Can You Feel the Heat?
A/N: Thank you to the wonderful people who cheered me on and brainstormed and helped make this story a reality, geckoholic and mornelithefalconsbane. Massive amounts of support, kink consultation, and straight up bribery made this happen. Thank you both!
People in heat were picky, even pickier than when they weren’t, which always seemed ridiculous to Kusanagi because that’s when you generally needed to be significantly less picky if you were going to get any relief.
And that was the trouble right now. First heats weren’t quite like later ones, when you’d gotten used to the whole thing and could probably ride one out without a partner or take suppressants without destroying any kind of regular cycle you happened to have. First heats were when you were pickiest because nothing felt quite right and you hadn’t learned yet that it wasn’t always your partner, and when a heat could turn lethal if you didn’t get relief and weren’t in the kind of familiar surroundings and scents and people that meant you didn’t panic in blind instinct.
In short, the last thing Kusanagi knew how to actually deal with was Yata Misaki curled up in a feverish ball at the bottom of the stairs. Yata had been listless the last few days, but Kusanagi had put that down to Fushimi leaving, and he’d been sleeping over at HOMRA, claiming he couldn’t at home because it was too empty, and he’d started talking about looking for a new place.
No one had thought listless, restless, snappish meant impending heat, and now Kusanagi was swearing under his breath as he tried to scoop up his fellow clansman because Yata was whimpering and needed to get off the floor. But the moment Kusanagi touched him, Yata flailed to try and get away. That flailing was backed up by a lot of experience with swinging and punching and all the red aura Yata could muster, which was apparently a lot. That ruled out taking the kid to a hospital.
Picky. People in heat were picky, and everyone had always assumed it’d be Fushimi to help Yata through his.
Kusanagi shook his head, grim, and carried Yata upstairs. He’d have bruises for this, and Yata was burning up, way too feverish for a heat he could just ride out. Yata didn’t seem to be up to any verbal protests, which meant he was also past the point of being any help in figuring out a solution. Kusanagi didn’t want to actually hold a grudge against Fushimi for leaving but he found himself wishing rather resentfully that Fushimi could have waited just two more weeks.
Totsuka and Mikoto were in the bar and looked up when Kusanagi towed in Yata, who was still struggling against being held with uncoordinated flailing, aura-wrapped fists, and choked sounds of distress. Yata clearly didn’t find Kusanagi a compatible heat partner.
“How long has he been like that?” Totsuka said in alarm.
“He probably started overnight. Ow! Yata!”
Yata had hit Kusanagi on the jaw right as he managed to scrabble out of Kusanagi’s arms and fall. Mikoto caught Yata before he could hit the ground.
A moment of silence, then Yata shuddered, buried his face in Mikoto’s chest, and groaned.
Mikoto stared for a moment in surprise at Yata, then he picked up Yata the same way Kusanagi had, and Yata allowed it. He pressed his face to Mikoto’s neck with a pained expression, panting against Mikoto’s collar, and tried to rock his body against Mikoto, a wounded sound in the back of his throat.
Kusanagi looked at Mikoto like he was pleased to be free of the matter.
Mikoto scowled back.
“Looks like he’s chosen you, Mikoto.”
Yata was a kid when he’d first ended up with Homura, but he clearly wasn’t one now, still… “How old is he?” He hadn’t paid that much attention on Yata’s last birthday.
“Seventeen,” Totsuka piped up.
Old enough, Mikoto thought. “Huh.”
“I always thought Fushimi would be here for this,” Kusanagi muttered, rubbing at what was going to be a spectacular bruise on his face.
Mikoto grunted in acknowledgement but didn’t stop to think about that too much with aura radiating off Yata’s skin and feverish heat glazing his eyes as he curled into Mikoto’s arms with desperate need. Kusanagi was right that taking him to the hospital was right out, but Yata had clearly done everything wrong that would have let him get through a first heat without direct relief.
“Right, King.” Thankfully, Totsuka knew what Mikoto meant and fetched Anna from Mikoto’s room before Mikoto took Yata in there and shut the door.
The sounds Yata was making, alternating between quiet, pained whimpers and a keening whine. His fists pressed against the back of Mikoto’s shoulders and he kept trying to curl in on himself before stretching out against Mikoto for as much body contact as possible, his gasp right against Mikoto’s ear.
It was well past the point of trying to subdue the heat or cool him down without a release.
Mikoto settled on the bed with Yata in his lap and drew off Yata’s hoodie and tank top, then his own shirt, and pulled Yata close. Scent and touch and skin, he remembered, were all things needed to satisfy a heat. Yata’s face was painted with need, more pain than pleasure, and Mikoto didn’t bother getting the shorts off properly, just shoved them down enough to wrap one hand around Yata’s cock, already hard and damp with precome.
The choked sound Yata made became a deep groan as Yata rutted into Mikoto’s hand, Yata’s hands burying themselves in Mikoto’s hair, one sliding clumsily halfway down his neck, fingers tight enough to hurt. He pressed his face into Mikoto’s shoulder. Yata’s small warm body and hard muscle, and the flush of power from active aura, was making it hard to concentrate on the fact that this was Mikoto’s clansman and if the fever didn’t break soon, the heat was going to be too much for Yata. Mikoto ignored his own arousal and focused on getting Yata off.
Every stroke seemed to sharpen Yata’s breath. He started lifting himself into each slide of Mikoto’s fingers, instinct taking over for lack of experience, mouth open and hot against Mikoto’s skin, his skin even hotter, burning with aura now, sparking every time he curled his fists, as if trying to contain his rising pleasure.
It broke suddenly and fiercely, Yata arching up in Mikoto’s lap with a sharp cry, devolving to broken, desperate moans and brief, wet tears. He collapsed against Mikoto, still too warm but breath beginning to even out and the hectic flush and aura beginning to fade. He looked like he’d be completely asleep in a few more moments.
Mikoto gently pulled him off onto the bed and got a cloth to clean them both up. He settled in to wait for Yata to wake up.
Yata woke up in a strange bed, half-naked, sore and oversensitive enough to wince at even the sheets twisting against his skin when he rolled over. He stared, suddenly realizing he was in Mikoto’s room because he was in Mikoto’s bed, and his King was sitting up against the headboard, smoking a cigarette, the scent of fire and ash in the air, and it smelled good. Yata shook his head, trying to make sense of the deluge of instinct and emotions that flooded him, the memory of intense pleasure and discomfort and his King holding him.
“You’re awake.” Mikoto didn’t look awkward at all, just looked at him with faint interest as he held his cigarette to one side.
“I’m—” Sorry? Not sure what I’m doing here? Want you, some hungry need in his body answered, and Yata swallowed, not sure what to do with his hands or his body or his being in Mikoto’s bed.
Mikoto was giving him a funny look. “Your heat’s not over,” he said, and everything clicked into horrifying sense.
“Huh?” was Yata’s less than impressive reply.
“You’re in heat,” Mikoto repeated, sounding amused.
And well, yeah, Yata had figured it out, but he still felt himself blushing furiously and tried to stifle the immediate feeling of embarrassment.
Mikoto asked matter-of-factly, “Was there anyone else you want to do this with?”
For one moment, Yata thought of Saruhiko and almost moments and might have beens, right before he remembered the look on Saruhiko’s face when he walked away. Yata scowled. “No.”
Mikoto looked at him knowingly. “Do you want to do this with me?” he asked.
Yata stared at him. Mikoto? His King was asking him whether or not Yata wanted to have sex with him, and Yata’s face felt like it was on fire as he tried to reboot his brain and come up with an actual answer.
“It’s just a heat,” Mikoto told him.
Yata rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, then stopped at the feeling even that small touch sent heating down his spine. He dropped his hands to bury them in the sheets and didn’t look up as he nodded. The idea of going to the hospital and being with a stranger was unthinkable. And maybe there was a small part of him that wasn’t just in awe that it was Mikoto, but was also extremely aware that they were both shirtless and Mikoto was incredibly good looking. Yata’s mouth was dry and he tried to swallow but it didn’t help at all.
“Hey.” There was a small sizzling sound as Mikoto stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Mikoto’s hand slid under Yata’s jaw and tugged his face up.
Yata took in a startled breath. Mikoto kissed him, and Yata’s brain tried to blank out altogether. Mikoto’s mouth was warm, his hand large and strong, grip firm, and Yata couldn’t breathe and didn’t know where to put his hands, so he just twisted his fingers more into the sheets and tried to focus on the warmth of their mouths and the hot and cold feelings running up and down his body, some combination of nerves and attraction and how was this even happening?
Mikoto pulled back and Yata breathed in, startled, almost panting. Mikoto’s thumb rubbed over Yata’s mouth, and his stomach flipped at the sensation.
“That feels good,” he said without thinking.
Mikoto chuckled and covered his mouth with another kiss. Yata couldn’t breathe and it didn’t matter because it felt good and his nerves thrummed with want and pleasure, his hands gripped the sheets tighter and he started feeling lightheaded and warm all over. Mikoto’s teeth grazed Yata’s lip and Yata swallowed down a small desperate noise that escaped him without prompting. He felt feverish and embarrassed, but he wanted with sudden heat and his head felt fuzzy, like he couldn’t really think.
Mikoto’s hand slid from jaw to neck, fingers curling into Yata’s hair and he tipped Yata’s head back as he pulled away enough to just look at him.
Yata blinked up, not sure what he was seeing on Mikoto’s face, but there was something in the intense look in his eyes that made Yata’s skin flush with prickling heat. He wanted to squirm under that gaze.
Mikoto reached down to slide his fingers under the waistband of Yata’s shorts, and Yata made an embarrassing squeak, but Mikoto’s mouth was hot and soft against his again, then, “Hey, you look good.” Yata could only blush and try to hold on.
It was Mikoto’s breath warm against Yata’s neck, then his mouth, teeth grazing and Yata couldn’t hold back his moan at each soft brush of skin and against skin, then it was Mikoto’s hair tickling his chest as he kissed lower, Mikoto’s large hands gripping his hips to hold him still, and Mikoto biting and kissing his stomach and hell. Yata wanted to touch him, his entire body felt like a thrumming, humming buzz of energy and desire and need, like it felt when power rushed through him—Mikoto’s power. Then Mikoto’s hand wrapped around Yata’s cock and he had to touch to hang onto any tenuous sense of control. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Mikoto’s neck. Mikoto made a small noise of surprise, then pulled Yata fully into his lap.
And oh, fuck, Yata squirmed as he realized what he was feeling, Mikoto’s hardness through his pants, and Mikoto’s hand jerking him off as Yata’s desperate need intensified.
And Mikoto was hard and Yata was the only one getting off.
“Wait, should I be—” Words failed him and he stuttered and tried not to squirm as he tried to figure out what he should be doing.
“It’s fine,” Mikoto said without explanation.
He didn’t pause or slow, hand working Yata over relentlessly and then Yata was coming, a rush of pleasure overwhelming all attempt at rational thought, and he gasped and shuddered through it.
“Mikoto-san,” Yata breathed out, or tried to, and tried to remember how his lungs worked.
Yata was still flushed and half-aroused from his heat. Mikoto couldn’t resist running his hands over the reddened skin from his face to his shoulders and down over his chest. Yata was warm under his touch, leaning into it with soft moans that went straight to Mikoto’s dick.
This wasn’t just Yata’s first heat, but the first time he’d ever had sex, and it showed. Mikoto hadn’t expected that to be so much of a turn-on.
He pulled away and disentangled himself from Yata’s arms long enough to get rid of his own pants and underwear.
Yata stared openly, swallowing a little as his cheeks turned red. He was suddenly looking at Mikoto, everywhere on his body, gaze skittering away and back to Mikoto’s face every so often as nervousness seemed to overwhelm him. His touch was shaky when Mikoto pulled him back into his lap again, his thighs tensing when he made contact with Mikoto’s bare erection.
Yata was shy about taking what he wanted. He touched tentatively, furtively, stealing glances at Mikoto like he was still a little in awe. His wrists brushed over Mikoto’s shoulders, light enough to almost tickle. Yata blushed easy, flushing when Mikoto kissed him, one hand wrapped around Yata’s neck to draw him in close.
He drew his other hand up Yata’s back, feeling the way Yata arched into the touch, a muffled wet sound at the back of his throat. Yata’s fingers brushed hesitantly at the base of Mikoto’s neck. He almost told Yata to just touch him, but he didn’t. He was enjoying this, the wonder in Yata’s reaction, and the way Yata curled up against him, lost in discovery.
They broke the kiss, and Yata struggled to catch his breath, chest heaving, a faint pink flush spread across his cheeks. That determined look Yata got so often surfaced, and he gripped Mikoto’s shoulders more boldly to pull himself up for another kiss.
Mikoto felt himself grin before their mouths met.
Yata was so eager, short fierce kisses, a little sloppy and inexperienced but making up for it in unbridled enthusiasm. Mikoto ran his hands down Yata’s ribs encouragingly, stopping to grip him by the hips and align their cocks.
Yata shuddered, still oversensitive. His eyes flew open as he leaned back with a startled noise, blushing furiously. His breath came in sharp pants and he looked overwhelmed and embarrassed, and if it was Tatara helping him through his heat, he’d tell Yata that was okay, that’s what heats did, they overwhelmed you, but it was Mikoto and he just closed the gap again to kiss Yata harder, ferociously drinking up the eager flush, the sudden spike of need that Yata didn’t know what to do with because Mikoto did know what to do with it and Yata was gorgeous like this, head falling back into Mikoto’s hand as his body arched involuntarily and he groaned into Mikoto’s mouth, opening his lips enough for Mikoto to taste him properly.
Mikoto didn’t waste the opportunity, slipping his tongue into Yata’s mouth and drinking in the needy, muffled noises Yata made, rubbing over the back of Yata’s neck with his hand, and gently stroking Yata’s cock with the other.
Yata moaned, open and hot and wet, unable to control himself anymore, and that was good, perfect. Mikoto leaned further forward, getting Yata up against the headboard and let go to let him rest for a moment. Yata’s ragged breaths were hot against Mikoto’s cheek.
Mikoto caught his mouth again in a brief kiss, then nipped him lightly before he could get out the honorific. “Condom,” he said simply and Yata watched him with eyes glazed in want as Mikoto got the condom on and reached for the lube.
Mikoto had a couple of different ones and he wanted to try something. He’d never been much interested in what that nerd Munakata meant by suggesting one good for electrostimulation, but Mikoto didn’t want to just rely on his own control for this.
Mikoto laid Yata out on the bed to get a good angle. Yata craned his head to try and see. Mikoto lubed up his fingers and gently teased his way inside.
Yata swore aloud and dropped back to the pillow, eyes wide and mouth falling open.
Yata had generally good control of his aura, but he’d let it loose on accident earlier and Mikoto had liked the way it felt, so he experimentally flicked his fingers and let a small amount of power dance across them, not enough to burn, but enough to heat Yata from the inside.
It was electric the way Yata’s body reacted as he surged up beneath Mikoto, a choking sound in his throat. “What? Fuck.” He groaned, unable to continue when Mikoto did it again. He gasped out weakly, “Mikoto—” and again Mikoto cut off the rest of it with his mouth, adding teeth and tongue and groaning into the kiss.
He’d never imagined having Yata like this, never thought he’d be the one to have his first heat, not with Fushimi right there and pining desperately, but staring at Yata’s face—fraught with desperate want as Mikoto fingered him—Mikoto wanted this, wanted to remember every bit of it, wanted to ruin Yata for anyone else.
He stroked carefully, and knew he’d found what he was looking for when Yata arched again, head pressed back against the pillow as he gasped out, “Mikoto,” his body shuddering and lighting with red.
Aura burned between them, but neither of them had any reason to be afraid of fire. Mikoto kept going, chasing Yata’s reactions as he slowly fell apart.
“So good, please, it feels so good.” Yata swore and begged and praised in a soft stream of words—”fuck, more, please”—and Mikoto gave him what he asked for, adding another finger inside him, lighting up both of their bodies with the rush of more power and Yata groaned as he ground down desperately against Mikoto’s fingers. His fists clenched tight, red aura sparking against the sheets.
Mikoto pulled out, unable to wait longer.
He was big. Yata had seen other guys’ dicks before, but never thought that much about it until Mikoto’s was starting to slide inside his body, and it burned a little and Yata hissed at the sensation.
Mikoto went slow, just a little bit, then stroked and caressed Yata’s skin there, aura burning softly across his skin, then another bit, and Yata was taking it, trying to ignore the wetness in his eyes—god he wasn’t a kid—and the intense fullness. He felt stretched and too full and it hurt a bit, but it was so, so good. He stared at the glow in Mikoto’s eyes and the look on his face, like he wanted Yata. A small bitter wounded part of him remembered when the one person who’d meant the most decided he didn’t want Yata anymore. Yata reached up his fingers to touch Mikoto and earned a small smile.
Then he was all the way in with a low grunt and Yata was so full, his cock heavy and full under Mikoto’s hand, then Mikoto moved.
It punched a startled noise out of Yata and lit up his insides with pleasure when it hit that place in the right spot. Yata swore again, Mikoto chuckled against his mouth and kissed him, and Yata let himself get lost in the friction, the wetness and heat, clenching around Mikoto’s cock as he drove relentlessly toward another stronger climax.
He couldn’t think over the sensations, couldn’t find words or thought, only smelled Mikoto, felt Mikoto and the burning heat, groaned in desperation as he crested higher and higher, then he couldn’t even breathe for the rush of pleasure breaking through him, leaving him gasping and oversensitive and overstimulated in its wake.
Mikoto groaned as he released inside of him, then after a moment, withdrew.
Yata’s head felt like it was spinning as he came down. He could distantly feel more want, more need waiting for him in the heat that hadn’t left his body, but for now he was sated and exhausted enough to ignore it.
“Mikoto?” He hesitated on the honorific, not sure whether to add it on or leave it off.
Mikoto kissed him softly again, not sexually, just kissed him. “Here.” He handed him a wet cloth and showed him how to clean up.
His heat wasn’t over. Yata decided that everything else could wait and curled up against Mikoto. Mikoto looked at him for a long moment, then wrapped his arm around Yata’s shoulders and tucked him in close.0