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Kiyoomi’s betrothed is a delightful mess of an Alpha.
They meet only once before the wedding, in the carefully manicured garden in the center of the Itachiyama Castle grounds.
It’s meant to test their compatibility, especially in terms of scents. There’s no point to matchmake an Alpha and Omega who can’t stand the smell of the other, after all.
Especially not a royal pairing. Kiyoomi knows very well that compatibility rests at the center of the whole thing, lest they be unable to extend their lineage.
So, Kiyoomi puts on robes a little too light for the early spring air, in the traditional yellow and spring green of the Inarizaki Royal Court, and waits on a stone bench in a grove of plum blossoms that he’s come to favor over the years, and will miss when he’s moved into his Alpha’s home.
He waits until he can smell something above the flowers and mulch: careful hinoki, and behind it a distant wildfire, woodsmoke on the breeze, undercut with something unplaceable and fresh until the scent - and its bearer — grows closer.
Mint, so bright it makes Kiyoomi gasp as he turns to greet the Alpha.
Kiyoomi’s own scent — yuzu and plum wine — hovers, sharp and intoxicating, in the air between them.
He knows, before the Alpha — Miya Atsumu, Crown Prince of the Inari, bearer of the Ghostlight and ascendant to the Heavenly Court — reaches him, that they’ll be compatible. Knows, as Atsumu holds his wrist and presses his thumb against the scent gland in greeting, making more of the yuzu bloom, as he leans forward to hover his lips over Kiyoomi’s neck so he can imagine the heat of the mating bite, that they’ll be married by Winter.
“Presumptuous, aren’t you, Miya?” Kiyoomi says, when the Alpha doesn’t back away, scenting him instead, not even when Kiyoomi bares his neck enough to make the hidden guards twitch.
“Just claimin’ what’s already mine,” he replies, finally pulling back. He doesn’t let go of Kiyoomi’s hands, his fingers tangled in the dark green and gold bracelets on his wrists, looking at Kiyoomi like he’s taking him in for the first time: the golden crown buried in his curls, glittering with obsidian stones, the daringly bare arc of his chest, the mischief in his eyes.
It matches what he sees in Atsumu, and that settles it — both for Kiyoomi and his watchers, who tug them apart before anything untoward can happen, revealing their chaperoning presence and ushering them back into the castle.
This is the boring part, Kiyoomi thinks, refraining from rolling his eyes. Usually, he likes the minutiae and paperwork of ruling — his brother, the Crown Prince, is deeply annoyed that Kiyoomi’s looking forward to a marriage, because it means he’ll no longer have a minion to slog it off onto — but he’s more focused on locking eyes with Atsumu, watching and observing his eventual mate.
And maybe no one else catches this, but Kiyoomi is quick and observant, so he sees the way Atsumu goes white as a sheet when some eunuch mentions that he's responsible for finding an Omega witness for their coupling.
‘Witness?’ he mouths, eyes wide and briefly shaken, before he paints confidence back over his face.
Kiyoomi’s has the Alpha and Beta meant to watch him on his wedding night picked for years now, knowing that neither of them had the royal lineage required to be the mate of a Prince, even the third child born to the current King and Queen.
Atsumu, meanwhile, is new to Itachiyama custom, which clearly differs from the Inari. Their alliance is new, which is why pairing their houses like this will bolster and cement that bond.
That’s only one reason Kiyoomi’s looking forward to his mate, though. Atsumu’s also cute, he thinks, full of blustery confidence. Though he lacks the mettle currently, he’ll grow into the skin of a fine king.
Especially with Kiyoomi by his side.
***
The wedding, as is custom, is in the morning, in early winter before the paths get too treacherous to travel safely. It takes that long to arrange the feast and the ceremony and the guests, transporting the Inari royalty all the way over to Kiyoomi’s territory, which the Sakusa lineage has ruled over for generations.
Kiyoomi wears gauzy overobes that glitter in the auspicious dawnlight, a more solemn shade of the Itachiyama green below. Atsumu waits at the altar, kneeling and head bowed, in his own ceremonial robes — embroidered with an elegant orange pattern that reminds Kiyoomi of fox tails, nine of them all along the hem — until Kiyoomi reaches him.
Only then does he raise his head, eyes going wide, as he stands and their hands are joined in marriage.
Twining their arms together, they drink aged rice wine from sacred challenges, and in Inari custom, deep red ropes are wound around their wrists until nothing could break the two of them apart.
When Atsumu leans forward to kiss him, carefully and delicately, on his soft lips, he catches a hint of that clean mint and remembers, all over again, how smart this match is.
The rest of the day is spent in parades and feasts, and Kiyoomi barely has a moment alone with his husband.
(They won’t have a moment alone until the early hours of the morning, if Kiyoomi’s lucky.)
Over the feast he watches Atsumu get redder and redder, but not from alcohol. He stays away from the stuff, leaning towards a sweet juice that Kiyoomi keeps pouring for him as Atsumu blushes a thanks.
“What’s with you?” Kiyoomi murmurs to him, part way through the meal, when there’s a break in the endless caravan of well-wishers and brownnosing royals. “Are you nervous? There’s nothing to fear.”
Kiyoomi even reaches out to grab his hand, his own bracelets shaking. There’s a matching one on Atsumu’s wrist, woven braid in Itachiyama green and Inari black, dotted with delicate beads.
He hopes it calms him just a little.
Atsumu gulps, looking down at their hands and then back up at Kiyoomi with renewed strength. “You’re right. It’s just a weddin’. Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of.”
But then Atsumu freezes, looking towards a corner of the banquet hall. There, he sees a sharp-eyed man in Inari colors being led out by a guard, as well as Ushijima and Iizuna. The man he doesn’t recognize must be the Omega that Atsumu nominated.
Warmth rushes through Kiyoomi, as does a rare blush, as he thinks about the night to come.
They last an hour more over dinner, finishing up the dessert — sweet trifles of cocoa and rose oil that Atsumu hand feeds to Kiyoomi, eyes dark as he watches the Omega’s mouth close around his lips — before another guard nudges their shoulders.
“It’s time,” he — a beta that Kiyoomi can never remember the name of — says, and Kiyoomi shrugs and stands.
Atsumu hesitates for a moment, as the entire hall goes quiet, conversation dying suddenly like a wave breaking against a rocky shore, as a hundred pairs of eyes turn towards the pair. Biting his lip, he rises and takes Kiyoomi’s hand.
Sweaty, Kiyoomi grimaces,
Even though no one talks about it publicly, everyone knows about the Wedding Night, and what’s expected to happen between Alphas and Omegas. It’s especially critical for royal couplings — matches needed to result in children, after all — and the best way to ascertain the sexual compatibility of couples is to witness it. Over the years, the informal observation developed into a rigid ceremony only loosely practiced by the common folk but tightly adhered to by the nobility, which is why Kiyoomi — as is custom — could nominate the Alpha and Beta, leaving the Omega witness to Atsumu.
The actual mating will only happen after the wedding night, when Kiyoomi and Atsumu have their heat and rut induced, and Atsumu could bite and claim Kiyoomi and mark him as his, forever.
Odds are, this will happen in Inari territory, where the winters are much warmer and Kiyoomi won’t have to sneak heated rocks into the pockets of his robes lest he freeze to death.
Honestly, it’s mostly a formality; most pairings are aligned to maximize compatibility, and no Alpha likes to leave a sweet and willing Omega unsated and disappointed.
The rooms they’re led to aren’t Kiyoomi’s bedchambers — they won’t be for much longer, his room packed for the move. It’s a special ceremonial suite that they’ve been airing out for the past month before the wedding. There’s a large nest in the center, embedded in the ground — easier to stoke the braziers from below, that way, to keep the bed warm for them both. The windows are drawn shut, the curtains closed, keeping out the frigid night wind. A series of lanterns are recessed into the stone walls, and behind a short barrier is the bathing area, for afterwards.
The most unique feature of the room is a little alcove, just to the side, with a curtain pulled open on one side and a door on the other. Three seats are in the alcove, as is custom, and three men are in those seats, ready to bear witness to their wedding night.
An Alpha: Ushijima, wearing a muzzle to keep his instincts to bite and fight and growl at bay.
An Omega: The sharp-eyed man from Atsumu’s retinue. “Rin,” Atsumu gasps, and Kiyoomi feels an irrational burst of jealousy from the use of the other man’s name. Rin has a thick collar wrapped around his neck, covered in spikes and jewels to prevent an unwanted mating.
And, for balance, a Beta: Iizuna, his dear friend, who is stronger than he looks. He holds chains in his hands connected to the muzzle and collar, meant to reel back the Alpha and Omega just in case.
He feels Atsumu still, and he tries to tug him to bed, but the Alpha is strong, which bodes well for Kiyoomi. “Come, Prince. You don’t want to bed your willing Omega?”
If he’s pouting, it’s only because he’d spent the last season starting to look forward to this. Atsumu’s scent pleased him, and he’d touched himself to the memory of it and the dream of the Alpha letting loose on his body, rutting into him, eventually claiming him.
(Kiyoomi’d even fallen into a false heat last month over it, shocking himself from how quickly his passion came on. It was uncouth for him to be leaking slick like that, fucking on his fingers and begging for a knot — he’d had to be sealed into his room to prevent the hidden sweetness of his scent, the sun-ripened plum that only emerged in heat, from leaking out and drawing the attention of the palace Alphas.
It would have damaged the wedding, after all.)
“No, it ain’t that, Omi,” Atsumu says, pulling him easily in so he can whisper in his ear, like he doesn’t want the others to hear. “I just… it’s hard to get used to it. You know, people watchin’ ya.”
Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. “That’s not very brave of you, is it? A King will have eyes on him all the time.”
“It ain’t like that and you know it,” Atsumu snaps, wincing when he hears a low, protective growl come from Ushijima’s throat. Kiyoomi raises a hand to quiet him.
He knows how to deal with Alphas like Atsumu. Ones who fear their base nature, who grow nervous when their desire to claim threatens to overwhelm their sense of propriety.
“It is different,” Kiyoomi admits, leaning into his husband by resting his head on his shoulder. He lets out some of his pheromones — the languid plum wine slipping onto Atsumu’s tongue — for good measure. “And I can understand your fear.”
“Y-you can?”
“Of course.” Kiyoomi nudges his hands, guiding them to his waist, to hold him close in an embrace; this way they can be enveloped in Kiyoomi’s scent, just as Kiyoomi can fill his nose with Atsumu’s. The woodsmoke, the mint; the roaring summer fire raging through the dry forest. “But a good Alpha should want to claim their Omega, especially in front of another Alpha.”
Kiyoomi subtly turns their bodies so Atsumu can see Ushijima, waiting; thought he’s out of Kiyoomi’s line of sight, he knows his friend’s dark eyes must be narrowed, watching Atsumu’s every action like a hawk.
He feels Atsumu gulp.
Kiyoomi raises his head, just a little, so he can whisper in Atsumu’s ear, letting his lips gently tickle the skin so Atsumu shivers. “And don’t you want to show me how good you are, Alpha?”
Atsumu’s grip around him turns firm, suddenly.
The Alpha and Omega in the room are there for another, less commonly known reason. Kiyoomi certainly isn’t sharing this secret, so it’s likely no one informed Atsumu.
Only one person needed to watch the coupling; if you were worried that the witness would lie, you could always send in two or three Betas.
The presence of the other two dynamics was a failsafe, meant to induce jealousy and compel the pair to action.
And judging by the way Atsumu pulls back to grip Kiyoomi’s chin and tilt up his head, looking down, hungrily, at Kiyoomi’s lips stained a soft pink, it worked.
Kiyoomi played the Alpha like a fiddle.
“Come, husband,” Kiyoomi murmurs, nudging him towards the wall. “Let’s start off this claim with something easy. We did this earlier, after all.”
It’s just a kiss, a sweet little thing. Kiyoomi’s never been kissed before, but he’s thought about it; he can tell Atsumu has kissed before, though, and he revels in it, feeling the Alpha slowly take more control, even turning them over so Kiyoomi’s back is pressed to the wall. With his body caged in by the Alpha licking hungrily into his mouth, just like in his wildest imaginings, and a thigh pressed between Kiyoomi’s legs, he thinks they might just make it when —
A clatter in the alcove, and Atsumu rears back, fearful. “I don’t think…”
“You will,” Kiyoomi insists, because as much as this is ceremonial, if they really don’t make it through this the whole marriage will be annulled, and who knows what might happen then? Treaties between their countries could fail. Other nations might see Inarizaki or Itachiyama as weak.
Kiyoomi would have to marry someone worse.
Just when he decided that Atsumu would be his Alpha, the one to fuck him full of pups. And, conversely, that Atsumu would be the King that Kiyoomi wants to make of him: sweet and moldable, and capable.
They would command power together, if only Kiyoomi could get him through this night.
“Let me help you,” Kiyoomi says, looking at the small table covered in bottles — some wine, some liquor, and some a little more magical, provided by their friendly palace witch, Tendou.
“What, like a drink? I wasn’t plannin’ on havin’ anymore tonight, thought it might make me too antsy…”
“I think it will take the edge off,” Kiyoomi says, after pouring two glasses. Kiyoomi’s is normal, but if a few drops from one of the tinctures happens to fall into Atsumu’s cup…
In the alcove, the Omega’s eyes go wide. Kiyoomi pre-emptively silences him with a glare, and Rin mimes shutting his mouth.
He hands Atsumu the glass, and then entwines their arms so they can drink together like they did at the ceremony. Kiyoomi’s goes back smoothly, but Atsumu grimaces.
“It ain’t supposed to burn like that, is it?” He coughs, and in the alcove, Iizuna gasps, belatedly aware of what Kiyoomi’s done.
Frowning down at his glass, at the decanter, and the other little bottles on the table, Atsumu snatches Kiyoomi’s glass and licks the rim, making Kiyoomi warm at the sight of his broad tongue. “Yours is smooth as sin… Omi, what did ya do? What did you give me?”
What he gave Atsumu was an aphrodisiac; something fast acting, something that warms the body, something a little more powerful than the chocolate they had as a dessert. He can see the pleasure sprouting suddenly on Atsumu’s skin, blood rushing to the surface as his skin gets all ruddy, his pupils growing big and dark.
The fire rushes towards him now, threatening to overtake both of them, accompanied by something different and distinct — the spice of his arousal.
“Just something to help you,” Kiyoomi says, grinning as he leans in to kiss him again.
He’s a fast learner; always has been. Even got the hang of this after one try.
The stuff in Atsumu’s drink is foul. It’s powerful enough that even the little lingering gasp of it left on his lips makes Kiyoomi hot, like summer in his veins. A telltale warmth low in his gut, and he can feel slick start to pool in his ass. He pushes deeper into the kiss, Atsumu’s hand rising unbidden to his back to tug him close, climbing further up to cup his skull.
The Alpha must be fighting against every impulse in his body, all instinct, when he pulls Kiyoomi away to look him in the eyes, dark and panting and wanting. “What did you do?” Atsumu repeats, helpless to the power of the aphrodisiac, hunger stirring low inside of him.
Kiyoomi can feel it against his thigh, and it makes his own cock throb in delight.
“Releasing your inhibitions, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says. “Loosening your nerves.”
He leans in to kiss him again, or tries to; Atsumu’s grip on his head keeps him back, and Kiyoomi frowns. Pouts, really. “Atsumu,” he hisses.
“Omi,” he growls.
Kiyoomi presses against his cock, making the Alpha gasp and rear back, loosening his hold enough for Kiyoomi to kiss him again, breathe his scent in closely.
“You were nervous, Alpha, don’t deny it,” he says, patting Atsumu’s cheek consolingly, letting his thumb rest against his lips for the Alpha to suck at, hungry already. He wants to coo over him, his sweet new Alpha, a perfect toy for him. “What I gave you only loosens you up; it doesn’t make you want me any more, or less. It lets the desires inside of you run free.”
Without triggering an ill-timed rut, of course.
“I feel… fire, inside of me,” Atsumu admits, quietly. He looks askance, over Kiyoomi’s shoulder, to the witnesses. “It’s raging. It’s terrifying. You don’t — you shouldn’t want that, Omi. The hunger I’m feeling is frightening.”
“Then allow me to be scared,” Kiyoomi insists, kissing him once more, stealing his breath. “Allow me to fear your passion, your hunger. Feast on me, Atsumu. Prove you’re the Alpha you claim to be.”
He wants it, desperately. Needs it so much. To be taken, devoured, to feed Atsumu with his pleasure, wanton and stolen and passionate.
If even the small taste of the aphrodisiac is doing this to him, Atsumu must be even stronger than Kiyoomi first believed to be holding back so much. Kiyoomi already feels molten, the mewling Omega inside of him trying to claw free.
That much strength turned on him? Kiyoomi might not stand for days.
And then, when Atsumu — molded, grown, bearing the King’s crown like he was born with it — turns it on the whole world?
He’d be breathtaking.
Atsumu looks over his shoulder again. It makes Kiyoomi seethingly jealous, and he pushes at Atsumu, biting at his lip and hissing down his throat. “Don’t look at them. Look at me. Only me.”
The Alpha blinks, staring at Kiyoomi — half-feral, half-desperate, wanting to drink thirstily at the same waters as Atsumu — as his eyes grow even darker. Against him, Atsumu feels like a roaring fire.
They won’t even need the braziers.
“Are you sure, Omi?” Atsumu asks, softly, taking one of Kiyoomi’s hands to kiss it, the touch gentle, his lips lingering over the scent gland on his wrist. Only the spit dripping out of the corners of his mouth, the little glimpse of his massive fangs, the spice boiling in the air alongside Kiyoomi’s stonefruit, betray his passion. “In front of them?”
We have to, Kiyoomi thinks, suppressing it because he knows it’s not the answer Atsumu wants. “I need it,” Kiyoomi says, because that, too, is true. “I want it. I’m sure. Take me, Atsumu,” he insists, rolling his hips against the man, curling his hand against his cheek. “Make me yours.”
A split-second narrowing of the eyes, the raging heat of a wildfire, the sudden burst of sensation in his body, like the hesitation before touching an open flame —
“Ah!” Kiyoomi gasps, as Atsumu pushes them both to the bed, the soft mattress breaking their fall.
In the alcove, Iizuna has to concentrate to hold Ushijima back. Rin, meanwhile, crosses his legs and leans forward to watch them more closely.
“You said I could,” Atsumu gasps, kissing and biting at Kiyoomi’s neck, tugging the robes down to bare his shoulder, his chest, his arms tangled in the mess of his clothes. “You promised.”
Atsumu is stronger than Kiyoomi could have ever envisioned, groaning as he struggles with Kiyoomi’s and tearing right through them to strip him down. In this position, at the top of his vision, he can see the trio watching them.
“Look at me, Omi,” Atsumu demands, his face somewhere on Kiyoomi’s chest, licking and biting and marking up his body in a feral storm. “You taste so good,” he moans, from around his nipple, like he’s sucking down the last of the summer fruit.
It makes Kiyoomi moan and keen. Did he even know he was sensitive there? It goes right to his cock, trapped and pinned between their bodies, but hard and warm and leaking. “Clothes,” Kiyoomi says, trying to reach up and tug at the collar and sash of Atsumu’s robes, but the Alpha roars and grabs his wrists, pinning them above his head.
Leaning over his body, Kiyoomi feels the breadth of Atsumu’s shoulders, his power. Smells his breath — sweet, now that the aphrodisiac has started to metabolize into his body — over his face.
“You dare to make demands of me, Omi?” Atsumu pants out, licking the side of his face.
Good. He’s giving into impulse, even if Kiyoomi would prefer he be a little more sanitary about it.
“It can only help us, can it not?” Kiyoomi says, winding his hips up.
Atsumu’s straddling him; he can feel their clothed cocks meet each other, though Atsumu’s is harder and hotter and bigger. He’s clearly considering Kiyoomi’s demand, and when he rises, letting go of Kiyoomi’s wrist, the Omega knows he’s won.
The Alpha tears off his robes — hopefully Iizuna will have the presence of mind to send for replacements for them both, once this is all over — baring his chest and body to Kiyoomi.
It leaves him speechless, rising to his elbows to better observe.
And appreciate.
No matter how sweet he seemed at the wedding — or nervous, over the long dinner — the proof of Atsumu’s strength lay, impossible to ignore, in his body. His thick chest and waist rippled with muscle, glistening with sweat, already. An effect of the aphrodisiac, because Kiyoomi could feel his own body dampen.
Kiyoomi never stops himself from giving into his curiosity. He reaches out a hand to touch Atsumu — feel more than his face or his hand for the first time.
The Alpha traces the path with his sharp eyes, watching as Kiyoomi’s fingertips land carefully on the center of his stomach, before his hand spreads out and he lays his palm flat on his belly.
His breaths, deep and full. His racing pulse evident in his veins.
Kiyoomi looks up the line of his body, meets his eyes.
They’re darker than before. Hungrier.
When he tries to trace up Atsumu’s chest, the Alpha grabs his wrist and marks the path for him. Letting him grope as he slides Kiyoomi’s hand slowly up his body, touching his warm skin, pressing against the dark yet soft scar on his lower half, some wound from a distant battle; letting him squeeze at his chest as Atsumu flexes his muscle, smirking.
He keeps pulling it higher, making Kiyoomi cup the scent gland on his neck, rubbing at it with his wrist, before kissing his palm. Something soft and tender, before he licks a stripe up it and sucks his fingers down, laving between them and making Kiyoomi gasp and squirm.
More slick bursts from him, a whole wave, dampening the sheets below them. The smell of it — musky, hot, sweet — makes Atsumu growl, leaning down over Kiyoomi again.
In the alcove, another clatter. A sharp “Easy,” in Iizuna’s voice.
“Present for me, Omega,” Atsumu demands, his voice deep and rich, carrying the weight of the Alpha inside of him.
It sends electricity sparking through Kiyoomi’s nerves, right down to his leaking cock, as he scrambles to obey the ancient impulse surging inside of him.
He doesn’t know what it means, but his body does. The Omega inside of him does; the aphrodisiac must have unlocked pathways neither of them knew, or at least ones that Kiyoomi was ignorant to.
Always a headstrong Omega, he never cowed to demands. Felt fine disobeying orders if he thought they were useless or unnecessary.
But this command from his Alpha — his, even though there was no mating mark between them, no bond — has him weak to it.
As Atsumu pulls off of him, Kiyoomi scrambles to turn over, kicking off the tattered remnants of his robes — expensive silk and wool, his tailor will be upset — as he gets on his hands and knees. Arching his back, raising his ass in the air, legs spread slightly to bare his hole, Kiyoomi’s finds his head planted in the soft mattress.
From this angle, he has a perfect view of the witness gallery. Of the intelligent grin curved on Rin’s lips, the encouraging expression on Iizuna as he refuses to betray any hint of strain from the chains he’s holding tight to, and the intensity of Ushijima’s face.
Behind him, Atsumu growls in warning, and Ushijima leans back, huffing like a bull.
Gods above, Kiyoomi picked a perfect Alpha to provoke Atsumu, didn’t he?
It’s like an eternity passes as he waits for Atsumu to make his next move, but he holds the position as best he can with his cock aching, his hole leaking; slick drips down his inner thighs as he starts mindlessly rutting the air, desperate for friction.
“No,” Atsumu chides, behind him, grabbing his ass to still him, fingers digging into the meat of him.
“Then do something about it,” Kiyoomi prods, annoyed and needy. It comes out as a whine, much reedier than he wanted, and behind him he feels a ghost of a breath over his hole.
“If you insist, Omi,” Atsumu says, feigning being gallant as his other hand comes up to help spread his ass further. “Hold on tight.”
It’s the only warning he gets before Atusmu buries his face between his cheeks and his tongue slips deep into his hole.
“Fuck, Atsumu!” Kiyoomi gasps, trying to crawl forward, away from the sensation, intense and overstimulating, but Atsumu’s grip holds true and he stays in place.
He slaps his ass for good measure as if to punish him for trying to escape, the sound ringing out through the room.
“Hurts,” Kiyoomi whines, knowing his ass is already red and warm. He’s never been good with punishment, but under the influence of the aphrodisiac, the pain stings like pleasure.
Atsumu squeezes him, as if in apology, and licks deeper in.
He’s never felt something like this before, even in the throes of his heats. Till now, he’s only ever been able to sate himself with his fingers, forced to ride out the full length of his heat so that he would only ever lose his virginity on his husband’s knot. Atsumu’s tongue — broad, talented, thick, mischievous — is almost too much, pressing at his walls, curling and twisting inside of him to grant him impossible sensations.
Until now, Kiyoomi only knew hunger in books. As a prince, he’s never starved or wanted for anything, and he’d been shielded from the neediest in their society in the walls of the palace.
But this? Atsumu digging into him, sucking up his slick, pulling back to breathe and nip at his ass and thighs while Kiyoomi whines about being empty before fucking his tongue back into his ass? This is hunger.
Atsumu eats him out with all the grace of a starving man, and Kiyoomi falls weak to it, his legs trembling, his arms giving out as he pillows his head into them, hiding his face from their watchers, fingers scrambling for hold in the sheets while he begs underneath Atsumu.
“More, more,” he cries out, voice muffled by the sheets until a fist curls in his hair and tugs his head up, a cool burst of air over his face.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Atsumu asks, rising from behind him, hunger dark in his eyes.
He’s empty. He needs to be filled. He feels like he’s in the depths of the worst heat he’s ever felt, but without any of the pheromones to addle his brain.
“Need you, Atsumu,” he replies, feeling tears rise warm in his cheeks, so brazen, wiggling his hips as he pleads. “Need your knot, Alpha — fuck!” He curses as Atsumu shoves fingers inside of him, stretching his ass wide, more slick bursting from him.
“You’re so wet, Omi, all for me,” Atsumu says, curling his fingers inside to brush at his prostate. “Tastes so good, so sweet. You think you can take me? I’m bigger than this, you know?”
Another finger slips inside, stretching Kiyoomi even wider. His own hands are sure but slim; how big is Atsumu?
He needs to know. He needs to find out.
“Please, Atsumu,” he begs, brought down to his base nature for once in his life, in front of people he’s loved and respected, for the only Alpha he’ll ever bow to. In the alcove, Ushijima grips his knees so tight that he’s tearing his robes, and Rin smiles like he’s watching a lurid play. “Take me, Alpha, make me yours, need you to breed me, need you to —”
His orgasm takes him by surprise, cutting off his words as his mind whites out from Atsumu’s touch.
Distantly, like he’s floating above their bodies, he feels his own cum spurt a mess onto his stomach, his inner thighs. Feels pleasure rip across his spine like lightning splits the sky. Hears the distant clatter of the chains as Ushijima and Rin both surge forward in clear interest, and Iizuna once again holds them back.
When he comes to, Atsumu is over him, chest against his back, lips pressed against the scent gland on his neck. It’s like he’s shielding him from their sight.
His cock — his Alpha’s cock — is hot and burning, pressing between his cheeks.
It’s bigger than anything Kiyoomi’s ever felt, and he takes in a shuddery breath as Atsumu grinds against him.
“I’m gonna stuff you so full, the whole world’ll know you’re mine, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu whispers, his voice steady like the center of a hurricane, danger just waiting behind the calm. “The whole court’ll be able to smell me on you, inside of you. You’ll be leaking my cum for weeks.”
“You’d better clean me up,” Kiyoomi replies, feeling their bodies rise and fall like they’re sharing breath. “And fuck me freshly each night. I abhor mess.”
As if in answer, Atsumu licks a long stripe up his tender scent gland, letting his fangs rest at the edge of it to tease him. Just the faintest pressure there makes him leak, imagining their mating — whenever it will come, whenever they share their heat and rut and make a mess of each other, unable to come out until Kiyoomi’s good and bred and their scents have fully merged.
The sharpness of Atsumu’s mint grants him the slightest bit of clarity, quickly overtaken by the intoxicating allure of the spice of his arousal, his heavy cock leaking precum.
“I’ll do anything you want, Omi, as long as you’ll have me.”
It feels honest.
It feels more exposed than their vows did, the promises they made to each other in front of their shared nations.
“Then take me, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi’s demand is an easy one. “Make me yours.”
A kiss to his neck, and then Atsumu tilts Kiyoomi’s head up, manhandling him easily, until Kiyoomi’s eyes greet the witnesses. “Look at them, then,” he says, a whisper into the wet mess of his muscle, his heartbeat pounding into Atsumu’s lips, “so they can bear witness as I fuck you, fill you, knot you. I want them to know the second it happens, wanna see ‘em lose their minds and go back and tell the whole court you’re mine.”
The hand in his hair comes down to wrap around his throat, a finger stretching up around his jaw, pressing against his lips. It keeps his face tilted to the alcove, the trio watching them hungrily.
“I wanna feel it when you scream for me, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, and it’s the only warning he gets before he rears back his hips and presses the head of his cock against his hole, precum glazing the rim, the warmth threatening to burn him inside out. “I’m gonna ravage you like a wildfire.”
It’s a promise, since Atsumu is drunk on the plum wine of him.
Any protest Kiyoomi might have, any reciprocal demand, anything at all is fucked out of him the second Atsumu pushes into him, sliding easily into his ass, wet and pliant for his Alpha.
What rips from his throat is less of a scream than a plaintive moan, reverberating through both of their bodies, Kiyoomi’s eyes rolling back in his head from pleasure. Atsumu’s cock is thick, the stretch granting him that same perverse pleasure pain from earlier, Atsumu’s fingers slipping into his mouth while he aches for him.
As he rears back and fucks into him, the crown of his cock brushes past his prostate, the bundle of nerves all tingly and overstimulated with pleasure, making him gasp.
With Atsumu’s fingers filling his mouth, his dick inside his ass, his body overwhelmed with him, Kiyoomi’s eyes jump from witness to witness — from Alpha to Omega to Beta, over and over again. He can’t shape words with his throat, so he moans, whines, gasps as Atsumu fucks into him over and over, pulling out as far as he can before slamming back in.
Kiyoomi’s legs give out fully when Atsumu starts to twist his hips inside, pace quickening and thrusts shortening as his knot starts to bloom, getting caught on his rim as he fucks inside of him. He pulls his fingers out of Kiyoomi’s mouth to grab his hair again, tilting his head up to bite and nip at his neck, so their witnesses can see his eyes widen as the knot gets bigger, as it becomes harder and harder for Atsumu to pull out of him, as he fucks him even deeper.
All Kiyoomi manages, still, are half-cries, half-moans; Atsumu’s name, a begging plea, a desperate need for Atsumu to reach deeper inside, reshape him, mold him to his cock, fill him.
But — above Kiyoomi’s cries, above the wet sounds of Atsumu’s thighs slapping against Kiyoomi’s ass, his cock against his rim — something coalesces. Another plea, a deeper voice.
Atsumu, this time, repeating his name like a litany against his scent gland, right where the mating mark will be eventually. Swearing his name like a promise. “Kiyoomi,” he murmurs, sacred and honored, “mine, mine, mine, you’re mine, cum for me, baby, cum for me Omega, Kiyoomi, please.”
It’s insistent.
It’s desperate.
It’s enough for Kiyoomi to tighten around Atsumu, for his own cock to swell again, for pleasure to ricochet between their bodies — for the smell of midwinter spices to reach deep inside of him — as his eyes roll back in his head and he shuts them tight as another orgasm rips through his body.
He’s much more sane this time, though; the first orgasm took the edge off. This time, he feels Atsumu let go of his hair in favor of wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi’s body, holding his shuddering frame tight to him, like he’s afraid to let him go. At the same moment, Atsumu thrusts desperately into him, pace erratic, and Kiyoomi knows he’s close.
“Alpha, please, knot me, breed me, own me,” Kiyoomi pleads, the words not his own, belonging to the Omega impulses buried deep inside of him.
As if in answer, Atsumu gives one last, shuddering jerk into Kiyoomi’s body, still shattered with the aftershocks, legs like liquid, muscles weak. Another peculiar warmth inside of him, but this is no spice; it’s Atsumu’s cum, flooding into Kiyoomi in those same erratic pulses, spearing Kiyoomi on his cock as his knot fills to its full, impossible span.
It’s like a tree has taken root inside of Kiyoomi; a plum blossom, flowering.
The ache and pain gives way to a sated pleasure, as Atsumu lets out one last, shaky motion. His lips kiss Kiyoomi’s neck, his jaw, his cheek, hungry for his lips.
There’s a clatter, and a creak of a door, and when Kiyoomi looks up again the alcove is empty, the curtain closed.
For the first time ever, they’re alone.
“Do you think,” Kiyoomi says, once their breaths have steadied and Atsumu’s turned them on their sides, rubbing his hand against his stomach to feel the cock and cum bulging inside him, “that you can do that again?”
He knows the aphrodisiac has worn off by now, because Atsumu is hiding his head between Kiyoomi’s shoulder blades, nervous even though there’s no audience watching them.
“I dunno,” he murmurs, idly tracing the knobs of Kiyoomi’s spine. “Do you want me to?”
“Oh Atsumu,” Kiyoomi sighs, grabbing his hand and pressing it to his stomach so Atsumu can feel it, too, the bulge between them, the proof of their connection. He hears his gasp, his hand softly rubbing over the spot, as if in awe. “I demand it.”
***
Just as Kiyoomi expected, there are new robes slipped into the alcove for them. They only emerge from the nest sometime after dawn, so they can clean themselves off in the bath.
He sees Atsumu pouring them drinks from the same table as before.
But the Alpha is lingering there a little too long.
Maybe he will sate Kiyoomi’s demands.
Good boy, he thinks, settling into the water as Atsumu steps towards him, a goblet in each hand, neither betraying what may — or may not — be inside.
Only one way to find out.