Council had already agreed to spare Okkotsu’s life in exchange for his service as a sorcerer. It was supposed to be a short meeting. Instead, the higher-ups had forced Satoru to sit through hours of lectures and questioning, interrogating him on what his intentions were with Okkotsu, how he planned to control him, and whether he would be willing to handle his execution if he defected.
“This isn’t like you, Satoru.”
Shoko reported that Satoru had come to her complaining of a fever and a stomach ache in the morning, about two hours before the meeting. She also said that Satoru had been suppressing his rut. As his doctor, she’s admitted to her own role in this mess. One rut per year is required on suppressants in order to regulate hormones, but she’s allowed him to suppress them all.
With each consecutive rut missed, the potential for suppressant failure increases in likelihood. As does the intensity of the breakthrough rut when it occurs.
“Satoru—”
“Wagh!” Splat. The sound of blood and viscera splattering on wood.
Suguru stops midstep, his hairs standing on end. He’s getting close.
Satoru is the strongest sorcerer and a Prime Alpha, and has been suppressing his ruts for close to a decade. When he entered his rut in the middle of a heated argument with the Council, he’d proceeded to slaughter most of them. The sole survivor managed to escape, and call together a team of high ranking sorcerers to workshop a solution, but their options were slim. There’s no one alive who can take Satoru down, and letting him prowl the halls of headquarters until his rut ends would be endangering more lives.
It had been Shoko who had come up with the solution to their problem. It had also been Shoko who had called Suguru, asking that he help Satoru through his rut. Suguru had agreed, despite his family pleading with him not to.
Suguru is the sacrificial lamb. He’s been promised a full pardon if he survives, but all of them know his chances are slim. Barriers have been placed around headquarters, and in exchange for Satoru being unable to leave, no one else can, either. Now that Suguru has entered, he’s Satoru’s prey, along with the roughly eighty living sorcerers estimated to still be sheltering inside, including Okkotsu.
Shoko thinks that Satoru will spare him, that Suguru will be able to calm him down. But Suguru knows he won’t. Satoru was so angry with him the day Suguru left, threatening to kill him with Hollow Purple on the packed streets of Shinjuku, and the handful of times they have encountered each other since, he’s treated him with cold indifference. There’s little fondness left for Suguru in his heart.
And Suguru has accepted that. After all, he’s the one who left. It’s his fault that Satoru has spilled sorcerer blood, that he’s soiled his clean hands with red, and Suguru will take responsibility for it. There’s meaning in this death, in Satoru being the one to kill him.
“No, no, no—!” More sorcerer blood is spilled. There’s the sound of splintering wood, and the roof caving in. Satoru is carving through the building.
Suguru continues on his mission with more urgency in his step. He can smell Satoru now, which means he’s almost there.
The thought of more sorcerer lives being lost because he didn’t stick around to continue supporting Satoru through his ruts makes guilt swell in his chest. He’d thought Satoru would find another rut partner, but he didn’t. He chose not to have them instead. Suguru might die here, but he’s not afraid of death. All he’s afraid of is that his efforts to protect sorcerers, to protect their people, will have been for nothing.
“Satoru!” Suguru shouts, breaking into a run.
His zori thud against the wooden floor as he races through the halls in the direction of where he heard him last, towards Satoru’s cedarwood scent and the pungent smell of blood. He knots the fabric of his kimono in his hands, pulse racing, and as he rounds a corner—
Satoru is there.
He stands, chest heaving, a hole blasted through the wall in front of him, blood splattered across the floor and the shoji screens surrounding the room, on the walls, even on the ceiling. It’s on Satoru, too, caked into his white hair and smeared across his skin and his mouth. There’s a sorcerer face-down on the ground on the other side of the room, a pool of blood spreading out beneath him, dead.
No, wait, he’s alive. His hand is moving, back rising and falling as he takes in shallow, quick breaths.
“It’s been a long time, Satoru!” Suguru greets, stopping in the doorway. He tries to keep his own panic out of his voice, but it leaks in.
Satoru turns, and the snarl on his face is replaced by shock. He wears nothing to cover his eyes, and Suguru can see his pupils blow out. His scent in the room thickens, and Suguru’s own scent starts to leak in response. He doesn’t use suppressants, and though he does use scent blockers, a natural paste made of beeswax and herbs that he smears over his glands, he removed it before he entered.
Sandalwood and lavender mixes with cedar and musk. Suguru feels slick leak from his slit, and he hopes that Satoru can smell it.
He’s not attacking yet, which is a good sign. It means Suguru can take control of the situation. Prime Alphas are the only sex that can go feral. Kill and breed, that’s what Satoru has been reduced to. Suguru needs to redirect his instincts from the former to the latter.
“All of this bloodshed is unnecessary,” Suguru assures him, keeping his voice gentle.
He takes a cautious step forward, and Satoru doesn’t move. He keeps staring in Suguru’s direction, his mouth slack. His nostrils flare as he inhales his scent, open-mouthed. Suguru knows he can smell his arousal. He’s not in heat yet, but if the plan goes as it should, Satoru’s pheromones will send him into it. Suguru is either leaving headquarters a corpse or pregnant, and he’s accepted that.
“I’m here now. You can take me instead—”
Satoru rushes forward, slamming into him and knocking him out of the room and back into the hall.
Arms wrap around his waist, and Satoru roughly knocks him off his feet and onto the floor. The breath is knocked out of him when he slams into it, and he knows he’ll be bruised later from his shoulders to his hips. Satoru straddles his legs, and when he tries pushing him back on instinct, he grabs his wrists, pinning his hands roughly against the wooden boards underneath him. His grip is tight and painful.
Satoru opens his mouth, exposing his fangs, and sinks his teeth into Suguru’s throat before he can even react to it. For a moment, Suguru thinks he’s going to tear his throat out, that this is how he’ll die, but instead of locking around his windpipe, Satoru’s teeth find the muscle and meat around his gland. It hurts, but the hormones that rush through him a moment after make the pain fade.
Suguru goes limp and pliant, and a purr starts up low in Satoru’s throat.
Relief replaces the panic that had been coursing through him moments ago. Satoru’s teeth remain locked around Suguru’s scent gland, but he lets Suguru twist a hand free. He lifts it, and cards his trembling fingers through Satoru’s blood-matted hair.
Suguru isn’t going to die. Satoru didn’t kill him. He still might kill him when he comes to his senses and realizes what Suguru has goaded him into doing, but he didn’t kill him. He mated him. Suguru thought he could convince him to fuck him, but this… it’s unexpected.
“Alpha,” Suguru breathes, and Satoru rolls his hips. His cock is a hard, thick line, and Suguru can feel it even through all the layers of their clothes.
Satoru is content to hump against him for a while, rubbing his cock against Suguru’s clothed mound. But eventually he has to release his grip on Suguru’s throat and start undressing him. He tussles with Suguru’s gojogesa, frustrated with it, his rut-addled brain unable to figure out how to remove it, and Suguru has to help him untie the knot over his shoulder, tossing the fabric aside. Satoru removes Suguru’s uchikake on his own, pushing it over his shoulders, then opens his kimono, exposing the waistband of his hakama and his white undershirt. Once he has that open, he starts nipping and biting at Suguru’s collarbone, then at his chest, licking and sucking on his puffy nipples.
Suguru squirms, and he changes positions so he’s between his legs, rather than straddling them. He pulls down his hakama and the thin white pants he wears underneath them together, exposing his slit and leaving him only in his tabi and sandals. Once he’s released it, he moves down Suguru’s body, and shoves his face into his cunt, breathing in the scent of him.
It’s humiliating, but it’s flattering too. Familiar. During his heats, there was nothing Satoru liked more than eating him out. He sticks his tongue inside of him, licking between his folds and into his leaking hole, and arousal tightens in Suguru’s lower belly. He cramps, hard, slick gushing out and into Satoru’s face, and he knows that his heat is starting. It’s becoming hard to put his thoughts together.
“Take care of me, Satoru,” Suguru moans. “Take me.”
Satoru discards the white haori he’s wearing, undoing the belt on his ceremonial blue kimono, and frees his cock from his own underclothes. While he’s working to undress himself, Suguru turns over onto his hands and knees, and presents, back arched and ass in the air.
Grabbing his hips to steady them, Satoru drapes himself over his back, the hard, dripping tip of his cock rubbing against Suguru’s aching folds. It presses against him, but doesn’t push inside, and reaching down between his legs, Suguru grips it to guide the fat tip into his cunt.
It’s been so long since he’s taken anything larger than his own slim fingers that the stretch burns. His hole grips onto the tip of Suguru’s cock, sucking it in, and it pops inside, his slick leaking out around it. Satoru doesn’t give him time to adjust to it before he thrusts inside, bottoming out. He nips at the muscle on Suguru’s back as he starts to pound into him, his hips slapping against Suguru’s ass wetly.
Suguru is glad he’s still kneeling on his robes, because otherwise, his cheek would be collecting splinters as it rubbed on the hardwood floor. He tangles his hands in the fabric of his kimono, a moan spilling out of his throat, pitching higher each time Satoru’s cock bumps into his cervix. His grip on Suguru’s hips is bruising, and blood from Suguru’s bonding mark soaks his white undershirt, discarded. Slick drips between his legs and down his thighs, making a wet mess between his legs, and as Satoru fucks him, his heavy balls slap against his swollen, erect clit.
“Satoru,” Suguru whines. The tension in his belly is close to coming undone. “Alpha, please!”
Satoru is rough as he pounds into Suguru’s cunt, but he isn’t mean. He’s desperate. He’s chasing his climax, eager to knot Suguru’s willing cunt, to fill him up with seed that’s all but guaranteed to take. Suguru wants it too. His skin is warm and itchy, sweat running down his face and his neck, and he’s so aroused that it hurts, his clit aching with need.
When Satoru’s knot starts catching on his rim, Suguru’s throat tightens with anxiety. It tugs on the delicate, thin flesh around his rim, the stretch he had become adjusted to becoming painful again, but he trusts Satoru’s instincts, even though he’s lost his mind. He won’t hurt him when he pops his knot, or tear him open. Satoru has never hurt him before during his ruts, even if he’s never been this far gone.
Suguru’s trust isn’t misplaced. Satoru’s thrusts become shallow and grinding, his cock filling him up, and when his knot finally expands, locking him in place, he stills.
Suguru, though, still needs more. Reaching between his legs and grinding back onto Satoru’s cock so that his knot rubs against his sweet spot, he pinches his clit between his fingers and tugs on it until he’s coming with a long, breathy moan.
Satoru lets go of his hips, and wraps them around his stomach instead. He shifts so that he’s on his side, and pulls Suguru down with him, pulling him against his chest. His purr starts back up, a gentle rumble that makes his chest vibrate against Suguru’s back. He’s not quite in his right mind yet, but his mind must be starting to clear in his post-orgasm haze.
The pheromones he’s putting out with his release are making Suguru’s head clear, too, but he wishes they wouldn’t. Because now, he’s trapped with his former best friend by his knot, without the distraction of sex or the pressure of preventing Satoru from killing more sorcerers.
“I’m sorry, Satoru,” Suguru murmurs. “I know you didn’t want me to come back.”
Satoru mumbles something, lips moving against the back of his neck, but he’s so quiet, Suguru can’t hear him.
“What was that?” Suguru asks.
“I never wanted to be left behind,” Satoru repeats, louder this time.
Suguru’s throat tightens. “I didn’t want to leave you, either. You didn’t need me at your side anymore, and so I…” He spiraled, without him. He doesn’t think he would have done well with him, either, but he doesn’t think things would have gotten quite as bad as they did. “I didn’t want to be the only person who was holding you back.”
Satoru pulls back, propping himself up on his elbow. “I thought you left because you hated me,” Satoru admits.
Hope replaces Suguru’s guilt. “I could never hate you, Satoru. I thought you hated me.”
“Suguru! I don’t hate you, either,” Satoru chokes out, his voice wet. He leans down, pressing a long, wet kiss against the bloody bonding mark he’d placed on his neck, and a smile, a real one, pulls at Suguru’s cheeks. “We’re mated now,” he declares, his voice muffled against Suguru’s throat, “so you can’t leave me again.”
He let Satoru go because he didn’t want to drag him down with him, but there’s no point in staying away. Satoru’s hands are as red as his own. A decade of separation, and it was all for nothing. Now the two of them are mated, and returning to being separated would hurt them both more than staying together would. It means giving up on his goals, but… he has Satoru again. He’s here.
And maybe Satoru has missed him as much as Suguru has missed Satoru.
“I won’t, Satoru,” Suguru promises. He means it. Satoru’s grip on him loosens. “But please... don’t mistake me. I still hate non-sorcerers. I can’t smile in the world we live in. I don’t like the way things are.”
“That’s alright,” Satoru assures. He’s sounding sleepy now. Maybe they have enough time to nap in the hour before his knot goes down. “I became a teacher because I don’t like it, either. Though I would say the higher-ups are at fault for everything that happened to us, not non-sorcerers.”
A bittersweet smile tugs at Suguru’s cheeks. “Well… you killed most of them. Maybe that’s a start.”
Satoru sighs. “I didn’t want to resort to violence, but if it means I can have you at my side… I’m happy I did.”
“I’m not. Satoru, you killed over thirty sorcerers.”
“Yeah, that I never liked!”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“You’ve killed close to two hundred now!” Satoru retorts, and— well. That’s a fair point. “You’re not allowed to be so high-and-mighty anymore.”
At that, Suguru can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him. Satoru manages to hold back his own at first, but soon, he starts laughing, too.
“Nothing’s changed, huh?” Suguru asks, covering Satoru’s hand with his own and turning to look back at him.
Satoru presses another kiss against his bonding mark, and then his cheek. “I’m glad it hasn’t.”