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The elders will tell you that Ayato embraced every trial and tribulation that came his way. It went without saying the grace with which he assumed the role of head of the Kamisato Clan, with his younger sister to handle public affairs. It also went without saying that the eldest son of the Clan was born Alpha and would proudly lead for years to come. The picture they’d paint would be magnificent, one of valor and honor and dominance.

(But.)

(What the elders won’t tell you is that while Ayato had been born an Alpha — to his parents’ delight and relief — he didn’t stay that way.)

(And it was all Thoma’s fault.)


Thoma burned brighter than a supernova. Ayato was certain of it.

Whenever Thoma came into his orbit, Ayato felt a certain heat prickling at the base of his neck. It was unlike the urges that overtook him when he entered a rut.

(For Ayato, ruts were spent alone. There, he’d tirelessly struggle through it, chugging suppressant after suppressant until the fogginess faded.)

No, with Thoma, it was an all-encompassing fire that scorched Ayato. Sometimes, if Ayato stared at him long enough, admiring the easy smile and relaxed slope of his shoulders, Ayato would feel the stirring in the pit of his stomach that ached if left unattended for too long.

Thoma was charming, handsome, kind, benevolent. Thoma was the type of person to put his friends and family above all else, while still maintaining his honor with the utmost loyalty. Thoma was the person you would want in your corner.

And Thoma was, frustratingly, also an Alpha.

It presented a peculiar predicament for the young heir. During their childhood, their competitive streaks would get the better of them during duels and games of shogi. In their adolescence, Ayato would begrudge the fact that his closest friend was impossible to mate with, to claim, to own, to control but only with the promise that Ayato would take the utmost care for him. But in their adulthood, Ayato came to dislike that unfortunate truth a little less, when he learned through the grapevine that while two Alphas could not mate, there was a convenient loophole for the hopeless romantic and frisky souls.

(And no, he absolutely hadn’t heard this from Yae Miko who absolutely did not take obscene delight in the pinch of Ayato’s brows when she asked if he had a certain Alpha in mind in his hypothetical inquiries.)

There was a solution: bitching. It was a rather crass term that Ayato discarded without a second thought; the process seemed difficult and without any promise of success.

But when Ayato caught glimpse of a maid tucking her hair behind her ear, a blush high on her cheeks, subconsciously offering her neck to the gregarious housekeeper? Ayato had to reconsider his aversion to the concept. Bitching it would be.

(And the elders, oh the elders, they won’t tell you that the mysterious and refined Kamisato Ayato not only became an Omega, but that he bitched himself.)

He starts with his fingers.

Simple, effective, and the least embarrassing of the methods. After a particularly long dueling session with Thoma, he had retired to his quarters to rest, claiming that he was drained and needed to regain his energy before tackling the mountain of paperwork in his office. Thoma had offered to run him a bath, but Ayato had airily laughed and insisted Thoma’s attention was better spent keeping the rest of the staff in order. Thoma didn’t argue.

When Ayato reaches his room, he’s sweating. Images of his friend from earlier flashed through his mind on an endless loop: Thoma with a sweat-soaked shirt flexing his muscles, Thoma chuckling lowly near Ayato’s ear when he tried to knock him off his balance, Thoma whispering sultry commands in his master’s ear without a single care for his status as a retainer.

With all that in mind, Ayato gets to work.

Shamelessly, Ayato slips two lube-covered fingers between his legs and against his shuddering entrance. The muscles reflexively tighten, denying entry, unused to the obtrusion. Ayato tries to relax, to regulate his breathing and focus on the end goal. If there was anyone in this world he could want to be with, to feel his own control wane and slip away, all that responsibility neatly stored away somewhere while someone took care of him, it’d be Thoma. It’d always be Thoma.

The thought alone has Ayato loosening up. Gently, he nudges the tips of his fingers through the tight ring of muscles. He doesn’t try to suppress the shudder that overtakes him nor the gasp that fills the otherwise silent room. It’s odd, but it’s not bad.

He waits a few seconds before he goes deeper, urging his index finger in to the second knuckle before he dares to do the same with his middle. Two fingers deep and he feels a warmth burning his cheeks. There’s the rapid beating of his heart against his chest, too, but Ayato ignores that fight-or-flight response in favor of picturing Thoma telling him what a good job he was doing preparing himself for him.

Ayato thrusts both fingers in with more urgency when his cock begins to stiffen. The uncomfortable pressure and slight pain starts to ebb, morphing into a primal feeling of satisfaction. When fingertips brush a bundle of nerves deep inside of him, he chokes on a moan, stars appearing behind his eyelids.

(And he wishes Thoma were here, pushing his hair over his shoulder, mouthing at his pulse, at his nape, asking him if he’d like to be his.)

The image alone is enough to send Ayato over the edge. His hips buck forward and he messily comes, shooting white ropes over his stomach and the sheets. His fingers continue to move with persistence, curled and alternating between thrusting and stroking at that same spot.

When he’s spent, he collapses forward. What a sight it would be, for someone to step in and see Ayato on his knees, ass presented in the air, cum dripping from his thighs.

It goes on that way for a few days. Whenever there’s an available block of time on his chronically over-booked calendar, Ayato excuses himself to his room and fingers himself until he’s gasping Thoma’s name like his favorite symphony.

Sometimes, he has the audacity to have dinner with Thoma and his sister less than an hour after the deed. Thoma’s warm smile and laugh is enough to remind Ayato that this is a selfless act, and that he hopes to one day bring Thoma as much happiness as the outlander has hung in the halls of the Kamisato Estate.

(And maybe Ayato feels a little guilty, doing all of this while never mentioning it to Thoma. The fear that Thoma would reject him is an icy one that penetrates his very soul, but Ayato always has been good at compartmentalization.)

It’d be worth it, Ayato was certain.

He’d prove his loyalty to Thoma just as Thoma did for him, time and time again.

“Is this summer really that bad?”

Ayato glances up from his paperwork, noticing that Thoma is lingering by his futon. In Thoma’s hands are the sheets that Ayato half-heartedly cleaned that morning. The evidence of what he did is mostly gone, but there remain dark spots from the moisture all the same. Seeing Thoma cradle the sheets with such care has the tips of Ayato’s ears burning.

“Hm?” asks Ayato, feigning innocence as he drops his chin to the palm of a hand. “How do you mean?”


“Your sheets are all sweaty, is all,” laughs Thoma as he tosses him a thousand-watt smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll makes sure they’re changed before bed.”


Ayato’s lips curl into a genuine smile at the gesture. “That’s very kind of you, Thoma.”

“Of course, my lord,” says Thoma with a firm nod, that smile never waning. “We need to keep you well rested.”

Ayato wonders if being fucked to sleep would result in a better night’s rest. He supposes that’s a bit too lewd to mention without any sort of segueway.

Thoma leaves the sheets near the screen before he makes his way over to Ayato. His arms fold to his chest and he peers at his master with a certain scrutiny that has Ayato burning up all over again.

“Hm? What is it?” asks Ayato, eyes roving over his paperwork, over the same sentence he’s read three times now. It’s impossible to focus when Thoma is near him.

“You look more tired than usual, is all,” murmurs Thoma, thoughtfully. “Are you sleeping okay?”


Ayato suspects the ruthless attempts at defiling himself have been wearing on him. Not only has he been losing sleep, but’s felt the strain on his body. Bitching wasn’t natural, and his body seemed to balk at the idea of having anything inside of it.

(And Ayato just that morning had graduated from his own fingers to something a bit more solid, so perhaps that was the root cause after all.)

“Splendidly,” says Ayato with a dismissive wave of his hand. His eyes drift off his paperwork and land squarely on the endless green of Thoma’s. For a second, Ayato admonishes himself for such a disgustingly cliche thing to think, but a deeper part of him that craves that comfort, that security, those lips, hushes him. “Would you like to go into the city with me, if you’re free?”


“The city? Yeah, of course. What for?”


Thoma is already shifting paper around on Ayato’s desk into neat little stacks. While Ayato lives a very pristine and orderly life, deadlines and stress tend to eat away at his sense of organization.

“There’s something I’d like to pick up at one of the vendors,” Ayato explains as he leans back in his chair and rubs at his temples. He can see lettering behind his eyes from having stared at his work for too long. The idea of getting some fresh air isn’t a bad one, especially when it’s in Thoma’s company.

(That, and he needed to procure more lube and pain medication if he was going to continue this.)

“I can just go grab it for you, you know,” chuckles Thoma as he steps around the desk and rests a hand on his lord’s shoulder. “You should stay here and try to get some rest.”


Ayato’s eyes blink back open. He slowly takes in the sight of Thoma hovering over him; it’s enough to fuel a week’s worth of fantasies, certainly.

“Are you trying to say you do not wish for my company, Thoma?” asks Ayato, the words trailing off into a low purr as he cants his head to the side. Bangs fall, obscuring his vision, but he can see the redness gathering on Thoma’s face.

“W-what?!” Thoma sputters, lifting both hands up in the air. He begins to physically dispel the notion, breathing a little heavier and blushing a little harder. “Of course not, my lord!” When he sees the corners of Ayato’s lips twitch into a smirk, he lowers his hands. “…You’re joking, right. Very funny.”

Delighted, Ayato rises from his chair. The day was still young and he simply wouldn’t take no for an answer. “So you’ll join me.”


Thoma stays close, smile returning as the pink starts to fade. “It’d be my honor.”

Later that night, Ayato puts his purchase to good use.

It was difficult to combat the million questions Thoma asked him about the little box he picked up from the foreign merchant. Ayato had gone through a list of increasingly preposterous items until Thoma finally relented. It was no secret that Ayato liked to tease, and it was certainly not a secret to the elders that Ayato’s favorite victim was Thoma.

By the time Ayato retires for the evening, he can feel his body begging for rest. He ignores it, knowing that’s a sign that this crazy endeavor is starting to work.

So, Ayato gets to work, too.

He slips off each layer with care, pretending it to be Thoma’s hands undressing him. In his mind, he pictures Thoma’s lips brushing along his neck and then the slope of his collarbone, tasting him and leaving little teethmarks in places only the two of them know.

Ayato pictures the way Thoma would kiss, most often. It’s a feverish sort of frenzy that is borderline consuming: Ayato suspects Thoma would kiss with passion, would cover Ayato’s lips easily with his own, would grab at his hip to steer him against the wall as his tongue thrust into Ayato’s mouth.

And then Ayato would picture something less chaste. As his clothes dwindled in number, he would picture Thoma taking him between those cherry-red lips and sucking him off. Ayato’s cock would fit nicely in the warm wet cavern of Thoma’s mouth and Ayato would tangle his fingers in Thoma’s hair, urging him on. Sometimes, he’d yank, and Ayato would have to wonder if Thoma would like that.

By the time Ayato is naked, sprawled out alone on his futon with a vibrator grabbed tightly between his slender fingers, his cock is already leaking. There’s pre cum staining his sheets and he imagines Thoma playfully scolding him for making a mess of his room again.

Ayato shifts on the futon. The sheets tangle at his ankles but he pays them no mind as he brings the lubed-up toy to his ass and slowly presses it in. Unlike his fingers, it’s a tighter fight. He had used it earlier that morning to penetrate himself, but hadn’t had the time to turn it on.

Now, cloaked in the darkness of the night, Ayato found the time.

The pulsing of the toy deep inside of him reverberates against his walls. His cock grows impossibly harder as it strains against his stomach, even after Ayato shifts onto his knees and lifts his ass into the air.

For Thoma, he’d do this. For them, he’d do this.

As was the case earlier that morning, Ayato’s body refuses to give into the pleasure at first. That dogged resistance, that defiance that comes with being an Alpha, has his body steadily trying to reject the toy and the pleasure he starts to feel when it vibrates against his prostate. This wasn’t proper for an Alpha.

There’s a flash of searing pain, then. Ayato grits his teeth and bites down hard on his free hand to keep himself from yelling. His entire body trembles as the vibrator continues to jostle about inside of him. He doesn’t dare move.

As the pain begins to subside, Ayato’s ears stop ringing. Whereas before there was a pain associated with these sort of things, there instead now is a dull ache for more. Blearily, Ayato opens his eyes and tries to control his breathing.

Was it working? Was his body beginning to change?

“Thoma,” Ayato groans out, grinding down on the head of the toy vibrator as he starts to fuck himself with it more earnestly.

There’s an undeniable wave of pleasure that overtakes him. Goosebumps form on Ayato’s body and a rush of wet oozes out from the edges of the toy and begins to drip down his thighs. Through the haze of it all, Ayato thinks that hasn’t happened before, but he’s too gone to focus. Instead, he uses the energy left in his body to chase that heat, that wonderful sensation of slamming his prostate again and again with pressure.

He never hears the door open.

Ayato barely notices that there’s a sickeningly sweet scent in the air. Had he not been in the midst of building to the best orgasm of his life, perhaps he would have realized it was him. The smell of wisteria in the evening, accompanied with something as sweet as milk tea. A potent combination that wafted about and clung to him. To his own nose, it was overbearing, but it was easily ignored by curling his free hand around the throbbing shaft of his cock to start stroking himself off.

“My lord?”

And oh, what a terrible moment it is.

Ayato’s hand drops from his cock as if he’s been burnt. Shame flares across his cheeks as he goes rigid. The hand that had been holding the vibrator deep inside of him drops to the sheets, uselessly flexing against the fabric.

He takes a breath, takes a second. On the third, he realizes this isn’t a nightmare and that Thoma is indeed standing in the doorway to his room.

“I-I thought I heard you calling for me,” Thoma stammers when it appears that he’s realized what he’s stepped in on. “I should have knocked. I’m sorry, my lord, I can just —”

Ayato chokes on a moan when the vibrator switches modes and buzzes louder, faster inside of him.

Thoma freezes.

Time seems to go on forever in that moment, with Ayato on his knees and tears gathering at the corner of his eyes from how good it feels. There’s undeniably slick pooling on the futon and the scent of an almost-bitched alpha permeates the air.

(And Ayato, in his haze, has to wonder if Thoma heard him moan his name, if he knows that all of this is because of Thoma, if he —)

“My lord, you’re…?” Thoma stares at him, unable to keep his words to himself.


“I’m close,” Ayato begs, his body enflamed as he tries to chase the orgasm that used to come so easily but now seems impossible. There’s a tightness in his chest and an empty aching in his body that isn’t satisfied with the girth of the toy. His head feels heavy, like cotton-balls and bowling balls have settled there.

Thoma kneels in front of him. (And when did he even start to walk over? When did he…)

“My lord,” Thoma says, gentler, reaching out to cup Ayato’s cheek. Such a small gesture is enough to begin to cool the wildfire that’s consuming Ayato, burning brighter than it ever has. Thoma’s touch feels good. “Are you…” He tries again, fails, then tries a third time. “I thought you were a…?”


Ayato’s eyes flutter open. It’s remarkable that Thoma thinks it’s a good idea to have this sort of conversation when Ayato is on the brink of orgasm. Still, the young lord leans more into Thoma’s palm and desperately tries to meet this gaze. There’s no shame left in Ayato, not right now.

“I am. I was. I mostly am,” Ayato says, starting and stopping without that usual cool confidence about him. “Thoma,” he murmurs, his entire body shaking as Thoma thumbs at a cheekbone. “Finish the job.”


Thoma blinks owlishly at him, then. He removes his hand, as if he’s the one that’s been burnt. Silence stretches between them for a few seconds before Thoma’s hand is back, this time cupping the back of Ayato’s neck. Cool fingers brush along a spot that seems to be radiating heat. It brings Ayato intense pleasure, too, and he is unable to suppress the moan that follows.

“You did this to yourself,” Thoma says, beginning to slot the puzzle pieces together. “Why?”


“While I appreciate the commitment to finding the truth,” Ayato grits out though the brief moment of clarity he’s given when Thoma squeezes at his nape, his limbs going boneless, “I’m going to need to … ah — table it for now. Other pressing matters, you see…”


Thoma’s grin is back, beautiful as it always is. Ayato feels more like himself than he ever has, even if he’s teetering on the edge of a orgasm, edging himself with the vibrator and Thoma’s pretty eyes.

“Okay,” Thoma says, smiling.

A moment passes, then two, and Ayato is certain that Thoma is just going to stare before his fears are put to bed.

Thoma’s lips are warmer than Ayato expected. They’re plump and full and easily cover Ayato’s mouth with an earnestness that makes Ayato’s knees weak. The kiss is something overwhelming, but it doesn’t consume Ayato. Instead, he feels like the calm after a storm, the feeling of returning home after a long journey.

Ayato forgets, then, about bitching, about his desperately aching body and the vibrator jammed inside of him. Ayato forgets it all, because in that second, only Thoma exists.

“Let me help,” Thoma whispers heatedly against his mouth. A nod from Ayato is all he needs.

Thoma flips Ayato back on his stomach with scary speed. Clothes seem to melt away as Thoma’s hands begin to work at Ayato’s neglected cock, pulling and tugging attentively and with much more care than Ayato had been using on himself. A pair of lips press to the back of Ayato’s neck and he almost comes right then and there.

“Can I take this out?” Thoma asks, kissing the shell of an ear as his fingers - and oh, what wonderful fingers they are, long but full - grip at the base of the vibrator that is peeking out from Ayato’s ass.

“Only if you plan on replacing it with something far better,” Ayato says, amazed that he has the capacity to tease right now when he’s pinned down to his futon, leaking slick and being jerked off by Thoma. Sometimes, stubbornness pays off.

Thoma’s laugh is wonderful, though. It’s a deep chuckle that overtakes Ayato and steals his heart.

(Or, whatever of his heart is left after years of hardship. But Ayato knows better, of course. It’s always belonged to Thoma, those broken little shards.)

It doesn’t take long for Thoma to finish undressing and to thrust the head of his cock into Ayato. The amount of slick that’s oozing out of him likely was enough to deter Thoma from preparing him any further or going slow, because half of Thoma’s cock glides so easily into Ayato’s tight but hot body.

“Thoma,” Ayato gasps, his hands gripping at the sheets as he arches back more into Thoma.

“I’ve got you,” Thoma promises, kissing at the curve of his neck as he rocks his hips, fully seated in Ayato, now.

They stay like that for a moment. Thoma is peppering kisses along his jaw and neck, whispering things Ayato can’t quite make out. At one point, Ayato thinks Thoma compliments him on how sweet he smells. Ayato will complain about it later, but for now, he melts into it, a complete puddle of both slick and emotions as Thoma mouths at his bare neck.

“Did you really do this yourself?” Thoma asks before he thrusts into Ayato.

“A bit… unfair to be asking me that in this state,” Ayato complains, but there’s the specter of a smile even through the sound of skin smacking against skin. “You don’t seem to mind, though. How naughty of you, Thoma…”


Thoma chuckles and then fucks him harder, angling a thrust deeper inside. Ayato chokes on his air and slams his forehead down into the futon. Like this, he’s on all fours, ass in the air and with Thoma’s hands holding his hips, keeping him angled just right so that Thoma can start thrusting with purpose into him.

And it’s a lot. Ayato can tell that the last remnants of the old part of him, that lonely Alpha, are fighting to survive. There’s pain that claws though him but Ayato ignores it, does his best to focus on the positive, because Thoma is giving him the best gift he could.

They fuck for what feels like an hour. Thoma leaves marks on Ayato’s neck but never bites him, never claims or mates him. When Thoma finally comes, deep inside of Ayato at his request, Ayato finally feels like his body can get some rest. That restless vibrating of his soul stills, and there’s peace that fills the empty spaces.

Thoma collapses beside him.

Ayato’s breathing is frantic as he opens his eyes and takes in the sight of the ceiling of his room. The last hour feels like a blur, and Ayato already can begin to feel the stirring of bruises all over his body. As he anticipated, Thoma was a passionate lover, wasn’t afraid to be rough or to pull his hair.

Satisfied, finally, Ayato flicks his gaze over at Thoma. Thoma has a piece of Ayato’s hair caught between his fingers and is admiring it in the moonlight. Like Ayato, Thoma is covered with sweat and his body seems red from exertion.

They don’t speak. Not at first.

Ayato watches him with an adoration he’s been afraid to reveal before. Slowly, it begins to show, Ayato shifting just a bit closer to Thoma as Thoma twirls the hair he’s holding around a finger.

“So you’re… an Omega now, huh?” Thoma asks the obvious.

Ayato’s expression softens. “Can you tell?” he asks, earnestly.


“You feel different,” Thoma admits, cheeks staining pink despite all they had done moments ago. “Your presence, I mean. It feels different.”


“I do hope that’s a good thing,” Ayato sighs, feigning a yawn as he tucks himself against Thoma’s side. A beat, and then, quieter, “I apologize. I shouldn’t have put you into that position.”


Thoma winces; Ayato can feel it. “My lord…”

“Please, Thoma,” Ayato murmurs, “call me Ayato.”


Thoma seems to hesitate. His hand ends up in Ayato’s hair, carding back and forth and smoothing it down from where it was crazily sticking out. When he speaks, it’s small, vulnerable, and with only a few rays of sunshine, “Do you regret it?”

Ayato laughs. He knows he shouldn’t, can feel Thoma shirk away, but he’s quick to fix things before it can become an issue, “No. Do you?”



Thoma snorts. He presses his nose to Ayato’s temple as an arm snakes its way around Ayato’s tiny waist. Like this, he can bring him close against his chest, ignoring the mess between both their bodies. “I’d never regret it,” he promises and Ayato feels like it’s a prayer, too.

“Then neither do I,” Ayato hums, fingertips trailing down Thoma’s arm. “You did a good job, you know. I barely felt any pain,” he commends.

Thoma hugs him. “From the bitching or from the, yanno… I’m sorry I was so rough. You have to realize how tempting you were, okay?”

Ayato can understand it, of course. The pull of an unmated omega would send most folks into delirium.


Ayato tilts his head to chase a kiss. It’s featherlight, of course, his body exhausted, but it carries with it much more. “I humbly request that you only do this,” he whispers, lips twitching into a smile as he drags a palm across the expanse of Thoma’s chest, “with me from now on.”


Thoma seems to connect the dots at last. There’s a surge of color that appears on Thoma’s cheeks. “Hah, you mean, like a mate?”

“Look who’s getting ahead of himself,” Ayato teases as he nips at Thoma’s bottom lip. He throws a leg over Thoma’s body, shifting to crawl on top of him and peer down at his face.

(I did it for you, Ayato wants to say. I did it for us, he wants to scream, but he can see the sparkle in Thoma’s eyes, that understanding and affection and Ayato wonders if he even needs to say it.)

“With you smelling that good, it’s going to be impossible to keep people away from you until you’re mine,” Thoma says, a glint in his eyes that speaks of endless courage and stubbornness. It goes straight to Ayato’s dick. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’ll dissuade them of thinking you’re available.”


Ayato smirks, then, leaning down for a proper kiss, tasting the relief on Thoma’s lips. “My, you make a good point. In that case, why don’t you prove yourself to me and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have a bite?”

As he says it, Ayato adjusts himself on top of Thoma. By the time he’s done speaking, he’s thrusting himself down on Thoma’s half-hard cock, hands splayed over Thoma’s chest.

“Ayato — !” Thoma all but yells as stars spread over his skin and he springs forward to capture Ayato’s laughing lips into another kiss.

(And the elders, those poor souls, they won’t tell you that Thoma could smell the subtle change in Ayato’s scent for days, could feel the bond growing between them without a single touch, wanted Ayato for just as long but never knew how, and even had heard from the shrine priestess that a certain bird told her that Kamisato Ayato was down bad for a outlander and came inquiring about bitching, of all things.

After all, information spreads quickly in Inazuma, and the Fixer knows all, especially when the merchant in question is known worldwide as the provider of the best lube for Omegas.)