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Wakatoshi fiddles with his bike lock, struggling to fit the shackle into its case. The lock isn’t broken. He just doesn’t want to go in to his father’s apartment even though it’s already dark and a chill has crept inside the light uniform jacket he wears for his delivery job.
It’s been a long day. He worked partial shifts at three different jobs totaling sixteen hours of paid time. The first one had him on the clock before the sun was up. He'll be able to pay the water bill next week in addition to the last bit of overdue rent from last month.
The shackle slides into the lock and clicks into place. He tugs at it a couple times to make sure the ‘faulty’ thing is actually working. In a few minutes he'll have to go inside, peel Utsui off the floor, and get him to bed. His father wasn’t always a drunk, but drowning in debt can do that to a person. There are times Wakatoshi has considered whether his life might also be better at the bottom of a bottle.
He's got one foot in his father's grave already. It's only a matter of time until he slips. All the money he manages to earn goes toward keeping a roof over their heads, paying down bills, and putting food on the table. At the end of the day he has nothing left for himself, nothing to contribute to his own future, no light at the end of the tunnel.
What stings the worst is that he had another option, a far easier life if he could stomach it. If he had stayed with his mother he’d never worry about money, probably never worry about anything. But at the age of eighteen he got his first heat, and being an omega in his mother’s family comes with conditions. The moxie of his youthful pride wouldn’t allow him to accept being a bartering chip, so he moved to live with Utsui, unaware just how far his father had fallen.
There’s no going back now. That opportunity to be a kept omega married off to some corporate executive or wealthy politician is long gone.
The only thing he has for himself are these few seconds of alone time.
So he kneels beside his bike doing nothing, just for a moment. Until he's shivering or the hunger pangs in his empty stomach make it impossible to hold out any longer.
He closes his eyes and takes in a bracing breath, facing up to the inevitability that he will go inside. He will clean up Utsui’s mess and get him to bed. He will get a few hours of sleep before his alarm goes off at 04:00 so he can make it to his early shift at the supermarket. He will be right back in this spot in twenty-four hours, pretending his bike lock is broken, and then he’ll go and rouse Utsui from another drunken stupor and get him to bed.
A car rolls up to the curb beside him. He’d ignore it, if not for the sound of the window rolling down. An unfamiliar voice calls from inside the darkened interior. “Hey, kid. You’re Ushijima, right?”
Wakatoshi turns his head to see a sleek black sedan. It's far too nice for this neighborhood. A pink-haired man leans out the driver’s side window, wearing a dark suit and a smug grin. His teeth are white, perfectly aligned—his dentist must be proud—and Wakatoshi can’t help but notice the man’s sharp, enlarged canines. An alpha.
Wakatoshi's eyes narrow, regarding the alpha with a cold stare. “I don’t know you,” he says.
“Yeah, Makki, ever heard of stranger danger?” A second man that Wakatoshi can barely see quips from the passenger seat. He sounds bored, like the omega on the sidewalk is of little interest to him—and Wakatoshi hopes that’s the case.
Rising slowly to his feet, he remains rooted to the concrete beside the bike rack. It’s the only thing between the strangers and himself.
The pink-haired alpha, Makki, says, “Hop in, kid. We’re taking you down town. Your dad’s waiting.”
The pieces begin to click into place. Wakatoshi frowns. “He’s in trouble.”
Makki shrugs. “You gettin’ in, or do we have to drag you?”
“I can not pay you very much,” Wakatoshi admits, eyes darting to the rear passenger door, then back to Makki. “I only make minimum wage. No savings.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just get in.” The grin has fallen from Makki’s lips. He isn’t feeling generous with his patience―and he isn’t asking this time.
A pit of dread forms in Wakatoshi’s stomach. He’s lucky he hasn’t had time to eat all day, less chance the nerves will make him vomit. Eerily, this reminds him somewhat of the time he was kicked out of his mother’s home, forced into a stranger’s car to an unknown destination.
He keeps the feeling to himself.
It doesn’t matter.
He gets into the car.
At first Wakatoshi assumed down town was euphemistic, but in fifteen minutes he’s taken to where down town shopping centers and night clubs overlap with the business district. The high towers of c-suite executives and their sycophants reach high above his line of sight. Trying to peer upward from the limiting view of the car window is dizzying. He can’t fathom what his father has done to warrant the attention of people like this.
Makki flashes an employee ID to get them into the garage of an upscale office building and the next thing he knows, he’s herded into an elevator headed directly to the penthouse.
The other alpha in the car—Wakatoshi hasn’t caught his name and has already precluded the possibility of asking—is dressed similarly to Makki. His hair is black, and his thick eyebrows sit at an angle that makes it look like he’s constantly listening to an inside joke.
The elevator chimes pleasantly and the doors open.
They exit the cab into a reception area, desk unmanned, lights dimmed. The alpha escorts push open a pair of frosted glass doors behind the reception and usher him inside what could be an office space, but looks more like a VIP lounge. There’s a desk with a computer flanked by a wall of shelves lined with fancy looking leather bound first editions. Another entire wall is presumably windows, though the layered blackout curtains have all been drawn. The only light in the room comes from a couple of floor lamps, giving the office an almost cozy atmosphere if it weren’t for the scene set dead center of the room.
Wakatoshi’s eyes land on a chic seating area arranged around a polished glass coffee table. Another stranger―another alpha—sits in the center of an immaculately conditioned leather sofa. His suit is a deep, royal blue, the vest patterned with silver brocade. Despite the late hour, his tawny hair is prettily tousled, face dry of sweat or oils. His posture is attentive, upright, hands resting in his lap, without any overly polite stiffness. It almost looks like he could be presiding over a casual meeting, if not for the thinly veiled disdain in his eyes as he looks down his nose at the man across from him.
That man being Utsui―in a far less comfortable chair that looks like it was brought in from the waiting room. His clothes are clean, but rumpled, and it doesn’t look like he had time to comb his hair before coming here.
Relief eases the harsh lines in Utsui’s troubled expression when he meets Wakatoshi’s eye. He looks ready to jump out of his seat but the alpha’s dominating presence holds him in place.
“See?” Utsui exclaims, appealing to the alpha in blue. “That’s him, Mr. Oikawa! You see? I was telling the truth. That’s my son.”
Oikawa doesn’t turn his head, merely glimpsing Wakatoshi from the corners of his eyes. “That’s an omega?”
“Yes, yes he is! You can check―Wakatoshi, take off your patch so he can smell you.” There’s an edge of desperation in Utsui’s voice makes his hair stand on end.
Remaining still, remaining silent, Wakatoshi hesitates to so much as draw breath. It's obvious every man in the room holds his father in contempt—and so they probably regard him with the same derision. It would be best not to move until one of them gives the order.
The alpha’s icy stare doesn’t shift in the slightest. He lifts a hand and flicks two fingers, producing a crisp snap. The two alphas escorting Wakatoshi leave him standing at the door, and instead place themselves on either side of Utsui. His eyes widen in alarm and he starts to stand―only to be grabbed by his arms and strongly encouraged to remain seated.
“You’re disgusting,” Oikawa informs Utsui with an impassive affect, like a judge delivering consecutive life sentences. “What’s worse...I think you’re insulting me.”
Utsui balks, growing pale. “What? No, no—”
“You want to give me that ‘omega’ as collateral? Your own fucking kid.” Oikawa ditches the monotone for a sneer. “I could laugh―Oh, that must be it. You’re playing a joke! Well, it’s not very funny. Do you think it's funny, Mattsun?”
“Not particularly,” drawls the one with the eyebrows.
“How about you, Makki?”
The pink-haired alpha flashes a lopsided smirk. “Looks like he’s about to shit himself. That'd be pretty funny.”
Eyes on Utsui again, Oikawa leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A shadow falls across his face, making clear the severity of his displeasure. “Is this your offer? You’re putting your own kid on the line instead of taking responsibility?”
A chill slides down the omega’s spine as every pair of eyes in the room turn to him. In the slimmest of silver linings, he manages to keep his expression flat. Remaining outwardly indifferent has become second nature. It’s been a long while since he’d had energy to spare on daily miseries.
Oikawa addresses him finally, “Do you know who I am?”
“No, sir,” Wakatoshi replies, though he’s got an inkling. He knows his father’s debts aren’t just to the power company or the landlord.
“My name is Oikawa Tooru. I own several businesses. A while back, I loaned your pops here some money. He can’t pay, and he wants me to take you as collateral until he can come up with a way to pay me back. What do you think of all that?”
“He’s a good boy!” Utsui interjects, pleading. “He works hard. He’s obedient. He won’t cause any problems!”
Oikawa shoots a look at Makki. The enforcer grins in answer, and turns to crack the back of his hand across Utsui’s mouth. He twists in the chair and might have gone to the floor if not for Mattsun still holding his arm. Grunting in pain, Utsui rocks forward. Bloody spit drips onto his lap.
Rather than oozing sadistic pleasure, Oikawa just looks disgusted. His lip curls, but his tone never wavers in its authority. “You stupid, naive, old man. Even if I whore him out at a premium it’ll take years to make back what you owe. It’d be easier just to cut him up and sell the parts. That might cover your debt.”
The color drains from Utsui’s face, replaced by a sickly shade of green. “Don’t do that,” he pleads in a horrified whisper. “Don’t hurt him. I thought just you—I’ll get the money, I swear. I just need a month or two.”
Oikawa sighs heavily, and leans back against the sofa. He dips a hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a cigarette and lighter. The time it takes to light the end and take a drag of the tobacco is all he needs to come to a decision.
“Get him out of here,” he mutters around the cigarette between his lips.
“No—No! Wait—” Utsui struggles, but the alphas on either side of him hold tight.
“What do you want us to do with him?” asks Mattsun.
“He’s accustomed to a liquid diet already, so I’ve heard.” The glowing ember reflects in Oikawa’s dispassionate eyes, no longer interested in the frantic, struggling man in front of him.
“Roger roger!” Makki calls out cheerfully. He and Mattsun man handle Utsui up from the chair, heedless of his kicking and flailing, and drag him toward the door.
Wakatoshi steps aside to let them pass. He doesn’t look at his father. He pretends not to hear the desperate apology hurled through the doors as they swing closed.
It won’t help him now.
He’s on his own.
The omega drops his gaze down to his shoes in an effort not to rile the alpha's temper. It’s always easier to be mistreated by someone who isn’t angry than by someone who is. To that end, he’ll happily agree to just about anything short of vivisection.
"Pour me a drink." Oikawa snaps again, the gesture resolving in one long finger directed toward a tidy bar cart. “On second thought, make one for yourself too. You’ll be needing it.”
Wordlessly, Wakatoshi obeys his new master’s command. His hands hover near an ornate crystal decanter filled with amber liquor that probably costs more than a year’s worth of rent. It seems like something he shouldn’t be allowed to touch. Behind him, Oikawa makes an impatient sound. The omega carefully turns a pair of rocks glasses upright and reaches for the decanter. He pulls the stopper and pours a couple fingers into each glass. It smells heavenly in comparison to the floor cleaner Utsui picks up from the corner store.
He brings a glass to Oikawa, who takes it, then gestures with his cigarette toward the armchair adjacent the sofa—not the uncomfortable interrogation seat Utsui had been sitting on.
Wakatoshi sits.
Oikawa lifts the glass to his lips, allows the liquor to roll across his tongue, then swallows. A note of satisfaction laces his next exhale. Perhaps it was naive to think a drink would help distract Oikawa for a minute or two. All too soon, that cunning gaze is on Wakatoshi again, appraising the omega’s worth.
"Are you always this serious?” Oikawa asks. “Or are you just feeling a bit...tense? That’s understandable. Drink. It will help.”
Even a mob boss is too polite to say it outright, but Wakatoshi knows what he’s being told: You're not very cute. Not charming. Not even particularly amusing. Too big. Too serious. Too quiet. A useless omega.
Wakatoshi drops his chin, averting his eyes. He endures his lot with a stiff upper lip—but Utsui’s betrayal has done its work to loosen his grip. How much more can a person be expected to accept with a straight face?
Oikawa’s prescriptions for him play on repeat in his mind. He’ll be whored out. Or sold for parts. Those are the options, and the decision is in the hands of an alpha who just decided he isn’t very nice to look at.
Yeah, alright. He pours liquor into his mouth and swallows hard. It burns—but that means it’s working.
“Listen, I get it. Never seen anything so disgusting as a parent offering up their own kid. None of this is your fault.” Oikawa says, sounding almost reasonable.
Wakatoshi closes his eyes. He doesn’t trust the sympathy. Not for a second.
Oikawa leans forward to snuff his cigarette on an ashtray on the coffee table, then turns his full attention to the omega. “Before you go getting any ideas, I’m sure you understand any retaliation on your part will end poorly for dear ol’ dad.”
Wakatoshi nods, jaw tight.
“As for you...You could try to fight me, and hell, you might stand a chance. Until Makki and Mattsun get back, that is.” Oikawa licks his lips, a dark chuckle in the back of his throat as he muses, “You’d tire out eventually.”
“I won’t fight.” The omega shakes his head so quickly it makes his head spin. Or maybe it’s because his heart is racing and he can’t breathe right—chest too tight. He doesn’t like that idea. But it’s not an involuntary nephrectomy so he tries not to disagree too vehemently.
“You understand the position you’re in,” Oikawa concludes.
Wakatoshi nods. Even if he were to escape this room, no doubt he’d be hunted as long as he stayed in the city. With no money, there’s no hitching a ride outside city limits either. His options are to cooperate, or to make himself a nuisance to a rich, powerful alpha who speaks casually of the monetary value of human flesh.
“Take a breath, kid. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t about hurting you. But I am running a business. Utsui owes me a lot of money. I have to take something.”
Wakatoshi’s breath hitches. He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s all becoming too real. He’s not going home tonight. Maybe not ever, if Utsui is his only ticket out.
“Ah, ah,” the alpha tuts. “Let me finish. I am going to take you—and I am going to take care of you. Once Utsui’s debt is paid, you’re free to go. Until then, you obey me. You do as you’re told.”
“I’ll work for you—whatever it is you want. You don’t have to threaten me.” Wakatoshi’s voice breaks. He scrubs his eye with the sleeve of his jacket.
“This is a lot to take all at once, I know. Hey...look at me,” the alpha coaxes, sliding to the arm of the sofa to get closer. Wakatoshi lifts a hand to hide his face, eyes burning. The wetness on his cheeks only worsens the more he tries to make it stop. He’s exhausted and frightened and alone.
“Look at me,” Oikawa growls, so firm and direct that his voice alone compels Wakatoshi to immediately drop his hand and meet the alpha’s gaze.
A shiver follows the swathes of goosebumps that break out up and down his arms, down his neck, putting a queer tingling in his stomach. An alpha has never commanded him before. It’s frighteningly easy to obey. Somehow, it also feels like relief.
Oikawa reaches out and touches his wet cheek with the back of a finger. His inhale is sharp, the sound embroidered with the barest trace of a moan. “Fuck...You’re a pretty crier, you know that?”
For some reason hearing that just makes a fresh wave of tears spill down Wakatoshi’s cheeks. Oikawa drinks in the sight of it.
“What’s your name, baby?”
Struggling around the tightness in his throat, he rasps, “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
“You’ll be good for me, won’t you, Wakatoshi?” he all but whispers.
The alpha is close enough for Wakatoshi's nose to discern him from the lingering notes of Makki and Mattsun from before. Oikawa's scent is far different than he's come to expect. Alphas in charge like to wear their musk like flashing safety vests, too bold to be ignored, inharmonious with their surroundings.
Oikawa must be a different breed altogether. He wears his scent like an expensive cologne, present, yet not overpowering. He is the rounded sweetness of bergamot, spiced with ginger, and grounded by woody undertones. It is a scent so suddenly appealing that despite himself, Wakatoshi almost leans closer to get a better whiff.
Undeniably, for good or ill, his inner omega likes it. His body responds instantaneously in a way Wakatoshi has seldom experienced in all his life; he calms, or at least his body does. The rapid, almost painful racing of his heart begins to ease. The clammy sweat on his palms dries and he no longer grips the drink in his hands like it might leap from his grip.
He looks to the alpha for guidance. Holding Oikawa's gaze is no longer painful. He wants it—wants to know what Oikawa wants. He doesn't just hear the alpha's next words; he listens for them.
“Answer me,” Oikawa prompts, one brow drawn into an arch.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be good.”
The alpha’s mouth curves into a satisfied grin. “How old are you, Wakatoshi?”
“Twenty-two,” he answers stiffly, getting only minor relief from how Oikawa seems to be pleased to hear this as well.
“Are you seeing anyone? An alpha to come looking for you?”
“No.” Wakatoshi swallows nervously. It’s the truth—it just frightens him to think of what Oikawa might do if he did have an alpha waiting on him.
“Good...That’s good. It’s best from here on out that you understand you’re mine. You do not complain. You do not refuse. Do you know what will happen if you try to say no?”
"Yes, sir. You'll hurt me."
“You won’t make me do that, I know. I can tell.” Oikawa murmurs. His thumb strokes the omega's cheek, wiping away tear tracks.
Wakatoshi has already grasped the nature of this first lesson, though he’s been learning it for many long years now. Fairness does not matter. His feelings do not matter. All that matters is that Oikawa will get what he wants. It’s just the reality of his situation, and has been ever since he presented as an omega.
Until the mob boss decides his father’s debt is cleared, or forgives Wakatoshi through some other means, he is this alpha’s servant. He won’t need to be brainwashed to accept his new standing in life—or lack thereof.
His solemn acceptance of the fact passes between them in the minuscule twitches of facial muscles and one prolonged exchange of eye contact. Satisfied, the alpha removes his hand from Wakatoshi’s jaw and relaxes against the sofa’s backrest.
“Take off that patch. Stand up. I want a better look at my newest asset.”
Whatever relief he felt when the alpha released him is overshadowed by his stomach sliding out of his lap and dropping onto his shoes as he lurches to his feet. Even the subliminal desire to please this alpha cannot overcome the wrongness and the guilt he feels for his participation.
After setting his unfinished drink on the table, he peels the patch off his neck and shoves it in his pocket. A subtle perfume of earthy green tea and floral jasmine begins to reveal itself.
The alpha looks him over contemplatively and tilts the remaining liquor from one wall of the glass to the other. “Shirt. Off.”
Wakatoshi obeys. He reaches behind his head to pinch the collar of his shirt and pull it over his head. Awkwardly, he keeps the fabric wound around his hand, not sure where else to put it.
"Do you shave?" Oikawa’s brows lift in faint amusement. "Or did you have everything lasered off?"
Caught off guard, Wakatoshi’s brow furrows. He answers without thinking, "Omegas typically do not have dense body hair."
Annoyance flickers across the alpha's face. "Did I ask for a fucking biology lesson? Turn around."
Wakatoshi’s teeth dig into the inside of his cheek. He’s been chewed out plenty of times for talking back—he should know better.
"Lose the shoes. You’ll get used to going barefoot. Good omegas don’t leave the house,” the alpha tells him with an air of nonchalance, unaware or unconcerned by the implication of what condition a barefoot, house-bound omega might be in.
Wakatoshi tries not to think about it. He bends at the waist and drops his shirt to tug at the laces on his shoes. His finger slips in at the heel, and slides them off one at a time. He hesitates. “Socks, sir?"
Oikawa laughs. "I don't care. Pants. Underwear. I don’t need a show, just want to get a look at you."
Still with his back turned, Wakatoshi pops the button on his pants and pulls down the zipper. He hooks his thumbs under the band of his briefs and pulls it all down in one go, inelegantly stepping out of one leg so he can kick off the other.
Oikawa makes a sound that is neither pleased, nor displeased—curious?
“Not much to spare, is there? Was the old man feeding you properly? Ah, no. I know he wasn’t. I’ll wake up my chef when we get home. Are you a picky eater?”
Wakatoshi risks a glance over his shoulder. He can’t tell if Oikawa is serious. Hesitantly, he answers, “No, sir.”
“Good. Turn around.”
A dark flush itches the back of Wakatoshi’s neck, makes his face feel hot. He turns around, cupping his hands over his groin to preserve what little modesty he can. The alpha laughs, a cruel edge to the mockery.
“Move your hands.”
“But...” Wakatoshi’s brows slant. He can tolerate being berated, mocked, and humiliated. He tolerates waking up at three in the morning to work a sixteen hour day, shouldering more debt than he can ever pay back, and now being sold to a crime lord by his father. He just doesn’t want to do this. If he could have one thing—
“If I have to repeat myself, you’re not going to like what happens.”
His eyes sting like he might cry again. Wakatoshi’s arms drop to his sides and he turns his face to look anywhere but at Oikawa.
Oikawa chuffs, definitely pleased this time. “Did your heat come as a surprise? I’ve seen alphas with less.”
Wakatoshi jerks his chin in a stiff nod. “My family are all beta.”
“Has anyone fucked you during your heat? Or you fucked them?” he asks.
“No, sir. I have never...partnered...in any arrangement,” Wakatoshi mumbles uncertainly.
“Never? Fuck...That’s good, sweetheart, that’s good.” With that, the alpha rises from his seat. He walks a step closer to Wakatoshi, looking him up and down. And then looking is over.
Wakatoshi knew it was coming eventually, but his naked skin still erupts with goosebumps when the alpha strokes him hip to rib cage, trailing up the divots of his bony chest. An involuntary shiver causes Oikawa’s lips to quirk. He wraps his hand around Wakatoshi’s throat and squeezes just enough.
“Shh, shh, you’re fine,” he coos in response to Wakatoshi’s eyes widening. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”
Maybe it does. Wakatoshi wasn’t so sure until the alpha said so, but maybe the pressure on the sides of his throat making his head go a little fuzzy does feel kind of good. Something in his belly curls pleasantly, a drop of heat, of rushing blood that he tells himself is just the single swallow of whiskey doing its work.
The pressure around his throat releases and Wakatoshi gasps for breath. Heady bergamot and alphan pheromones flood his palate, infusing his lungs like a potent hit off one of the skunky blunts some of his coworkers smoke mid-shift at the drive thru window. It makes him dizzy. A knee buckles, but he steadies himself, breathing heavier than before.
That pleasant feeling in his stomach grows heavier, sinking warmly into the cradle of his hips. Wakatoshi tries to grit his teeth, to keep himself under control, but all of that is in Oikawa’s hands now.
“Now these...” Oikawa tuts as he cups Wakatoshi’s pecs with both hands—or tries to. “Not ideal, but we can plump you up. I know a guy.” Giving up on fondling the omega’s chest, he thumbs a nipple instead. Then pinches.
The twinge isn’t bad per se. It arcs down to his belly, causing his abs to tighten up. He feels it now—his dick getting hard. If it weren’t for the blanket of the alpha’s influence numbing his shame, he’d be mortified.
Oikawa continues toying with his nipple, kneading and squeezing at it until it hardens to a pert little bud he can get his fingers around. He pinches it again, hard this time. Too hard. The shock of pain forces a hiss through Wakatoshi’s teeth and he recoils, taking half a step back.
Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake. The abrupt shift in Oikawa’s expression confirms it.
“What did I tell you?” he snaps.
“I’m sorry—”
But an apology isn’t good enough. The alpha grabs him around the throat and forces Wakatoshi to his knees. The impact with the floor shoots painfully up his frame though he scarcely notices it because a sharp, red hot sting lights up across the entire left side of his face.
Wild eyed, blinking away the stars in his vision, Wakatoshi reels as he realizes he’s been slapped.
“I don’t care if it hurts. You don’t say no to me.” The alpha snarls. His hand draws back.
The second hit jerks Wakatoshi’s head to the side, the sharp crack of pain blossoms into burning as he rights himself. He’s never been hit before. It hurts, but he’s too stunned to cry.
A third slap finally causes him to cry out. Copper seeps into his mouth. Above him the alpha tisks, annoyed.
“Now look what you made me do.” His fingers dig into Wakatoshi’s jaw and force him to turn his face up for inspection.
“I’m sorry!” Wakatoshi tries again, though it feels futile. The pain and fear have run him through with adrenaline, leaving him trembling in the alpha’s grasp.
“I don’t want to hurt you, baby. I told you.” Oikawa’s fury seems to drain, morphing back into faux sympathy, sadism dripping sweet syrup. “But you have to learn. Better get this over with now, don’t you think?”
As much as he can manage, Wakatoshi nods.
“Another thing you ought to learn: when your alpha takes the time to correct your behavior, you should thank him.” With that, his grip slackens.
“Thank you, sir.” Wakatoshi all but whimpers. The left side of his face feels coal-hot and inflamed, bottom lip going fat. He can tell now the trickle of blood is coming from his nose.
“That’s better.” Oikawa finally releases his jaw and instead runs those violent fingers through Wakatoshi’s hair, gently scraping along his scalp.
He almost sobs with the relief. That tiny reward, the tiny pleasure—it must mean he’s being forgiven.
Oikawa’s voice drops into a dark, threatening register as he says, “The next time you try to pull away from me, I’ll tie you up and leave for for my men. They’ll just get excited the more you cry and beg and squirm. All the sick things they’d do to you—I’d never. You’re lucky I got you first, that I’m willing to take you on. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do—thank you,” Wakatoshi whispers, desperate to return to the alpha’s good graces.
“Good boy,” he says, the darkness withdrawing from his tone. Satisfied for the time being, he straightens and returns to the sofa. He lowers himself to the seat, reclining against the back rest and spreading his knees, feet planted firmly on the floor.
“Finish your drink.”
Wakatoshi tries to steady his shaking fingers to no avail. He grasps the glass and brings it to his swollen mouth. This time he eagerly downs the remainder of the liquor, greedy for whatever modicum of relief it might give him. The empty glass sounds too loud when he sets it down again.
“Come here.” Oikawa points between his spread legs. “Crawl.”
On hands and knees, and his head lowered in shame, Wakatoshi crawls across the floor. A quiet, metallic jingle reaches his ears as he reaches the edge of the sofa. A fresh wave of the alpha’s musk breaches the trepidation of pain and fear—he looks up, then freezes, eyes caught on the alpha’s cock.
Oikawa has his slacks unzipped, underwear pulled down just enough to get a hand around himself. He drags his palm almost lazily up and down the half-hard shaft, allowing Wakatoshi to take a good long look.
“Closer. You’re gonna suck me off.”
Obediently, Wakatoshi scoots until his chest is against the edge of the couch and there’s nowhere left to go. The alpha’s heady scent makes his throbbing head buzz like the first puff of a cigarette. He can’t take his eyes off it—long, with fat veins leading up to the reddened tip. A subtle curve runs its length, all the way down to the thick base where the bulbs of the alpha’s knot wait, ready to swell and trap the omega when the time is right.
Swallowing thickly, Wakatoshi looks up, earning a soft groan from Oikawa. “...What should I do?”
“Ah, that’s right...I forget. You’re new to all this.” Oikawa sighs in pleasure, gripping his cock so tight the tip turns a deeper red. “I didn’t believe you at first, but you weren’t bullshitting me, were you? You have no idea.”
The alpha rubs Wakatoshi’s burning cheek with the head of his cock, leaving a wet, sticky smear. He fights the urge to turn his face away. Oikawa seems pleased that he doesn’t, and finally releases his cock. It bobs upright, lightly bumping Wakatoshi’s sore nose. For some reason his jaw cramps, salivary glands flooding his mouth.
“Start at the bottom. Lick it up and down. Get me wet.” Oikawa instructs, a pleasure-hungry look in his eyes. Tentatively, Wakatoshi leans close, parts his lips, and touches his tongue to the base of the alpha's cock.
It’s surprisingly inoffensive. It just tastes of skin, a bit of sweat mixed with his own blood, and the mouth-watering alpha musk that makes him want to be a good little omega. He moves his tongue up and down in long strokes, coating the alpha’s cock in pink-tinged saliva.
“Now get your hand around it,” Oikawa prompts, then in the syrupy tone, “Give it a kiss.”
It’s hot and weighty against his palm. The other half of his face begins to burn just as badly as where Oikawa hit him. Kiss it, a mockery of affection. Luckily, he has no pride left to protect. Wakatoshi leans forward and presses his lips to the tacky head of the alpha’s cock. Despite himself, it doesn’t feel bad. He could kiss Oikawa’s cock all day if it means not being slapped around.
“Open up. Rub it on your tongue, pretty boy. Jerk me off, and keep rubbing it on your tongue so I can see.”
The copious application of spit makes stroking Oikawa so easy, just the slide of skin on skin. His jaw drops open and he drapes his tongue over the bottom row of his teeth, making a luxurious pillow for the alpha’s cockhead.
“Look at me, baby,” Oikawa murmurs voice gone husky with arousal. Wakatoshi forces his eyes up to meet the lust-heavy gaze staring down at him. The alpha groans in the back of his throat, and a salty bead of pre cum oozes onto his taste buds.
“Alright, enough teasing.” Oikawa’s breath sounds quicker. He raises a hand, ignoring Wakatoshi’s flinch, and asserts a tight grip on his hair. “Put it in your mouth.”
Wakatoshi opens his mouth wider and wraps his lips around the head of the alpha’s cock. The first inch is manageable, a mouthful he can suck on like a dripping popsicle. Inexperienced as he is, he’s seen a porno before. It’s not that hard to figure out what he’s supposed to do here.
Sliding more into his mouth is trickier. His lips stretch, the muscles strain, and a fresh trail of blood leaks from his nostril. Red smears between his lips and the alpha’s skin. Far from disgusted, Oikawa groans and pushes Wakatoshi’s head down.
The cockhead hits the back of his throat. Mouth too full, nose full of blood and pheromones, it slowly dawns on Wakatoshi with the burning in his chest that he can’t breathe. The alpha jams his head down further, pushing his cock painfully into Wakatoshi’s soft palate. It hurts like something in his throat is about to snap.
Panic floods his dizzy thoughts and the omega jerks himself up, desperately gulping air. Oikawa makes a cut off, disappointed sound, but not an angry one. Fat tears drip over Wakatosh’s bottom lashes as he struggles to steady his gaze.
“I know it’s your first time, don’t worry.” Oikawa tells him, but it's obvious that patience is a thin veneer. This is just a game to him. With the hold in the omega’s hair, he pushes himself past swollen, bloody lips again.
“I’m gonna help you. Don’t pull off. Even if you gag. I don’t care if you can’t breathe. Do you understand?”
As much as he can, Wakatoshi nods. But a nod isn’t enough. Oikawa tuts.
“Answer me.”
Mouth full of cock, he can only do so much, but Wakatoshi manages a wet, garbled sound. It’s then he realizes it’s just another humiliation ritual. Oikawa sneers, fangs gleaming in the lamplight. Then he lifts his hips off the seat of the couch, forcing his cock down the omega’s throat.
He chokes, spine and shoulders going rigid. Gripping tightly at the alpha’s thighs, tears streaming, Wakatoshi desperately struggles not to retch as his throat spasms with a wet gag.
“Watch your teeth,” Oikawa hisses. He doesn’t let up though, forcing Wakatoshi’s head down and thrusting his hips up as if to punish the omega’s sensitive gag reflex.
He doesn’t mean to do it, but his teeth must graze Oikawa’s cock. An irritated snarl rolls out of the alpha as Wakatoshi’s head is roughly jerked back.
“I told you to watch your fucking teeth!” he snaps harshly.
Head held up by the grip in his hair, Wakatoshi can’t cringe away from the slap even though he sees it coming. Oikawa’s palm cracks against his cheek. The impact is jarring and the angry burning of his skin lights up with fresh, vicious agony.
“I’m sorry!” Wakatoshi cries, thick with tears and hoarse from the abuse to his throat. But he learned his lesson before, so he pleads, “Thank you, sir—thank you.” His breath stutters, his dick twitches, and slick leaks down the inside of his thigh.
The alpha emits a softer, mournful sound. The look in his eyes is anything but regret. “Oh, baby...Is your dick hard because I hit you again? Do you love it that much?”
Truth be told, he doesn’t know why he’s hard. He hurts. He’s terrified more than anything. It’s just the alpha’s pheromones fucking up his head. But Wakatoshi nods, thinking it the correct answer.
The alpha stuffs his mouth again. That’s okay though—because Wakatoshi is figuring it out. He doesn’t have to do anything but hold his mouth open. Nerves frayed, body burning inexplicably with arousal—it’s all easier not to think about it.
“Touch yourself,” Oikawa demands, voice a little thinner as he pants with the effort of thrusting shallowly into the omega’s throat.
Taken off guard by the request, Wakatoshi strains to lift his eyes and gauge the alpha's expression.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want to. Whore. Getting turned on by being hit. Your face is bleeding and I can smell your slick already,” he spits the taunt. It’s meant to further demean the omega, but there’s an undercurrent of sadistic pleasure that feels like encouragement.
If Wakatoshi does as he’s told, he’ll make Oikawa happy.
He drops a hand between his thighs and squeezes the base of his dick. Instant relief loosens his limbs, and as he strokes, his jaw hangs open even easier. His mouth isn’t the right hole to truly satisfy his omega, but feeling pleasure and submitting to an alpha does wonderful things to his brain.
It all but turns off. His thoughts go to cotton candy fluff. And when Oikawa snarls at him, “That’s right. Jerk yourself off while your new owner fucks your whore mouth.”
Wakatoshi moans. His stomach muscles clench with arousal. It feels good. He jerks himself in short, quick strokes. His hole flutters. More omega slick leaks, perfuming the air with invitation.
“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum from getting throat fucked?” Oikawa husks.
Eyes squeezed shut, Wakatoshi nods as best he can. This time it passes for an answer.
“Go on, make yourself feel good. Cum on the floor like a fucking dog.”
The humiliation barely registers after the generous permission he’s just been given. Oikawa even eases up, leaving just the tip of his cock in the omega’s mouth so he can focus on bringing himself to a hard, quick orgasm.
Wakatoshi whimpers, overcome with gratitude. He suckles the tip, wanting a little more in his mouth as his hips begin to twitch and buck into his fist. It never occurred to him that this is where he’d end up, brought to his knees by circumstance and his own helpless instinct to please.
The fingers knotted in his hair tug impatiently, and that feels good too. Wakatoshi’s rhythm goes jerky. His pleasure hits a sharp peak, then breaks like fine china dashed against the wall. He cries, muffled, and spills down his own knuckles. It isn’t a lot. Thin, watery, omega cum. The orgasm rolls through him in waves, inner muscles fluttering, leaving his lashes fluttering and chest heaving.
“Did that feel good? Letting yourself be used?” Oikawa croons, stroking the omega’s hair off his sweaty forehead. He grunts a little and slides out of Wakatoshi’s mouth, letting his cock flop against his cheek. “I’d love to cum down your throat, but not tonight. There’s plenty of time for it later... You know he’s not going to be able to pay, right? You’re mine.”
The reminder cuts short the afterglow. Guilt and shame turn his stomach into a heavy knot. Silently, Wakatoshi prays for his sudden lucidity to go back where it came from. He doesn’t want to think about what it means that his cum is going cold on the back of his hand because this alpha simply told him to do it. How easy it was.
A mixture of blood and spit and pre cum smears across his cheek. Oikawa lazily thrusts against his face, pushing the mixture into his eyebrow. Then he sighs, pleased by leaving some evidence of ownership in the omega’s hair.
“Tell you what, baby boy. I’ll let you start on top since it’s your first time. How does that sound?”
Wakatoshi isn’t sure how that makes a difference. He’s been told the first time hurts. Either Oikawa does it and it hurts, or he does it and hurts himself. It’s just one of those things he has to grit his teeth and bear. No resistance. No complaining.
At least his trembling has stopped, muscles flooded with hormones to keep him calm and pliant.
“Already dumb, huh?” Oikawa chuckles darkly as he grips Wakatoshi’s jaw and uses the hold to pull him up on half-numb legs. “A good fuck will turn you stupid. Up here. Sit on my lap.”
He goes where Oikawa leads. His legs wobble under him, but it’s of little consequence as he is already climbing astride the alpha’s thighs, tentatively resting some of his weight there. His half-softened dick bumps against Oikawa’s. He shivers at the feeling of his own saliva.
It's impossible not to look down, thoughts grinding to a frightened stop. He already knew the alpha was bigger than him in that regard. It’s only natural. But side by side...Wakatoshi strains to take his own fingers during heats. The alpha’s cock is thicker than his own, easily two or three inches longer. The faint outline his knot is nowhere near what its engorged size will be.
Oikawa groans softly, cock twitching and drooling a string of pre that leaks down to wet Wakatoshi’s tip. It’s just a drop on his skin but it makes his thighs tense. His abs tighten, almost unable to restrain himself from rutting against Oikawa’s stomach.
A harsh pinch to both nipples makes him flinch, but he curls closer to the alpha instead of away. Gasping, he realizes Oikawa has been fondling his chest since he sat down.
“Go on, baby. Sit on it.” He wears a wicked, taunting smile that widens at the doubt in Wakatoshi’s eyes. “Did you think I was going to stretch you out first? Ah, I might have. But you should have thought about that before you tried to bite me. You’re taking it raw. Just like this.”
“I...I don’t know—” Wakatoshi rasps, cringing at the ache in his throat.
“You do it, or I will. And you won’t like it if I do.” Oikawa licks his lips, dropping his hands from the omega’s chest to grip his hips instead. “Or maybe you would. You get so cute and whiny when I hurt you. Bet you’d see Heaven if I really gave you something to cry about.”
“Please don’t,” he begs, struggling to speak past the hitch of his breath. “I’ll do it, I’m doing it.”
He lifts himself higher on his knees and reaches out tentatively with his unsoiled hand.
“You can hold me,” Oikawa says, amused.
“Thank you,” Wakatoshi whispers, averting his eyes. He rests his hand on the alpha’s shoulder to keep steady, and reaches behind to grip his cock.
Oikawa is chuckling to himself as the omega angles his cock and presses the head to his slippery rim. It only takes the slightest pressure to slip the tip inside. It isn’t bad until Wakatoshi pushes himself to take the entire cockhead. It burns. His insides spasm painfully. A breath seethes through his teeth. His body begs him to stop, for a break from the pain, but the hands on his hips weigh as heavily as anchors.
Wakatoshi shakes his head, sucking in a breath. “I don’t know—”
“Keep going,” Oikawa growls, pitiless.
Exhaling slowly, tricking his body into releasing some pressure, Wakatoshi sinks down what he prays is another inch. Tearing agony forces a pitiful moan from his ruined throat. He shakes his head again, pleading wordlessly.
“It hurts?” Oikawa husks, leaning closer to sniff the fear sweat rolling down the omega’s throat. “Tell me it hurts, baby. Tell me how my fat cock is breaking your tight virgin pussy.”
His brows twitch into a confused frown, but there’s no time to worry about Oikawa’s word choice when he’s pulling Wakatoshi’s hips down, breaching him another fraction before his insides seize up again.
“It hurts!” The omega cries out, chest quaking with the fearful stutter of his heart inside his ribcage. He grips Oikawa’s shoulders with both hands, but doesn’t dare to try freeing himself. Instead he pleads, “It hurts, it hurts, please—”
“Please what?” The alpha murmurs, darkly pleased. He licks up the column of Wakatoshi’s throat and pinches the sensitive skin between his teeth until the omega gasps and squirms.
Hopelessly frazzled, Wakatoshi whimpers again, “I don’t know...” Because he can’t ask to stop. And the pain isn’t going away—it's getting worse—Oikawa is still forcing him to take more.
“It sounds like you’re begging me to hurt you more,” he taunts, still huffing the omega’s fearful scent like sweet perfume.
“No, no, no—please don’t. Please stop,” Wakatoshi begs, small and pathetic in his own ears. Inside him, the alpha’s cock twitches. Oikawa groans, the sound rumbling low in his chest.
“You’re teasing me so bad, baby. Last chance to do it yourself, c’mon, I know you can.” He doesn’t sound so amused anymore, tone bordering impatient.
Wakatoshi breathes, tries to lull himself with the alpha’s scent. It’s everywhere, coating his skin, down his throat—but nothing stops the ache. He tries to lower himself, bargaining with his body to just take a little more. He groans, frustrated, defeated, when all his attempt earns him is a sharp, fresh pain. If he just had more time, if he could try his fingers first, if an alpha’s cock wasn’t so fucking huge—
The world spins. His stomach swoops with the sensation of falling. Wakatoshi’s head smacks painfully against the couch cushion as he’s thrown onto his back. Gasping, flailing for something to hold onto, Wakatoshi’s mind struggles to catch up.
Oikawa looms over him, startlingly gorgeous like a biblical herald of wrath. He rips his suit jacket off and throws it to the floor, then his vest and belt. His shirt stays, though he pushes up the sleeves, and only lowers his pants enough to get his cock free of them. Then his hands are underneath Wakatoshi’s thighs, spreading him, folding his knees up.
“You had your chance,” is all he says before mercilessly thrusting into the omega’s hole. It’s tight, but slick, and even though Wakatoshi jerks and cries, gravity brings them together.
Some long-buried survival instinct kicks in. Wakatoshi struggles, desperate to escape the pain, the pressure, the burning sensation of being torn apart. He grabs the back of the couch, tries to pull himself up, but Oikawa doesn’t let him.
The alpha grabs him around the throat and slams him back down. He leans his weight into it, cutting off blood and air. Black spots swarm Wakatoshi’s vision, but he can still hear the alpha’s command.
“Fucking take it,” he snarls.
The omega goes limp.
Oikawa’s cock slams home.
Air rushes back into his lungs. Wakatoshi chokes on a sob. Hot, salty tears run down his cheeks and then Oikawa is crooning at him again.
“Don’t worry baby, it won’t hurt every time. I’m just breaking you in. I made it fit. Now you’re taking me like a dream.”
The hint of praise is centering, his instincts finally appeased by knowing his alpha is happy. Oikawa moans, low and throaty as his hips rock forward again and again. He's right. It fits now. He made it fit. Wakatoshi should have listened to him from the start, because it also doesn’t feel all that bad.
The alpha’s weight on him, smothering him in his scent, being filled with his cock—this is what Wakatoshi needed all along. He groans a little, loosely wrapping his fingers around Oikawa’s forearm. He’s still holding the omega’s throat, barely any pressure on it now. Wakatoshi’s thighs twitch as something good inside him is stroked over and over, back and forth and pushing deep—so good his dick is hard again.
“I’m keeping you. He's never gonna come up with the money. I’m gonna keep you, and I’m gonna fuck this hole whenever I want.” Oikawa’s hand slides off his neck, planting on the cushion beside his ear so he can bury his face against the omega’s throat instead. “Can’t believe he didn’t think to whore you out himself. God, so tight—fuck. fuck, fuck.” His voice becomes a breathy moan that sends skittering pleasure through Wakatoshi’s belly.
He wants it. He wants to be good, wants Oikawa to want him.
Fangs and incisors dig into Wakatoshi’s shoulder, pinching sharply, but not breaking the skin. His stomach flips and clenches. He cries out, back arching off the cushion. Dizzily, he realizes he might cum again. He might not even have to touch himself.
“That’s right, cry for me.” Oikawa purrs against the shell of his ear. “You’re not a victim anymore. Admit it. You want this. You want me to claim you.”
Wakatoshi grits his teeth, swallowing an aborted cry. Yes, his omegan instincts beg him to just say yes.
“Alpha, please,” Wakatoshi pleads, straight from his soul.
It’s almost audible—whatever thread of restraint was holding Oikawa back until now snaps. He straightens, pulls out, and grabs Wakatoshi around the middle. Not a shred of clemency remains; he puts the omega on his hands and knees and mounts him properly.
They groan together, shuddering in pleasure as Oikawa’s cock bottoms out. It presses on that spot inside just right. Wakatoshi’s dick squirts with a half-ruined orgasm. The sound he makes is wrecked and pathetic. It feels like he’s being milked from the inside, his dick drooling, slick leaking down his balls. The slurry of fluids drips onto the leather between his knees.
“Mine,” Oikawa growls against the omega’s nape, fully covering his mate. “You’re mine, fucking mine.”
Wakatoshi grips the armrest. Each thrust tests his balance and it’s so hard to focus when all he wants to do is lay down, nice and obedient, and take what he’s given. His moans have become quiet, breathless things, scarcely more than panting.
Something tugs at his rim, almost catching. He grits his teeth, biting back a panicked whimper as he realizes the alpha's knot is almost ready.
“Please, please,” he sobs, not exactly knowing what it is he wants. He wants to cum again even if it hurts. It’s going to hurt—and he’s afraid—but there’s no stopping this. Like a runaway train. He can’t take in a full breath, can’t think—
The alpha is relentless, pounding into him despite his sobs until with a final, brutal shove, his knock locks inside.
Wakatoshi’s fingers scrabble uselessly at the couch as his head is suddenly wrenched backward by his hair. He barely notices the hot rush of liquid gushing inside him. It’s next to impossible to feel anything other than the alpha’s fangs tearing into the smooth, virgin skin a the base of his neck.
Oikawa’s feral snarling is muffled by the mouthful of broken flesh. His hips still pump, the movement limited to grinding against Wakatoshi’s ass by their tie. The alpha holds him there, not satisfied until a rivulet of blood weeps down the omega’s chest, proving their bond as consummated. His fangs dislodge, and he releases the whimpering omega.
Wakatoshi drags a heavy arm up to pillow his cheek, sticky with...everything. Unrelenting fingers dig into his hips and Oikawa shoves against him like it’s possible to wedge his knot in any deeper.
“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.” He sighs with blissful relief, like sating his instinct took as much out of him as this whole ordeal has taken from Wakatoshi.
The omega nods, delirious. His insides hurt, but the rest of his body thrums with pleasure. He closes his eyes.
When they open again, Oikawa has rolled them onto their sides. The couch is big, but not that big. It’s only by the grace of the alpha’s strong arms around him that Wakatoshi doesn’t slip off the edge.
Every now and again, Oikawa will shudder with pleasure, clutching Wakatoshi close as his cock pulses and floods the omega with fresh cum.
Now seems like a bad time to mention that Wakatoshi never had money for contraceptives. His instincts thrill at the thought of being so owned as to be stuffed with pups. Would that make Oikawa happy?
Would anything?
A kiss to his shoulder and the sound of his alpha’s voice bring his mind up from the fluffy haze he’d settled into.
“How do you feel, baby?”
“Good,” Wakatoshi whispers. He doesn’t know if it’s true. But it feels true for now.
“It’ll go down soon.” Oikawa kisses the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I’m so proud of you, taking your first knot. You’re perfect. Now that you’re mine, you won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”
“Do you promise?” He doesn’t know why he asks. Maybe after everything, he just needs a little hope to cling on to.
“Of course, baby,” Oikawa murmurs, and plants another kiss behind his ear.
Wakatoshi closes his eyes, willing away the way he recognizes the sweet whisper of a liar. He’ll just have to get used to it. From here on out, that might be all he gets.