Work Text:
It is another dreary London afternoon, and Kazuma is cooped up inside the office with his mentor when the glass shatters.
Hearing something break isn’t entirely new in and of itself — Lord van Zieks certainly has the temper of a spoilt child, and expresses it as such — but the temperature of the room suddenly feels a few degrees hotter, alighting a worry in him that an experimental piece of evidence might have taken the brunt this time.
Kazuma rises from his writing table in a hurry, heading for the form of Prosecutor van Zieks who stands hunched over his desk. Leaning as he is, Kazuma can take in the curve of his back, splayed legs flexing attractively, highlighting the round shape of his behind- Kazuma blinks. He’s always been drawn to Lord van Zieks’ figure in some measure. More so when the memories of being Asougi Kazuma had slipped his grasp, and the prosecutor was nothing more than a kind and firm benefactor to rely on while he searched for his true purpose in London. Knowing Barok van Zieks now as the man who’d played a role in his father’s demise lessens the appeal, drawing bloodlust more than ardour from Kazuma’s darkest fantasies.
“Lord van Zieks,” Kazuma calls out to the man. “What’s broken this time? Something smells strange-”
Kazuma cuts himself off when he catches sight of Lord van Zieks’ flushed face. The man looks terrified, eyes fixated on a corner of his bureau. A shattered chalice lies on the desk beneath him. Kazuma’s mind flashes through the possibilities, settling on a poisoning attempt — though how they’d managed to pull one over his distrustful mentor is a worrisome question.
His Lord is panting now, eyes darting to Kazuma for scant moments here and there. His condition is worsening before Kazuma’s very eyes. Kazuma feels a pit of dread settle in his stomach. The air in the office is ever so hot.
“My Lord,” Kazuma grits out. “Do you know what you’ve ingested? I’ll get you an antidote,” he tries to offer.
“Ngh… not a poison,” Lord van Zieks croaks, his usual deep bass rising to a medium baritone. “I thought… this can’t be happening…” He closes his eyes, turning his countenance away from Kazuma’s uneasy stare. “……Klint……” he sighs miserably, and it is only then that Kazuma realises where his mentor’s line of sight is directed.
“What is it, sir?” Kazuma insists, growing more discomfited by the second. He reaches up to loosen his collar, tugging the red jabot until it rests below his collarbones. Lord van Zieks makes a sudden noise, flipping around to glare at Kazuma’s newly bared neck.
“You’re an alpha?” He growls. The effect is diminished by his poor condition, sweat beginning to bead at his temples, but the message stands.
“So what if I am,” Kazuma snaps back, jutting his chin upwards. How his mentor had not clued in to his dynamic after months upon months of collaboration, he cannot believe. Then again, Lord van Zieks has never shown any signs of his own dynamic either, though as Kazuma has come to learn it’s the usual practice of the nobility to keep their scents well under wraps. “What’s it to you.”
Lord van Zieks makes a strangled noise. “I expected you’d be like your father. Why are you an alpha?”
The question throws Kazuma off. “What is that supposed to mean, my Lord? I was born an alpha. We don’t ever have any choice in the matter. Or do you suppose my people have unlocked one of nature’s secrets?”
“It was not my intention to imply-” Lord van Zieks heaves, bowing his head over his desk as he arches in agony. Kazuma approaches him again, concern growing. “… my apologies. I never intended for this to happen.”
“In case it hasn’t sunken in, I have no idea what’s happening to you at the moment. I’m powerless to help until you explain yourself.” Kazuma tells him, not unkindly. He reaches for his mentor’s shoulder, but hesitates before making contact.
“You truly cannot smell me… what I am?” Lord van Zieks asks, voice verging on the edge of desperation. His speech is affected; airy and high-pitched in a way Kazuma has never heard from his mentor before. Had he sounded like this in his youth?
Kazuma inhales deeply. His senses have felt muted ever since the moment he woke up on a ship with not even a name to himself, and the London smog blunts them even further. Here, in the van Zieks office, he can at least pick out the presence of old books, wine, and now that he focuses on it, something sweet and venereal that makes his head spin —
“Omega,” Kazuma chokes out, ripping his hovering hand away and taking many steps back. Van Zieks keens as he collapses against his desk, kneeling half on the carpet, half on the cool marble floor as something slick and wet pools underneath him.
“Klint!” Van Zieks cries thickly. He pounds the floor once, twice, thrice — Kazuma makes no move to stop him. Such an expression of mourning should be kept private, he thinks with disdain, but watching his disgraceful mentor clench his arms around his heaving torso, scenting the air with intermingling desire and loss, arouses something in his core. His earlier forebodings begin to fade into something hotter and even more carnal.
“Are you in heat?” Kazuma asks him through the glove pressed to his nose, though van Zieks seems too far gone to provide a response. The answer itself is clear, and Kazuma cannot help but wonder if it is somehow his fault for taunting his mentor with his scent.
Kazuma watches the man convulse momentarily. Despite the resentment he still bears towards the van Zieks heir, the sight of him suffering pulls at Kazuma’s heart strings nonetheless.
“It’s gone. The bond.” Barok van Zieks whispers defeatedly.
“Your bond?” Kazuma questions, kneeling now so as to put him closer to van Zieks’ eye level. “Explain.”
Van Zieks finally looks at him with reddened eyes. “My bond is gone. I can’t feel him anymore. I… I’m alone.”
Kazuma bites back a testy retort about van Zieks having been alone for the past decade, until a certain masked man crossed his path.
“Do you need me to get him for you?” Kazuma is missing plenty of context, but to alleviate his mentor’s cruel suffering, he can at least offer to try.
Van Zieks laughs bitterly, dragging a gloved hand along the marble.
“You shouldn’t test your luck — one trip to the afterlife during your lifetime is plenty.”
Oh.
“What do you intend to do, in that case?” Kazuma mops some sweat from his temples. Van Zieks’ pheromones seem to be taking the opportunity to make up for nearly a year of absence in his presence, and Kazuma has never been this close to an unmated — unbonded? — omega in heat before.
Van Zieks lets out a pitiful groan.
“I’m not sure that there is anything I can do,” he murmurs, clutching the badge on his chest like a lifeline. “I can’t leave the office now. If I take a step outside the building…”
Kazuma nods in understanding. He’s been blessedly fairly ignorant of any pheromones for the duration of his stay, but even a world away from home, it’s not hard to imagine what any nearby alphas might do to him. Having van Zieks’ status as unprotected and vulnerable made known to London society would be worse than a death sentence for the prosecutor. Forget attacks — the van Zieks lord would disappear overnight.
Van Zieks presses his thighs together, clearly suffering from the lack of touch.
“Will you… what will you…”
“I’ll stand guard,” Kazuma promises despite himself. “Even here, you aren’t safe. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone has smelled you already.” Van Zieks whimpers. “Don’t worry about it for now, just…do what you must.”
“…Wait.”
Kazuma halts, halfway to standing. “What is it?”
Van Zieks takes a long time to answer. The oppressive weight of his omegan pheromones swirls around Kazuma, settling in unfamiliar corners of himself and bringing desire he hasn’t felt in ages to the forefront. When was his last rut? Definitely before the exchange trip.
“You’re not going to help me?” Van Zieks says at last, head turned towards the ground so that Kazuma can’t read his expression.
“Aren’t I doing you a service by watching the door?” Kazuma raises an eyebrow, not that van Zieks is looking. “What else could you need from me.”
Van Zieks chooses not to answer. Instead, he shifts to the side, arranging himself with difficulty so that his legs are extended in Kazuma’s direction as he leans towards the portrait wall. Fresh waves of scent waft upward, filling Kazuma’s unguarded nose as van Zieks presents himself.
“No,” Kazuma chokes out. “Absolutely not.”
“Please,” van Zieks implores, and he must be sending out all the pheromones he can muster because suddenly Kazuma feels as though he’s drowning in them.
“Stop that!” Kazuma scolds, perversely fulfilled by the way van Zieks shrinks away from an alpha’s yelling. “Are you trying to draw the attention of the whole building?”
“Of course not,” van Zieks pleads with him. “I don’t- I can’t do this alone. Please, help me, please, Kazuma.”
Kazuma gulps.
“Attend to yourself first,” he mutters. “And then we’ll see.”
To deny such an outright invitation is madness, Kazuma knows. Logically, he won’t be able to stand being trapped in the same room with van Zieks’ scent assaulting him until enough time has passed for them to depart safely. It’s a matter of when, and not if, Kazuma will give in.
Still, he has no intention of admitting so aloud. Let van Zieks fret about seducing him some more. He seems content enough for the moment, curled up beneath the mysterious stare of Klint van Zieks and in the process of clumsily stripping off his gloves. Given the choice, Kazuma would never have chosen to copulate with the man’s little brother under his watchful gaze. It feels too much like a betrayal, but on whose part he can’t say.
“You were the one who threw it all away,” Kazuma mutters resentfully under his breath. Luckily, van Zieks does not seem to overhear.
Gathering his wits, Kazuma leans against the office door making sure to mark the area with the undeniable presence of alpha. He watches van Zieks finger himself sloppily under his jacket, all while moaning up at the portrait of his beloved brother. The sight is sickening.
“At least undress yourself properly,” is what Kazuma wants to tell him. He’s not van Zieks’ alpha and will never be, will never replace the forbidding presence that looms over them day after day in this office, occupying his brother’s and Kazuma’s father’s devotion with his flawed perfection even in death — but Kazuma is nothing if not neat and the way van Zieks’ breeches wrinkle underneath him is irksome.
“Klint, Klint, Klint…” His brother’s name is a litany on the older prosecutor’s lips. Kazuma feels strangely resentful towards the man now, not for his crimes but for the disasters he’d left behind.
Kazuma clears his throat. “How are you doing?”
Van Zieks gasps for air before responding. “I need you Kazuma, why aren’t you coming?”
Thoroughly vexed by now, Kazuma stalks over to the fallen prosecutor. “I never said I would go this far,” he pushes out from behind clenched teeth, reaching down to fist van Zieks’ cravat and pull him to his knees. “I have no interest in acting as a replacement for an alpha you can’t have.”
Van Zieks coughs, struggling under Kazuma’s tight grip. “I don’t want someone else. I beg you — please don’t let others see me like this…”
Kazuma softens his grasp, allowing van Zieks to slip back towards the floor as he fights to catch his breath.
“You would betray your brother for me?” Kazuma wonders quietly. His reason is already slipping away, aggression of the rut and desire to possess taking hold of his senses.
“I,” van Zieks sobs quietly, “would never,” a cough, “…betray him.”
Kazuma kneels down and presses him into the tiles. “Then what exactly is it that you’re asking of me?” Up close like this, Kazuma notes that the ruddiness of van Zieks’ cheeks suits him well. God knows the man needs a little more colour to his complexion.
“Don’t bite me,” van Zieks whimpers, laying docile beneath Kazuma’s straining figure. “Please, fill me up inside.”
Kazuma glances down to where his mentor’s prick lies full and heavy against his belly, untouched. With his legs spread around where Kazuma sits, hair dishevelled and buttons coming undone, bared to mid-thigh and releasing enough slick to soak the knees of Kazuma’s trousers, Barok van Zieks has never appealed to Kazuma so strongly.
“You’re a good omega,” Kazuma praises unthinkingly, causing van Zieks to tremble viciously underneath him.
“I’m sure your brother would be proud of you for resisting for so long,” Kazuma says, dragging a hand along his mentor’s abdomen and rucking up his top. He decides to bunch the clothes around van Zieks’ neck. Less temptation to bite that way.
“Klint…” van Zieks sighs, tears welling in his eyes. Kazuma puts a gloved finger to his lips.
“No. I’m Kazuma. Address me properly.”
“K… Kazuma.”
“Well done, Barok,” Kazuma commends him again, invoking as much alpha-ness into shaping Barok’s name on his lips as he knows how to. “When was the last time someone called your name, hm?”
Van Zieks — no, Barok — looks up at him with wide eyes.
“I…don’t recall,” he stumbles with the words. Maybe it’s the rut, maybe it’s the way Barok clings desperately to Kazuma’s arms, maybe it’s the way they’ve stumbled into Kazuma and Barok instead of Lord van Zieks and Prosecutor Asougi, like the letters they addressed to each other once upon a time before Lord Klint made a fatal mistake — but Kazuma feels the first stirrings of affection for Barok sprout in his chest, and finds he genuinely desires to mate him.
Of course, that might be the pheromones talking, but there will be time to regret that later on.
“Gah,” Barok sighs as Kazuma works his way inside. For all his terrible fingering, Barok’s slick passage is still much too tense to ease in all the way.
“I thought omegas were supposed to loosen up naturally,” Kazuma grits his teeth. “Why are you so tight?”
Barok’s legs rest around Kazuma’s shoulders, dangling loosely over his back. The man is so big — Kazuma has never imagined lying with such a huge omega, one larger than him in every way — and he hasn’t yet figured out how to fit their limbs together.
“It’s been a while,” Barok says, eyes drifting shut as he leans his head back. Kazuma knows where his stare will be directed once he opens his eyes. “Give me a moment. I think you’ll find you fit all the way soon.”
“You were the one who invited me,” Kazuma reminds him darkly. “There’s no backing out once I knot you.”
“It’s terrifying to feel so empty,” Barok agrees, though Kazuma isn’t sure how literally he means the words.
Barok’s hands come to rest around the back of Kazuma’s neck. The contact is electrifying, close as it is to his glands. This is the first time his mentor has touched him directly, and Kazuma finds his addled mind being drawn in deeper with every brush of skin on skin.
“Open up for me,” Kazuma whispers, leaning in to brush his lips around the shell of Barok’s ear. Barok convulses around him, squeezing tight — the complete opposite of his intentions.
“Where do you feel good?” Kazuma questions, pulling back to check on Barok’s expression. Barok’s eyes are glassy, but at least now he’s looking at Kazuma directly.
“I don’t know,” Barok answers helplessly. Kazuma frowns at him.
“Try to relax,” Kazuma insists, trailing a glove around Barok’s pecs. Barok shivers when he brushes a nipple, pointed and quivering enticingly. Delighted by the discovery, Kazuma hunches lower until he can take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the raised nub. Barok cries out, shifting his hips, and Kazuma sinks further into Barok’s wet heat.
“Like that, Barok. Can you give me a little more?” Unsurprisingly, Barok is more receptive to gentle praises than the harsh rebukes Kazuma favours around him. He tries not to think about why that is, who he might be remembering.
“Like this?” Barok asks shyly, bucking upwards. Kazuma rewards him with a thrust, and Barok arches back, mewling loudly.
“Well done,” Kazuma says, before leaning over to press a kiss to Barok’s most prominent scar, the one that spoils his smooth brow.
“Kazuma,” Barok pants, using both his arms and legs to draw Kazuma close to his chest. Kazuma follows obligingly. The buttons of his suit must feel uncomfortable against his bare chest, but Barok makes no complaint.
“Are you feeling good?” Kazuma can’t help but check. Barok’s omegan pheromones must have invaded his entire being.
“Mm,” Barok hums, clenching rhythmically around Kazuma’s alpha cock. “Can you move a little faster…?”
Kazuma neglects to explain that he’s yet to insert himself fully inside, drawing partway out before pushing back in with a vengeance.
“Ah! Ah!” Barok seems pleased enough, squeezing maddeningly before releasing for the first time at long last. Kazuma avoids watching his face, lest he find Barok fixated on his brother’s portrait yet again. Instead, he draws his lips back to Barok’s chest, tracing muscles and dips with his tongue before attacking Barok’s nipples once he ceases his shaking.
“Kazuma!” Barok cries, anchoring Kazuma’s head to his pectorals with strong arms. He doesn’t touch the glands on Kazuma’s neck directly, but the occasional brush of his inner arms is pleasing enough to satisfy Kazuma’s wild instincts.
“Barok,” Kazuma calls back, and he finds himself surprised by how desperate his own voice sounds. Barok nuzzles his hair affectionately. Normal Kazuma isn’t sure how to feel. Alpha Kazuma takes it as a sign of his conquest.
Giving in to his desire at last, Kazuma surges upward to steal a kiss. Barok lets out a surprised yelp, but his lips are cooperative and after a moment, Kazuma has his tongue in Barok’s warm mouth, licking up a taste that’s as sweet as his scent.
Barok whispers his name as they brush lips over and over. Kazuma swallows down all the charming sounds he makes, interspersed with all the words that he isn’t prepared to hear.
“Don’t you want to…?” Barok pants when they finally pull away. He writhes in Kazuma’s firm grasp, stomach painted with his own release, the number of which Kazuma has already lost count. Kazuma groans at the sight, his knot needy and starting to swell.
“You’re certain,” Kazuma growls, and Barok instinctively turns his neck in submission.
“Ah…!” Kazuma can see the panic that seeps into his features. He holds his head high, signalling to Barok that he has no intention of marking him now, not while the omega is grieving the final loss of his dearest brother.
“I promised,” Kazuma tells him quietly, in between his own huffing as he pistons in and out of Barok’s welcoming entrance frantically. “Your scent may have rendered me crazed, but I have enough control to keep my word.”
Barok whimpers gratefully as Kazuma pushes in and out, his knot finally large enough to catch on Barok’s hole. He holds Barok by the narrow hips, looking down at the form of his mentor fallen to pieces on his swelling cock. Barok is lying back, hair splayed messily against the black and white tile, large hands resting next to his wet cheeks as he watches Kazuma fulfil their mutual need. He bites back his cries as Kazuma eagerly forces his still-growing knot in again and again, until he’s reached his largest size and Barok is spilling on his torso once more with a resounding wail. The pressure against his sensitive knot is too much. Kazuma can’t help but collapse over Barok’s chest as the pleasure overtakes him in turn.
Blinking open eyes he doesn’t remember closing in the first place, Kazuma sits up and cups Barok’s cheek. Barok is smiling slightly, much to his surprise. A single tear drips down his cheek, and Kazuma hastens to lick it away.
They’re well and truly connected now, Kazuma still swollen within him. Sighing with satisfaction, Kazuma leans down to lay on Barok once more. His jacket is already soiled; is there any point in resisting? He isn’t empty yet, his seed still dripping into Barok in short bursts here and there. Barok mutters something incomprehensible, threading his fingers into Kazuma’s hair and rubbing nonsensically.
Kazuma takes his time observing Barok, pillowed on his sizable chest.
“What happens if I’ve just given you a child?” Kazuma voices at last.
Barok flutters his eyes open, meeting Kazuma’s gaze without hesitation.
“Then it happens. I can’t say that it would bother me. And you?”
Kazuma’s heart picks up the pace. Of course Barok would want more family of his own.
“Well, I certainly will need an heir at some point,” Kazuma declares. Barok looks away at this, cheeks clearly tinted pink. Kazuma lets out a laugh, relaxing fully into Barok’s welcoming body.
Barok’s fingers slip down to press hesitantly at Kazuma’s neck.
It’s the rut, Kazuma wants to think. It’s the rut that makes him need to possess Barok permanently, until the memory of their lost loved ones is a dull throb rather than a sharp sting. Until the sight of faded white scars peeking out from underneath Barok’s collar no longer aggravates him, a matching set in red secured by Kazuma’s wanting bite.
“Maybe I’ll make you mine someday,” Kazuma states, staring holes into the unmarked side of Barok’s neck. Barok startles, eyeing Kazuma warily.
He seems to have returned to himself for the moment, filled as he is with Kazuma’s knot. Barok appraises Kazuma consideringly, then grips him gently by the chin, turning Kazuma’s head this way and that.
“Not yet,” Barok declares.
“Not yet,” Kazuma agrees.