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birdybytheshore · 7 years ago

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Title: Five Colors of Thread

Chapter: 6/??

Pairings: Alpha/Omega

Warnings: Knotting, prostitution, implied rape/non-con, dub-con (there is consent, but just how free of coercion is up for debate I suppose), implied abuse, a story within a story narrative (I’m just trying it out, so it’s a little rough around the edges)

Summary: Hirane is devoted to meeting any client’s needs, from those seeking an omega’s heat to those who enjoy dominating alphas. Kazuto, however, only ever requests the company of one omega on certain nights when the restless air calls for him.

About: Part of a larger project about demons, spirits, and supernatural going ons. I felt like writing smut so I wrote the chapters out of order. This one really has no plot, it just introduces a new location and character. It’s also a rough draft but whatever.

The omega strummed a few strings on the slim shamisen in his hands and closed his eyes to the haunting echo the instrument left in the air. The long sleeves of his kimono were artfully arranged around his small form with legs tucked beneath him. Every movement of his arms was mindful of the length of the vivid red cloth wrapped around him. Even the angle of his hands was soft and deliberate to conceal the sharp lines that marked him as a male omega.

His naturally sweet scent, too, was lost beneath the mild but pervading smell of incense. The powdery but sharp notes tickled Kazuto’s nose. Earlier, the omega in front of him had drawn a hand through the curls of smoke and laughed gently at the twist in his expression as he held back a sneeze. The longer he spent sitting in this small but cozy room filled with the golden red glow of the lanterns in the corners, the more he could feel the haze seep into his mind.

“Would you like to hear a story?” the omega asked. His voice was soft and low, almost as if he did not want to disturb the smoke wafting into the air. “A story of a certain omega who loved deeply, suffered terribly, and learned to find peace with himself.”

“I have heard this story before, Akiya,” Kazuto pointed out, to which the omega smiled with downturned eyes staring politely at Kazuto’s feet. His face was partially obscured by the waves of auburn hair that tumbled down from a previously tight bun atop his head. Kazuto only had to tug on the ends to release it when they entered the room, preferring it to the austere style demanded of the courtesans here.

“I know, but it pleased you to hear it once if I recall. A good story can never be told too many times.” Akiya’s lips were painted red with beni, and his cheeks had a light dusting of color from arousal. Kazuto disliked the scent of the mild aphrodisiac the Hirane gave its workers, but there was no helping it.

“Alright, then.” He relented when it seemed that Akiya was not about to offer an alternative. Any other courtesan might have suggested another form of entertainment immediately, but Kazuto knew Akiya and smiled behind his hand at the omega’s impish nature playfully rearing its head.

In truth, he had heard this story multiple times. Akiya rarely changed the wording and the events were exactly the same between each telling.

“This is the story of an omega who once lived in a bustling town on the Nakasendō connecting this land to the distant plains of Edo.”

Akiya began to play the haunting tune of the shamisen that echoed, lonely, in the room. Each strum emitted a ripple of power, but the care with which the employees here treated the instruments ensured they never grew into vengeful spirits.

Kazuto closed his eyes and listened. The warm thrum of arousal he felt upon smelling the hint of Akiya’s scent on the way to the room had mostly faded. There would be time for that later, he knew. As the night wore on, the aphrodisiac would begin to take effect and torment Akiya until he had no choice but to curl up on the bed and sweetly ask to be taken. Unlike the common prostitutes in a red-light district, Akiya would never beg or pressure the customer he was serving into taking him, no matter how much it ached.

He supposed there was something appealing about it if he was still coming here year after year.

“The omega was born into a family where he did not want for food, shelter, or pretty clothes and trinkets to adorn himself with. Because he was the youngest of five, he was charming but shy, especially in a crowd. If he had any faults, it was that he was naïve and sheltered, so assured that life would always favor him and that he was adored by all who knew him.”

Akiya related the story in a soft, but emotionless voice. It rose and fell when appropriate to indicate the highs and lows in the narrative – the moments when the listener should react with anticipation or sorrow for the protagonist. He never let a trace of his own thoughts into it, however, not even a little.

“Alas, as the poor omega played with his older sister on the temple grounds, his parents invited a woman into their home. Tea and snacks were set out, untouched, and boxes of gold and protective charms passed across the table between them. Unknown to the omega who finally trotted home with his sister in the evening, the finely dressed beta he saw in the entryway was not a friend of the family.”

The language Akiya used was simple and candid, touched only by a suggestion of pity. Kazuto could hear the whistle and echo of other instruments from the surrounding rooms join the shamisen Akiya continued to play. The harmony invoked a similar sense of pity and sadness.

“She reached out for the omega and held him by the arm. The boy’s parents began to weave a wonderful, fragile lie about schooling for proper young omegas, but the woman did not spare his feelings and told him the truth. ‘Your parents have sold your body for thirty ryō, and you will serve in the house of the Red Lily until you have repaid that debt.’ The boy did not believe the woman, and cursed her when she dragged him away, not realizing she had done far more for him than his parents who did not so much as weep when he left.”

Kazuto took a long sip of sake and set the cup down on the table. Akiya did not interrupt his story to pour more. He paused to play out a few notes on the shamisen and continued with a delicate tilt to his head, as if he was marveling at the instrument in his hands.

“The omega did not know what had happened, only that omegas who lived in such houses were considered the lowest of creatures. Loyal and devoted to no one, they pine for love they can never receive, and even twist the hearts of alphas and betas who seek their warmth for a night and no more. The omega despaired at his new role, and spent his nights wondering why his parents had given him up. Perhaps out of financial difficulties? But he was haunted by the look they gave him as he was leaving.”

Kazuto studied Akiya’s face and posture, but found nothing to suggest he was tired or feeling the effects of the aphrodisiac aside from his flushed cheeks. Not for the first time, he wondered how one could train the arousal of another to this extent. If he stared at those warm cheeks for too long, his own lust would return even as he tried to pay attention to the lull of the familiar story in his ears.

“By the time the omega was to service customers as he had been taught, he fully deluded himself into believing the family business had declined and his parents had no choice but to sell their youngest. He spun that tale to anyone who would listen and it grew to have a life of its own in his own heart.”

At this point in the story, Akiya finally lifted his gaze from the floor to stare at Kazuto’s chin, the most he was allowed to stare at a customer’s face without permission. A thin, barely noticeable smile interrupted the flow of his narrative to aim directly at Kazuto, who huffed quietly with laughter.

“At last, the omega met a customer who did not treat him cruelly nor as an object to wring pleasure out of, but as a fellow living being. He was treated so kindly that he thought it must be a dream. But when the customer asked about his life before the house, the omega thought nothing of the lie he had spun so many times it almost became the truth. Almost – because the customer knew of the omega’s family and knew they sold their youngest not for the pithy thirty ryō.”

Around here, Kazuto always expected Akiya to falter, but he never did. Not even a breath was out of place, nor a strand of hair or a blink of his long eyelashes. His eyes, a curious shade of golden brown, slid half closed as he continued.

“For the omega’s dowry when he was mated off would have been a far greater sum. The parents had four children previously and prayed fervently that none were omegas, but their luck ran out on the fifth. They felt terribly burdened with the thought of paying that great sum to marry their omega son off, and decided it might be best to avert it altogether. Any respectable alpha of their class would not take an omega that had been used by so many over the years, after all.”

This was certainly not the type of story one told in a house such as this one. The Hirane was a house of courtesans, not a common red-light district brothel. The soft slope of Akiya’s shoulders and the steady rhythm of his fingers strumming the shamisen told just how relaxed he was in this room despite the nature of the story.

“The customer had ruined the delusion the omega built for himself. The boy who had been lovingly nurtured and protected had, perhaps, been nothing more than a myth. The customer whispered words of encouragement for him, telling him that he had more worth than what his parents thought of him. He spun tales of the world he would one day see when he left this place behind. The omega adored those stories and fell in love, but with the stories or with the customer? No one could be certain.

“As love can bend the will of even the strongest gods, the omega had no hopes of winning against the feelings blooming in his heart. He longed for the world that alpha spun for him. There was no one to shield him from those tales or expose the cruelties of the world this time. For the first time in a long while, he remembered who he was and the person he might have become had his parents not sold him. ‘This is unfair!’ his heart cried out in earnest for the first time in his life.”

Akiya played another round of music, this one quick, impassioned even as the one who played it kept his face a perfect mask.

“He planned his escape with care, telling no one, not even the alpha that had put the idea into his heart. And he escaped, walked straight out of the house that had bound him to his delusions. But alas, it was not to last. His training gave away who he was, and he was quickly ferried back to the house like a lost dog.

“The still had a large debt to pay, and the house gave his punishment as thus: if he wanted so badly to leave that place, they would help him along. The omega was forced to entertain and serve for seven days and nights straight, with hardly time to sleep, eat, and drink. When he cried, everyone commented how pretty he was in tears, and he knew then that this was the place he now belonged. The outside world could never be his.

“He had served until he had no strength to even think of being angry. Those seven days later, he woke up with another sensation in his chest. He had no words for it. It felt like anger, but he went about his day without staring at anyone in resentment. It burned and festered like anger, but did not interfere with his interactions with the other courtesans or the customers he had afterwards. He harbored it close to his chest and let it grow. If this was to replace his anger, he would allow it.

“What he did not realize was that this emotion was hatred. He had grown too good at concealing himself from the world that he could not recognize his own self. Years passed, and he played the perfect role, never again thinking of escape. Eventually, he paid off his debt.”

Akiya paused for breath. This was longer than most of the tales he spun on other nights, longer than singing poetry and reading the classics.

“He was free, but freedom was not a word he knew. An omega did not live his life free except in death. The omega, now no longer a boy, returned to his childhood home. He knew there was nothing waiting for him there. His parents rejected him – saying no alpha would want to marry an omega such as him, who had callously terminated pregnancy after pregnancy. The omega was not angry. He had not felt anger in years. He did feel that other emotion – hatred.

“Hatred. It is a fearsome spirit that resides in the heart, feeds upon despair. The omega embraced it. Later, the neighbors would tell the tale of the family that lived in that house. Every family member had been killed, and their blood painted the walls in brilliant patterns that could only have been done by a spirit. The omega, as far as they knew, had never returned home.

“And indeed, the omega returned to the house like nothing had ever happened. He returned and signed another contract. For the first time since he came to this house, he felt a feeling he could only describe as ‘free’. Free of despair, of anger, and of hatred.”

When he was finished with the tale, Kazuto immediately got up and stepped behind him. He lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around Akiya, engulfing him in a warm and firm embrace. Akiya uttered a soft omega croon and sank into the warmth of Kazuto’s chest, angling his head and neck to give him a tantalizing opening to lap at the sensitive skin on his scent glands. They were lightly bruised, the skin a sickly mixture of green and blue.

Kazuto exhaled a soft breath against the area and tightened his hold on Akiya when the omega shivered in pleasure. He didn’t bother to wait for Akiya to slide into a more inviting position; he could smell the faintly sweet scent of arousal just beneath the heavy incense. With a warm growl of arousal, Kazuto slid a hand up Akiya’s chest and slipped it beneath the folds of his clothing. The kimono parted easily to his touches, aided by the subtle tug of Akiya’s own hands while Kazuto was preoccupied running his fingers over his smooth skin.

Akiya inhaled a sharp breath when Kazuto brushed over his nipple and flicked at it with a fingertip. A rush of pleasure must have spread down his spine, but he showed no other signs of it other than the small gasp. Kazuto pushed the folds of the kimono off his slim shoulders marred slightly by finger-shaped bruises. He pressed his own against them and watched as Akiya squirmed a bit beneath the painful touch.

“Is there anywhere I should know about?” he asked vaguely. Akiya looked over his shoulder, his golden-brown eyes cloudy with pleasure and the haze this room brought upon him, and nodded after a moment of contemplation. Kazuto rubbed circles into the skin on his shoulder and gripped him tightly around the waist with the other arm. He huffed against Akiya’s neck. “Tell me.”

Akiya sighed softly, reluctant. He lifted the edge of his kimono and gripped it tightly between two fingers, attempting to keep the motion dainty. While he struggled to either show Kazuto or explain verbally, he sank back into his chest and breathed in the calm but strong scent of alpha. It gave him the renewed urge to purr in an attempt to elicit more of Kazuto’s attention. He returned a hand to Akiya’s chest and teased his soft nipples into hardness.

“I…” Akiya breathed deeply. “Nothing pains me, but I’m a little sore.”

“What did they do?” Kazuto asked. A warm coil of anticipation and arousal rested in his gut, much to his personal shame. He knew the sorts of things alphas liked to do to an omega like Akiya, but he couldn’t deny that the image appealed to him.

“Just…took me two at a time,” Akiya sighed sideways into his broad shoulder. He untied the wide sash around his waist and slipped out of Kazuto’s embrace to move to the bed where he arranged his limbs and loose clothing into an enticing form. His legs were tucked under him and he let the folds of his kimono fall just enough for Kazuto to see that he was already partially aroused.

“Show me,” Kazuto said.

Akiya didn’t flush like a younger courtesan might have. He smiled and ducked his head in mock shyness before rearranging himself, letting the clothes slip off his thighs as he turned his hips to the side and exposed himself. Kazuto grimaced at the sight of his reddened genitals, including the still raw and slightly puffy look of his tight hole. Whoever had Akiya last night had been particularly brutal if he was still displaying such marks.

Slowly, though he never knew Akiya to startle, he crawled over and pushed Akiya back onto the futon with a smile. He loved the way his auburn hair, like the leaves of autumn in the mountains, spilled over the sheets. He leaned down and lapped at the base of Akiya’s throat and ran his hands down his sides as Akiya bent his legs at the knees and pulled them up.

“I’ll take it easy,” Kazuto whispered. “Do you want to ride me or stay on your back?”

Akiya gazed up at him, clearly fighting the daze that the aphrodisiac induced. His lips parted revealing a cute red tongue. His breaths were coming much harsher now, and Kazuto felt around his crotch where he was quickly growing aroused.

“Anything you wish,” he said mechanically. Kazuto frowned.

Akiya’s eyes widened and he said more insistently, “I’m okay with either. I know you’ll be nice either way.”

It was true. Kazuto enjoyed an omega’s heat as much as the next alpha, but there was no reason to injure his partner outside of one. He ran one hand over Akiya’s head and enjoyed how he nuzzled into the touch. The other fondled Akiya’s genitals, rolling them around and stroking the rarely touched body parts. Akiya jolted as pleasure raced up his spine and spread his legs a bit, inviting him. He was quiet, but Kazuto didn’t mind having to work for the cute sounds he could make.

Kazuto sat back and started undressing. “You can prepare yourself for me,” he added. Akiya rolled onto his side with a smile and got on all fours. He spread his knees apart and lowered his chest to the futon until he was presenting. Both of his hands spread his cheeks apart and his right started teasing at his hole, which twitched. It took a bit of stimulation, and one good squeeze from Kazuto to get him producing a bit of slick. He could tell it was taking effect by Akiya’s squirming and how his toes curled.

Kazuto grabbed his own cock and stroked it as he watched Akiya press a finger against his reddened entrance. It parted easily, sinking into him up to the knuckle. Kazuto reached out to join him, smiling as Akiya jumped a bit at the thicker finger pressing into the narrow space, stretching him out. It was soft, warm, and tight inside.

Together, they thrust their fingers in and out, drawing slick from his dry passage. Akiya uttered a tiny gasp and moan when Kazuto pulled in the opposite direction, stretching him so that he gaped for a bit. After Kazuto had worked another finger inside and Akiya was trembling a bit from wanting something more, he withdrew and asked Akiya to roll onto his back.

“First time on your back, second on top of me sound good?” Akiya nodded enthusiastically and bent his legs, shyly closing them to hide himself. Kazuto gently pried them apart and moved forward, grabbing his cock and rubbing it against the loosened pucker of his anus. Akiya crooned and arched into his touch, ignoring his own arousal.

Kazuto slid one finger inside to rub as far in as he could get and smirked when Akiya rolled his hips with a sharp moan. He then removed the finger and replaced it with his cock. The head pushed forward against the pink rim, making Akiya moan. Kazuto eased it inside, watching as it parted the irritated flesh and as Akiya relaxed into the intrusion. He then stopped progress entirely and watched as Akiya whimpered.

“More, please,” he cried softly, hole clenching around Kazuto. Kazuto complied and sank into that warm, soft, wet heat and with a groan. He reached up to tease Akiya by the nipples and laughed as he jumped, forgetting about them. Akiya melted at his touch and sighed as he sank all the way in. When he bottomed out, Akiya was stretched wide and moaning, “So full, it feels so, so good, alpha.”

Kazuto lapped at his neck and began to thrust, retraining himself. “You don’t need to call me that,” he reminded Akiya, who whimpered as Kazuto brushed his prostrate on the way out. “Just be honest.”

Akiya wrapped his arms around Kazuto and pressed close against him with a contented sigh. “I know. I can’t help it. It feels good, though. You’re big, but not enough to hurt.”

“Thanks, I think,” Kazuto said dryly. He then withdrew, leaving only the head in, and laughed gently as Akiya whimpered and tried to thrust back, feeling empty and hollow. Kazuto thrust back in, enjoying how Akiya sucked him in and cried out as he did so. “You’re so tight.”

The omega part of him crooned and preened at the praise, but Akiya himself flushed in embarrassment as Kazuto started thrusting harder now that Akiya was filled with slick. Not as much as when he was in heat, which was why his hole was so pink and used, but enough. Kazuto stopped when he felt resistance and waited until Akiya’s insides fluttered around him a bit and oozed slick.

“You’re doing so well, Akiya,” he whispered. Akiya whined and rolled his hips. Kazuto buried himself to the hilt and sighed at the pleasure. “How do you want me to knot you?”

Akiya enjoyed being in presenting position, but knew Kazuto didn’t prefer it. “Um, ride you?”

Kazuto pulled out and enjoyed the lost whimper that followed. He sat back and Akiya slid gracefully into his lap, lining Kazuto up with his entrance and moaning as the muscle parted his insides. He sank himself on Kazuto’s cock slowly, lifting off a bit and trying to give him pleasure, not caring if it caught and tugged on his rim. Kazuto finally took him by the shoulders and guided him down until he was fully seated and moaning, spread wide over Kazuto’s lap and shaking with pleasure. Kazuto thrust up into him and held him close.

He felt the knot catching on Akiya’s rim and thrust up into him as much as he would go, even though the pleasuring burning in his gut ached for him to move and draw more cries from the omega in his lap. Akiya started moving up and down instead, not caring that was probably chafing at his insides. Kazuto didn’t have a clue what that felt like, but Akashi had told him it was an ache on the border of pleasure and pain.

Kazuto grabbed him and growled, “Sit. No moving.”

Akiya whined and listened. He settled, burying his face into the crook of Kazuto’s neck and breathing heavily. His thin chest rose and fell with exertion, and his hair spilled over Kazuto’s shoulder like a bundle of flames. Kazuto stroked his shoulder blades and grinned as he arched his back into the touch, ever mindful of the elegant curve of his spine and the small pleasured parting of his lips as he drew back enough to show Kazuto the effect his touch had on him. He pressed Akiya’s chest flush with his own and rested one hand on his hip to hold him steady.

Kazuto grunted as Akiya squeezed around him to draw him over the edge of the orgasm that was building. He didn’t have to move up and down to stimulate Kazuto, and that was slightly infuriating. Kazuto didn’t scold him, though. Akiya clenched around him even tighter and that wave of pleasure in his gut crested as the orgasm flooded out.

Akiya squirmed and cried out as the knot expanded until it was wide enough that Kazuto couldn’t pull out if he tried. The pressure was at once delicious and overwhelming as the knot locked the two of them together. Akiya moaned and moved around it, twisting his hips a bit and milking it as Kazuto started coming into him. It was unendingly warm inside.

The only thing missing was the sight of Akiya’s hole stretched around him, but he could imagine the pink ring of muscle straining around his cock just fine. The mere thought brought another wave of his orgasm rushing through him. He gripped Akiya’s hips tighter to control himself from trying to thrust further into that soft heat.

Pressing his nose against Akiya’s shoulder, he inhaled the sweet omega scent beneath the incense and perfume. It went straight to his head and he licked at his scent glands, the alpha in him annoyed at the sight of other alphas’ marks on him. Akiya panted against him and made a soft sound of contentment.

“I’m so full,” he whispered, each word as languid as his body draped against Kazuto’s steady form. “I can feel you filling me up, breeding me–”

“Shh,” Kazuto said, pressing a firm hand to the back of Akiya’s head. He immediately stilled and stopped trying to talk dirty, and Kazuto could hear the grateful hum in his throat and chest. Kazuto stroked up and down his sides, over his hips and ass, down to where they were connected. He teased the tender skin there and huffed in amusement as Akiya moaned. Feeling his lover for the night quiver beneath his touch was much better than hearing him beg and ramble.

After a while, Akiya began to breathe heavily, the stimulation of Kazuto’s cock pressing at his walls not enough to overcome the aphrodisiac surging in his system. He lifted his head from Kazuto’s shoulder and whined as he tried to thrust up and down to satisfy whatever ache rested deep inside him. Kazuto shushed him and held him still, then reached down to wrap a hand around his smaller, but erect, penis. Akiya jumped and caught his bottom lip between his teeth. All of it was an act, except the restless look in his eyes as Kazuto began to give him long, firm strokes.

He forced himself to look Kazuto in the eyes and gave him a small, grateful smile as he melted into the pleasure drowning out the need pooling in his abdomen. Kazuto resisted the urge to hit something. He hated those herb mixtures that unnaturally prolonged an omega’s arousal. They could be bleeding and knotted and still feel the insatiable need for more. Akiya, certainly, had seen it happen.

Jerking Akiya off would stave off the ache. It had taken a few visits for Kazuto to get the truth out of him, way back when.

“You’re so good,” he whispered into Akiya’s ear, mostly because he knew an omega like him adored praise without any added insults or humiliation. Akiya moaned and clenched tighter around him, drawing another gush of cum from him. Kazuto groaned.

They remained joined together for a while longer. When the knot was receding and Akiya was on the verge of his own orgasm, Kazuto finally released his grip on his hip and let him rock and bounce in his lap. The still present bump of his knot brushed against Akiya’s prostate, apparently, because he whimpered and clenched tightly when it did. Kazuto felt little waves of pleasure, but it was mostly winding down. He lay there and watched appreciatively as thin streams of cum started seeping out of Akiya’s entrance as he moved up and down. Soon it was squelching, making obscene sounds. Akiya colored at the cheeks, but gazed into Kazuto’s eyes and didn’t stop.

Finally, Akiya pushed down and took him in as far as he could go and came with a long, high-pitched moan. Even in the throes of pleasure he managed to control his voice, so nothing ugly escaped. Kazuto would have liked to hear something less beautiful, something piecemeal and frantic, but he also knew that it would be asking too much of an omega like Akiya.

Kazuto grunted as Akiya’s insides clenched and quivered around him. The scent of arousal and cum filled the air, drowning out the incense that muddled his head earlier. Kazuto wrapped his arms around Akiya’s back as he slumped against his chest, thoroughly exhausted.

They lay there for a time, Kazuto rubbing aimless circles against Akiya’s back and shoulders. He played with strands of his hair, twirled them between his fingers and tried not to concentrate on the warm heat surrounding his cock. It was slippery and if he shifted, their arousal would start up again. Finally, he nudged Akiya’s shoulders and curled his hands under his thighs.

“Time to get up,” he whispered. Akiya mumbled a protest as Kazuto lifted him and slid out of his loosened hole. He let out a long, omega whimper as they lost contact and cum gushed out of him. The struggling and bereft sensations were all instinct – Kazuto could see Akiya’s haze golden-brown eyes fighting it. He struggled between pushing the cum out and wanting to clench tight to retain it in the hopes of having some of that seed take root in him. The odds were too slim outside of a heat, though.

Kazuto settled Akiya on the bed next to him, using a cloth on the tray next to the futon to wipe up the spilled cum on Akiya’s flat belly and between his legs. He cleaned him the best he could and watched as Akiya’s expression relaxed. He had told Kazuto that he preferred to be clean, but many alphas liked to watch him lay there in their mess as some sort of possessive mark. They liked to see the shame color his cheeks and teased him for being a whore – which he was, technically, but it still made him duck his head in embarrassment.

When he was finished, he lay next to Akiya and draped the folds of his kimono over him to ward off the autumn chill in the air. Akiya snuggled against the fabric and wrapped himself in its folds, arranging it so that part of his thighs, hips, shoulders, and pink nipples peeked out.

“How many alphas have offered to buy you out of this life?” Kazuto asked, eyes wandering to the shadows painted across the walls. All around them, they could hear sounds of other courtesans and customers through the thin walls. The wails and laughter warmed the air, gave this place a sense of life all other buildings on the street lacked.

“Too many to count,” Akiya mumbled, closing his eyes. He licked his lips, no longer the deep red they were before. Kazuto ran a thumb over them and laughed when Akiya’s tongue darted out and brushed against it as if by accident.

“It can’t last forever,” Kazuto reminded him. Akiya laughed, quiet and soft like a songbird in the distant trees.

“What else is an omega like me supposed to do?” he asked, though not with any malice or hostility. Kazuto hummed. That, he couldn’t answer.

They laid like that for a while more until they heard a shriek outside the room. Kazuto’s eyes widened and he pushed himself into a sitting position, while Akiya was already climbing to his feet, dragging his clothes around him into something resembling privacy. Then, he seemed to remember where he was and looked down at Kazuto with slight panic in his eyes even as he sank down to his knees and bowed his head.

“My apologies,” he said, again with that perfectly polite and mechanical tone. Most alphas probably heard it and lifted their chins even more at the deferential tone, but Kazuto knew better. “May I–”

Kazuto immediately got up and reached for his clothes. Akiya pulled his own kimono on with practiced ease. It was a rush job, but he managed to make it look decent and tied the sash in a quick, more masculine style, before gathering up the extra cloth that he hadn’t had time to rearrange and going to the door. Kazuto was already there to push them open.

When they emerged into the hallway, what Kazuto saw immediately made him bristle. An alpha stood over one of the omega girls, a young one judging by the frightened look on her face and how she was scrambling away from him. She was shaking her head, but could no longer speak past her tears. Others were peeking their heads out of their rooms, but most of the house’s courtesans politely turned away with worried gazes and drew their clients back into their private rooms.

Kazuto saw just one rush down the hall. This one, judging by the taller stature and broader shoulders, was an alpha. He went down on his knees before the alpha customer and pleaded for him to forgive the girl, she was new, and if there had been a misunderstanding or the customers wished for a different sort of service, the house would be more than happy to accommodate.

The alpha laughed as more of his friends appeared in the doorway. They didn’t even bother to tuck themselves away and curled their lips in disgust seeing a fellow alpha shrink back and bow at their feet.

“Nah, we’re good,” the alpha sneered. “Just tell that bitch to get back inside and stop complaining. We came here for a good time, not more whining.”

“I apologize, sir, but this girl isn’t trained to handle multiple customers at once. If you would like, I can fetch someone who can see to your needs.” The alpha’s voice was trembling, but he held it steady. Akiya cursed under his breath and shuffled forward. Kazuto followed, treading carefully. Who knew what sort of creatures these customers were?

“I know how things work here,” the alpha snapped, suddenly whirling around and lurching forward. He came back up with a fistful of pale silvery curls and waves – the courtesan’s hair. He cried out at the rough treatment and brought his hands up to scratch at the alpha’s wrist, but held back. Apparently, he wasn’t a newbie. The customer shook him and smiled at his tiny whimpers. “Or are you that desperate to take her place? Maybe you are. Any alpha working here has to be a bit of a slut.”

“Shouldn’t you go find the oiran?” Kazuto asked Akiya, who was standing next to him with his fists clenched. For once, he wasn’t trying to appear elegant. Akiya shook his head and walked straight over to the commotion.

“Let him go.” Akiya had reached them by now. He stood behind the alpha, making him turn with the silver-haired courtesan still in his grasp. The customer had some sort of scales – he wasn’t strong enough to be a dragon, but he was some creature of the water.

“And why should I listen to you?” The man’s friends laughed.

Akiya marched up to him, and Kazuto winced as the man recoiled from whatever he had seen in Akiya’s eyes. Kazuto himself had never bore witness to them and low but insistent power thrumming beneath the surface of his skin.

“This is the service you requested at the front desk, is it not?” Akiya demanded. “This house is dedicated to serving a customer’s needs, but we can only do so if the customer is up-front and honest. Do you think this is a common brothel in the red-light district? We are performers, and the price you have paid for tonight is for service – not for you to indulge in your petty cruelties.”

Kazuto didn’t actually know Akiya’s species, come to think of it. He had thought he was similar to Akashi from the auburn hair, but it seemed that fire was not his element. Whatever it was, Kazuto felt nothing while the alphas seemed to be losing their composure. It wasn’t from Akiya’s intimidating posture – he was still far smaller and frailer than any of the three.

He watched as the men made their excuses and retreated down the hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, Akiya crouched by the two courtesans’ sides and gently patted them on the shoulders as he spoke calming words and smiled. Then they, too, got up, bowed, and were on their way.

Kazuto whistled as Akiya returned to his side.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” he commented. Akiya looked up at him with an expression of mock surprise.

“Why, I would never – what do you take me for, a brute?” Akiya smiled. But his smile was strained at the corners and as they stepped back into the room, Kazuto could see his steps were a bit uncoordinated. “All they needed was a bit of intimidation. I would never strike a customer.”

Somehow, he doubted that. Kazuto thought back to the story and scoffed.

“You hide your fear well. A single misstep and it could have ended badly for you.”

Akiya paused as he arranged his limbs to fit neatly on the futon again. He had picked up a little container of hard candies and held it between his fingers, offering Kazuto one. He had chosen that item because it would steady his hands, Kazuto realized. He declined the food, though, and Akiya bowed his head in acknowledgement, setting it aside.

“A courtesan is a work of art, trained in entertainment and pleasure,” he recited. “A courtesan must be an actor, a master of his emotions, as perfect as a painting inked by a master artist. You must always be dignified. To lose that illusion is to lose all the worth you have cultivated.”

It was a strange world that resided between these perfumed walls. Kazuto settled on the futon next to Akiya pulled him close, but did not tease or stroke him. They had the rest of the night to play. For now, he was satisfied with the pretty omega leaning against him, working out the residual anger and fear. Kazuto could smell it on him now, beneath the incense smoke curling into the air.

“Even the most beautiful painting will someday fade with age,” Kazuto murmured. Akiya rested his head against his shoulder. “For beings like us, that may take a while, but nothing lasts forever.”

“Of course not,” Akiya responded quietly. “How dull life would be if nothing ever changed. You cannot appreciate a flower’s beauty until long after it has fallen. Dreams don’t last forever.”

Was this a dream or a nightmare? Kazuto could not tell. He was reminded of Akiya’s retelling of that story, in a perfectly soft and unemotional voice.

‘The omega adored those stories and fell in love, but with the stories or with the customer? No one could be certain.’

#omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #five colors of thread #pwp

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birdybytheshore · 7 years ago

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Title: Limiter One-Shots - ‘windows to another world’

Pairings: Alpha/Alpha

Warnings: Rape/non-con, knotting, psychological trauma, implied mpreg (i swear this thing is fluffier than it sounds...but it does get explicit)

Summary: A relaxing afternoon takes a turn for the worst when Tōgō, an esper with psychometry, receives a terrible memory from a seemingly innocent children’s toy.

About: apparently I do not know the meaning of the word ‘short’ because this small one-shot ended up being 9,000 words long.

it goes with my ‘Limiter’ verse, which is a bunch of omegaverse stories about people with psychic powers who are forced to live in government-run facilities and work for them for zero pay and a lot of grief. cross-posted to ao3 (where my penname is fenren).

this one is set in Japan, after a bunch of espers broke out of a facility. they fled to the mountains and (kinda) invaded the local villages there.

1. windows to another world

A child’s world is cast in bright, painful bursts of warmth and laughter that bubbles forth from his chest and drowns him in waves of joy. Touching an object as innocent as a doll or book often sends him reeling, blinking through a sea of memories half-formed and half-conceived. The images are aimless, disjointed, as is the nature of childhood. Pushing those irrelevant memories aside, he reaches for the one that contains a familiar shadow.

When he opens his eyes, a little girl’s smiling face is staring up at him expectantly. Other children’s wide-eyed expressions come into focus one-by-one. An older child, twelve-years-old and proud of the task he has asked of her, holds them back with a stern set of her lips.

“What did you see?” says the little girl, leaning forward as she eyes the doll held loosely in his left hand. It is a worn doll made from scraps of old kimono cloth and straw stuffing, its limp limbs meant to resemble a crawling baby.

He closes his eyes for a bit of dramatic flair that the children so love and says, “An omega putting this doll together in front of a warm fire, one stitch at a time. She was very pregnant, but I got the feeling that she wanted finish it before the baby was born no matter what. It was made with a lot of love.”

The little girl’s smile widens as she whirls around to address the other children.

“He’s right! I was born at the end of winter, but I didn’t tell him that!”

“No way!” an older boy of about fifteen exclaims, hopping to his feet. “That had to be a lucky guess!”

He smiles indulgently and hands the girl’s doll back with great care. Not a single inch of his skin touches hers. The girl beams up at him for a second more before returning the boy’s disbelief with a glare and a slight curl of her lips. He is much taller than her, but she doesn’t back down.

“Well, I believe him!”

“Now, now,” he says in his most soothing voice possible. “I really did see a memory of the omega who made this doll. But if you find it difficult to believe me, why don’t you bring me a toy from your own house? I’ll tell you what I see, and you tell me if I got it right.”

With children, he is direct and precise. There is no room for argument in logic that sound and straight-forward, so the boy darts off with one of his brothers following close behind him. Most of the children stay seated and talk amongst each other excitedly. He has no idea what any of their names are, and too many voices are clamoring to be heard at once for him to pick anyone out of the crowd.

“I’m sorry they’re such a bother, Mister Tōgō,” says the twelve-year-old. She shifts her stance as if anticipating one of them might stray from their designated spots.

“It’s no issue,” he assures her. “They’re very lively.”

In truth, they are giving him the beginnings of a headache. Their cheer leeches into the ground, and while the earth absorbs memories and emotion without holding onto them, the children are entirely too close for him to avoid those sensations entirely. He can only count his blessings that he was born with psychometry and not an empath; who knows what he would do with himself if the flood of emotions never stopped.

The two boys return shortly, the older one holding an embroidered handball. Its threads are faded and worn, but hints of the vibrant yellows and oranges of the ginkgo leaf pattern remain. The older boy tosses it between his hands and trots over, then hands it to him with a serious and highly dubious expression.

Tōgō simply smiles and reaches out to take the toy into his hands. He vaguely remembers playing with one of these long ago. His twin brother had wandered off during the game, bored of passing the ball around.

As soon as the skin of his fingers wrap around it, he is sucked into a whirlwind of color.

It is bright, but this time the painful glow of the memories sears his senses. They are streaked with vivid reds that hurt his eyes, with high-pitched sounds that murmur in his ears. It is bright like a sun at midday, but in the shadows, something insidious crawls closer and closer to him with every breath.

He must make a decision now. There are two streams of memories, two types of emotion associated with this object. One burns with the familiar joy of childhood. The other is filled with light, but gives off the cold shine of a moon in deep winter.

If he picks the first, he will see the person who embroidered the ball and, possibly, the message left within it. If he picks the second, who knows what he might see?

Tōgō is used to doing what he is told, no more and no less. Even his name is something another suggested for him. The boy surely expects nothing more than a memory similar to the one he gleaned off the doll.

But, Tōgō is no longer obligated to do that. A tremor of fear, of thrill, runs through him at the thought.

He selects the second set of memories.

There is a death. The people in the background are mere shadows, crouched over in poses of mourning. Yet he, or rather the subject of this memory, feels round and full like the weight of a full moon hanging in the sky. And the people in the foreground, familiar presences, are little points of light like stars struggling to stand out on a cloudy night.

The memories shift.

In a room filled with the warmth of the summer sun, he hears crying. It’s a soft melody, even and regular. There is a heavy scent in the air. A pair of small hands lifts the ball and it lands in the garden, surrounded by cool grass and shade from the trees. He gleans a myriad of emotions in those few seconds. Pain, shame, horror, anger.

When he sees the blood drip off the side of the porch, he becomes himself again.

“Mister Tōgō, are you okay? Mister Tōgō!”

He doesn’t recognize the name as his own for a few seconds. It has only just become his, after all. It is a complete stranger to him.

“Hey, move over, you brats. Give him some room.”

These voices are familiar, but all he hears is the low roar of memories coursing through this children’s toy. It is a very old possession. Tōgō remembers how much he hates things with a history and wonders why he agreed to take it in the first place.

The mass of warm, bubbling emotions moves away.

The ball in his hands is carefully removed. He panics for a second – he can’t handle another set of memories, this time from a person with much more to offer than a toy – but the hands never touch his own.

Instead, they place something prickly and light in his lap. It’s a pair of woven straw sandals, and not a pair someone has mended over and over again. It still smells fresh. Its memories are limited to a familiar alpha bent over them, sitting on a porch while he weaves them absent-mindedly. They serve a practical function. Yukihiko can use a new pair with how much running he does, and Kantarō owes him for all he has done on his behalf, anyways.

The memories end there. Tōgō looks up.

Kantarō is an alpha just like him, but he is a warm, solid presence like an alpha should be. His eyes are dark and his face, calm and reserved. When he stands close, Tōgō naturally feels some of the emotions and memories trickling from his body like anyone else. What he is feeling now is concern. It isn’t fluttery and panicky, but even and constant.

“Do you need a moment alone?” Kantarō asks, not even mentioning the sandals.

Tōgō breathes. It feels like he hasn't done so in ages.

“Stay,” he says. Even though he might be better off sitting under the tree alone where no one’s spare memories can touch him, he asks the man to stay. Perhaps because he is used to the request, being an alpha and all, Kantarō nods and slowly lowers himself down to the shady grass in front of Tōgō. He doesn’t try to touch him to ground him, nor does he offer his deep alpha scent.

Tōgō can smell it anyway. It settles from a mild hint of worry to a steady, slightly musky scent.

They sit there, Tōgō sorting through the simple memories stored in the sandals until there is nothing left to uncover. Kantarō gazes off into the distance at the houses that have stood in this village for generations, but he doesn’t give off the feeling of loneliness one might expect from a man who has been ostracized by the people he should be calling family.

Tōgō doesn’t know the whole story. His brother saw fit to tell him only the ‘important’ information – namely, to stay far away from the alpha known as Hiraki Kantarō.

“I don’t believe what everyone says about you is true,” Tōgō says suddenly, surprising even himself with how firmly he says it.

“But it is all true, more or less,” Kantarō says with a hint of amusement.

“People say you are manipulative and conniving, but that isn’t the impression I get from you.”

“You’d be right,” Kantarō says mildly. “It doesn’t change what actually happened, what I actually did, though.”

After a pause of hesitation, Tōgō swallows around the unease in his throat and says, “Do you think you’re a bad person?”

It is an incredibly rude thing to ask. No one in their right mind would dare propose such a question in the serious tone Tōgō used, but Kantarō looks unperturbed, maybe even a little amused.

“I don’t,” Kantarō states without an ounce of conviction. He isn’t trying to convince Tōgō, an esper who can read his memories and emotions as easily as seeing a picture. It’s a simple fact. “I did what I had to and I don’t regret it. I did hurt others, Hisako particularly, and I am sorry for that, but I don't think either of us would have been happier pretending to be what we weren’t.”

It doesn’t make much sense without the rest of the story, but Tōgō refuses to reach for those memories. Kantarō is sitting there, almost inviting him to touch his skin and see if he is telling the truth. Tōgō won’t do it. Not unless Kantarō tells him to. The cold touch of the memory from before comes to mind and he shivers.

“My brother told me to stay away from you, but…” Tōgō looks the other alpha in the eyes. They are a dark, warm brown that Tōgō feels the intense need to look away from, but the stirrings of the alpha inside him refuse to break away.

He wonders why. Kantarō won’t attack him, that much is certain. His instincts, when they arise, are often confusing like that. Tōgō ignores them and forces himself to look down.

“But…? You aren’t doing a very good job of listening.”

Tōgō scowls. He knows when he is being teased.

“He’s my younger brother,” he says coolly. “I’m not obligated to follow his every word. And, it’s not as if he understands; he’s not a telepath.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kantarō quirks a brow.

Tōgō stares at the sandals.

“Some people give off stronger signals than others,” he explains. “Like children. I’m not good at handling them. Their emotions are too strong, and their memories…Then there are people like you. You don’t feel things as strongly as others around you, do you?”

“Usually, you wouldn’t consider that a good thing, I don’t think.” Kantarō’s silence on the actual question is an answer in and of itself. “Do I really seem that way to you?”

Tōgō nods. “You’re direct with your emotions. You come out and say them. You let them go. It…hurts when they get bottled up and spill over.”

“Like the ball from before,” Kantarō says. He leans closer, narrowing his eyes. There is no concern in his scent, but his eyes are searching as he tries to make contact with Tōgō. “It makes sense. That one belongs to Shirō – he’s the fourth son in his family, but the sixth child overall.”

“It has a lot of history,” Tōgō comments quietly.

That is a huge understatement. He shifts. The memory was old, but not that old. It must have been one of Shirō’s older siblings he saw. Whatever happened back then has come and gone, but Tōgō is left with a sense of unease.

“Don’t you want to know what it was about?”

“I’m curious, yes,” Kantarō says in an even tone. Any other person might assume he doesn’t care despite his words. “But only if you feel like telling.”

Kantarō is telling the truth here – and it doesn’t make sense. Tōgō frowns and turns the sandals over in his hands. He asked out of courtesy, but psychometry is an ability meant to be used for finding out secrets that may have otherwise been lost to time. To keep the information to himself feels even odder than the contents of the memory itself.

“Something terrible happened to whoever owned it last,” he says after a moment. He looks up at the sky peeking through the branches overhead and takes a deep breath. “I saw blood. Someone died in that house. Then there was a funeral. The person holding it felt…happy. No, happy isn’t the right word. Satisfied? Yeah, satisfied.”

Round and full like the moon, a feeling of completeness. Confident he is right, Tōgō brings his gaze back down to Kantarō, who sits there with a pensive look on his face.

“Shirō’s uncle died when Shirō was still very young. Because his mate died not long beforehand, everyone said it was from heartbreak.”

“Was he an older man?” Tōgō inquires.

“Did you see him in your vision?”

Tōgō shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, he wasn’t. He was, what, in his late thirties to early forties? It happened ten years ago.”

Ten years. Tōgō shuts his mouth. Ten years might as well be ancient history. Clearly, no one knows what actually happened. He is sure it wasn’t a simple case of heartbreak. If only he had searched a little further, he might have seen more – enough to sort out what exactly occurred in that house.

No, he scolds himself. He isn’t an esper working for the government anymore. He doesn’t need to draw every ounce of information out of every item he comes across. No one asked him to play detective.

Kantarō is staring. Craning his neck so he can look Tōgō in the face, expression filled with curiosity. Tōgō can’t sense the familiar pressure of insistence in him, though. Kantarō is just that type of person. If Tōgō won’t share or say anything, then it wasn’t meant to be.

Tōgō’s heart pulses quickly in his throat. It’s nice to be around people who don’t push for more, but strange at the same time.

“Do you want to find out more?” Kantarō asks, straightening his back. “I can ask Yuki for you. He can talk to Shirō’s older siblings. If anyone knows what happened in that house, they would be the ones to ask.”

“I shouldn’t pry,” Tōgō says. “It’s none of my business.”

“You live in village where everyone has known each other since we were crawling around in diapers,” Kantarō says with a deep, gentle laugh. At the slight confusion on Tōgō’s face, he adds, “One person’s business is everyone’s business.”

Ah, Tōgō thinks with a sharp jolt of shame, he would know, wouldn’t he? What should have been a matter between mates became the concern of the entire village. There isn’t a single person native to the area aside from Yukihiko and his younger sister Ishiyo who is willing to speak to Kantarō.

“They won’t believe me,” Tōgō says.

“Maybe not, but you never know.” Kantarō shrugs. “It’s up to you. I’ve got to get going now. Come find me if you change your mind.”

Tōgō holds the sandals out for him. Kantarō takes them with a smile, careful not to touch Tōgō’s fingers, not even a little.

“Do you want a pair?” he asks. “I can make you some for winter. It gets really cold up here in the mountains.”

At first, Tōgō’s instinctive reaction is to stiffen and expect the worst. He is no empath, but it’s usually quite apparent when an alpha is interested – except Kantarō’s expression never wavers. The thin stream of emotion rolling off him doesn’t stink of arousal and suddenly, Tōgō is ducking his head in shame to have attributed such intentions to the man simply because he is an alpha. Tōgō knows plenty of alphas who would never do such a thing – though those have all, up until now, been espers.

This isn’t the facility. He has to keep reminding himself of that. Every morning he wakes in a room that smells faintly of life, of straw mats and wood, not the cold cells he grew up with.

He doesn’t remember having spoken to Kantarō for any length of time in the past, yet the man waits patiently as if he already knows Tōgō’s habits.

“I don’t have anything to give you in return,” Tōgō finally says, pointedly ignoring what his silence on the matter insinuates.

Kantarō shrugs. “It’s fine. This is just a side job I do. Despite what my parents say about me, they won’t let me starve.”

He even says it with a bit of good humor. Tōgō smiles thinly. “Okay, if you don’t mind.”

He’ll just have to find something to give the man before winter comes. The omegas should have some ideas if he goes to visit them, but he probably shouldn’t mention the gift is for Kantarō. But then they might pester him to reveal which ‘lucky omega’ has earned his affections.

Kantarō waves goodbye and leaves, to wherever it is he lives in Momigi village. Tōgō watches him leave just as a hot summer wind blows through the mountains. He looks up at the swath of leaves shading him from the sun and inhales a deep breath of damp, humid air. The kids from before told him it would probably rain soon, but he doesn’t know how they can tell. That isn’t something his psychometry can tell him about.

The children seem convinced that his readings are simply lucky guesses or the result of extensive detective work, but Tōgō isn’t bothered when they give him half-hearted glares and call him a liar. It’s better that they leave him alone and fine one of the omegas to indulge them in play. Tōgō can tell he makes them ill at ease with his clearly alpha scent but complete lack of charismatic dominance the other alphas have.

It’s fine with him, but not so much with his brother.

“Calm down,” Tōgō sighs as they walk down the street to the only store in the entire village. “You’re scaring the children.”

Yūsaku has been glaring at every single one that dares to give Tōgō a sideways glance, having no doubt heard of his utter failure the other day. Everyone nearby can smell the pissed off alpha scent rolling off him in subtle, but definitely present, waves. The kids tend to scatter and hurry along when they smell it, but a few braved the scent. Then Yūsaku bared his teeth at them and that was as far as their courage got them.

“They’re giving you funny looks.”

“They’re not going to hurt me,” Tōgō points out. “I doubt they could do very much damage even if they tried.”

His twin gives him an odd look, but Tōgō’s psychometry only picks up the annoyance in his mood. If he touches him, he’ll receive a plethora of nasty images – memories of all the times Yūsaku failed to save him. He doesn’t have to worry about his brother crossing that line, though. He makes sure they stay far enough away from each other on the road so that even if someone bumps into him, he won’t accidentally brush Tōgō.

“The kids aren’t the ones you have to worry about,” Yūsaku frowns.

Tōgō rolls his eyes. “This is why everyone says you have a brother complex.”

“I don’t have a brother complex!”

Yūsaku certainly has something, but Tōgō doesn’t actually know what it might be, so he keeps his mouth shut and hums in agreement. They reach the store in another ten minutes. It’s a small establishment by modern standards, but the largest building in the village by far. Apparently, it has always served as more of a community center than a store in the true sense of the word.

They stop before going inside to report for their jobs. Yūsaku fixes Tōgō with a steady, if uncertain, gaze. His arms are crossed and he looks like he is about to explode. Tōgō waits for him to find his words with a patient smile.

“I heard you were talking to that Hiraki guy after you did a reading on some children’s toy,” he mumbles. “Did anything happen?”

Tōgō’s lips twitch downward, but he doesn’t let them fall into a frown. “No, nothing. It was just that the toy had an odd memory attached to it, and he snapped me out of it. That’s it.”

“An odd memory?” Yūsaku might not be a telepath, let alone one with psychometry, but there are some aspects of Tōgō’s abilities he does understand after twenty-six years of knowing each other. An ‘odd’ memory is usually bad news for someone involved. “Do you think–”

“I think everyone has their secrets and I shouldn’t pry,” Tōgō interrupts him. Still, the cold satisfaction and the brightness of the shadows in that memory haunt him at night. He isn’t curious, per say. It just – bothers him.

“It bothers you,” Yūsaku says as if he is reading his mind. “What did that alpha have to say about it?”

His brother’s tone of voice is very short and to the point. Not an ounce of emotion remains in his words. It’s on purpose, of course, and Tōgō appreciates it.

“What he knows about the incident doesn’t match up with what I saw,” Tōgō informs him. “But like I said, it’s none of my business. It happened ten years ago.”

Yūsaku flinches. A tremor of a memory flicks through Tōgō’s mind, but it isn’t his psychometry’s fault. His ability just makes the memory more vivid.

“And,” Yūsaku says hesitantly, “you can be sure it won’t happen again?”

“The man involved is dead,” Tōgō says. He lowers his voice to barely above a whisper. Anyone else might not hear him, but he and Yūsaku are accustomed to it from the days when they could do no more than whisper a few snippets of conversation to each other without risking punishment. “Though what I'm not sure of is whether he really died of grief like Hiraki said, or if he was – well, killed.”

His brother grunts in thought. Unlike the non-espers, he knows that Tōgō’s ‘visions’ always tell the truth.

“You think, maybe…”

“I think it might not be worth it to go after a guy who is already dead and gone. Hiraki didn’t make it sound like he was a bad person. Whatever he did, it’s history now.”

Yūsaku nods.

“We’ll give it some thought,” he says. “Try not to let it bother you.”

It’s already too late for that, but Tōgō gives his brother his most convincing smile and they head their separate ways.

He dreams about it later that night.

Telepaths usually have some self-awareness in their dreams, at least enough to identify it as such. At first, Tōgō allows the shadows in his surroundings to swell around him, and for the ball in his hands to glow as bright as the moon in his hands. He accepts that for what it is without complaint.

Then he hears a soft melody, an even rhythm of sobs, and smells the amalgamation of slightly sweet musk and the earthy scent of the summer’s humidity. The scream of the cicada in the garden blares in his ears, drowning out the crying. It is a hot sunny day that threatens to rain, though the sky is quite clear with only a few tufts of clouds floating over the house every now and again.

He knows he is dreaming when that image, which has held constant for the past few nights, shifts and he finds himself laying on his back staring up at the ceiling. It’s the same room. The interior is shrouded in darkness to keep it cool, but his skin feels sticky with sweat. Warm, damp, calloused hands slide up the smooth skin of his inner thighs and part them with a little force. Those should be the cold, starch scented gloves of a trainer or handler, and the contrast jogs his brain just enough to realize his memories and the memory attached to that handball have become a single dream.

Even knowing it is nothing but a dream distorted by the reading he did a few days ago, Tōgō lacks the power to end it like other telepaths do. He has no choice but to endure it.

The heavy scent hanging in the air is an alpha’s deep musk, the slightly sweet scent an omega’s slick. Neither belongs to Tōgō, though he can feel the foreign sensation of wetness coating his insides. His body burns with shame, and he flounders when he cannot immediately identify it as his own or as belonging to whoever’s memory has overlapped with his. A scream is welling in his throat, but a broad palm clamped over his mouth prevents him from doing more than making strangled, warbling cries.

There is pressure at his entrance, a large blunt object pushing insistently forward. It eases into him without stopping, widening his muscles even as they clench to desperately push the intrusion out. He is squirming and crying low in his throat as pain pinches at his nipples and pleasure floods up his abdomen at the same time the head pops into his ass. He convulses, insides fluttering in pain as the alpha above him holds him by the hips and thrusts punishingly hard into his body before he has a chance to adjust.

Tōgō doesn’t know whether this is him or the person in this memory anymore. He remembers how much it hurts to have a thick alpha’s cock spread him, ramming into him without regard for the burning pain or how much he screams. In this dream, however, something stops him from releasing the fullest extent of his voice. He can only whimper and cry. He even tries a broken attempt at a croon to get the alpha to stop.

The alpha’s heavy balls slap against his ass and the head pushes deep inside. He feels so full, so shamefully and uncomfortably full.

The handlers never had him on his back. He looks up through tears and sees nothing but their impersonal expressions as they fuck into him, recording how he reacts to his psychometry reading their arousal and pleasure at hurting him.

Then he feels a gush of something warm sting and stretch his insides and he cries out, knowing it is piss, and that soon he will be filled with urine, cum, and an alpha’s knot. It unbearable for his tight hole that was never meant to take an alpha’s width or semen. He squirms, but a voice growls in his ear to shut up if he doesn’t want his parents, brothers, and sisters to know he is an omega slut.

He isn’t. Tōgō isn’t even an omega. He tries to argue his case, but he feels the alpha’s knot begin to catch on his rim and swell inside his passage until it strains at his walls. It hurts even more as it repeatedly stretches him, and he can feel the urine leaking out around the knot, the acidic burn as it seeps into his torn flesh. He cries and cries as the knot pops in one final time, then swells even more, locking all that liquid in him. The alpha grunts above him and jerks him off as he is filled with cum.

It hurts. It’s so full.

He closes his eyes and whines –

Then he opens them and screams at last.

When he wakes up, he can’t smell anything except the reek of fear and arousal. Hands grab him by the shoulders and, before his psychometry can even react, he shrieks and lashes out. His nails catch on something and a hiss of pain registers, satisfying, in his senses. Every inch of his body crawls and trembles and his lips curl into a snarl.

He’ll bite the dick off anyone who tries to stick theirs in his mouth. He can do that now – now that he is away from that hellhole. Before, they would dangle his brother’s safety over his head. Threaten to send him to another facility, to separate them. No matter how much he pleaded with them, all they saw him as was a whining animal. Less than one, even. As if he was a machine with some very interesting and amusing functions programmed into him.

Something wraps around his shoulders and he cries out, tries to lunge away, but it gets trapped in his limbs and he lands on the futon with a loud thump. As he scrambles to get up, he takes a deep breath of much needed air. It smells – damp, and faintly of the fresh scent of rush straw. His movements slow down as his breathing evens out and the fear pulsing in his gut subsides.

He hears the person in front of him calling a name. Tōgō. His name. He has a name, now, and he is no longer in the facility or trapped in his dreams.

“Yūsaku…?” he says tentatively, afraid to hope it is his brother. What if this is the nightmare, and the dream was his reality? He will wake up back in that room, violated and alone, and he has always wondered how much more of it he can take. They don’t care that he is an alpha. They find it even more amusing and satisfying than abusing omegas, sometimes.

“It’s me,” says the person in his brother’s voice. “Calm down. It’s just me. No one else is here. We’re in Momigi village, remember? We escaped that place along with the others.”

His brother touches his hand, just a brush of his fingers against the back of Tōgō’s palm. A cold, sick rush of worry floods into him, and he sees every time his brother has reached out to him without being able to help in the past. Tōgō squeezes his eyes shut. Beneath those memories, though, are other moments. Frustration at choosing a suitable name, the soothing cordial atmosphere of their first time trying hot pot.

“I’m sorry,” Tōgō says, because it’s familiar and easy to get out even when his mind is a mess of anachronistic memories. “I’ll – I’ll fine in a second.”

“Take your time,” Yūsaku demands, putting a small but barely commanding growl into it. Tōgō sinks into the sheets, the surface of his skin sweaty from all the movement. “I’ll go draw a bath if you want.”

Tōgō shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just – some water, please?”

“Sure.”

When his brother gets up and leaves, Tōgō breathes a sigh of relief. He is alone again, but this time he can hear the soft murmurs of the other alphas waking up around them. He smells fear, his own, and through the thin walls the deep concern of the others. An alpha’s instincts to react and protect can be stronger when they detect the fear of another alpha than an omega, even, under certain circumstances. Anything fierce enough to scare an alpha is a major cause for worry, after all.

But everyone here more or less knows that it is nothing but a nightmare. Tōgō has been drawn out of sleep from catching the scent of the others trapped in their memories. They’ll all be back asleep soon.

He finally gets around to untangling himself from the bedding and sits cross-legged in the middle of the room.

“I suppose I can’t just forget about it,” he says when his brother finally returns. “I’ll ask Hiraki about it in the morning.”

“If you’re sure he can help,” Yūsaku responds. “In the meantime, get up so we can fix these sheets.”

Yukihiko. The cheerful beta who stood at the entrance to the narrow, hidden path up to the village and greeted them when no one else dared approach the strangers with even stranger powers. He is both incredibly easy and difficult to find for the reason that he splits his time between the various villages and hamlets that make up the old Taira clan’s hideaway. His warm, helpful nature is otherwise easy to pick out of a crowd or find in villages as small as these.

It takes Tōgō a few days to corner him and ask where Kantarō lives. No one else will tell him even if he asks and he has looked around, but the lone alpha is nowhere to be seen. According to Yukihiko, his house is a tiny thing on the outskirts, on the side of town closest to the suspension bridge that leads to the next village. It’s an old place that belonged to a doctor from two generations or so ago. That was before the practice was moved closer to the center of the village after a particularly harsh winter.

When Yukihiko asked him why out of curiosity, Tōgō hesitated before saying he wanted to repay Kantarō for helping out the other day. Luckily for him, Yukihiko was already talking about the festival the villages are going to host at the end of the summer, the previous topic forgotten in his enthusiasm.

Tōgō stands outside the alpha’s modest house and already feels the weight of the memories lingering in the air. The place hasn’t served as a clinic in ages, but he can almost smell the cloying scent of sickness in the air. He can’t stay for long.

“Excuse me,” Tōgō says when he walks up to the door. The sliding door is made of wooden panels worn beyond belief, but it still looks sturdy. He hears someone moving around inside and backs up before the door slides open with a little effort on Kantarō’s part.

“It’s you,” Kantarō says rather unnecessarily. He looks over Tōgō’s shoulder, but finding no one there, steps aside to let him walk into the entryway. “I’m sure you didn’t come by just to say hello.”

Tōgō inclines his head and steels himself. He tucks his hands in front of him, ignoring how it makes him look smaller, and follows the other alpha inside.

“It’s about the matter from the other day,” Tōgō says. “The memories I saw from the children’s ball?”

“I figured. Do you want tea? I don’t have anything special, though.”

“No, thank you,” Tōgō says, perhaps a bit too quickly. He can’t afford to touch anything in this house, though. Kantarō leads him to the low table where he was doing his work. Piles of several sizes of straw sandals sit next to it. “I wanted to ask you about that family.”

“Okay,” Kantarō says, sitting down across from him. “I’m not sure how much help I can be, but ask whatever you want. I won’t get offended.”

If it was anyone else, Tōgō might doubt that and grapple with how much information to reveal and how much could be left unsaid. People do get defensive, or doubtful, and he doesn’t really blame them for it. Kantarō really means this, though.

Relieved, even if he is a bit confused still, Tōgō takes a deep breath and continues, “You said Shirō’s uncle died, and so did his mate not long before him. Do you recall how his mate died?”

There isn’t really anyone to tell among the espers even after Tōgō has an approximation he hopes is close to the truth. Most of the espers politely ignore the non-esper villagers, and the feeling is mutual. Tōgō was only approached that day because the kids managed to find his hiding place and wondered if what the adults said about those people with strange powers was true.

Instead, Tōgō pays a visit to the home belonging to Shirō’s elder brother. He had to ask Yukihiko’s younger sister, Ishiyo, about the next day because Yukihiko had already left for Nitao by the time he was finished at Kantarō’s house. The girl had been more than happy to point him in the right direction, but warned him that Shirō’s brother, an omega named Sōjirō, has a young daughter.

What Tōgō knows about omegas is limited to the few he knows from the facility. He hesitates outside the front door, knowing that his status as an alpha will be seen as intrusive and threatening. Once again, he is struck with the strong notion that this is none of his business. What happened ten years ago is done and gone. He is only doing this for himself, to rid himself of those nightmares, and the thought is frightening in its own way.

“Mommy, someone’s here!” He hears a child’s high-pitched voice from around the back where the garden is, and sees a small girl bound to the furthest reaches of the fence while looking over her shoulder.

An omega walks out from the garden wearing work clothes, his hair held back by a handkerchief. He is holding a broom in one hand and wipes his other on his apron before patting the girl on the head. When he looks in Tōgō’s direction, he gives him a faint, shy smile, and a tiny bow in deference to his dynamic.

Tōgō nods his head in return and suddenly, he can’t do this. Whatever happened to Sōjirō in that house is over. He has a daughter, albeit far later than most would expect of a pretty omega like him, and a mate who Tōgō has met before. The woman is a bit loud and fond of drinking, but he has never felt intimidated or that she was ever trying to pick a fight.

“Good afternoon,” Sōjirō greets him warmly. His voice is a bit deep for an omega, but it’s soothing and amicable enough. “Can I help you with something? If you’re looking for Hatsuyo, she’s working at her family’s store. It’s near the teashop in town.”

“Oh, um. I…” Tōgō distinctly remembers one of the nights he went drinking with the other alphas. It’s one of the few times the espers and non-espers share a room without staring at each other suspiciously. One of the village betas teased him for not being alpha-like. He only got a few words in before Yūsaku lunged for him and nearly started a fight, but Tōgō remembers his words clearly.

There is nothing he can say to this omega. Nothing he should say. In the past, it was never his responsibility to decide what to do with the information he pulls from the objects he touches. He only ever spewed whatever he could glean from them and promptly forgot about it.

Sōjirō’s smile falls. “Is something the matter? Are you feeling ill?”

He is polite, holds himself straight, and his eyes express genuine concern.

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Tōgō says hastily as he backs away. That beta would laugh if he saw Tōgō now, running away from a sweet omega like this one. Now he just has to make his excuses and leave. “I saw your younger brother, Shirō, the other day.”

“Oh! I heard about what happened.” Sōjirō smiles down at his daughter and tells her to go find her friends to play with. She pouts, but runs off down the street obediently. Sōjirō himself has a troubled look on his face. “I apologize on his behalf. It upset you greatly, and he hasn’t been around to apologize. I’ll mention it to our mother, I’m sure she’ll–”

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Tōgō says with a quick shake of his head and a shaky hand gesture. “Please don’t bother. I was just caught off guard.”

Sōjirō has walked up to him to talk, and now that he is so close, Tōgō can smell the hint of concern on his scent. It’s sweet, a little too sweet, and Tōgō realizes that he must either be coming off a heat or entering one in the next few days. He doesn’t seem to take the expensive suppressants that come in monthly shipments from the villagers who go down to the towns and cities for supplies that are difficult to come by in the mountains.

What in the world is Tōgō doing here?

“Just out of curiosity, what did you see that surprised you so much?” Sōjirō asks politely. “I’m not sure how those powers of yours work. Apparently, Hiroe Moritaka from Nitao has them, but I’ve never spoken more than a few words to him personally.”

“I’m a subtype of telepaths who can pick up or ‘read’ emotions and memories from the objects we touch,” Tōgō explains. If the description wasn’t so generic, he would be stuttering right now. He can’t retreat any further without seeming rude, so he stands his ground. “I just – I saw a memory of a funeral when I touched it. It surprised me that a child would bring a handball to a funeral.”

Sōjirō blinks and his lips part, though no sound escapes. His gaze falls to the ground as he responds with an absent smile, “Oh. That is surprising. I didn’t think – it’s really that accurate?”

Tōgō nods. “Sometimes things get a little muddled, but generally, yes.”

“I’m sorry, then,” Sōjirō smiles up at him. “I was the one who brought it to the funeral, you see. That was so long ago, I forgot it even happened until you mentioned it. I’m not sure what got into my head.”

The memory never revealed that reason to Tōgō. All it gave him was that feeling of utter satisfaction. Knowing the truth chills Tōgō more than the memory. Staring down at this petite, charmingly docile omega and knowing what he did to protect himself is even more frightening than facing his nightmares. He decides right then and there that it is best to leave the matter alone. It’s a secret that can stay known only to him, his brother, Kantarō, this omega, that embroidered handball, and the dead.

“I apologize for interrupting you,” Tōgō says again, with a thin expression he hopes resembles a smile. “If you could tell your younger brother not to worry about it…?”

“Of course,” Sōjirō says.

“Have a good day.” Tōgō begins to walk away. He can’t stay around here any longer.

“You, too!” Sōjirō calls out. A pause, and it seems that the matter is settled, until he hears running and looks over his shoulder. Sōjirō jogged a bit to catch up to him enough to call out, “Mister alpha! If you ever want to talk about it, feel free to come over for tea. Hatsuyo won’t mind!”

Tōgō freezes. It’s not often alphas cower before omegas, but a terrible unease sweeps through him as he nods and watches Sōjirō pick his broom up and return to the garden.

He finds himself outside Kantarō’s place again after that harrowing encounter. The sky turned grey and overcast and started to rain as he was walking out of town, but he was too far to turn back.

Now, soaked down to the underclothes, he regrets not ducking into a shopfront to take shelter. There is no telling how long the rain will last, though, and he would rather spend it in good company. He calls out, “Excuse me!” again and waits for the alpha inside to open the door.

Kantarō sees him and shakes his head, then steps aside for him to get in and out of the rain.

“Let me get you a towel. And a change of clothes.” Kantarō disappears into the house’s only other room, the bedroom in the back while Tōgō plucks at his shirt and slacks. They stick to him like a second skin.

Kantarō returns holding a bundle of dark cloth and fabric. He tosses the white towel at him first, then pauses before handing the second bundle over.

“You can change in the other room,” Kantarō says, letting the folds unravel to show off the brown yukata. “If you need help with tying it, let me know.”

He does, in fact, need help tying it. Once he was dried enough, he stepped up onto the worn but clean straw mats and took the change of clothes to the bedroom. He peeled his wet clothes off and held the yukata in front of him, wondering how hard it could be. Plenty of the men and women in these villages still wear traditional clothing in their day to day lives.

He slid his arms into the sleeves and crossed one side over the other, but it was a little long for him as he suspected, and he didn't know how to reproduce the special knot used to tie the sash.

“Um,” he calls out, feeling silly. He’s twenty-seven, not seven, and he can’t even get dressed. “I need a little…”

Kantarō peeks his head in immediately, but that is because his house is the size of two rooms. Tōgō holds the yukata tight around him, well aware of the shallow scars scattered across his body. The other alpha observes him with an analytical eye for a moment. Then he steps inside and walks right up to him.

“Move your hands, I can tie it for you.”

Tōgō draws back. “How do I do it?”

“It’s easier to show you.”

Figuring that he isn’t getting out of this, Tōgō relents and releases the folds of the yukata. Kantarō, like the time with the sandals, doesn’t touch him unnecessarily. He wraps the yukata around, bunches it up around his waist until it isn’t touching the floor, and cinches it there with the sash, which he ties quickly and moves to the small of his back.

That wasn’t so bad, Tōgō thinks as he follows Kantarō to the main room. He was careful. The yukata is snug around his waist, but loose elsewhere. Not too suffocating, and there is nothing but mild, pleasant memories contained within it.

“I ended up not asking him about it,” Tōgō informs him as he prepares tea in two steaming cups. Kantarō nods to show he is listening, but makes no comments yet. “Some things are better left alone.”

When the other alpha returns to the table, Tōgō breathes in his scen, which is amplified by the humidity in the air. To his amazement, the storm of memories associated with this place is dulled by that scent, or perhaps just Kantarō’s steady presence.

He closes his eyes and wonders how many more nights he must have that nightmare before it fades away to join his other memories.

“I felt really stupid once I was there,” Tōgō admits, eyes still closed. “It really was none of my business.”

“It was, though,” Kantarō says, quite suddenly and with the same strength of conviction Tōgō heard from him a few days ago when they were talking about the rumors surrounding him. “If you really do experience those memories as if you’re taking part in them, then it does become ‘your’ business.”

“Wait, how do you know…?” Tōgō doesn’t remember telling him that he sees memories from the perspective of the object involved, or the person holding it.

“I asked your brother. He doesn’t like me very much.”

When did that happen? Tōgō shakes his head. “He doesn’t like many non-espers. I can’t believe he actually spoke to you, though.”

Kantarō smiles, and it strikes him as handsome, charming. It’s a shame no one in the villages will even think of talking to him anymore, after what happened with his last mate.

“He came asking me what my ‘intentions’ towards you were. And he threatened to hang me off the side of a cliff if I tried anything.”

Tōgō doesn’t know what to say, suddenly rather embarrassed. He scowls and huffs. “Seriously? I’m sorry about him. He – he’s overprotective.”

“He was just worried about you.” Kantarō shrugs, as if it’s no big deal that Tōgō’s brother threatened to toss him off a cliff. As if it’s justified, somehow, because he was ‘worried’.

“He treats me like I’m a frail, sickly omega, and I’m not,” Tōgō argues. He sweeps a strand of wet hair behind his ear and shakes his head. “And he’s not allowed to harm non-espers with his powers, so don't worry about that.”

“I wasn’t,” Kantarō says simply. It would be more infuriating if not for the fact that his honesty and level emotions are a breath of fresh air to Tōgō, who is used to concentrating his hardest to block the worst out of his environment.

“Why? I know I don’t really classify as the most threatening of espers, but some of us are dangerous.” In other words, have some sense of self-preservation. Then again, if this guy really cared about such a thing, he probably wouldn’t have broken it off with his mate.

“Because he and I both knew you’d be upset if he really did off me like that.”

What? Tōgō, flustered, ducks his head and frowns. He can’t help but feel – pleased, he thinks. Pleased and at ease.

Kantarō leans forward across the table and smiles, though it’s more of a smirk, and less of a smirk than a quirk of his lips in amusement. For once, Tōgō really has no idea what it means. He isn’t an empath. He knows the man isn’t upset, but beyond that is a mystery to him.

Tōgō lifts his arm, noticing for the first time how cold his fingers are despite the summer heat. He wants to – “Can I?” he says, reaching out for the other alpha.

“I thought you said I was easy to read,” Kantarō says evenly, though he doesn’t protest as Tōgō gets closer.

“That’s just the surface.”

“Go ahead,” Kantarō says when he realizes Tōgō isn’t moving for a reason. He reaches out, his hand hesitating before clasping loosely over Tōgō’s wrist to drag him the last bit of distance until he can touch the outer corners of the man’s lips. They’re warm and dry, and Tōgō opens his powers up to the stream of emotions from this man.

If most people are raging rivers surging forth after a long, cold winter, Kantarō is placid like the surface of a lake. Ripples may form on the surface, but Tōgō can wade through those with no issue.

“Thank you,” Tōgō says as he pulls away, his flushed cheeks not abating by any significant amount. “Do you really feel that way? I thought your last mate was a beta.”

“I thought you were never wrong.” Kantarō scoffs, and it stings a bit, more than when Yūsaku makes fun of him or snaps at him in frustration. He knows his brother, after all, perhaps better than he knows himself.

“I–” he hesitates. “Yes. Generally, what I see isn’t wrong…”

“Then you already understand. I don’t know you that well, but I like you. They say there are some people you are meant to spend your life with from the moment you meet, and others are meant to pass through your life just once. I didn’t feel either way with Hisako.”

“But why?” he asks. It’s not that Tōgō doesn’t understand what he felt and saw. It’s not that he doubts the authenticity of it. He simply cannot comprehend.

Kantarō smiles, but it’s a funny thing. As if he indulging Tōgō, and maybe he is. “Apparently, the things I say put you at ease. And that makes me happy. Maybe it’s only because I’m an alpha and that’s in our nature, but…”

Tōgō stares at him, wondering. He shouldn’t feel warm and this pleased, not by an alpha’s flattering words. He is an alpha himself, even if he hasn’t always acted like one. Even if others don't treat him like one.

“Well, no matter how I feel now, we have only just met each other.” He shrugs. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, he is saying without words, but Tōgō already knows all of this from that single touch.

“I – I’m not an omega.” It’s a weak argument. That’s the problem with having telepathy or psychometry. It’s impossible to claim he doesn’t understand, but Kantarō doesn’t call him out on it. “I’m sick and tired of being treated like one.”

He says the last bit softly, as if admitting it will make it even more true than it already is, at least to an extent. Kantarō doesn’t know him, and that is a fact. He has no idea of the things Tōgō has done, how much of his pride as an alpha he threw away to protect himself and his brother. And the fact that he can keep this information to himself even while it rages just beneath his skin is somehow unfair.

“I know you’re not an omega,” Kantarō says. “If I wanted an omega, I wouldn’t have mated with a beta. That, at least, was my choice.”

“Oh,” Tōgō says, because that makes sense. He bites back a smile. Then, he decides then and there, “I’d like to try to get to know you without my ability. If you don’t mind waiting, if you don’t mind if I stop by every now and again…”

“As long as you don’t mind being the talk of the town,” Kantarō says with a roll of his eyes. “They’ll gossip. They won’t leave you alone, even if we stay nothing but friends.”

“Don’t worry,” Tōgō laughs. “My brother will have it covered.”

#omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #alpha/alpha #every pairing is a slow burn #.togo.#.kantaro.#.yukihiko.#.ishiyo.#.yusaku.#my fic #limiter verse #limiter oneshots

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