This Was My First Love
A/N: Thank you so much to geckoholic for the beta read and helping me when I fretted over consent issues. Also, title from the song “Last to Know” by Three Days Grace.
The adrenaline rush of fighting Misaki was always the same, pleasure and violence dancing up Saruhiko’s spine as he threw knives and aura at his former friend and partner. But for once, Misaki clearly wasn’t all the way into it, distracted, reflexes slightly slower, barely keeping up with Saruhiko’s insults and jibes.
Misaki failed to fend off the last few knives, and Saruhiko managed to pin him down, away from the rest of Homura, and close as he was now, he suddenly knew exactly what was off, the scent overwhelming.
“You’re in heat,” he said, frowning, barely containing his surprise.
Misaki scowled back at him, yanking on his sleeve to remove the knife and send it clattering to the ground.
For a long moment, it was like time took a breath and waited to let it go. They stared at each other. Saruhiko could smell the familiar warmth and brightness and that charcoal ashy scent that had come when they joined Homura. It was startling, lighting up his nerve endings like they were still just a young, barely mature alpha and omega trying to fumble their way through a first heat and into a mating bond that clearly, neither of them had been ready for. It was just pheromones, nothing else, but already he could feel himself responding, heat warming him up from the inside, stomach churning as the bond that made him hypersensitive to Misaki’s particular pheromones reasserted itself.
“Shut up, Saru!” Misaki broke the silence after a mere moment, but it felt longer than that, still felt slow and sluggish under the thundering in Saruhiko’s veins. “Are you going to fight or what?”
Saruhiko didn’t want to fight, but he wanted. He narrowed his eyes and didn’t telegraph the next knives he threw. Misaki swore at him and Saruhiko moved in close, sword out in hand, not even pretending to play games with Misaki. This wasn’t about fighting at all anymore.
He’d pinned Misaki more solidly this time, backing it up with his body, and he saw the way Misaki’s eyes widened, felt their body heat fill the tiny amount of air between them as he leaned in close. He breathed in Misaki’s dark, rich scent, like fruit and fire, and dropped his head to Misaki’s shoulder.
Misaki shuddered, swallowing hard and didn’t push him away.
“You’re in heat,” Saruhiko said again, soft and wondering, with a tinge of possessiveness he couldn’t shake.
Misaki smelled like Homura but he didn’t smell like Mikoto and alpha claims. He smelled almost exactly the way Saruhiko remembered.
“Misaki.” He hadn’t said the name with so much reverence since they were fumbling teenagers, trying to figure out what they wanted. He hadn’t had Misaki shuddering against him in years.
Then Misaki gripped Saruhiko’s collar with one hand—pushing him away or pulling him closer? Saruhiko didn’t know, just went, just wrapped his own fingers around the back of Misaki’s neck, feeling the quickening pulse, the short ragged breaths. He buried his face against Misaki’s neck and shoulder, drinking in the scent of him, then kissed him like he meant it because he’d missed this more than he would ever admit out loud.
And Misaki kissed him back.
Instincts he had been able to ignore since leaving Homura suddenly itched and sparked and compelled. He drank in Misaki’s kisses like he was starved for them, swallowed every needy whimper coming from Misaki’s throat. He pressed his knee between Misaki’s legs and felt the dampness and hardness waiting for him, and groaned into Misaki’s hot mouth.
He pulled back enough to let Misaki pant for air and to yank the knives out himself so he could turn Misaki around and shove him against the wall.
“What the hell, Saru?!”
He didn’t give Misaki much time to protest, focused on pulling up the hoodie that was in his way and get it off and yank up the tank top beneath to get to hot skin and familiar scars, tense muscle and the mark of his bite on Misaki’s neck where he’d left it long ago.
He kissed Misaki there, lingering on it as he reveled in the bond he’d all but ignored for so long. Misaki stiffened, but he didn’t stop Saruhiko from pulling off his own shirt and coat and pressing their naked upper bodies together to rub up against him and rub his face in Misaki’s scent. He knew Misaki was stronger than before, but now he got to feel it, hands on hard muscle and the smooth curve of Misaki’s back.
His hands hit the waistband of Misaki’s shorts, and he got elbowed hard. Misaki angled his head enough to scowl at Saruhiko.
Saruhiko scowled back. All of his senses demanded, Mine. All of his instincts remembered, Mine. He bit down on the mating mark and felt the shock go through Misaki’s body as he made an indecipherable, almost inhuman noise, then caught his breath wetly.
Misaki didn’t protest when Saruhiko got his shorts down. He moaned breathlessly at the skimming touches of Saruhiko’s hands exploring skin he hadn’t seen in too long, scars he’d never traced with his fingers, tasted with his tongue. He wanted to know everything he’d missed. He wanted to own Misaki.
He pressed him against the wall harshly, and it was the heat that had Misaki arching under his touch, the heat that had their hips finding a similar rhythm, but it was Misaki and he wasn’t fighting and Saruhiko wanted like he’d never left, like Mikoto had never replaced him as the center of Misaki’s world, like they’d never been broken.
“Misaki,” he said as he used his fingers to find Misaki’s slickness, drawing a sharp startled whine. “Misaki.” He pressed in harder, firmer, angling to find the spot that made Misaki groan and thrust against the wall in front of them, head falling back so Saruhiko could kiss and bite the arch of his neck. Saruhiko moved his other hand to stroke over Misaki’s cock and they both groaned together.
It was too much, too fast, Misaki’s muttered swearing only matching the beat of Saruhiko’s pulse as their hips found a stuttering rhythm again. Saruhiko struggled for a moment to control himself enough to get his pants down and then he was pushing inside and Misaki howled. He shoved him back, but it didn’t serve to separate them as the knot tied them together.
“Damn monkey! You don’t have the right—!” His voice broke off on a gasp as Saruhiko gripped him tighter and thrusted reflexively.
“You’re mine,” Saruhiko whispered darkly into the skin behind his ear. “No one else’s.” His omega, his mate. There was no one else Misaki had turned to for relief in his heat or Saruhiko would smell it on him.
“You threw me away!” Misaki shouted back. He struggled on Saruhiko’s knot, trying in vain to pull away. His pulling and twisting only made more friction between them.
Saruhiko buried his groan in Misaki’s neck and the sweaty hair clinging to his nape, his flaming bright scent with extra layers of heady sweetness and musk from his heat. Saruhiko could barely think over the haze in his brain, the pleasure radiating with every movement Misaki made, but he felt the bitter resentment prompted by those words. He almost said it. You threw me away first. But he didn’t because Misaki didn’t get it, didn’t see it that way, never noticed Saruhiko trying to repress his territorial instincts and anger every time Misaki reeked of Mikoto, spoke of Mikoto, looked only at Mikoto.
Misaki’s reckless temper and frantic movements lasted long enough for him to be drawn up short by an intense orgasm, leaving him gasping for breath, clenching around Saruhiko, and trembling in Saruhiko’s arms, finally lax.
It wasn’t over, more than a few minutes left before Saruhiko’s knot would go down. Their breathing sounded so loud in Saruhiko’s ears, coming close to perfectly in sync as they waited. It was almost unbearable, Misaki’s warmth beneath and around him, Misaki’s taste and scent overwhelming Saruhiko’s senses.
Misaki shifted and Saruhiko realized he could feel his knot beginning to relax. He scowled at the eager tension in Misaki’s arms and back. The moment Saruhiko’s knot went down enough to let him, Misaki was scrambling away and shoving Saruhiko back. For once, Saruhiko didn’t resist, just stared at the drying come on Misaki’s skin as he brushed at furious tears.
Misaki yanked on his clothes without bothering to try to clean up, snatched up his beanie without a second glance at Saruhiko, and fled.
Kusanagi found Yata downstairs in the basement later that night, not an unusual occurrence and usually barely worthy of note, especially when he reeked of pheromones and general misery from heat like he did right now. But something gave Kusanagi pause, an off-note. He glanced over for a visual check and saw Yata had wrapped himself up in a blanket. He smelled like a recent claiming.
Yata hadn’t been claimed since Fushimi left Homura and the mix of mated scent had mostly faded away. Now it was back.
“You all right, Yata?” Kusanagi asked, voice light. “You got separated from us earlier.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Kusanagi-san.” Yata may have been as straightforward and transparent as nature made them, but he could also put a good face on things, and if it weren’t for the heavy scent of distressed omega in the air, Kusanagi might have believed him.
He stayed silent a long moment, long enough for Yata to poke his head out from under the blanket and shoot him a questioning look.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
For a split second of hesitation, Yata’s face betrayed a flash of vulnerability, and Kusanagi felt the urge to go wring Fushimi’s neck and drag him back here. Then Yata sucked it up and nodded. “It’s just this damn heat. It’ll go away in a couple days.”
It would. Kusanagi nodded. “Okay, Yata. Don’t stay up too long.” He went upstairs and smoked a cigarette, busying himself with small tasks around the bar. He couldn’t help the urge to stay up for a while where he could hear if Yata needed anything, or if anyone came around.
Yata tossed and turned well past midnight, growing more and more uncomfortable as the night wore on. It was one thing to go unmated for an entire heat. It was quite another to be abandoned by one’s alpha partway through, and his body seemed to demand his missing mate. Discomfort cramped in his stomach, and too many parts of his body ached with feverish need. He found it hard to breathe with how hot he was. By the time he experienced another spontaneous arousal, he was debating immersing himself in an ice water bath and killing Saruhiko the next time he had a chance.
“Stupid monkey,” he muttered to himself before finally throwing off the blanket and getting up to take another dose of painkiller. It helped with the cramps, he’d never had a problem going out with his clan even during his heat without Saruhiko and without going on actual hormonal suppressants, but he stared at the bottle of pills for a moment as he suddenly realized exactly what they’d done.
Yata swore and dug around in the medicine cabinet for a morning after pill. Great. Just great. He really was going to kill Saruhiko the next time they saw each other. Not that Saruhiko had any reason to know Yata wasn’t on birth control during his heat, but really who did Saruhiko think Yata was fucking?
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
He went back to bed, curled up in a miserable ball, and gritted his teeth through the pained want he couldn’t get rid of. Last year, it had almost felt aimless, finally not accompanied by fantasies of being with Saruhiko again, but he’d gone and ruined that and he didn’t just want relief. He wanted Saruhiko, Saruhiko’s scent, Saruhiko’s body. Yata tossed and turned restlessly and waited for the painkiller to kick in.
He dozed in and out, but never got good sleep.
By the morning, Yata was grumpy, exhausted, and still feeling a need to pummel Saruhiko personally, right after he got satisfaction for this endless hunger gnawing at his insides. He dressed and splashed cold water on his flushed face, drank more to cool himself even a little bit, then took his skateboard to go hunt up the object of his displeasure.
Yata didn’t like Scepter 4, and he didn’t like the startled looks he got as he stalked in and asked for Fushimi. It was obvious he was in heat by the time he got close enough to ask, and everything about the situation made him more embarrassed and more angry, and it took too much energy to stifle the flustered feelings under his temper instead.
“Just point me in the right direction.”
That got even more consternation and, “No, no, it’s no trouble. I’ll go get him.”
Yata hated Saruhiko. He hated Scepter 4. He hated this heat. He hated every single Blue he glared at before Saruhiko finally appeared, faint surprise and displeasure in his own face.
That only made Yata angrier. Like Saruhiko had the right to be unhappy, he was the one who left Yata in this mess in the first place. He walked up, yanked Saruhiko forward by the collar as the Scepter 4 members stared openly, and growled.
It wasn’t the first time an omega had pointedly dragged their mate from their workplace, but it was the first time Yata had ever made himself a spectacle this way.
“You just had to fuck me up, damn monkey.”
“You weren’t complaining at the time,” Saruhiko replied, wearing his cruel smile rather than a real one, leaning in close enough for Yata’s breath to fog up his glasses.
“Like hell I wasn’t!” Yata dragged and Saruhiko actually followed, and Yata decided he could explain to his king when he got back where he’d gone because Yata certainly didn’t intend on explaining anything to the gawkers around them. “And quit staring!”
“So this is your new place.” Small, simple, with a well-stocked kitchen. Somehow Saruhiko wasn’t surprised.
“Shut up, Monkey,” Misaki replied with no edge to it. He looked tired and he smelled like sex. It was an oddly compelling combination. Saruhiko never felt an urge to take care of anyone else, but Misaki had always been different.
Misaki handed him a box of condoms, and that did have a startling edge. A very pointed reminder of the lack thereof last night.
“Use those, asshole,” Misaki said with a scowl. He sighed as he dropped down to sit on the bed. “I don’t want this.”
“You certainly went a long way for something you don’t want,” Saruhiko replied, narrowing his eyes.
Misaki gave him a flat stare, mouth straight and shut in a look that bothered Saruhiko because he didn’t know how to read it. “I don’t want this,” Misaki repeated. “I want relief.”
It made something in Saruhiko go cold, even as part of him seethed. “You don’t make a strong argument why I should give you any.”
“But you will.” Misaki stared at him, eyes glittering, mouth just hinting at his usual fierce grin.
Saruhiko stared at him and it felt like his blood was on fire. He would. It was thick in the tension between them. Before, out there, it had been Misaki’s scent and Misaki’s heat and the rush of battle, but here, the entire apartment smelled like Misaki, all sunshine and fire and musk and heat.
He couldn’t find his shirt. Saruhiko frowned as he dug through the pile of discarded clothes they’d left on the floor. No shirt. He pulled on the pants and went to check in the main area. There he stopped, feet rooted where he stood.
Misaki was sitting on the couch, wearing Saruhiko’s shirt and it was like someone stabbed him in the gut with one of his own knives. He couldn’t even begin to describe how it made him feel to see Misaki like that.
Misaki scowled at him, clearly in between bouts of need and feeling nowhere near the same amount of desire. “You didn’t ask, Saruhiko,” he said, low and cutting, knowing he had Saruhiko’s full attention. How long had he been waiting to ambush him?
Saruhiko frowned at him as he looked at him full on. “You didn’t say no.”
“I didn’t say anything, you bastard, because you didn’t ask.” Misaki glared at him, eyes narrow, red aura heating along his skin.
It made tension prickle on Saruhiko’s, too familiar with the moments before a fight. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of when he’d left.
“We’re not mates,” Misaki said harshly.
“Are you saying you broke the bond?”
”You broke it! When you left,” Misaki retorted.
Saruhiko narrowed his eyes. “I never undid that,” he said sharply, staring pointedly at the scar from the mating bond.
Misaki glared back. “It’s a scar, a damn scar. It doesn’t mean anything when you walk away.”
“I walked away?” He had. Saruhiko had but it didn’t stop him from glaring and scowling darkly at his estranged mate. “You didn’t need me.”
“Like hell I didn’t!” Misaki was going to scorch the couch with the way aura peeled off him in angry waves.
“You had your precious Mikoto, didn’t you,” Saruhiko pointed out with a cruel tone, a cruel smile, like the one that guy used to turn on Saruhiko.
But Misaki just scowled back. “Just because I follow him doesn’t mean I want to fuck him. You follow your king and you’re not sleeping with him.”
“Your king marked you more than I did.” Saruhiko couldn’t keep the mocking or the bitterness from his voice. “You reeked of him, of all of Homura.” Munakata never marked the scent of his subordinates, and Saruhiko never came home smelling like omegas who weren’t his.
But it just made Misaki vicious in his answer. “Maybe you didn’t mark me enough then.”
Misaki had always given as good as he got from Saruhiko, but none of his hurled insults or battle banter had ever hit and stung like this one.
He didn’t ask, just shoved Misaki down on the couch with a snarl before biting down on the mark on Misaki’s neck and holding on for a hot moment, a blinding rush of pleasure and possessiveness surging through the bond between them. He pulled up his head to glimpse fierce satisfaction on Misaki’s face and didn’t care to wait for more before he covered Misaki’s mouth with his, kissing him fiercely, questing with his tongue as he gripped Misaki’s hips hard, digging in deliberately.
He didn’t stop for breath between kisses until he was lightheaded and dizzy and still nipping at Misaki’s lips before licking away the blood. Misaki made a needy noise as he pushed at Saruhiko’s jaw. He let go and panted for air. Misaki took great gulps of it.
Red mouth, want and discomfort flickering in Misaki’s face like flames, and Saruhiko couldn’t wait. He kissed him again and again, breathing Misaki’s name between kisses. He ran his teeth over Misaki’s neck, then paused to hover over Misaki’s pulse as Misaki moaned.
Misaki reached up with rough hands to grip Saruhiko’s shoulders and drag him in for another hot, wet kiss, licking into Saruhiko’s mouth, holding on long enough to make their lungs burn. He was hard under Saruhiko’s touch, his scent shifted to open receptive heat and darkness and sweetness all over again, and Saruhiko couldn’t think, didn’t want to. He stumbled off the couch and gathered Misaki up to take him back to the bed before he could protest.
He marked him with teeth and scent, hot mouth not missing any of Misaki’s sensitive points, finding every turn-on he’d ever known about with unerring precision and homing in on new ones he found in passing as he brushed over every inch of Misaki’s skin. He bit bruises onto Misaki’s shoulders, pressed fingers into Misaki’s hips with a punishing grip, and left his scent everywhere, leaving no part unclaimed. He murmured Misaki’s name into his body until Misaki wanted to scream as he writhed, wanted him to stop that repetition, once an embarrassing private if intimate thing between them and now always uttered so mockingly.
He brought Misaki past words with relentless pleasure. Misaki couldn’t have found them anyway. How did he tell someone like Saruhiko, all he’d wanted was for him to stay?
The tide ebbed after a second blinding orgasm close enough on the heels of the first to leave him exhausted, the heat seeming to drain out of him with it.
Nothing filled the gap between between their panting breaths. Misaki rolled over as best he could around the knot, gritting his teeth against the additional stimulation, but damn it, he was going to find some way to hold onto Saruhiko. There was always too much chance for Saruhiko to let go.
He fell asleep that way, arms wrapped around Saruhiko, curled up with his head against Saruhiko’s chest, still tied on the knot, and didn’t really think that it shouldn’t feel so good and right. Saruhiko cradled him close, like something precious, fingers stroking gently through his hair.
When he woke up, Saruhiko was gone.0