Chapter Text
A male omega is said to bring good fortune. A blessing from on high, male omegas are the rarest of all the genders, and the birth of one in the family is a sign of favor from the gods. As long as the omega is well cared for and happy, the family that he belongs to will prosper greatly throughout his life.
Hanzo has never felt particularly lucky. The only thing ‘fortunate’ in Hanzo’s eyes is when the dragons had appeared on his left arm and shoulder when he was five, twisting and twining their intricate lines across his skin to mark him as theirs, as a Shimada. He’d been in training since he was two to prepare for their arrival if they should choose him and it had felt like the fulfillment of his very purpose to notice the blue starting across his skin. The elders had all nodded in agreement when he had been brought before them, pleased at this new mark of distinction. “This is a good sign,” they’d murmured. “Fortune favors us.”
“A male omega with the dragons, the rarest of honors.”
“Sojiro has done well. The Shimada Clan will prosper under this sign.”
Hanzo had felt proud to see all the elders smiling and for once in harmony with one another because of him. That had been a happy day. He had taken Genji to the gardens and they’d played along the paths and in the water for ages while the adults watched fondly. There had been no lessons, no training, only Hanzo with his little brother and approving nods.
That day, Hanzo had been lucky.
Male omegas are said to be a balance between the swirling energies of the universe and Hanzo’s birth had been considered a blessing upon the Shimada line. Never before had there been a male omega in the Shimada bloodline. Usually the line only produced alphas and betas—strong, capable warriors for battle. And thus the need for Hanzo’s little brother.
“A male omega is a good sign,” the elders burble to one another, “but an alpha is needed as well.” They all nod sagely as they drift through the house, their feet soundless upon the floor like they hover rather than walk. “Alphas protect the line. The omega will make sure it prospers.”
In Hanzo’s younger years, he hadn’t known what the elders had meant. Throughout most of his childhood, all that he really understood about it is that it somehow meant Genji is allowed to wander around the compound at will, sometimes disappearing on his own for hours, but Hanzo is always watched like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk if he steps foot outside of the confines of the house. It has hardly felt fair—or “lucky” as he is supposed to be. Genji is able to run and play while Hanzo has to stay inside and study. And, if Hanzo is allowed out, he cannot play in the mud like Genji, cannot get himself dirty. His handlers will come and pull him up off the ground, dust him off like a rare vase that has tumbled to the floor but miraculously not broken, muttering about how he wouldn’t want to displease his father, and they will set him back up on his shelf. When Hanzo points out the unfairness of it all, his handlers merely shrug. “Genji is Genji. Hanzo is Hanzo.”
Hanzo is only allowed in the dirt when put there by a sensei during training. Training is painful, but Hanzo enjoys it. It is the only time that he feels that he can be like the other children that he trains with. It is the only time that anyone besides his father or Genji dares to touch him for longer than a second. Hanzo treasures each bruise as a hard-earned trophy. “A Shimada is a Shimada,” his trainers say. “Alpha, beta, or omega.” Hanzo takes the lessons to heart and learns quickly, always applying himself to the utmost of his ability while Genji whines and looks for ways to wiggle out of his studies and earn himself a free afternoon. When Hanzo is old enough, he starts working on how to summon his dragons, earning himself another few hours of training each week. It is worth it.
Sometimes, their father will watch, nodding approvingly if Hanzo lands a good blow or wins a match. Meanwhile, the elders start adding another refrain to their murmurings. “He is healthy and strong,” they say. “This will ensure the future of our line.”
It isn’t until Hanzo is thirteen that he finally understands the meaning behind the words. One of his distant cousins is visiting, an alpha who is slightly older than Hanzo and who is also, as Genji says, ‘cool’. Both Hanzo and Genji have stars in their eyes about their cousin—handsome, strong, ambitious. Daisuke is an asset to the Shimada line: fifteen and already being sent out on missions for the betterment of their clan. He tells Hanzo of some of the missions that he’s been on as they sit on Hanzo’s bed one day.
It is just them, too. Genji isn’t allowed into the room this time. Daisuke had pronounced Genji “too little” and said that he and Hanzo needed to talk as big kids. He’d shut the door in Genji’s face—gently but firmly—and Hanzo had felt proud enough to burst. He eagerly soaks up all of Daisuke’s tales of valor and honor and feels like a flower in the sun as Daisuke keeps his full attention on Hanzo at all times, making sure that he is entertained by each detail, each twist. Daisuke is handsome and Hanzo would like to be like him someday. He’s honored that Daisuke would pay attention to him like this. None of the other kids will talk with Hanzo at all, only Genji—Genji who is three years younger and so totally clueless about so much.
And then Daisuke kisses him. One moment he is recounting a bit of a mission, Hanzo hanging on his every word, and the next, their lips are pressed together. Hanzo freezes, blinking at Daisuke’s suddenly blurry face, puzzling out the odd feeling of another mouth against his, and a slow blush rises in his cheeks, infusing his entire face with its burn. When Daisuke ends the kiss, Hanzo swiftly turns his head away to hide in his hair, his eyes sticking to the floor. What had just happened? Why would Daisuke do that? “You are a beautiful omega,” Daisuke mutters and lifts Hanzo’s hair away to tuck it behind his ear and bare the side of his face once more. He runs his hand down Hanzo’s arm, fingers pressing against Hanzo’s dragons and leans in to press his nose against Hanzo’s neck. A shiver runs through Hanzo’s body and something oddly warm uncurls inside of him.
Hanzo leaps from the bed, putting distance between himself and Daisuke. The beginning stirrings of panic flail through his limbs but Hanzo refuses to give in, trying to keep himself as calm as possible as he stares at the handsome boy on his bed. At the alpha on his bed. Why had he not considered this before? Why had he been so foolish? Just because Daisuke is a cousin doesn’t mean much; he is far enough removed from Hanzo’s direct bloodline for Hanzo’s body not to recognize him as kin no matter what his mind says. Hanzo grips the ends of his belt and tightens it as the differences between his body and Daisuke’s start to list themselves.
His cousin has the grace to look abashed. “Sorry,” he apologizes, his eyes dropping down to the floor contritely. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He seems sincere, his handsome face taking on a puppy dog cast, and Hanzo is debating forgiving him—perhaps even letting him steal another kiss; he is handsome and Hanzo has never deliberately kissed anyone—when his father storms into the room, clothes swirling around him like a thundercloud, his face as black as night in anger.
“Hanzo!” Father shouts and roughly grabs Hanzo’s arm to spin him around and force him out of the room. Hanzo stumbles, tripping over Genji and careening into a wall while his cousin stutters terrified apologies. Father seems like a dragon, somehow growing taller even as he stays the same. Hanzo can almost see the smoke rising off of him. “You dare—”
“I wasn’t—I didn’t—!” Daisuke quails as Father advances on him. Fear grips Hanzo’s heart and sparks down to his feet to spur him into moving.
“Father!” Hanzo shouts and runs back to his father’s side. Father raises a hand to strike Daisuke and Hanzo grabs it before it has a chance to fall, scared about what might happen if Father were to bring it down upon Daisuke’s head. It is within the realm of possibility that Father might kill Daisuke for his transgression and that horrifies Hanzo. He doesn’t want to be responsible for the death of this boy—this brave, handsome, foolish boy—because Hanzo had been too naïve and trusting.
“You!” Sojiro whirls on Hanzo and Hanzo recoils, the same fear that had caused him to dash to Daisuke’s rescue now paralyzing him when facing his father’s anger head on. “Locking yourself in your room with an alpha. Foolish omega! A disgrace! Are you that desperate for an alpha’s attention? You would throw yourself at any alpha that showed a bit of affection? You shame yourself and me. You bring dishonor upon our family!”
Shame curls Hanzo’s shoulders inward and curves his spine. “Father, nothing happened,” he blurts, trying to save himself and Daisuke. It’s mostly the truth. Surely a kiss isn’t that bad of a transgression. People share kisses all the time and nothing ever comes of it. And yes, Daisuke is an alpha, but it isn’t like he is one of the wandering alphas that roam the countryside looking for omegas to prey upon. He’s family, however distantly, and Hanzo had not even considered the fact that he is an alpha before happily inviting Daisuke to sit on his bed. Until Daisuke had kissed him, Hanzo hadn’t even thought that they might be somehow different. “Daisuke didn’t touch me.” The lie comes easier than Hanzo would have thought, springing from his lips. Dishonesty is shameful but if it will save Daisuke’s life, Hanzo will gladly lie some more.
“As well he did not!” Father roars. “What would you have done if you had been bred by the first alpha that had made eyes at you? Baring his offspring regardless of his position? How would that bring prosperity and honor to our clan? You should consider these things before you let yourself be led by lust!”
“Sir, I swear—” Daisuke bleats.
“Get out!” Father yells. “Get out of my house!” Daisuke dashes past them both and clatters into the hallway, forcing Genji out of his way. “Never come back!” Hanzo stares after Daisuke, still scared for his safety, and he feels strong arms wrap around him, lifting him. He struggles, his feet dangling in mid-air, and he is tossed onto his bed, thrown around as easily as a doll. Father looms over him, his face twisted into a snarl, and presses Hanzo down with his fists clenched in Hanzo’s robe. “You will never invite an alpha into your bedroom again unless he has been chosen for you, do you understand? No omega of mine shall debase himself in such a way.” Hanzo nods quickly, ice cold terror pumping through his veins.
His father swirls away and a tear slides down Hanzo’s cheek, startled out of him. He scrubs it away before anyone has a chance to see but doesn’t dare move until long after his father’s stomping footsteps have made their way down the hallway.
Hanzo hears a sob and cuts his eyes over to his doorway where Genji is still standing, his chest heaving and his legs trembling. “Hanzo, I—” He cuts himself off, his confession unvoiced as he glances between Hanzo and the direction that their father had disappeared in.
“Leave,” Hanzo whispers. He cannot handle Genji right now, cannot comfort him. He feels as if the slightest wind might break him and there is nothing left inside of him to give Genji. He knows that Genji is undoubtedly the reason why Father had come into Hanzo’s room, likely brought by a jealous tattletale but it isn’t his fault. Father is right. Hanzo should have been more careful. All of his life he has spent being given only the sparsest of touches from the alphas in his life and he should have been able to figure that out for himself without being told. His teachers are all betas. Surely, Hanzo could have done that math if he had tried.
“Sorry.” Genji wipes his nose with his sleeve and flees, leaving Hanzo alone in his room.
The world seems a little dimmer than it did before, the possibilities of life fewer.
Hanzo is quickly given another class to better his education, this one an hour of torture each day that makes him squirm in his seat and his face burn with embarrassment as an old omega gently whispers about all of the changes that will soon happen to his body and how best to prepare for them. She talks about the evils of alphas and how Hanzo must protect himself at all costs, trusting only his father and his brother to have his best intentions at heart and assuming that all others will only want between his legs. A conversation with an alpha, she says, will never be just a conversation, a look never just a simple glance. Everything will have intent behind it and Hanzo must be wary of that intent. Hanzo must remain pure, for the betterment of his clan. Her sibilant hiss informs him of his duty, lays out the path of his life in no uncertain terms and the light shining in Hanzo’s life dims a little more with each word that she says.
There will be no missions for him unless the clan is in dire need. There will be no exploring the countryside. Hanzo will protect the castle and all within as he marries well and produces many heirs, hopefully some of whom will bear the mark of the dragon. Hanzo is to repopulate the Shimada clan. This is his purpose in life. His only purpose in life. This is why he had been born an omega into a shrinking line of alphas and betas.
The dragons should favor those born of a Shimada omega, she tells him, and so Hanzo is to carry as many children as possible to try and ensure the clan’s supremacy. The elders had always called him beautiful, lucky, had laid their old, wrinkled hands fondly upon his cheek as they talked about how he would give birth to prosperity for the Shimada but until then, Hanzo hadn’t known that they had meant that they had meant that birth literally.
How naive he had been. How simple-minded. As a child, he couldn’t have ever conceived of such a fate as he is now faced with. He had dreamt of many things, none of which will be in his future.
She tells him about his heats as well, how he must prepare himself and what he must do, and Hanzo’s eyes grow wide with disbelief. Surely this cannot be true. He cannot be expected to lose his mind every few months and beg for an alpha to give him a child. The old omega’s face does not change as she tells him this, however, does not betray the unfunny joke, just lays out the bare facts and expects Hanzo to memorize them.
It all sounds horrifying, told to him as if it were nothing more than an inventory list. She lists every way in which his body will change, in how his very personality will be different—how Hanzo will no longer be Hanzo. Hanzo has not cried since he was four but he feels a prickle at the corners of his eyes. He keeps himself as stonefaced as his old omega teacher, for the sake of his pride if nothing else. Surely, it will not be as bad as this. She must exaggerate or that is only how it is for some omegas—the weaker ones.
Hanzo will do better when it is his time, he swears it.
When Hanzo is fifteen, however, he learns that his omega teacher’s dry, factual words had not even begun to come close to conveying the terrible experience that heat is. Hanzo’s first heat sneaks up on him in the middle of the night, sinking in its claws to drag him down to the abyss of hell.
The first heat starts off as a strange warming of his body, a steady ache in his lower half. It pulls Hanzo from his sleep and he blinks up at the ceiling in confusion. At first, he thinks that perhaps he is sick, caught in the beginning throes of some kind of fever for his entire body feels flushed, but then his length stirs against his stomach and his nethers clench in response. Oh, he thinks. He reaches a hand down between his legs, brushing over the throbbing length of his cock and sliding further down to run his fingers through his sensitive folds. He bites his lip at the resulting surge of pleasure and comes away with his fingers thoroughly covered, his lower half completely soaked.
Hanzo rolls himself onto his knees. The sheets beneath him are soaked as well. He must have been leaking the entire night. He hadn’t realized that heats would be so messy. His lip curls in distaste. He hates being messy.
The thought of what he must do in response flies through Hanzo’s head, bouncing along his feverish brain and attempting to catch on anything remotely resembling coherence. He is to inform an omega staff member so that some aids might be gathered and his quarters moved to the more secure side of the house that contains the heat room. His father and brother are to be appropriately apprised of his condition and guards posted outside his door to prevent any prowling alphas from making it to him lest the blood line possibly be tainted with an out of wedlock child of inferior stock.
Hanzo means to do this. He does. It’s just that the empty ache inside of him is too much to resist. Raw need is stabbing deep into his guts, twisting them into a need that feels like a wound. Surely, a little bit of fingering before he gets up will be acceptable, he thinks. Nothing that he hasn’t done before. Just a little something to ease the ache inside of him and allow him to have some dignity when he informs the staff of what had happened—and requests new linens for his bed.
What a stupid naïve thought he will think later.
He rolls himself back into the wet spot that he had made in his sleep, figuring that since it is already soaked, it doesn’t matter how much more he leaks, and carefully inserts a finger into himself—in the hole that sits below his cock. His pussy. Hanzo shivers as he pushes in deeper. This isn’t the first time that he’s explored his own body, played with its reactions, but it is the first time that he’s ever felt actively sucked in, his hole sucking at his finger like it is greedy for more. It’s the first time that he’s ever been so wet—and the first time that one finger hasn’t been enough. Driven by a previously unknown need, he puts a second one in and then pumps them slowly in and out of himself. It is a poor mimicry of what he wants, but enough to get his hips involuntarily twitching, in sync with his fingers.
The ache worsens. The fever of his heat steadily takes over his brain, demanding more and more with each passing second, and the slow thrust of Hanzo’s fingers gradually increases until he is roughly shoving them in and out of himself—but it isn’t enough. He wraps his other hand around his cock and strokes it and it is the best and worst decision of his short life. The smolder inside of him flares into an all out fire and Hanzo cannot stop himself.
He comes almost immediately, legs twisting in the sheets, hips helplessly pumping as both of his genitals spasm, his cock spurting a bit of white across his chest while his pussy clamps down hard on his pruning fingers. He’s panting, unable to get enough air, his sensitive skin twitching at just the feeling of a small breeze, and all his small little concession to himself ultimately nets him is an even deeper ache and a need to do it all over again. Even though he had come, nothing has eased inside of him and he feels even more desperate.
A maid finds him a little later, his legs spread whorishly wide as he shamelessly tries to insert his entire hand into himself, coming again and again and again. All thoughts of anything besides attending to the need inside of himself, trying to fill the emptiness, has been tossed aside. He’s quickly locked away in his room, some supplies given to him, but nothing helps. Hanzo feels like he is burning alive and that there isn’t enough water in the world to cool him.
Afterward, when the worst of his heat has passed and Hanzo is left only with an empty womb and a lingering sense of shame, his father gives him a lecture about responsibility and duty. Hanzo sits on the ruined bed sheets, his hair limp and dirty, and his entire body exhausted as he listens. There are the usual warnings about the evils that alphas can commit while under the thrall of an omega’s heat, the chastisements about how Hanzo needs to protect himself, and an additional weight of guilt tossed his way when his father starts in on how Genji is still too young to control his alpha-instincts and how dangerously fond he is of running into his older brother’s bedroom for little reason.
Hanzo nods and accepts it all, his head hanging low. He vows that he will do better next time because his father is right. He might have brought shame upon his family. What if some stray alpha had smelled Hanzo’s heat and jumped the fence to let himself into Hanzo’s room and helped himself to what lies between Hanzo’s legs? Hanzo doubts he would have been able to resist. He would have welcomed the presence of a knot to ease the emptiness inside of him, no matter who it belonged to.
And Genji. Hanzo carefully does not think about Genji. He only informs his little brother that from now on, he will have to knock and be given permission before being allowed to enter, as their father has instructed them to do all along. This time, Genji does not protest the restriction, but solemnly nods his head and respects Hanzo’s wishes.
Hanzo has to do better next time.
Life proceeds on mostly as it did before though now Hanzo is intimately aware of the ticking bomb that lies within his body, all set to go off and force his body to betray him. He no longer questions Genji being allowed to roam free while he himself is confined. Hanzo has proven that he is not to be trusted just yet. He hopes that one day he will manage control but until he does, he does not object to his father’s directive that he stay within the main compound.
Father also more strictly regulates who is allowed in to the compound and who works where—not only all of Hanzo’s teachers, but most of the staff as well. The guards of the house are all betas now with a few omegas. The alphas are restricted to outside areas only and Hanzo knows that it is directly because of him. He is unable to follow simple orders, unable to control himself, and so his father must take measures to protect him. It makes him to flush with shame to think of it. He hates the implied weakness. Still, he holds his head high and continues on because that is what is expected of him.
Hanzo is no longer allowed to leave the family compound for any reason. Father and Genji still do, though, whether for training or for play. He watches them go with envious eyes but doesn’t dare ask otherwise. He knows what the answer will be and why. The old omega tells him that he has joined a long line of proud Shimada omegas and that he has the noble task of looking over the household while his father and brother take care of business outside but try as he might, Hanzo can’t quite feel the pride in his assigned task that knows his teacher hopes for. He still longs to see the outside world even as it slowly fades in his memories.
Hanzo is afraid that before long, he won’t remember anything of the outside world. It will merely be an abstract concept for him rather than a concrete reality.
When Father and Genji are gone, Hanzo is left behind with no less than two guards personally following him at all times in addition to the normal postings. Hanzo tries to ignore their presence but it is difficult. The words in the books that he attempts to read swirl and bend and don’t make sense because all they want to do is reach towards the guards that are not allowed to leave the room unless he does.
“I will not go anywhere,” Hanzo says one day, upon his fifth attempt to read the first sentence of the book in front of him. He means it. Hanzo will not move an inch from this spot in the guards were to simply step outside the room to do their duty. He will stay here until nightfall if that is what they want.
The guards nod and stay where they are, evidently taking Hanzo’s words as a statement of intent rather than the implied wish to be alone for a single waking minute. Hanzo sighs and bend his head back to the pages he has been assigned, struggling through the crawling of his skin as best as he is able. At this rate, he will never make it through his Chemistry course.
Training helps. Hanzo is used to being watched during training and sometimes one of his teachers is there to distract him. He throws himself into every minute of physical training that he is allowed, learning and perfecting every discipline offered. It isn’t as if he doesn’t have the time. Lately, everyone seems to be gone all the time, leaving him alone, just himself and all the betas and omegas that Father pays to keep him safe.
Eventually, he settles into a routine, that whenever Father and Genji leave, he trains for the majority of the time it takes them to come back. It helps to pass the time. A few of his teachers commend him for his dedication and Hanzo graciously accepts the compliment that he does not deserve.
When his heat rolls around again—far sooner than Hanzo would have liked—he immediately follows his father’s instructions to the letter. Since the last time, he has been monitoring his body carefully, acutely aware of his symptoms, and this heat does not come as a surprise. He had informed a staff member the night before that he believed that he would be in heat by morning and he and the staff had prepared appropriately.
He awakens in the secure confines of the heat room to a familiar fire burning inside of him and knows that he’d been right. He takes his supplements and drinks the water that has been provided, then eats a bit of the breakfast that had been slipped into the room in the predawn hours. As prepared as he can be, he finally turns his attention to the line of tools that have been set out for him, each placed precisely and neatly despite the messy activity that they are intended for. He carefully sheds his clothes, painstakingly folding them and setting each upon a chair in a small pile. The process feels like a ritual.
Once he is naked, he selects one of the tools. It is a slick white rod that while somewhat thick at the base tapers to a thin point so as to ease himself into the stretch he will require. Lubricant has been provided also, but a quick swipe through his folds tell Hanzo that it won’t be necessary.
He lies back on the bed with his legs spread and awkwardly inserts one of end of the toy into himself. The slick rod slides against the bottom of his hole in a rather pleasing way, but it isn’t nearly thick enough to ease the ache inside of him, so he pushes the toy in a little deeper to get the increasing girth to give him what he needs. He slowly strokes his cock with his other hand and tilts his head back to look at the bland ceiling, wondering if his heat will be better this time.
Within a few minutes, Hanzo has sunk nearly the entire toy into himself and is in danger of losing it and it still isn’t enough. His cock twitches on his stomach, making a mess along his skin and demanding attention, as his pussy begs to be filled with more than just a bit of plastic. Hanzo tosses the toy aside, dismissing it as worthless, and rises to get another, this time selecting a light blue one that starts off appropriately large and grows even larger from there. He works it into himself and moans at the welcome feeling of being filled.
His hands skate down his chest, pressing against his skin for the illusion of contact, then he brings them back up to pinch and pull at his nipples, having learned from the last time how sensitive they can be. For half a second, it is good. For half a second, Hanzo’s knees spread in a way that make his entire body hum in approval, and his toes curl at the feeling of having the thick toy inside of himself and his nipples played with. Hanzo moans and squirms on the bed, driven by a need to move, to be an active participant in his mating, but all of his moving causes the toy to accidentally slip out as there is no knot to hold it in place. Hanzo’s moan turns to a whine of dismay and he reaches down to remedy the situation, putting the toy back inside of himself. The thrust provides something that Hanzo had been missing, and he drives it inside of himself again and again.
In the end, however, the lack of a knot, only the tease of one, causes Hanzo to toss the toy aside and whimper his frustration. He likes the feel of the toy fucking in and out of his pussy, but he needs a knot to truly satisfy what he is craving.
Hours later, all of the provided tools have been similarly discarded, scattered along the floor and wet with his slick because not a one had been what he had needed. They are all a lie, the illusion of relief when they have been designed to leave him unsatisfied in some way. He’s resorted to his fingers, shoving them into his aching pussy over and over again. Every now and then, he crawls to where a toy sits forgotten and, desperate to sate his heat, uses it on himself again, but the toys only provide a momentary reprieve.
Once again, despite all of his preparations, Hanzo is still left a whining, dripping mess, burning alive from the inside out. Base, lewd and out of control.
The moment that the fever pitch of his heat breaks, Hanzo throws a robe over himself to just barely clothe himself and crawls out of the room to drags himself back to the comfort of his normal life. He bathes himself silently, attempting to wash off his humiliation and the stench of such vulgar behavior. His body is filthy, covered in his own come and sweat and he scrubs at his skin until he feels raw. His stomach churns with bile. When he dresses again, each layer feels like a bit of protection against the outside world, a piece of armor to help him fight. Only, his enemy is not out in the world, but rather is inside of himself. Hanzo covers his mouth to hold back the pathetic noises that want to emerge until he is himself again.
At dinner the next day, Father carefully avoids making eye contact and delicately suggests that perhaps Hanzo learn to control his noises during his heat and not just after. Hanzo flushes bright red and Genji’s fork clatters onto his plate. Hanzo had been unaware that he had been so loud. The whole house must have known. “Yes, Father,” Hanzo replies, as is expected of him, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hanzo throws himself into his studies again, wanting his father’s approval to make up for disappointing him once more. Gaining it has never been easy, but Hanzo seems to recall it not being as difficult when he was younger. Where before, he only had to demonstrate knowledge, now he must competently show mastery to gain that approving nod of his father’s. Instead of landing one arrow dead-on, he has to land all that he shoots. Instead of knowing a piece of history, he has to be aware of all of it, and so on.
The elders still burble their statements about how Hanzo is good fortune and that he will bring them prosperity, but Hanzo ignores them. He can win their approval simply by being on his back at the right time. His father’s is harder to earn.
Whether through his diligence or the quiet murmurings of an elder, Hanzo does gain one concession for his pains: a small bit of privacy (“as is proper for a maturing omega” as one great uncle had phrased it). His ever-present watchers disappear, dissolving into an increased presence along the compound’s borders and walls. Hanzo breathes a small sigh of relief at their absence and vows to keep it that way, to not give his father any excuse to bring them back. His great uncle smiles at him when Hanzo tells him as much. “You bring such honor to the Shimada clan,” the uncle says and gently pets Hanzo’s hair before floating off.
Though he is still confined to the compound, Hanzo feels as if he has been released from prison. He heads up to the roof, a place he hasn’t dared to visit in over a year, and sits upon the curve, staring out over the rest of the castle and the hint of the city beyond it. He will make his father proud.
The cool breeze washes over his face like an old friend and Hanzo feels himself start to relax, bit by bit, releasing tension that he hadn’t realized that he had been holding.
Genji finds him an hour later, climbing out onto the roof after him. “Here you are,” he says with a laugh. “I was wondering where you were hiding.” He sits down next to Hanzo and looks out at the view. “It has been a long time since we have been up here together.”
Hanzo catches a wild lock of hair as it attempts to cover his eyes and pushes it back behind his ear. “It has been a long time since I haven’t had two full time caretakers afraid I might break a limb,” he replies and then grimaces at the bitterness in his own voice. He will need to school his emotions much better in the future.
Genji winces in sympathy. “Yeah. That was pretty dumb, having those guys follow you around all the time.”
They carefully do not talk about why the guards had been following Hanzo around. Instead, they talk about the weather, yesterday’s training, and the math lesson that Genji had definitely ducked out of this morning. Genji also talks about his last trip beyond the castle walls and Hanzo feels a sadness slide slowly over his heart as he is reminded of how different their lives are already shaping up to be—and how much more different they will be in the future, when Genji leads the clan in Father’s place, maintaining all of the clan’s various business dealings while Hanzo will stay behind these walls forever more. The old omega has taken to telling him tales of Shimada omegas, how they were all like flowers in a secret garden, their beauty for only a select few.
Hanzo wishes he had been born an alpha. Everyone says that male omegas are the luckiest, but to Hanzo, it appears that alphas have it far better.
He dreads the return of his heat knowing that it, more than anything, has the power to make his life miserable. To him, heats are a curse rather than the gift the elders would have him believe them to be. He knows them to be something shameful to be dealt with, to hide away lest someone find out how disgraceful they truly is and he bring dishonor upon his family. It is so hard to control himself, to be dignified when caught up in the throes of a heat. When the time comes, he must use all of his willpower so as to not disappoint his father again.
He suffers through his third heat the same as the last two, but this time, when it become painfully obvious that he cannot remain quiet, he gags himself with a pillow, pressing it to his mouth to muffle his lewd noises.
Hopefully this time, he will not be as embarrassing.
After his third heat ends, he slides silently into place for dinner. Genji is oblivious beside him, talking and laughing about a game that he went to over the weekend. When Genji’s story is over, Father nods approvingly and then turns to Hanzo. A small eternity seems to pass in the moment that Father takes to pause and Hanzo doesn’t dare to breathe or even look up, keeping his eyes on his plate as he waits. Father quietly comments that perhaps Hanzo would like a bath and that one could be drawn up for him. Blood rushes past Hanzo’s ears as he flushes in mortification. The knowledge that all of his scrubbing hadn’t been appropriately thorough burns through Hanzo’s insides, especially when Genji stares at him with wide eyes and sniffs, his nostrils flaring.
Hanzo excuses himself and spends the next two hours carefully rescrubbing every last inch of himself, wishing that he could wash away his heats entirely, not just their smell but all that they bring with them, the desperation, the shame, the dishonor. He would like to see his heats disappear down the drain forever.
He wishes again that he’d been born an alpha like Genji, or at least a beta, so that he would not have to deal with the humiliation of heats. So much for being lucky.
Nothing seems to satisfy the heats, either. Each one is progressively worse, the emptiness and the longing growing each time a heat seizes Hanzo in its claws, sinking its poison into him.
In between his fourth and fifth heats, when Hanzo is seventeen, he stumbles across Keiko and Haru taking a break from their chores and a possible solution to Hanzo’s heats flitters past him. So certain that they are alone, they talk about contacting one of the different modern heat partner services to provide relief as if it were phoning for a pizza delivery or a repairman. Hanzo’s ears burn at their casualness but his curiosity keeps him still. Not a one has seen him yet so he slinks back around the corner and flattens himself to the wall. He doesn’t dare to make a sound, wanting to hear more about this practice that he had not considered before.
“It was the best decision I ever made,” Haru says, confidently. “They really took care of me.”
“You weren’t worried about the alpha getting you pregnant?” Keiko asks, her shy voice whispering along the walls.
Haru shakes his head. “No, they’re all on birth control. It’s regulated. I mean, it makes the smell a little off, but considering the alternative? And, they’ve all been trained in ways to satisfy an omega’s heat.”
“Without bonding?”
“Of course!” Haru laughs. “They wouldn’t be able to have too many clients if they bonded the first one they helped. They’re licensed and everything. Like, I don’t know, doctors. I mean, there are all these standards that they have to keep. You should try it. Really. Best of all, with a willing partner, the heat only takes half as long.”
“Really?” Keiko squeaks.
“Really. You can get back to your life. Who has time for a heat when you’re not mated? Makes no sense.”
Haru, Hanzo thinks, speaks the truth. Heats are a humiliating inconvenience for the unmated. Surely a partner would ease the hardship of Hanzo’s heats. It sounded a bit like heaven, actually.
Haru gives a bit more detail about his experience and Hanzo’s blush spreads to his entire face. Just what exactly was a “reverse cowgirl”? Or “doggy style”?
Hanzo would rather plunge an arrow into his own chest than voice it out loud, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind finding out what some of the euphemisms that Haru is tossing out refer to. Certainly a professional heat servicer would be able to tell him.
Or show him.
And if heat partners were as professional as Haru claimed, perhaps they would be an acceptable compromise to help ease the horror of Hanzo’s heats. No bonding, no pregnancy, just a procedure to help ease Hanzo’s suffering. Surely that would be acceptable?
Shyly, awkwardly, after a little bit of research into the different providers in Hanamura, Hanzo broaches the topic with his father. He blushes as he tries to lay out his arguments but his father dismisses them all with a wave of his hand. “That is for commoners, Hanzo,” his father replies with a judging gaze that brooks no argument.
Hanzo tries anyway. “Father, I—”
“You have been raised better than that,” his father says flatly. “You may leave.”
“Yes, Father,” Hanzo replies and flees. He heads to one of the high towers and climbs out onto the roof, needing to be alone for at least a little while. In his room, someone would surely find him—Genji, perhaps, or one of the staff. Here, however, he is free to bury his face against his knees and not be Hanzo for a moment.
Father would not even hear him out. Of course he wouldn’t. Hanzo should have known better. As a Shimada, he is expected to handle his problems as they arise, not seek help outside the clan. As an omega, it is his duty to keep himself unsullied—and he should have thought of that as well. A future husband might not think of an omega who had lain with a heat partner, even a professional one, as a worthy mate. Hanzo had been stupid and selfish to even ask.
…It had seemed like a good solution, though. Akin to seeking out a masseuse or a therapist. But his father had said no and Hanzo knows that it would be the height of stupidity to try and bring the subject up again. Father does not change his mind once it is made up. Hanzo will have to suffer through his heats as best as he is able until the day comes when he is mated—likely to an alpha that he has never met before.
What a future to look forward to.
Hanzo’s next heat introduces a new torture, a skin sensitivity that makes Hanzo unable to bear most fabrics. He craves only the touch of skin and little else satisfies. His clothes, the bed, the linens, the floor, each feels rough and abrasive on Hanzo’s skin and little can be done to take Hanzo’s mind off of it. He brutalizes himself with the toys provided, savaging his little pussy with the thickest things he can find—his ass too, using gobs of the provided lube—and strips his cock until he cannot bare to touch it anymore. All it does it make him want to beg for a non-existent alpha to give him a knot.
He is shameless in his displays, spreading his legs as far as he can and baring himself to the room as he fantasizes about an alpha—any alpha—finding him. Perhaps one of the guards wandering in from the gatehouse, lured by his nose, or a young associate of Father’s, here for business but drawn off course as he feels Hanzo’s need.
He emerges from the heat room after a few days, barely able to walk, his insides sore, and hobbles to his own room to rest in comfort. At least the skin sensitivity has eased since the breaking of his fever. He misses dinner, too worn out to attend, and sleeps through breakfast the next day.
The next time they meet, Hanzo’s father makes it a point to extol the virtues of restraint because of course he does. A bit of resentment grows in Hanzo’s breast, but he ruthlessly squashes it before it can show on his face. He has finally come to the realization that his father, for all of his intelligence, will most likely never be able to understand the all-encompassing, overwhelming feel of a heat, the pain and desperation that comes with it—the loneliness—nor will he want to. He simply wants Hanzo to handle it on his own with the least amount of disturbance and cares little for how Hanzo feels about that. “I understand, Father,” Hanzo replies and plans to do nothing with the useless bit of advice. He doubts that he would be able to hold himself back anyway.
His next few heats are equally as terrible, but Hanzo takes pains not to show that fact once he emerges from the heat room. Though he loathes the very idea of it, he takes a little extra time after his heat breaks to spend in isolation in the heat room, waiting at least half a day or more before seeking the comfort of his own bed in order to try and restore himself enough to pretend normalcy. When he finally makes his way down the hall, he is able to walk plainly, ignoring the lingering ache in his lower half. To all outside eyes, it appears as if Hanzo’s heats are only mildly longer than they had been before, certainly not uncommon as an omega ages though Hanzo has his suspicions that his reasons have a lot in common with that of other omegas than polite society would like to think. He is willing to bet that plenty of upper class omegas through the centuries had been pulling the same charade in order to pretend that their heats were acceptable and not at all the horrid, embarrassing, lewd displays of the commoners.
His father’s comments stop and Hanzo considers it time well spent, despite how much he hates staying any longer in the room than he has to. It is lonely in the heat room, making his otherness that much more stark, but if it means that his father is back to smiling at him once more, than Hanzo will stay in the room for as long as it takes.
As pleased as his father is to remain oblivious, however, Genji is the opposite. He catches Hanzo making his way back to his room one day and sees right through Hanzo’s act. “Anija,” he says, concerned. “Are you feeling okay?”
Hanzo levels a look at Genji, trying to figure out if the question is a serious inquiry about his health or something more akin to their father’s pointed comments but Genji’s green hair answers Hanzo’s unspoken question for him. Genji doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body. “I am fine,” he rasps and tries to make his way past.
Genji latches onto his side, lifting one of Hanzo’s arms over his shoulder and the sudden bit of touch after spending so much time being denied is enough to make Hanzo stumble. His skin is still sore from its oversensitivity but Genji’s warm fingers around his wrist is comforting. “No you are not,” Genji replies. “Let me help you.”
“I can make it on my own,” Hanzo tries to argue. He has been doing this for years without Genji noticing, after all. What is one more time? What is hundreds?
“You can let me help you, too,” Genji fires back, as stubborn as a boulder. Hanzo sighs and lets him have his way. Once Genji has made up his mind about something, it would be easier to shut off the sun than to make him change it.
Genji helps Hanzo to his room and then refuses to leave, curling up next to him as he had done when they were children, running his fingers through Hanzo’s loose hair. It feels so nice, making Hanzo remember a time before his heats, that he doesn’t want it to end. He allows the touch, saying nothing as he lets Genji pet him. Time seems to float away, becoming meaningless, and Hanzo wishes that he could stay right here for the rest of his life. That would make him truly lucky.
“Was this a difficult one?” Genji asks quietly.
Hanzo frowns, not wanting to leave the comfortable cocoon that he’s found himself in. “Hmm,” he says and continues to float. It occurs to him that this is the first time in a long time that someone has touched him outside of correcting his stance during practice. His eyes drift open. Might that be a reason why his heats are so bad?
Genji, of course, can never leave anything alone. He always has to push harder, dig deeper. “Are they always this difficult?” he asks.
Hanzo is too tired to pretend, drawn in by the feeling of simple human touch and the fact that this is his little brother. He doesn’t want to lie to Genji. “Yes,” he answers honestly.
“Oh,” Genji replies and surprisingly lets it drop. He stays there for as long as Hanzo lets him, silently petting Hanzo’s hair until the sun disappears over the horizon.
A few months later, the scene repeats itself. Genji finds Hanzo again after the next heat, this time quietly entering his room and sitting down beside him. He strokes Hanzo’s hair and his back and Hanzo closes his eyes, a sense of peace settling over him. It makes Hanzo feel a little less alone in the world, like maybe his heats aren’t as hellish as he has been thinking. Something to look forward to, at least, after his ordeal.
“Hanzo,” Genji says eventually. “Maybe you should get a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? Would that help you through this? Many omegas I talk to say that it is better with a partner.”
Hanzo’s eyes flutter open. “Do you talk to many omegas?” he asks because of Genji’s entire question, that had been the safest part to engage. He looks up at Genji’s face to see his brother’s flush.
“Not too many,” Genji confesses shyly, “but some. I started…asking. After the last time.”
“You what?” Hanzo’s blood turns to ice in his veins. Just how many of his secrets had Genji been sharing?
“Not like that!” Genji protests, his hand stilling on Hanzo’s hair. “Not like I was asking for you! They all thought that I was just curious.” He glances away as the red in his face grows more pronounced. “And one might have thought that I was propositioning her.” He resumes the petting motion that he had been doing earlier. “No one from the castle, of course,” he says quietly.
Hanzo’s panic dissipates, thinning with each easy stroke of Genji’s hand until it disappears entirely. “Hmm,” he says. He knows that his heats would be easier with a partner. He also knows that his father would never allow it.
“Well?” Hanzo pretends not to hear the prompt for an answer and Genji pokes his cheek. “Hanzo.”
“Father would not allow it,” Hanzo answers. He hopes that it will suffice because he does not feel like explaining to Genji the fundamental differences between them and how much freedom they each are allowed because of it.
“Because you are an omega?” Genji asks, his youthful naivety on display, and Hanzo sighs.
“Yes.” Dating. Hanzo could only imagine the reaction that Father would have to Hanzo wanting to date—the pure male omega whose sole life purpose is to remain chaste until he can be bred by a powerful alpha and produce many powerful, legitimate heirs for the Shimada line. Anyone that Hanzo showed an interest in would likely find themselves beheaded or castrated within the week.
“That’s bullshit.” Hanzo’s shrugs. He doesn’t disagree with Genji’s assessment, but it isn’t his place to argue, either.
“So what are you supposed to do, stay locked up here until you are old and gray?”
Hanzo wants to return to a few minutes ago when Genji had been peacefully stroking his hair and not interrogating him with his alpha privilege. “Genji.”
“You can’t be happy with that, Hanzo.”
What Hanzo will be happy with or unhappy with is irrelevant. “Can we not talk about this now?” Hanzo asks. He’s not ashamed to let his face fall into exaggerated weakness in a blatant attempt to get Genji to move on.
Genji scowls. “Okay,” he says and for several long, wonderful minutes he resumes quietly petting Hanzo’s hair. Hanzo feels like he’s floating. Then Genji lifts his hand away again. “What about a professional heat partner? One of the omegas mentioned that as well.”
With a sigh, Hanzo rolls onto his side and faces the opposite wall. It is not Genji’s fault. He is like their father. “Father forbids it.”
“You asked him?”
“I am expected to handle my heats on my own.” Hanzo tries to keep the note of bitterness of out of his voice but he doubts that he is entirely successful. A heat partner, while not a true mate, still seems like an excellent compromise to Hanzo. He should have guessed, however, that his father would not allow an alpha to touch him unless it was with a proper bonding ceremony.
“That’s bullshit, too.”
Again, Hanzo doesn’t disagree.
Thankfully, Genji lets the subject drop. He puts his hand back in Hanzo’s hair, letting it stroke across Hanzo’s scalp and down his back and Hanzo eventually drifts off to sleep.
Genji’s words stick with Hanzo. He mulls them over in the privacy of his own mind, examining them carefully for meaning then turning them and inspecting them again. Genji thinks that Hanzo’s fate is unfair. Of course, Genji is only a child and a willful one at that, so his opinions on this are to be taken with a grain of salt. It would be easier to do so, however, if they didn’t resonant so much with Hanzo’s own thoughts, the ones that he keeps buried deep inside of him, never voicing, barely even acknowledging them.
What would Hanzo’s life be like if he were allowed to leave the compound? If he were allowed to date? He doesn’t know how successful he would be at the latter, but would he be more like the omega servants that chatter happily to one another about their lives? Hanzo could do without their lewd casual talk about sex acts and the relative charms of various sexual partners, but he longs for the freedom that they have. Their lives are not dictated by their biology. It does not define them, nor is it their sole purpose for being. No one is tasked with making sure that no alpha besides immediate family or a legitimate husband ever touches them.
Hanzo would like to be able to wander the streets of the surrounding city, to be one of the omegas that get to leave daily. If only he had been born a beta or an alpha. How proud would his father have been of him then? No heats to shame him, no purity to enshrine, just Hanzo and his ambition to be diligent in his studies.
His life would have been much, much different. Perhaps his first kiss would not have been a distant relative and perhaps it might have been followed by many others.
That is something that Hanzo would like to try. He would like to kiss someone. He has heard some of the staff talking about kissing, has read about it in books, and in movies kissing is always portrayed as something that can make the earth move—preferably with fireworks in the background. Hanzo’s memory of his first kiss is badly faded and too entangled in what had followed to properly think about, but he seems to remember it being warm.
If Hanzo were allowed out of the compound, perhaps he would be able to find someone willing to kiss him—some stranger that he would never have to meet again if he so chose.
And that, right there, is precisely the reason why his father would never allow it. Sometimes, Hanzo thinks that his father can see directly into his very soul. Even if he does not say so, Father must suspect the things that lie within Hanzo’s heart, knows that sorts of things that Hanzo desires. Many are not honorable.
Still, Hanzo cannot help but want them.
The feelings inside of him grow stronger as he approaches his next heat, the longing always worsening the closer he gets as if his body is trying to propel him to get a mate so that he will not have to spend his heat alone. Hanzo wishes that he could listen to its urgings. He catches himself staring at one of the alpha guards one day. Perched on a roof of the castle as he is, he has an unfettered view of the guard far below at the gate. The darkness of the night hides Hanzo’s wandering eyes but the man below is perfectly framed by the light of the lamp that he is standing beside. The man’s shoulders nicely fill out the shoulders of his suit and the thought of perhaps jumping down beside him and getting to touch those shoulders flitters through Hanzo’s mind. As soon as he thinks it, though, he hears his father’s voice in his mind, deep and rough with rage as it echoes through time, and he turns his head away.
Hanzo does not have the luxury of having such thoughts. He will spend this heat alone, like he has done with all of the others, longing for a mate and wishing that the emptiness inside of him could be filled.
He slips off the roof and in through a window to wander back to his room. He has only a few nights left to enjoy the comfort of his own bed before he will be forced back into the sterile heat room. He passes by his father’s study on the way and pauses at the light spilling out into the hallway.
“Hanzo,” Father says. “Come here.” Hanzo tilts his head and obeys, entering the room. His father sits at a desk, papers and ledgers spread out in front of him. In his hand, he holds a glass with a few fingers of liquid, the bottle sitting in the far corner of the desk’s surface. “Look at this and tell me what you see.” Father hands Hanzo a ledger with numbers scrawling down the side in precise rows. Hanzo’s brow furls in confusion. He is unsure of what his father is expecting him to say. “What do you see?”
Hanzo licks his lips and looks again. He sees names printed alongside the numbers, some of which are familiar and many of which are not. “Shipping numbers?” he ventures. The few names that he does recognize are that of some of the common couriers that they use and a couple of the distribution centers he has heard his father mention before.
Father takes a sip from his glass and then tips it towards Hanzo. “What else?”
Hanzo looks a third time, studying the numbers and the names and the totals as they appear here and there among the lines. He frowns, his finger slipping under a line to read it carefully, then dropping down to another corresponding one. The numbers should match but they do not. His eyes skim over to the claimed total but the numbers are not adding up to what they should be.
“Do you see it?” Father asks.
“These numbers don’t seem to be what they should be,” Hanzo answers. At his father’s nod, Hanzo explains some more. “These two should be the same but they’re not. And neither makes up enough for this total.”
“That bastard,” Father snarls and Hanzo’s head jerks up. His father seethes in his chair, clenching the glass so tightly that Hanzo thinks that it might break. “He’s been skimming. He will have to be dealt with.” Father’s eyes cut back to Hanzo. “Do you know what that means? That he will need to be dealt with?” Hanzo nods. Sheltered as he is in the castle, he still knows what happens to those that dare to betray the Shimadas.
“Does this sit right with you? Knowing what will happen to this man?”
Unsure if this is possibly a trick question, Hanzo takes time to consider his answer. It seems as if it should be simple but the fact that his father is asking makes it not. “It does not sit right with me that he would betray us,” he says finally. “He has earned his fate.”
Father smiles. “Good.” Hanzo’s heart swells at the approval, a warm glow radiating in his chest. He hesitantly smiles back. Father shuffles a few of the papers in front of him, gathering them into piles. “We should start you in on learning this shit, too,” he says. “Then you can handle the books for me. You would be good at that.” It would mean more time trapped inside, but Hanzo wants to be useful, especially if it meant that he would be more than an omega waiting to be bred. He would study the books until his eyes bled out if he had to. Perhaps if he did a good enough job, then his future wouldn’t be the path that had been set down in front of him when he was thirteen. Hanzo desperately wishes for it to be so. Father downs the rest of his glass and snags the bottle to pour himself some more. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have to drink so much.” He raises the glass in a toast to Hanzo and takes another long swallow.
Hanzo eyes the bottle when his father sets it back down. He cannot know if it had been a new one at the beginning of the night, but it is more than three quarters gone now.
“Your mother did that, you know. She was also very good. Had a head for numbers.” Father waves his hand beside his head. “Could immediately see when things weren’t as they should be. You are a lot like her. You should be proud.”
“I, I am,” Hanzo says. He smoothes his hands along his kimono, wiping away the sweat. He’s proud to be compared to his mother, though he doesn’t remember much about her. The way that his father talks about her sometimes makes Hanzo think that she must have been a very strong person, someone worth knowing. Not that Father talks about Mother very much—only when he’s drunk, Hanzo’s found.
“You look like her, too. You more than Genji.” Father smirks and downs another long swallow until the tumbler is empty again. He fills it up, this time to the brim, emptying the bottle. “Genji takes after me. The eyebrows are truly unfortunate.” The bottle topples as he tries to set it on the desk, his unsteady hand knocking it over. It rolls on to the floor. Father waves it away. “Eh, leave it. It’s useless now.” He takes another swallow, looking at Hanzo over the rim, then carefully sets the glass down on the desk, taking much more care with it than he had the bottle. “You do look like her. Must be the omega.” He pushes himself up onto his feet using the desk as a brace and takes a few unsteady steps before finding his stride.
“Come here,” his father says, gesturing for Hanzo to come towards him. When Hanzo does, Father takes the ledger from him and throws it down on top of the rest. Then he turns back to Hanzo and studies him for a moment. His hands cup Hanzo’s face, tilting it slightly. “Same eyes.” His right hand diverts to drag through Hanzo’s hair, the strands sliding between his fingers. “Same hair.” The way that his father is looking at him reminds Hanzo of a wolf looking at prey. His father’s nostrils flare. “Same smell. Especially when you’re this close to your heat. No alpha could ever resist her.”
Embarrassment colors Hanzo’s cheeks. His father can smell his heat from a few days out? Had he always been able to? How much has he known throughout the years?
Father’s left hand trails down over Hanzo’s lips and his chin, descending to his neck and slipping within the fold of his kimono. Hanzo’s eyes cast to the side as his flush deepens. His body trembles, caught between the instinctive need to respond and his desire to please his father—his father who is touching him more intimately than anyone ever has. The wrongness of the moment is clanging inside of Hanzo’s brain but he stays where he is, accepting the touch because it is from his father.
His father, the alpha, a voice whispers inside of Hanzo. He shoves it away, unwilling to humor its vile insinuation.
Father’s hand dips down to Hanzo’s breast where he cups the rounded curve of the muscle, a finger grazing over Hanzo’s nipple and making him shudder. Father studies where his hand disappears beneath Hanzo’s clothes, his face thoughtful. “Different here.” His other hand drops down to Hanzo’s hip and Hanzo jolts at the touch against his lower half. “Different there, too. But still the same. Same smell, same wetness… Shizuka…” Hanzo swallows at the mention of his mother’s name.
The hand on his hip travels across his body, heading for its center, and Hanzo gasps and grabs it before it can reach its destination. “Father?”
Father snaps his eyes up to meet Hanzo’s once more, reading the terror that Hanzo knows is broadcast clearly on his face. The hands disengage, slipping out of and away from Hanzo’s kimono. For a moment, he and his father merely stare at one another, his father’s eyes wider than normal, his lips slowly drawing downward.
“You should be married,” his father declares. His voice is almost angry when he says it, biting off the words. “Twenty is a good age for an omega to be married. Maybe too long.” He spins and limps back to the desk to grab up his drink again, tipping it up to take long pulls of the contents, stopping only when he chokes. Sputtering, Father puts the drink back down. He mops at his front then glances up at Hanzo, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you not in bed?”
“I…”
“You should be in bed.” His father stumbles backward, catching himself on the desk and Hanzo is torn between wanting to help him and not wanting to get close again. In the end, he does nothing. His father dismisses him with a rough wave. “Go! To bed with you. Come see me in the morning. An omega at twenty.”
Hanzo backs out of the room, unwilling to take his eyes off his father. His body trembles, still feeling the phantom touches on his chest and hip. When Hanzo reaches the door, he runs, dashing down the hallway to the dubious safety of his room. He shuts the door behind him and for the first time wishes that he could lock it.