Chapter 1: Ten-ish Years Ago
Choromatsu woke up utterly confused.
Someone was yanking him to his feet by his right arm, tugging him along the futon, where somewhere in the darkness, what sounded like a Yorkshire terrier battled it out with a motorcycle. Amongst the chaos of sound, he picked up his mother’s voice, tutting urgently at one of his brothers. In a huddle, the Matsunos were shoved, stumbling, through the darkness, out into the bleach-white light of the hall.
“Whass--?” A bleary-eyed Karamatsu grumbled, rubbing at his face.
“Downstairs.” Their mother commanded. Her voice quivered.
With a sick sensation of worry in his stomach, Choromatsu led the pack down the stairs. As he went, he noticed that his herd was smaller than usual. He did a customary count-off: Osomatsu-nii--gone. There’s Karamatsu-nii. There’s Ichimatsu. There’s Jyushimatsu. Todomatsu—gone.
In the living room sat their father, looking as alarmed as their mother had been, though without a grounding sense of duty. He goggled at the middle four of his sons, unable to articulate the concern. Sensing the helplessness, the kids settled to the floor, waiting tensely for the return of their mother.
It didn’t take long. After less than a minute, the Matsuno matriarch stomped down the stairs, gripping her hand at the wrist, blood running down to her elbow. Choromatsu rose reflexively to help.
“He bit me.” She spat, allowing Choromatsu to lift her arm up over her head. “Matsuzo, call 911.”
“That bad?” He asked, fumbling for the phone on the side table.
“No, not my hand—I can’t figure out how to get them apart.”
Their father nodded, and quickly dialed. In a rare moment, all the Matsunos remained silent, listening for the insect buzz of the voice on the other end.
“911, what is your emergency?” A tiny woman’s voice asked from the region of their father’s ear.
“It—ah—my sons, they—uh—I, I think one of them just went into their first heat.”
“And the other one’s an alpha.”
“Do you have an alpha and an omega locked together?” The tiny woman asked, sounding slightly amused.
Choromatsu traded a glance with Jyushimatsu, then Ichimatsu. Osomatsu had presented as an alpha last year, to no one’s surprise. So far, it had had few consequences: Osomatsu already behaved as if he was an alpha, bossing his brothers around, taking whatever property he could grab, his temper always a hair’s width from breaking. So far as Choromatsu knew, his oldest brother had never had a full heat, having never had an omega’s scent to drive him into one.
The woman on the other end of the line tittered. “Okay, this is actually a lot more common than you’d think. They’re both in fugue?”
“I guess. They’re not responding to anything, so--”
“Is the alpha knotted?”
“I don’t—how can you tell?”
“Never mind. Okay, for now, the important thing is to not try to get yourself between them. They don’t really know who you are right now, so they’re liable to attack anything in their way.”
Their father cast their mother’s bleeding hand a glance. “Okay.”
“This is their first round?”
“Okay, one or two rounds won’t form a pair bond, so we’re good for now. What you need to do is disrupt the smell. Candles or air freshener or onions or whatever you’ve got, just break up the pheromones. Get some fans going and open the windows. They’re gonna finish up the round, and then you should have a minute or two to get them apart. Get the omega to the ER as soon as you can. They’ll give him some emergency suppressants and patch up whatever the alpha did. Understand?”
“Um, yes.” Matsuzo looked to the rest of his family, confirming that they had heard.
“Just stay calm. This thing happens all the time. A couple months ago, I got a call about an alpha daughter and an omega father—“
“I should go open the windows.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, let’s just say, count yourself lucky your sons can’t get pregnant.”
“…Thank you.” Matsuzo replaced the phone carefully in its cradle, looking a bit shell-shocked. Luckily, Matsuyo wasn’t so easily shaken, having had little to fear since expelling six human beings from her nethers; she took off back toward the stairs, her husband trailing on her heels.
The four remaining Matsunos waited for someone to break the silence.
Jyushimatsu relented. “Are they banging?”
“I guess.” Karamatsu supplied. Though he had recently taken on a habit of floating off into visually stimulating but largely meaningless speeches, he was either too sleepy or too thrown off by the events of the night to bother.
“So Todomatsu’s an omega?” Ichimatsu asked, looking to Choromatsu.
“Guess so.” It wasn’t especially surprising: in the past year, Todo had begun behaving increasingly more like the omega stereotype. And anyway, statistics predicted that out of the six of them, two would present a nature.
Still, it was…weird.
Choromatsu knew that omegas weren’t really all that different. He could recite “not all omegas” like a trained parrot. He had sat through the intensely uncomfortable video in 8th grade sex ed. He knew it was the same old Todomatsu, but…an omega. A spoiled, sneaky, lazy, weak omega. Little more than a house pet. He knew none of that was okay to think, but it was there, and it was tainting his image of his youngest brother in a way he hated but couldn’t control. He’d never had a hateful thought about omegas before, but having one in his family…it was different. He thought he was ready for one of his brothers—especially Todomatsu—to present, but it was just hitting a nerve he didn’t know he had.
And even if Todomatsu was the same as he always was twenty-seven days of the month, he’d be gross for three or four days. Four days, every month, for the next forty years. Even with suppressants, he’d be—well, everyone said medicated omegas were bitchy and overly emotional during the time their heat was supposed to be. Nobody liked dealing with omegas.
Choromatsu tried to shake the thoughts out of his head, but they lingered quietly in the corners of his consciousness.
Chapter 2: Choro's Shitty Twilight
i'm figuring on like five chaps maybe, fyi
It took a few months, but eventually Osomatsu’s hormones backed off enough to allow his brothers to touch Todomatsu without instinctively baring his teeth, and Todomatsu lost the urge to respond to Osomatsu’s demands with anything but a “fuck off.” Todomatsu fell into the rhythm of taking his prescription for a week out of the month, and the others learned to avoid him while he seethed and cried and ate.
Eight years passed without anyone bringing up the night of Todo’s first heat, to everyone’s relief. Karamastu got more painful. Ichimatsu got grumpier. Jyushimatsu got weirder. Todomatsu got more…omega. And Choromatsu—
“I’m never ever washing my hand!” Choromatsu squealed to himself as he danced down the street, swinging a paper bag full of swag in one hand and holding the other up protectively at his chest. He’d slept on the sidewalk, and a very insistent homeless guy had challenged him to a race around the world, but he was third in line for the hand shaking event, and he’d gotten three full minutes with his flavor of the month.
It was a pretty nice day, overall; not that hot, though Choromatsu was sweating like a pig. (Not unusual after speaking with a girl.) One of the few benefits of being a NEET: on a Thursday afternoon, trickling into evening, the streets were mostly empty, and Choromatsu didn’t have to feel too very self-conscious as he pranced his way home, sporting a burgeoning stiffy that he only occasionally had to hide behind his bag.
He always got a little hard at events like this, but something about this girl must have hit him on a more primal level—he was horny on a different tier, somehow. It kind of curdled his stomach, though not unpleasantly, and he was filled with a bizarre, buzzing energy, like he’d just downed an espresso, but without the diarrhea. Overall, he felt good. He was looking forward to some private time in the bathroom, or if he was lucky enough to be home alone, the bedroom.
Spying someone coming around the corner at the intersecting street, Choromatsu held his bag in front of his crotch. He couldn’t keep the bounce out of his step, though—he felt good. Even the city smelled good, suddenly, like a steak on a grill, like he’d passed a restaurant, though this part of the neighborhood was usually where he could start to smell Totoko’s parents’ shop on warm days.
Choromatsu trotted along one side of the sidewalk to allow the man to pass on the other, but he seemed to be unaware of Choro’s presence. Politely, Choro moved to the opposite side, but the man veered to continue walking directly at him. Getting nervous, Choro stepped into the gutter, and the man joined him there, as well. He was too close. There was no pretending he didn’t notice. They were stopped, toe to toe. The man gave Choro a smile and reached to grab at his wrist.
Seeing the stranger reach out to him, Choro felt…comforted. A little numbly, he allowed his hand to be held as the man leaned down into his personal space, into his ear, and muttered, “Kind of slutty, isn’t it?”
Choromatsu felt like gravity had forgotten him. “What?” he breathed, blinking black bruises from the corner of his vision.
“Walking around in a heat like this…you looking for trouble, cutie?”
It wasn’t that hot. At least—well, Choromatsu’s insides were boiling, but his skin felt cold, so it couldn’t have been that hot. And what was that other part? He couldn’t remember. All he could think about was that smell—that savory, heavy, kinda salty smell that filled his mouth and made him—not hungry, not really, but made him want…something.
“You wanna come back to my place?”
That sounded good. This guy—who was he, again?—he seemed to know what was going on. Choromatsu felt like this guy had whatever it was he was craving. He felt peaceful, being near him. There was no reason not to follow him wherever he was going.
“Hey, back off.” A familiar female voice grunted behind Choromatsu, bringing him out of his warm fog like a cold grip. He turned to see Totoko, hands on her hips. “He’s mine.”
The man—the complete fucking stranger Choromatsu was just about to follow home—glared back at the tiny girl. “He’s not marked.”
“Not yet.” Totoko grabbed Choromatsu’s shoulder, spinning him to face her. “We’re waiting until our wedding night.” Choromatsu gaped emptily at his friend-slash-obsession.
There was a brief stare down. Choromatsu looked from Totoko to the stranger rapidly, trying to read whatever it was that was going down. “Well, tell your omega not to wander around with an unchecked heat.” The man finally relented, dropping his gaze.
“Yeah, yeah.” Totoko grabbed Choromatsu by the forearm and yanked him down the sidewalk at a storming pace. When Choromatsu shot a nervous glance back over his shoulder at the other man, he was holding his hand up to his nose—the hand he’d held Choro’s wrist with.
Once they’d turned the corner, Totoko started to pull her sweater over her head.
“Calm down, you virgin, I’m wearing a tank top.” She freed her head from the collar, shaking her hair back into place, and then thrust the sweater into Choro’s hand. “Tie this around your waist. You’re leaking through your pants.”
Choro, still unable to figure out language, looked down to his crotch. Aside from a slight boner-bulge, it looked normal.
“The back, idiot. Is this your first heat?”
Heat. Wait. Heat?
Choromatsu chased his butt in a couple of tight circles. Unable to turn enough without something to brace himself against, he opted instead to reach back and feel the seat of his pants. It was cold, and when he pulled his fingertips away, they were slick. He held his hand before his face, and then turned it to show Totoko, as if she could fix this somehow.
“Wait, is it really?” Her face softened. “Jeez, seriously?”
“I’m not an omega, though.” There. Saying it calmed him slightly. “I can’t have heats. I’m a beta.”
Totoko shrugged, looking sympathetic in a way Choromatsu wasn’t accustomed to. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can definitely smell it.”
That’s right—she hadn’t offered up the information herself, but once Osomatsu had presented and become able to smell pheromones, he’d informed the rest of them that Totoko was an alpha, and a rather potent one, at that. Todomatsu had tried to use that to his advantage a few times, trying to push her into an alpha-omega dynamic, but even with her nature commanding her to fuck a Matsuno, Totoko was uninterested.
“I’m too old. Osomatsu and Todomatsu—they presented like, ten years ago.”
“I’ve heard of people presenting older than you. Look, Choromatsu, have your crisis at home, okay? It’s dangerous to walk around smelling like that.” Giving up on her neighbor regaining control of his arms any time soon, she took back her sweater and reached the sleeve around his waist, tying it neatly over his hips. When she got close, Choromatsu felt a row of shivers roll up his skin from his heels to his scalp. His knees bent in toward one another, but he managed to stay on his feet. Her smell was fishy, but in a delicious way, and again he felt his head swim.
“Cut that out.” She snapped, taking a couple of steps backwards. “Go home and borrow some of Todomatsu’s suppressants. Stay out of Osomatsu’s way. You should be able to get in to a clinic before they close. Understand?”
Choromatsu nodded automatically.
“Okay. Then go. I don’t have time for this. There’s a bitch downtown that needs a new asshole.” She gave a rare reassuring smile, and Choromatsu melted for reasons only tangentially related to his new nature.
Back at home, Jyushimatsu and Ichimatsu’s shoes were discarded by the entrance. Choromatsu knelt to unlace his sneakers. Those two weren’t so terrible; they couldn’t smell pheromones, being beta, and they weren’t overly likely to pick up on…anything, really.
Upstairs, Choromatsu was further relieved to find them asleep, Jyushimatsu laid out on the couch with Ichimatsu sprawled on his belly over the back. He took the moment to adjust himself through his jeans before tiptoeing to the closet, which he pulled open quietly.
First things first: Choro got on his knees and scooted aside a box of winter clothes, sending Todomatsu’s porn stack tumbling. Behind the magazines, there was a small shrine of accessories: a tall bottle of lube, emergency back-up tissues, and a foot-long bubblegum pink dildo with a knot the size of an apple. Choro had seen it before, while shuffling through for something fresh to jerk it to, and willfully disallowed his brain to acknowledge it, but now, he hesitated.
There was a sort of…itch, way deep in the base of his gut. He’d never really played with his butt before, but looking at the knot, thinking about it yanking at his hole, the tip scraping at—well, whatever was up there—
Choromatsu shook his head, bringing himself back into sense. There was no way he was borrowing his brother’s dildo. No part of that would be okay. Regrounded, he set back to his task, feeling about in the shadows for a bottle, a sandwich baggy, a loose pill, something, but to no avail. He carefully replaced everything as he found it, slipped close the door, and made a furtive exit past his dozing younger brothers.
The medicine cabinet offered no help, nor did the kitchen drawer where they kept their bandages and hydrocortisone and all of that. He stopped to chug a glass of water, snuck back upstairs to change his pants, dumped the old ones in the washer underneath a pile of dirty laundry and fumbled with the controls until he found the right combination to make it start growling. He checked the medicine cabinet again.
Finally, he came to terms with the fact that he either needed to ask Todomatsu, or get to the clinic. The second option seemed a little more savory than the first, so after a brief shower in some of Karamatsu’s cologne, Choromatsu steeled his resolve and set back out into the twilight.
He knew where the clinic was from passing it. The sign overtop had the usual politely vague title, something like “Nature Office,” but everyone knew what that meant: a place for omegas to get pills and shots and, worst case scenario, fingered hard by a med school drop-out. Choromatsu skittered along the back streets hopping from dim streetlight to dim streetlight, hoping against hope that he wasn’t deep enough into the heat to require an injection to curb it; he wasn’t a fan of needles.
His mind kept gravitating toward thoughts of the future, which were highly unhelpful at that point. The next stop was pills, not tears and hyperventilating. His usual imaginary harem of idols didn’t offer their usually soothing care, either; he was already uncomfortably close to jizzing in his pants over the friction of his thighs without imagining a bunch of cute girls ordering him around, biting his neck, burying their fat cocks balls deep into his ass and stirring up his guts ‘til he had cum gushing from his ears—
Luckily, it was only a few blocks’ journey from home. Choromatsu picked up his pace as he saw the back of the building, going at a bit of a trot. This would work. He would get the pills, or the shot or whatever, then hit up the bath house, wash off the quickly reforming gush of lube that was starting to trickle down his sock, hang until the drugs took effect, and then sneak into bed long after the others were asleep. Tomorrow, he’d…figure something out. He could disguise his smell. The others didn’t need to know. He only needed to learn how to regulate his pheromones for the next thirty years or so. That was doable.
As he rounded the corner of the building, his tongue went numb. The windows were dark.
It wasn’t that late. Choro smiled reassuringly at himself. They were just saving electricity. He tried the door. It didn’t budge.
They were just being safe. He gave the metal doorframe a few rapid knocks, waited for movement from inside, knocked a little more, rubbed his stinging knuckles, tapped his foot, and knocked again.
He waited. He knocked again. He waited.
Chapter 3: Choro's Fucking Terrible Evening
My a/b/o headcanon is that omegas have monthly heats, and then alphas only have heats when they smell omega heats. I dunno if I referenced that or whatever.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The cheapest bar in town tended to attract the sort of crowd that had nothing better to do on a Thursday than get sloshed on bottled beer and avoid eye contact; naturally, the Matsunos were regulars. Due to propinquity, as well as the fact of the few remaining coins in his pocket, Choromatsu gravitated down the block toward it after a brief, subdued crying stint on the front stoop of the clinic. Puffy-faced and leaking from every orifice but his ears, Choro kept his head down as he dodged through the herd of people meandering around the bartender. It took some time, but after a few minutes, he was able to trade his fistful of small coins for the cheapest brand of beer available, which he huddled himself into like a teddy bear as he pittered about in search of an isolated chair.
By the bathrooms, he found one derelict table. He did his best to adjust the chair to a portion that wasn’t dribbled with peanut crumbs and what he hoped was a spilt beverage, and did his best to become a houseplant. Hopefully, he could blend in with the scenery enough that no one would notice that he’d rented a twelve-hour space for the price of one drink (with no tip.)
The music was boring—some old kind of shit his dad would listen to. There were too many people speaking too lowly for him to eavesdrop on. He wanted to lap at his beer, but something about the push of the bottle against his bottom lip made his thighs tense and twitch. There were no distractions. His arousal finally, unfortunately, managed to claw its way up to his brain.
Just sitting on the stool was nearly overwhelming, the pressure against his balls and the slight spead of his ass under his own weight. The need was dispersed vaguely throughout between his legs, so that he felt desperate for stimulation from his dick down and back through his crack. Knowing damn well that it would only exacerbate things, he nonetheless allowed himself to grind just perceptibly into the vinyl cushion, wedging himself wide open enough that the wet cloth of his underwear grated his swollen hole. In every gauzy pause in his thoughts, he felt something bump to the surface before he could push it back down—something wordless, something about pushing and pulling, something about being buried somewhere warm. Trying not to draw attention to himself, Choro pushed his sweating beer bottle to his collarbone.
“This seat taken?”
Choromatsu snapped back to reality, his eyes clicking onto the person standing before him. It was a guy, older, with an open face and a lame denim jacket and a stench so thick Choromatsu felt like he could sink his teeth into it.
“Uhbuh.” Choro offered, suddenly missing his bottom jaw.
“Cool, thanks.” The guy sat down, clinking the two beers he had threaded through his fingers to the dirty table. “Looked like you were running low. Thought I’d bring you a fresh drink.”
Choromatsu melted onto his elbows. That was so nice. No one ever gave him stuff. With his lips feeling as detached as stale gum, he managed, “Fangyu.”
“No problem.” He opened his own beer, took a slow slug, and looked into the empty space just beyond Choromatsu’s shoulder. “So.”
They both paused. Presumably, it was Choro’s turn, but he didn’t know the rules of the game, and so he simply waited for the guy to take control.
“You, ah, looking for a little help?” The man pushed two fingers to his own jugular suggestively. “You seem a little lost.”
Choromatsu’s vision was constricting like the end of a cartoon. He could only see the pinprick light of the guy’s face, glowing like an angel. The smell was so amazing, Choromatsu’s inability to speak combated with his desire to thank the man just for existing.
“Hello.” There, that word worked.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” The man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
Thank God. Choromatsu was saved. He could follow this deity home, get fucked fucked fucked fucked and then go home, maybe, someday, didn’t matter—
Nononononono. “Yes.” No. “No.”
The guy bit his lip patiently. “No?”
“Yes, no? Or yes, yes?”
Suddenly overcome, Choromatsu shoved his thumb between his teeth and gnashed down hard. He felt tears spring up on the rim of his eyelids. “I want to.”
“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re just giving off, y’know, mixed messages, being out here with your pheromones all going.” He scooted his chair back graciously. “It’d be better for you to go home. You’re...pretty close to sending me into a heat, dead honest. Your smell is pretty strong.”
“Cuh—can we just...fool around in the bathroom a little?” Hearing the words in his voice, the tears finally gained enough weight to fall. “Just—just fuck me real quick, okay? I don’t want to—I—just enough for me to—“ Choromatsu felt sick to his stomach. He stuck his thumb back into his mouth and shimmied his canine down into the ball until his tasted blood.
“Look, go home. This is just cruel.” The man stood, finally, shoving his chair back into the table. “I have to go.”
Completely without his permission, Choromatsu’s mouth suddenly spat, “I’ll go home with you. You can do whatever you want. I don’t care if you’re a serial killer or whatever. Just make it stop. Please.”
The man furrowed his brow, screwed up his mouth, considered the gelatinous mass of omega before him, and then took a steadying breath and turned. Choromatsu watched his back as he swerved through the crowd and outside, slamming the door behind him.
A squealing sob escaped from the back of Choromatsu’s throat. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, trying not to let his misery sway him off balance and to the floor. He was gone. This was rock bottom. This was his it-can’t-get-worse moment. Not caring about the stares of the people within his vicinity, he whimpered, rocking rapidly back and forth, slamming his ribs up against the edge of the table.
Desperate for anything to dull reality, he grabbed his first beer, turned it upside down over his mouth, gulped de remains, and then did the same on the abandoned beer of the jean jacket guy. He was just popping open the third when he heard the single worst thing in the universe:
“Oi, there you are, Choromatsu!” Osomatsu shouted across the bar, waving high over his head.
jean jacket man is a good man
Osomatsu plunked down in stool opposite his younger brother, dropping his beer familiarly to the table. He didn’t seem to notice Choromatsu quickly wiping his face on his sleeves, or the stripling of red that covered him from the tips of his ears down to his collar. “I won at pachinko, and when I went home you weren’t there, and I kinda felt like keeping the night going anyway, so I figured I’d see if you were down here. Sextuplet telepathy, right?”
Choromatsu blinked stupidly back at his older brother.
“Wow, you’ve been having a party, huh?” Osomatsu laughed, gesturing to the three bottles on the table between them. “Hey, I’ll buy you an umeshu, if you want. I got a few thousand yen to burn through.”
“Uh.” Choro could smell Osomatsu as clear as day. He couldn’t believe he’d never smelled it before; it was as obvious as a finger up his nose, fried and salty and hearty and filling and comforting. It was...wonderful. It was exactly what he needed it not to be. It was exactly why he was out here, weeping in the corner of the bar and trying to get taken advantage of by strangers.
“Wow, you’re drunk. Getting drunk alone...that’s sad. Good thing I’m here now.”
There was no way Osomatsu couldn’t smell him. Was he being a dick, or just stupid? Both were highly likely, though Choro doubted Oso had the tact to be so subtle in his torture.
“Are you alright?” Osomatsu’s tone lifted suddenly, wringing Choro from his reverie.
“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”
“You ‘re acting funny.” Osomatsu took a thoughtful drink of his beer. “Something happen?”
“No.” Choro shook his head a little too insistently.
Osomatsu turned his head, giving his brother an oblique squint. “Did you embarrass yourself in front of that idol?”
That worked. Osomatsu laughed, pushing back from the table in joy, and then leaned in close. “What, you get a boner? Nervous fart? Nervous boner-fart?”
“What’s a boner-fart?”
Osomatsu grew suddenly grim. “Never mind. But, hey, no reason to mope. Idols aren’t real girls. They don’t count for anything. Nii-san will show you a good time tonight, huh? But, uh, do you think we could get out of here?”
Even hearing that had Choro’s hackles standing. “What? Why?”
“There’s an omega in heat in here. It’s getting me kinda riled.” Osomatsu dug a hand between his legs, chafing himself through his jeans. Choromatsu goggled openly at his brother. “Aha, sorry. I know it’s weird to talk about that stuff, but, yaknow.”
It was true—the Matsunos no more talked about natures than they did whether or not they went one or two-handed when yanking it. It wasn’t a forbidden topic, strictly, just an intensely intimate one, the kind of thing people should only talk about at three in the morning when they want to be vulnerable and interesting.
“You are so weird tonight, Jesus.” Osomatsu pouted at Choro before taking another deep glug of his drink. “You asked.”
“I—“ Choro couldn’t remember what sounds meant what. He had to rack his brain for a moment. “I don’t—I’m okay. Yeah. We can leave.” Choromatsu had no plan.
“Baller, lemme finish my beer.” Oso grinned.
“Drink this one too.” Choro pushed the beer left by jean jacket guy across the table. Osomatsu beamed, taking a beer in each hand and posing like he was holding trophies. Maybe Choro could get him drunk enough that he’d be out of commission before he could pick up on the rather obvious source of the smell. Maybe during the commute from this bar to the next, Choro could slip into the shadows. He knew, though, that because Osomatsu’s inhibitions were barely extant at the best of times, dulling his motor skills was a step in the right direction.
With expert speed, Osomatsu downed the rest of his beer, opened the second, downed half, belched loudly enough to illicit glares from those around them, finished the bottle, and burped again. Choromatsu started to cover his face with his hand out of embarassment, but then recalled that not five minutes ago he’d been openly sobbing and beating himself with the table, and thus realized the futility of trying to protect the meager remains of the Matsuno family pride.
“Ready to roll, Fappymatsu?” Osomatsu grinned, pushing himself free of the table.
“Uh, yeah.” Choromatsu started to rise, then faltered upon feeling the weight of the stool trying to follow him. He sat back down with a wet squelch he, thankfully, felt more than heard.
“I’m...I’m a little hot.” He started peeling his hoodie up over his head.
“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you’re sweating like a pig.”
“How kind of you.” Difficult though it was without first standing, Choromatsu managed to tie his hooddie sleeves around his waist. When he stood, he was sure Osomatsu would hear the tearing of moist vinyl from sopping denim, but thank God, his brother was as unaware as ever, staring blankly over to the bar. He cast the seat a remorseful glance; it was shining with a patina of lube.
“You look like a dork.” Osomatsu told Choro as he led the way toward the exit.
“Your hoodie around your waist—it looks gay.”
“You tie your jumpsuit around your waist.” Choromatsu couldn’t believe Oso was managing to piss him off about something so minor even now.
“That’s different. That looks cool. You look like someone’s mom.”
“Your mom.” Choro grumbled without thinking, cringing preemptively at Osomatsu’s derisive chortle.
Outside, it had chilled considerably since the sun had set. There was little wind, but Choromatsu managed to sneak a finger to his tongue, which he then held out around his hips. A barely perceptible breeze pushed at their fronts. Choro purposely lagged behind his brother as they trotted at a lazy pace toward the next stop. Without his hoodie, and soaked from his butt to the backs of his knees, Choromatsu shivered in the darkness, holding his elbows. His nipples, which had never been temperamental before, were painfully hard, scratching at the inside of his shirt. When he attempted to lift his arms higher to protect them, the pressure made his ankles wobble.
“Why’re you walking so slow?” Osomatsu sighed, looking back over his shoulder.
“I’m...not. I mean, I’m drunk.”
Oso jogged the few paces separating them. Without a change in expression, he threw one arm over Choromatsu’s shoulder, pulling him into his armpit.
Choro opned his eyes to a vast navy emptiness. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, before realizing that he was looking at the sky. The bite of gravel on his back came into his awareness. He squinted to one side, then the other, seeing Osomatsu squatting on the ground beside him.
“What...?” He managed to ask weakly.
“You passed the fuck out!” Osomatsu barked, clapping a hand to his forehead.
Choromatsu pursed his lips. That didn’t sound right, but it did account for his sudden teleportation to the ground.
“You precious little drunkie. My little alkie.” Osomatsu ruffled Choromatsu’s hair. With no blood in his head, he was impotent to prevent his body from following its own will; he craned his neck up, nuzzling into Osomatsu’s wrist. Oso pulled his hand back, perturbed.
“Sorry...” Choro whispered breathlessly.
Finally, it was too much for even Osomatsu to be oblivious toward. His eyes dilated violently as he zeroed in on the source of the scent, nostrils flaring. “Oh fuck. Seriously?”
Choro trembled, wiggling down as if he was trying to bury himself under the sidewalk. His head felt as substantial as a cloud. Though he couldn’t quite recall why, he knew to be thankful for the oblivion rapidly drowning out his senses. He succumbed peacefully to the empty space he fell into, Osomatsu’s sounds echoing in from far away.
where'd my indents go
Chapter 5: Choro's God Awful 11:00
this chapter naming scheme made more sense when i was betting on four or so chapters
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Awareness hit him like a new color. Baffled by this new dimension, he tried to sit up, but only managed to convulse grossly. Light was beginning to bruise his blindness, and he grimaced into the obnoxious assault of the world, already missing not existing.
“Are you okay?”
The voice was completely unfamiliar, dull and flat. Managing a little wiggle, Choromatsu judged from the resistance beneath him that he was on something soft. He had not the slightest idea of how much time had passed.
Someone loomed over him. Someone—who? Choromatsu had the sick sensation of seeing his own reflection unexpectedly. Osomatsu’s lineaments clicked into place after—his round jaw, his wide mouth, but not his eyes, not his forehead. There was something cold and stony there, something sort of predatory.
The unfamiliar voice—it was coming out of the not-quite-Osomatsu above him. It was rumbling up deep from under his chest, from somewhere older and stronger than himself. As helpless as he was to move, he was somehow even more helpless to deny that voice anything. His neck muscles awoke, and he gave a groggy nod.
“Do you want something to drink?”
He pressed his eyes closed tightly and nodded again.
There was a blessed moment of peace when the unimaginably heavy presence of Osomatsu disappeared from over top of him. He took several deep breaths, filling his ribs with cold, trying to find the borders of his own body. He heard a sink going, a cup filling, and then felt the density of the air change as Osomatsu came close again.
“Can you sit up?”
Choromatsu gave it a try. The hinges of his elbows were broken, but he managed to leverage himself up onto his butt. There was something behind him. He leaned up against the hard surface and accepted the cold push of the cup into his hand. Slopping a generous portion down his front, he guided as much as he could into his mouth. The water tasted like vinegar.
Coming into sync with reality, Choromatsu peered past Osomatsu at their surroundings. Square room. A dresser with a fat-back TV. His socked feet spread out on crisp, papery sheets. He was sprawled out on a bed, seemingly in a hotel room.
“What happened?” He asked, lips sticking together.
“You passed out and...and I carried you here. We’re just up the block from the bar.”
There it was—the rest of the night bobbed to the surface. Choromatsu curled into himself as if he’d been punched.
“How long have you been an omega?”
“I’m not an omega. I just went into heat for some reason.” It sounded pathetic. Choromatsu tried to tighten himself, trying to shrink down to nothing.
“Is this your first?” His voice was so steady. Who was this? It was like a forgotten Matsuno—a slightly flawed copy of Osomatsu, there in the grand gestures but mistaken in the details.
“You shouldn’t have let it get so bad.” He wanted to snap something sarcastic, but talking back was simply and utterly impossible. “It’s dangerous to be outside like this. If you had baited any alphas into heat, even accidentally, it would still be your fault if something happened. Omegas get attacked all the time.”
Choromatsu wanted to scream. He wasn’t an omega. He wasn’t vulnerable. He wasn’t impotent. He didn’t need an alpha to watch over him. He was an adult. He was a man. He wasn’t subhuman. He wasn’t anybody’s burden, least of all fucking Osomatsu’s.
“You understand that what you did was stupid, right? Tell me you understand.”
Three breaths ripped their way in and out of Choro before he gave in to the words that had forced their way to the back of his throat. “I understand.” He was shaking like a puppy mill chihuahua, a full-body, nauseating shiver.
“We can’t go home tonight. I can’t...be around Todomatsu. Not tonight.” There was confirmation of what Choromatsu had been suspecting: Osomatsu had fallen into a full-blown heat. Thinking that Choromatsu had sent him there was sickening...and maybe something else. Not important.
“I can make it home by myself. Just give me a—“
Asshole slopping out another wave of lube, cock twitching mercilessly, Choromatsu gripped the blankets with white knuckles, strangling a cry. That voice—it hit him with a physical sensation, concrete as a hand.
Osomatsu kept his gaze stolidly on the wall, brow just barely wrinkling at Choromatsu’s reaction. “You can’t go out like this. Especially not alone. You need to stay where I can keep an eye on you.”
Hips bucking, Choromatsu gnashed his teeth, screaming inside his head. Nobody had to keep an eye on him. Not Osomatsu. Not stupid, gluttonous, manchild Osomatsu. Osomatsu was never in control. Osomatsu had never for a moment known what was best. This wasn’t Osomatsu. This wasn’t Osomatsu, and he wasn’t Choromatsu. Choromatsu was lost somewhere. This was someone new. A disgusting stranger.
“Calm down. We just need to hang out here for the night. That clinic by our house opens at eight. We can head down there as soon as it opens, get everything taken care of. There’s a convenience store just a couple blocks from here. You just hang out, watch some TV. I’ll go get some sleeping pills. We can just conk out ‘til morning. You hungry? The room wiped out most of my money, but I can nab a few rice balls or something.”
Choromatsu took one breath, then a slower one, and then a slower one, until he had enough air to say, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Okay. I just need to...I need a minute before I go out.” Osomatsu started to reach over Choromatsu’s prone body, but then thought better of it. He stood and circumnavigated the bed, plucking the remote from the beside table and clicking the TV on. He mashed the volume up until the local news anchor was practically yelling at them, and then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Choromatsu to liquify on the bed.
Pheromones were new to Choromatsu, but he knew damn well why, behind the door, Osomatsu’s smell suddenly rose a pitch. Without even realizing that covering his nose was a possibility, Choro opted to close his eyes and take deep, steady inhales of the smell as it gradually intensified. Without Osomatsu there to ruin it, his stench was simply comforting, acting as a sedative to Choro’s over-addled brain. When a heavy, hot wave came pouring past, closely followed by a second and a third, Choromatsu held his hands over his mouth just to keep them too busy to move toward his aching, swollen groin. It was like his entire life, he’d been breathing air, and suddenly he figured out how to breathe bacon. His lonely tongue probed out, and he buried fingers from both hands deep into his mouth, pretending to be two people.
Choromatsu heard the toilet flush. Suddenly unpleasantly aware of himself, he extracted his fingers and wiped them clean on his shirt. There was some perfunctory shuffling in the bathroom, and then Osomatsu reappeared, looking somehow worse for the wear.
“Okay. Okay.” His eyes were set too deep in his face. “Stay here. I’ll...um...” He shook his head like a dog, scowled briefly, and then squatted down by the door to put on his shoes. “Just stay here.”
Choromatsu nodded, though Osomatsu wasn’t looking at him. He rolled over languidly, burying his face into the cold pillow, listening to the soundtrack of the door opening, closing, locking.
After a few minutes of stillness, Choro got shakily to his feet. His legs didn’t feel like they were the same length they were this morning, but he managed to hobble to the bathroom, where, clinging to the wall, he flicked on the lights. The trash can was empty. So that flush was...yeah.
Not that he was going to do anything. He just...wanted to be sure.
your love is the fuel in my porn-writing engine
Naturally, Choromatsu tried to rub one out, but it was like he was eleven and trying to figure out what parts of his body did what again. Jacking his dick felt as good as it always did, sort of, but it didn’t scratch the itch he had. When he came, it was utterly underwhelming, and it took a moment for him to realize that it even was an orgasm. He held his hand up, spreading his fingers, watching the thin load run down his palm. What a waste of time. His mind wandered back to Todomatsu’s monstrous dildo, but he glommed onto the television, forcing himself to become invested in the TV guide channel.
For a time, the situation actually felt somewhat manageable. Giving up on not ruining the maid’s day, what with the flood of lube he’d already mired himself in, Choromatsu wiped his watery cum on the sheets and pulled the comforter up to his chin. He’d slept fitfully the night before, having been in a kid-sized sleeping bag in a cold alley with a gregarious and seemingly nocturnal hobo, and for a while, he actually thought he might be able to drift out and sleep through this nightmare without medicinal aid.
His dreams were dashed, though, when Osomatsu’s scent hit him again. How far away was he? Choromatsu squirmed under the blanket, wishing Osomatsu had somewhere else to go. Aftr a few seconds, he heard the clunk of the locks shifting, and then Osomatsu’s pheremones hit him like a tidal wave, flooding him with nervous energy and discomfort.
“Sorry I took so long. They wouldn’t sell me any sleep shit without an ID. Isn’t that stupid? I look like an adult, right? I’m clearly an adult.” The way he spoke—it was like someone doing a really close impression of Osomatsu. He was trying to pretend things were normal.
Choromatsu considered pretending he was asleep, but he was starving. He pushed the blanket off of himself and perched at the foot of the bed, waiting to be presented his meal. Osomatsu gave him a sort of pensieve smile as he handed him a pair of plastic-wrapped riceballs. “You look like you’re doing better.”
“Yeah, kinda.” Muttering a quick thanks, Choro dug hungrily into his meal. He shoved most of it into his mouth, then chewed with distended cheeks. It tasted...weird. Metallic, almost. He swallowed his mouthful before asking, “Why does everything taste funny?”
“Um. Sometimes things taste kinda different when you’re in heat.” Wishing he hadn’t asked, Choro opened his second rice ball. “That’s what I’ve heard. I’ve really only had like, three heats. Uh. Four, I guess.” Choromatsu dug in, hoping Osomatsu was done talking. “Omegas usually don’t walk around with unchecked heats. That’d be pretty rude. And with Totty at home, I have to be extra careful. Not that I’d ever...” He’d finally sensed the discomfort. He trailed off, eyes unfocused over the TV.
They mimed watching television for a while, sharing drinks from a two-liter of juice that, to Choromatsu, tasted like shampoo. He was beginning to make sense of this new body, to some degree. The hypsersensitivity was dulling with familiarity. His teeth still chattered when his shirt brushed his nipples, but less, so that was good.
“Once this all settles down, it might be kinda cool. You being able to sense things like me and Totty.” Choromatsu wrinkled his nose at the suggestion that anything about being an omega could ever be a percentage of okay, but chose not to disabuse Osomatsu of the harmless notion. “I feel like when I went alpha is when we stopped being so close.”
“We are way too close as it is.”
“Yeah, we, the sextuplets, but it used to be you and me were best friends. More than the others.”
“We’re still best friends.” Choro grumbled before he could subdue the thought. Osomatsu sat silently on the floor, still pointedly avoiding eye contact, but Choro could see his cheeks tighten into a smile.
After a revenant silence, Osomatsu, for some reason, insisted on continuing to speak. “Plus things have always been...I mean Totty and I are, y’know, but we can’t really talk about that kind of stuff since that one time.”
Choromatsu’s body locked up. There was no way Osomatsu was talking about that. There was no way he could be bringing that up. Not right now.
“Honestly, I’m kind of sick of feeling bad about that. I feel like everyone in the family blames me. Being an alpha comes with so much blame all the time. If I boss everyone around, I’m just being a dick alpha, but if I don’t, it’s like I’m a failure as an alpha. There’s this, like, undertone to everything I do. I can never just succeed or fail on my own merit.”
The gears of his mind clicking like a spent music box, Choromatsu finally allowed the words to plunk out. “I...never blamed you.”
“Yeah.” Skin crawling at the strain of sincerity, Choromatsu scratched idly at his shoulder. “I sort of blamed Todomatsu. I never wanted to, but I did.”
“Really? That’s weird.”
“Well, alphas are kinda just...set to yes, right? Omegas are the ones that can keep track of their heats. Todomatsu shouldn’t have—“
Fluid as a jaguar, Osomatsu was on Choromatsu, his hands finding his wrists like magnets, shoving him down into the mattress. With their faces inches apart, Choromatsu saw that the normalcy act had utterly dissolved. Oso’s irises were blasted out by the void of his pupils, gums bared.
“Say no.” That deep-down voice ground out. His thumbs pressed hard into the empty space between Choro’s wrist bones. Oso’s smell scraped Choro’s throat like sand.
“Osoma...” Choro swallowed.
“Just say no, omega. It’s up to you.”
Though the only point of contact between them was Choro’s wrists, his body felt far too heavy to possibly move. His middle throbbed, helpless, desperate, radiating vertigo through to the rest of him. He was being waterboarded with the smell, drowning in it, filling his head so full that it felt like a physical weight.
“Well?” Osomatsu was gone.
Choro’s mouth moved impotently a few times, shaping out the word, before he finally found his voice. “...Nii-san....”
Oso’s pupils tightened like a fist. His density shifted, and with little gravity, he lifted himself up and off of his brother, standing unsteadily.
Someone on the TV raved about a portable grill. They both froze in position, trying to gather a breath in the airless room.
“I don’t know why I did that. That wasn’t helpful.”
Choromatsu tried to respond, tried to yell or scold or something, but all that came out was a high, desperate keen. His chin rolled back, presenting his throat, adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down the torrents of saliva forming under his tongue.
“Sorry.” His eyes swept the corners of the room, the ceiling, anywhere but the bed, where his little brother cried voicelessly and spread his shivering thighs, a passenger in an omega’s body. “I, uh...I’m gonna go...walk around a little. Just...sit tight.”
Choromatsu yelped a protest. His arms shot up, grabbing in the empty air, reaching for his brother. Finally, the word clicked out: “Please...”
sorry for the abrupt end i'm late for work whoopsie i love you
Chapter 7: Choro's Slightly Improving Wee Hours of the Morning
Osomatsu pressed his back to the wall, threading his fingers through his own hair. “Don’t fuck around, Choromatsu. I said I’m sorry.” He grumbled lowly.
“I can’t take it anymore.” Choro whimpered, grinding back against the bed. “Please—please—please please please, I need help, I won’t tell anybody, I’ll make it so good for you, I’ll suck your dick, please—“
Oso slammed his fist against the wall. Choro jumped, snapping his jaw shut with a click of teeth.
“I said don’t fuck around.” Osomatsu took a few unsteady breaths. He held his knuckles out, glaring down at the torn flesh, the blood limning the creases of his skin. “You can’t make this all up to me. You can’t rely on me being strong. I’m not gonna mess us up like me and Todomatsu, but I need you to keep it together.”
“Fuck you,” Choromatsu sobbed, both hands buried between his legs, rubbing at his ass outside of his jeans. “Stop acting like...” He choked on air, coughed, sputtered.
“Like you’re stronger than me.” He was curling into a ball, rubbing the wet mass of his underwear up into himself, crying and gritting his teeth. “Stop taking care of me. Stop being better than me. You’re Osomatsu.” The meaning of the final assertion was clear.
The TV blared. Choromatsu wept. Osomatsu wavered on his feet, fists clenched, mouth open in frustration.
“Fine. You’re right. What’s the point? I’m just Osomatsu. And you’re just an omega.” Osomatsu climbed onto the bed, crawling over Choromatsu’s prone body. He centered his hips over Choro’s face, forehead pressed to the headboard. Balancing himself with one hand, he jerked his pants down around his thighs, his shorts tangled up in the mass, so that his dick sprung free, tapping Choromatsu on the chin. It was an angry crimson, shining with precum. “Suck it, omega bitch. That’s what you want, right?”
Choromatsu let out another whimpering sob before lolling out his tongue, artlessly slathering the head of Osomatsu’s cock. He slurped down around the frenulum, stroking the folds with his plush bottom lip, suckling the heavy drizzle of pre, just holding the liquid, his mouth too jealous of his stomach to swallow.
“Shit.” Osomatsu dipped his belly down, fucking into the slick wetness of Choromatsu’s lips. He couldn’t get a rhythm, but Choro didn’t seem to mind; he opened his jaw wide, inviting Osomatsu into his throat. Though tears were still streaming freely down his temples, Osomatsu’s taste seemed to have calmed him enough to cease his sobbing.
Osomatsu’s thighs were cramping, unused to the strain, but that seemed irrelevant. He felt the odd prickle of his knot starting to swell, tricked by the heat and the pressure into thinking that it was time to breed, and Choromatsu scraped his teeth lightly along the tender flesh, eliciting a throb of warmth down Osomatsu’s gut, pooling into his groin.
True to his nature, barely a minute of amateur ministrations had occurred before Osomatsu released Choro’s reward, diving low into his brother’s eager mouth, grinding his pubes into Choro’s nostrils. Choro’s throat opened instinctively, like he was taking a beer bong, and his brother’s first load shot directly down his esophagus.
Addled with his orgasm, Osomatsu collapsed into the headboard. “Tug on it.” He commanded through clenched teeth. Happy to obey his alpha, Choro tightened his lips and sucked furiously behind the knot as Ososmatsu’s second and third shot slipped down his throat, bucking his chin back to yank the swelling down into him, trying to imitate the pull of an omega being bred.
Thirty seconds into Osomatsu’s furious orgasm, Choro’s face began turning a sort of oatmeal grey. He chugged down everything his brother offered him for another ten seconds, then with a wet pop, threw his mouth open, breathing desperately around the still-twitching obstruction. Osomatsu gained just barely enough of his senses back to know that his brother was drowning; he pulled up, letting the final drizzle splatter down Choro’s chin, dribbling down his neck.
Osomatsu crumbled atop his omega. Choro’s eyes were closed, though his pupils darted about feverishly under his eyelids. He gulped down air, emitting occasional white bubbles between his teeth with his exhales.
There was a lull in Choro’s scent for a moment. Osomatsu panted down into his scalp, waiting...waiting...
And Choro’s scent pulsed out again, altered: the syrupy sweetness of his pheromones were edged with the salt of an alpha. He was marked.
it's not over at all, this is just a bump in the road
you people are being so nice and wonderful i wanna keep writing forever
Chapter 8: Choro's Pretty Great 2:00am, then Pretty Crappy 3:00am
This gets pretty durn expositional...not crazy about this chapter but uh here
Osomatsu rolled off of Choromatsu, throwing his arm over his eyes. Choro was...giggling. That was creepy. He nuzzled into Oso’s shoulder, pressing his mouth into his brother’s armpit, breathing the scent of his pheromone-heavy sweat.
“You taste good.” Choro lilted, which was also creepy.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” Osomatsu told no one in particular.
Osomatsu’s cum was bleeding through Choromatsu’s endocrine system. His brain offered congratulatory shots of oxytocin to reward him for having found an alpha, glutting him on dopamine, dampening his heat. Osomatsu’s wiring, meanwhile, was buzzing with purpose, his senses unkindly sharp: like all alphas, he still had the atavistic calling to protect his omega from predators or competitors while he recovered.
That night with Todomatsu, he’d been much further gone, just an animal, but once he came to, there was a terrifying emptiness. He’d groped in the darkness for his omega, panic stirring his guts. Before he grasped the gravity of the night’s events, he’d been plagued with a terrifying sense of failure. He’d failed to protect his omega.
So now, alongside the alkaline taste of having throat-fucked his brother at his most vulnerable time, there was the smallest forbidden rind of satisfaction. No one—no sensible, moral, responsible interloper—would come to take Choromatsu from him. The four other alphas he could now smell throughout the building were dull, distant, unthreatening; they hadn’t sensed the heated omega in their midst. And now, if they did smell him, they’d smell the alpha mark, which would soften their response. On a purely biological level, Osomatsu had succeeded.
Every other possible venue of existence was screaming in defeat, though.
“I really love you.” Choromatsu cooed, using one hand to hank his shirt up around his armpits so that he could press his bare torso to Osomatsu’s arm, eager for every molecule of contact.
“I...love you too.” Osomatsu grumbled, allowing himself the meager pleasure of brotherly affection while he had the chance at it.
“I really, really do. You’ve been so good. You’ve taken such good care of me. You’re such a nice alpha.” Alpha, not brother. “You’re so nice and sweet and cute and funny. You’re so fun. I love you so much.”
Yup, Choromatsu’s true personality had gone dormant under the effect of all those hormones. He was high as a kite. Not from sex ed, but from porn, Osomatsu recalled that receiving a mark in the mouth had a shorter but more intense effect than one in the ass or pussy. There was this one he liked where an alpha guy marked an omega girl through the mouth so that he could make her—
He twitched his head, tipping the thought out. He didn’t need to associate one of his favorite DVDs with...this.
“Nii-san?” Choro’s squeaky little omega voice asked, tilting his head up to press his mouth just beloe Osomatsu’s ear. Honestly, Osomatsu could get used to being spoken to so respectfully.
“Why don’t you take a little nap?”
“Oh, okay. Would you, um...can we spoon, please?” He peered up at Osomatsu through his damp eyelashes, eyes gooey with affection, just slightly crossed.
“Uh...sure.” That wasn’t super weird. Osomatsu turned over toward his brother, who was turning to press his back to Osomatsu’s chest. Choro reached behind him, finding Osomatsu’s arm and pulling it over himself, tucking it tightly in place under his armpit. He nested deeper back into the den of Osomatsu’s lap, wiggling his butt up against his crotch, rolling his neck back to rub his scalp to Oso’s chin.
He shuddered audibly before mumbling, “I feel really safe.”
“You’re safe.” Osomatsu supplied hesitantly. “Just go to sleep.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
With a sort of dog-like sigh, Choromatsu deflated into Osomatsu’s somewhat unsure grip. It only took a few minutes for his breath to slow, taking deep inhales, holding them, releasing slow exhales, pausing. Choromatsu almost never fell asleep before Osomatsu, so he took the opportunity to gaze at the rare sight of Choromatsu’s relaxed face. He had a healthy, pink glow about him, like his circulation had finally been given proper motivation. It was difficult not to feel vicariously peaceful, seeing his favorite brother so fulfilled, even if it was for a horrible, terrible, traumatizing reason.
Without fully intending to, but without fighting it, Osomatsu let himself doze off overtop of Choro, holding him tightly, protectively.
He woke up feeling nauseated with worry. Before he could gather the threads of his surroundings, he threw his arms out, grabbing in emptiness, tearing through the air for his omega. He let out a clump of syllables, mouth sticky with sleep, eyes stumbling over the room until they settled on Choro, perched at the foot of the bed.
Choro shot a glare back at Osomatsu. “I’m pissed, so you know.”
“Oh.” Osomatsu rubbed drool from his chin onto his wrist. “Okay. Want some chips?”
“Yeah. But I’m still pissed.”
Osomatsu clambered to the edge of the bed, Choro scooting to the opposite side poutily. He dove down to where he’d left the bag of snacks, found the chips, popped them open sort of satisfyingly, and held the bag out to Choro, who took a handful as angrily as one can take a handful of chips.
They crunched loudly for a few minutes, shoveling away most of the bag, watching the same infomercial that had been on two hours ago, before Osomatsu found the will to speak. “If you keep saying ‘I’m not just an omega’ or ‘I’m just an omega’ depending on what’s convenient to you, you’re gonna get yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“Can we not soul-search right now?”
“You can mope all you want, but you need to be aware that what happened isn’t even a percentage of how much trouble you could get yourself into if you keep up this attitude. I want you to be safe.”
“Well, you’ve taken care of that, alpha.” He grunted, gesturing to his throat, where a specialized cluster of eccrine glands pumped out his altered scent.
“That’s the shit I’m talking about.”
They boiled in acrimonious silence for a while.
“Will Totty know?” Choro asked in a soft voice just laced with apology.
“That I marked you? Yeah.”
“Will people be able to tell it was you? That I was marked by my brother?”
“Someone in a heat might be able to pick up on it, but not most people. You start to get a sense of people’s health and whatever, but you don’t pick up on subtle shit like that unless you’re pretty deep into heat.”
“When will it fade?”
“It’ll probably end right around your heat, or a little later. So...three, four days? Maybe not even that much—I didn’t mark you too hard.”
“No. Don’t you watch A/o porn?”
“Just girl-on-girl stuff.”
“Nice. Well a full mark lasts about—I dunno, twenty minutes? And then you’d probably be messed up for a full day or so.” Osomatsu took half of the remaining juice, then handed it over to Choro, who downed it.
“Messed up like how I was after...earlier?”
“Yeah, that was afterglow. Plus when you swallow it, it’s shorter.”
“So if I—if an omega got bred properly, they’d feel like that for a full day?”
“Huh.” Choromatsu chirped contemplatively. Idly, he scratched his neck, and then smelled his fingertips.
Being Choromatsu 24/7 was difficult, to say the least. The constant desire to escape his life, but the inability to endure the physical, emotional, and intellectual challenges required to do so, not to mention the crab bucket of his family...it was really a perfect storm of mediocrity. And unlike Kara or Jyushi, who didn’t seem to realize they were the bottom echelon of human existence, or Oso and Ichi, who were somehow able to not care, he both knew and cared, which was a challenging combination. Suffice it to say, Choro’s every breath was agony.
Heat Choro was, somehow, even worse. Just as ineffectual and tormented as vanilla Choro, but with an all-consuming itch that, for all intents and purposes, was only scratchable by Osomatsu, the most difficult human being on Earth, and only in the most humiliating and degrading of fashions—well, Heat Choro was probably the worst Choro Choro had been.
But then there was freshly marked Choro. Marked Choro was stupid. Marked Choro was so fucking oblivious, he thought Osomatsu pissed sunshine. Marked Choro had the most beautiful invisible robes ever concieved of. Marked Choro didn’t ache for borderline imaginary girls, or have to get his mom to check his kanji on job applications, and he wasn’t embarrassed by the people with which he was so codependant. All marked Choro wanted was Osomatsu, and he had him. No Choro had never known completion like that. Even his dream had been stress-free.
Vanilla Choromatsu, even tinged with the revving of his heat trying to kick back to life, was manageable for a time. He sat primly on the edge of the bed, a little cold and sticky and guilty, but finally lucid. Osomatsu’s smell was sort of subtle; he figured he was probably just a tree that couldn’t see the forest around him, but reason aside, the longing was quieted. Sure, he still had the urge to bury his face between Osomatsu’s thighs and fill himself with safety and comfort and pure animal satisfaction, but only some of his nerves were shreiking for release, so that was an improvement.
Of course, the sensation that not everything was horrible was fleeting. As the grill infomerical went into its third run, and Osomatsu changed the channel to a grainy 70s sitcom that Choromatsu had always thought was more of an idea than an actual program, he started to regain that sensation of misalignment all throughout his middle third. The fog was beginning to gather back in his mind, thickening, and he was suddenly aware of the laws of motion dragging him against the rotation of the Earth.
Choro lay back on the bed, his legs still dangling. He was more comfortable, but without the TV to try to watch, he had no anchor to drag him away from rather problematic snatches of not so bad and why bother flitting through his skull. He curled shrimpishly to one side so as to watch the television at a 90 degree tilt, but felt his head bump something. Osomatsu. Oh, well.
Osomatsu seized slightly when Choro pressed the crown of his head to his thigh. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have been worth a thought—Hell, Ichimatsu had frenched him as revenge for stealing fourteen hundred yen—but he knew, and more importantly, Choromatsu knew how charged contact was right now. Still, the only thing weirder than touching would be to go out of his way to avoid touching: that would just put a giant exclamation point on the whole situation.
Did Choromatsu know how his scent was affecting him now? Did he know that earlier, his body had been calling for an alpha, any alpha, and now, it was shining like a beacon for Osomatsu alone?
Suddenly, it hit Oso: marked, Choro was in little danger of being assaulted by an unbonded alpha. A marked omega’s scent was weak, little more than an annoyance, only able to heat the most sensitive and desperate of alphas. He was in more danger (“danger”) here than he could be anywhere else. There was no particular reason for him to keep his younger brother cloistered in the hotel room.
Osomatsu kept his mouth shut.
Choromatsu’s skin was crawling. He shivered, too cold, too hot, too aware. The only anodyne was the savory smell steaming up his brain, muffling the voices.
“Just four more hours ‘til the clinic opens.” Osomatsu noted, breaking the long-standing silence. “You wanna try to sleep again?”
Choro shook his head, ruffling his hair against Osomatsu’s thigh. “I don’t think I could. I mean, I’m exhausted, but I’m all...jazzed.”
“Jazzed.” Horny and scared and angry and nauseous and uncomfortable and depressed and for some reason so terribly, terribly lonely.
Osomatsu touched his fingers to the tips of Choromatsu’s cowlick. Testingly, hesitantly, he gave his brother’s head a soft scratch. “I’m sorry it happened like this. I always thought if I had another chance with Totty...I don’t know.”
“You didn’t really do anything wrong. I’m kind of glad you found me. I was pretty close to making a really bad mistake back at the bar.” The words were falling out easily. He didn’t try to catch them. “It’s not like being an omega will change that much of my life. I’ll still be unemployed. I’ll still be a virgin. I never really had anything to lose.” He felt oddly calm. “I never felt so good, either. I guess I like being just an omega better than being just Choromatsu.”
“You’re not ‘just’ anything.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“Yeah. Not to me.”
Choromatsu rolled onto his back. Osomatsu slid his hand down his temple, pressing his hand to Choro’s cheek, holding him in place. They held eye contact, for the first time sharing the burden of failure. It was...nice.
“You’ll hate me when it’s over.” Osomatsu sighed, running his thumb over Choro’s cheekbone.
“So...let’s keep it going. Don’t let it end.”
“You want to form a pair bond?”
Choro closed his eyes. The sick, the hate...it was quiet. Disappearing over the horizon. “Yeah.”
“One heat, and you’re ready to throw everything away?” Osomatsu’s hand couldn’t match his words; he let his ring finger touch the corner of Choromatsu’s lips.
“I’m not throwing out anything worthwhile. I’ve never wanted anything so tangible before. I never had this much of an opportunity for happiness. I don’t care about what people think anymore. I’m tired of being unhappy. I finally have a chance to change that.”
“I missed you so much.”
Choromatsu sat up carefully, his head still spinning. Eyelids heavy, conscienceness distant, he bridgd the gap between them, pushing his open mouth flush to Osomatsu’s.
okay prolly a chapter of lewd and then an epilogue
you guys are just so amazing oh my god you're just so fucking wonderful i can't believe it
Kissing Choromatsu, weirdly, didn’t feel weird. It was almost nostalgic, somehow, though Osomatsu was quite sure they’d never done this before. The plush resistance of Choro’s bottom lip, the hot push of his tongue: it was comfortable, it was a relief. His taste was sweet with juice and hormones, somehow familiar, though Osomatsu didn’t know why.
Choromatsu buried his fingers in Osomatsu’s hair, pulling him deeper into himself, pressing their noses out of alignment. Osomatsu’s hands found the small of Choro’s back and pulled his body close, bending him into his chest, his other hand pressing to the slight dip of his waist. Choro let out a pained moan that reverberated through Osomatsu’s skin. He opened his mouth wide, waiting for his alpha to invite himself in, which he did: Osomatsu licked deeply at Choromatsu’s tongue, traced the peaks of his molars, drank his saliva.
When Osomatsu pulled free, Choromatsu’s mouth hung open still, eyelids drooping. He looked different than the usual scowling, pouting, grumbling Choromatsu (that Osomatsu nonetheless loved); he looked placid, sort of beautiful, in a weird, sickly way. His eyes fluttered open as Osomatsu began to pull up at the hem of his shirt, and he lifted his arms over his head, letting Osomatsu undress him like a doll. Once he’d freed Choro’s torso from the confines of his shirt, he removed his own, and then eagerly pressed them together, chests, bellies, collarbones. Osomatsu’s slight beer belly pushed into the tight space below Choromatsu’s ribs. They crossed necks, comparing pulses, just breathing.
“Once I start, there’s no slowing down.” Osomatsu warned, his fingernails scraping against the grain of the vellus hair on Choromatsu’s back.
“Do anything you want.” Choromatsu panted. “I trust you.”
Osomatsu dipped Choromatsu onto his back on the bed. He buried his face under the crook of his jaw, smelling, licking, suckling the gland that emitted the mark that made him his. He could taste the urgency, the blaring green light. He slid his tongue over Choro’s throat as he found his way to the other gland, tasting the sweat, the hormones, Choro’s need to be taken by his alpha.
Choro’s hips bucked up against his brother, feet scrabbling for purchase on the bed, toes spreading and cramping. His hands floated inertly from Osomatsu’s back, to his head, to his neck, to his waist, trying to experience all of him at once, trying to pull down thesafe weight of him. He wanted to be swallowed, buried inside of Osomatsu; he wanted to be absorbed, to lose his consciousness, to melt the borders that forced them to be two people.
Osomatsu nipped a trail down Choro’s collarbone, sinking his teeth into the soft meat of his upper chest. Choro gasped and whined, impaling himself more deeply into Osomatsu’s canines, wanting to be opened. Oso’s lips were stained red where he kissed the bleeding crescent before sliding further down, taking Choromatsu’s nipple into his mouth.
Here, too, an eccrine gland emitted the perfume of ownership. Osomatsu pressed a thumb to the other nipple, milking out the scent, while he alternated pressing his teeth and his tongue to Choromatsu’s chest, agitating it and soothing it in turn. Sobbing in an unfamiliar voice, Choromatsu curled himself into Osomatsu, pushing up his hips, lifting himself off of the bed.
A sort of nasal growl loosed itself from Osomatsu as he chewed at Choromatsu’s chest. He didn’t attempt to quiet it, letting his throat scrape out whatever sounds it wanted. With a suck of breath, he pushed himself up off of Choro, catching his eyes.
Both of their pupils were blasted out into empty canyons, giving them a stupid, animal look. Osomatsu bared his teeth, showing his gums to Choromatsu for reasons he neither understood nor questioned, and Choromatsu flicked his eyes to Osomatsu’s shoulder shyly. Something akin to permission passed between them. Digging his hands down past where their bellies lay together, Osomatsu yanked short-temperedly at Choromatsu’s jeans. Luckily, they were loose enough to ride down without unbuttoning; Osomatsu’s motor skills were utterly forgotten in the peak of his heat.
Choro’s dick bobbed free, hard but unimportant. Osomatsu’s paw scooped between his legs, feeling the moisture of his slick, sliding up his crack to his hole. A finger slipped in with no resistance, and Choro twitched and tightened around it, trying to pull in more.
Preparations were unnecessary. Osomatsu wrestled his own pants down his thighs, and then, with a pained growl, folded Choromatsu in half so that his knees pressed to his chest. They struggled together to free Choro’s legs, Osomatsu at one point gnawing down on the denim and attempting to chew it off, but after some kicking and wiggling, not to mention a plethora of whines and growls, Choromatsu was left naked but for one sock hanging at the arch of his foot. He spread his knees, presenting himself to his alpha for inspection. Osomatsu held his brother’s ankles like he was opening a turkey, his dark eyes observing the pained red wetness behind his useless little sack.
Osomatsu plunged in with no hesitation. In one thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside of Choromatsu, whose insides opened eagerly at the long-awaited press of alpha cock. Choro veritibly oinked, spitting onto his chin. Osomatsu pulled out slowly, ponderously, stopping at the tip, and then dove his full length back in, relishing the slap of their flesh together.
He humped at a staccato pace, never giving Choromatsu’s body a chance to acclimate, growling possessively under his throat. Each time he was speared, Choromatsu let out an overwhelmed whimper, eyes crossing and uncrossing rapdily enough to make the world blur.
After perhaps a minute of arrythmic pounding, Osomatsu’s knot began to tingle pleasantly. The resistance of Choromatsu’s guts pressing back against the obstruction only made him harder. He let himself fill the space of his brother, loving the unfamiliar tug of Choro’s hole as he pulled up, loving the tight grip he had just behind his knot.
Choromatsu did his best to meet his brother’s pelvis with his own, but the sloppy motion made it impossible to predict. He had no interest in touching his own dick, which was just an accessory at this point: all he wanted was to pull Osomatsu deeper, to be fuller, to have himself spread open over his alpha’s cock, to be beaded on his knot, to secure him inside of himself. The only senses he had available to him were touch and smell, and they were overloaded, getting him drunk on satisfaction.
Finally, Osomatsu’s knot was full. He tugged back, lifting Choromatsu, testing the connection, before letting himself slam back down. He trickled into his orgasm, first a sort of floating sensation, tipping into the feeling of a free fall, finally breaking into absolute, incomprable euphoria. His dick trembled inside of Choromatsu as he released his load, squirting deep up into his belly, scalding him wonderfully.
Choromatsu seized under him as the pressure in his belly sent him over the edge. He gurgled breathlessly, paralyzed, his nerves ripping up to the surface of his skin, screaming, feeling as if he were made of pure warmth and energy.
There was no motion for a while; only the soft sound of choking under the patter of the television. For a full minute they lay, coiled to the breaking point, pressed together, barely breathing, Osomatsu feeling himself empty, Choromatsu feeling himself fill, sharing their bodies in a blissful, mindless blur of identity.
And then Osomatsu relaxed. His weight flopped fully onto Choromatsu, who in turn released the tension pulling through him like piano strings. Now able to breathe properly, they swallowed down air in desperate mouthfuls, trying to awaken their dry lungs.
Barely five minutes had passed.
“Are...are we bonded?” Choromatsu whispered after he found his tongue.
Osomatsu had to gather his strength for a minute before he could answer. “No, it takes four or five tries.”
“And then...?” His voice was sweet, gentle.
“And then you’ll be marked for...mm, maybe a year.”
“And you’ll mark me again then?” Choro asked hopefully, tilting his head to one side to allow Osomatsu’s mouth to press to his jugular.
“No. I’m definitely not going to wait a year.” Osomatsu just pressed his teeth to Choro’s pounding pulse. “I’m going to refresh your mark every chance I get.”
“And then I’ll be yours forever?”
Choromatsu shuddered. His mind was syrupy thick, but he managed to gather a few ideas before speaking. “I...I’m kind of dumb right now, but...I want you to...I wanna say that I love you. And not just in an omega way. And not a brother way, either. Not even like, a romantic way. I just...” He released a soft breath, trying to express the cosmic expanse of his feelings. “I love you.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Osomatsu laughed. “I really do. It’s kind of scary. ...Hey, we have three hours until check out. So, lessee...half an hour until round two?”
Choromatsu hummed happily, snuggling into Osomatsu. “Let’s just keep going until they kick us out.”
“Okay.” Osomatsu kissed Choro’s temple. There was no more omega smell, no more alpha smell; they’d merged into something so sweet and satisfying and comforting, neither one could find it within themselves to care about any stretch of future.
;w; i'ma miss you guys...just the epi now
Choromatsu pressed his chopsticks to Osomatsu’s mouth, slathering his lips with broth. Osomatsu kept his jaw shut tight, though.
“Come on, you can’t just eat meat. You have to eat something green.”
Osomatsu was lying low in the table, his legs stretched luxuriously out to the opposite side, his head resting on Choromatsu’s stomach, not strictly comfortable on his brother’s bony lap but happy nonetheless. The other four brothers were crowded around the opposite side, visibly uncomfortable.
“Do you have to do that while we’re eating?” Todomatsu asked, pointing rudely with his chopsticks to the display before him.
“Yes.” Oso and Choro said in unison, snuggling closer together to affirm their point.
In the adjacent room, Matsuyo and Matsuzo munched quietly at their dinner. Matsuzo kept his eyes low to the table, his jaw working slowly, angrily.
“Dear,” Matsuyo said softly, leaning across the table to her husband, “it’s just something you’ll have to get used to. You can’t stay angry forever.”
Matsuzo let out a world-weary sigh, dropping his bowl to the table. “I never thought it would turn out like this. I always had such high hopes for them all.”
“They’re happy, that’s what matters.”
“But the pink one and the red one have such a cute dynamic.” He grumbled, casting a subtle glance over his shoulder. “The boke-tsukkomi thing is so played out.”
“Well, there’s still a chance at IchiJyushi, dear.” Matsuyo shrugged, chewi ng a mushroom.
“Is that the happy one and the sad one?”
“Yeah, the purple and the yellow.”
Matsuzo inflated his chest, and then released it, somehow growing smaller. “I guess.” He grumbled, picking his bowl back up and sadly setting back to eating his dinner while in the opposite room, the other four brothers were attempting to physically pull apart the bonded pair, who clung tightly to one another, unmoved.
i tried to stop myself from being such a fucking dork but i just couldn't
I love you all so much. kisses~ I'll totally write more a/b/o. I promise.