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heazueken · 2 months ago

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two-backed beast

Ogata Hyakunosuke/reader "In which the stereotype about single women and cats rings true. Or: An exercise in self preservation and androphobia" Rating: Explicit (18+) TW: Parental death mention, female loneliness, paranoia, misandry, misogyny, unreliable narrator, psychological decline, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mental instability, agoraphobia. Word count: 13.2k AO3: Pharmaceutica

There's a reason that male animals kept in polite society are neutered. Farmers keep one rooster, a handful of bulls- separated, typically by pasture- and whatever variety of studs or sires are penned on an agricultural estate. Stallions are gelded to make them placid, good natured, and so friendly they are the ideal steeds for children to mount. Reason would have it that they are illogical beasts, driven mad by lust and domination to the point of killing other males of the same species and his own offspring. The annihilation of order is male nature if castration is off the table. Humans, somehow, missed such a memo on a grand scale.

You are 25 when your father dies.

The funeral your mother arranges last minute is in every shade of hurried, only a few family members made the begrudging trip to offer condolences on a muggy August night. You remember her crying and acting as if the sky had fallen out of the sky, the devastation wrought deep and unrelenting in every corner of her soft face. You do not feel much. He was not a bad father or even a bad man, overtly, but you cannot help but feel that maybe this is not the worst outcome. He perched himself like a fat house pet in a recliner most nights and his hair was falling out. Maybe it was time for this to happen. He was only a few years older than your mother but he happened to age at nearly triple the rate. What an alarming sequence of events. Maybe he was dying this entire time and nobody ever even knew. After all, he did not always look this way.

"You're a strong girl," Your mother says, her voice is shaking and a hair above a whisper "You're strong for me." Her grip is cold and corpselike as she presses her face into your stomach, kneeling on the ground. Your poor mother, clammy fingers pet through her brittle hair and a painful lump pangs in your esophagus. Seeing your mother cry is such a disturbing thing.

Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with you to mourn your mother's grief over the death of your father but feel next to nothing now that man who raised you is gone. Again, you remind yourself, he was not a bad man. Your mother cries most nights, the bags under her eyes are inflamed and pregnant looking and her face sags with misery. Cooking dinner has been your chore for about two years and neither parent would complain about the quality of the dishes, but now you feel an insurmountable pressure to fix your mother's hellish state with food.

A fool's errand if there ever was one.

Retreating to your bedroom after the dishes are cleaned up is your only option and quite frankly, you can only listen to your mother's raw voice for so long. I'm a bad daughter, you'd think, peeling back the covers of your bed and crawling in after a too hot shower. The fabric is cold on your skin and the whir of the desk fan next to your bed makes goosebumps erupt over your flesh. Maybe if you were a better daughter you would have gone to the grocery store and bought a nice pork belly and some flowers and treated your mother to a dish she grew up eating, but you have unfortunately come to find a sense of comfort in the death of your father. A threat neutralized, a parasite expelled, an infection quelled.

The next morning you don't bother changing out of your pajamas, just like the morning before and the one before that. You don't leave the house, you're not dirty per se, and there is nobody you are trying to impress here, therefore there is no logical reason for you to change out of your pajamas. Your puffy mother is too stricken with grief to nudge you out of the nest to go buy fruit or go for a walk, so she sits at the breakfast table with a room temperature cup of tea with her hair a mess and says nothing about the fact she has seen you wearing the same thing for four days straight.

"Could you do something for me?" She turns to you, eyes sunken in. It strikes you as an uncomfortable sight.

"Yes, what?"

"After breakfast, please get the mail. Your father's friend said he sent a card with a little money in it," nod, nod, and one more nod. You're not paying attention too closely as you refill the electric kettle that is nearly as old as you are, watching as the appliance bubbles noisily when you turn it on. Damn thing probably gave me lead poisoning and made me like this . It wasn't like you were strapped for cash, but with your father's death there won't be extra income coming in. Your mother may expect you to get a job now.

Something about the sun on your skin never failed to make you nauseous. You try not to perseverate over a little two minute errand while you blow on your tea, the taste of last night thick in your throat. Everything about this morning was less than ideal, if you ever had imagined such a concept of ideal before. Regardless, it wasn't nice. You weren't particularly thrilled with it, and you contemplated what you might wear to go to the mail box. You're 25 and deliberating how bad of a social faux pas it might be to get your mail in something less than business casual. An intentional slurp of hot tea draws you out of your thoughts.

There is a gray cable knit sweater you have in the back of your closet that you haven't touched in two years. There is also your skirt from high school, an ankle length beast of fabric that devoured your womanly form in a single swallow. Perhaps there was a comfort to being consumed by your clothing where once you had been eaten, you were no longer appetizing to those around you. Your mother watched you drift up the stairs of your home and back down in a ten minute succession, her supple eyes looking wary as you go for the mail key. Part of her was back, you supposed, seeing that flash of mild discomfort was enough. She never did get rid of her habit of chiding you for being slovenly.

The sun aches against your eyes and skin, and it bites when you flinch at the unrelenting sensation. A wrinkle in your nose has your eyes squinted as one foot pushes in front of the other and carries you, an empty vessel, down the pavement. It's just getting the mail, it isn't supposed to be anything terrifying, but the sensation of eyes follows you. That was the thing- after you graduated from high school and your friends drifted off like dandelion fluff, you had taken a deep comfort in the walls of your bedroom.

Slotting the key into the paint chipped mailbox, you're greeted with the sight of a small envelope perched upon a magazine for a makeup brand, below that is an advertisement for window repair, and under that is something from the funeral home. Half tempted to throw that one into a storm drain, you tuck it under your arm and turn around and damn near launch the mail into the air upon seeing a man standing behind you, equally as unenthusiastic to be at the mailbox as well. Your jump of surprise must annoy him because his cat-eyes narrow, but beyond that, he makes no other cue that he's displeased.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Your mother starts, tearing into the envelope once your retreat was successful from enemy territory. Her voice is gravely from last night's crying.

"I ran into a neighbor when I wasn't expecting it."

"Oh," She doesn't bother to read the card, counting up the yen that spills out. "I would've thought it was a stray dog. I keep telling that old man down the street that it's going to get shot if he lets it roam around like that. Which neighbor was it? Was it Watanabe? She's nice. Left us flowers last week, you know."

"No, it was a man." Well, you're not sure if it was really a man. He looked more like a cat and had deep, unsettling black eyes.

"Mm. I see, I think you probably saw Kadokura then, the other old man. He's also friendly. Your father was friends with him."

"He was younger than Kadokura." Was he? You're not exactly a fan of this guessing game as your mother counts up a plush stack of yen- A little money my ass. Mr. Kobayashi has always liked mom. Your eyes narrow. It looks to be at least 50,000 yen based off of the crisp bills. You want to sneer at such a lowly, wretched display. Truly something grotesque. You wonder if your mother is privy to Mr.Kobayashi's advances.

"So a young man? I think Tome Ogata has a son. He lives with her, to my knowledge. That's probably who you saw."

"...okay." You're not sure why this has her interest piqued, but you don't intend to stick around and find out. Her gaze is already smoldering into you as you take your leave to wrestle out of your skirt and sweater and crawl back into bed.

Unfortunately this would not be the last instance of Tome Ogata's impact on the world coming around to haunt you, or more specifically, your sanctuary. The next morning you hear the voice of a woman mingling with that of your mother's. She speaks in a hushed tone and you can hear the soft clinking of your mother's wedding bone china tittering in between woman-speech. Twenty five is patently too old to be sitting on the steps leading from your room but it is in your interest and decidedly your mother's that you listen in. You don't know this Tome your mother addresses so gently, what if she is aware of your father's life savings? People do strange things when men die. The sleep is still crusted in your eyes and your skin feels a touch greasy, perhaps you don't descend the stares out of shame for your neglect of hygiene, or maybe you don't want to see the same cat-eyes from yesterday.

"I'm so sorry to hear of your husband's death, losing your lover can be difficult," Tome doesn't sound all quite there and you can hear the unwrapping of a teacake from the cupboard. Your cousin sent those over two days ago and they're going into the belly of someone you don't know. Heaving a sigh, your mother sits.

"It is what it is, really. I was always telling him he needed to stop eating the way he did and put the bottle down. Every day he'd grow fatter and fatter and more tired," stab, "His doctor tried to tell him. His friends tried to tell him. I tried to tell him. He would not even listen to his own wife. He'd tell me he'd start losing weight soon, or perhaps when the financial quarter at work was over," chew, sniff, point at the woman across from her with her tea fork, "He wouldn't change for anyone. I told him he'd miss his daughter's wedding if she ever got married and he'd never see her off properly. He deliberated over that one." It was your turn to sniff, sour lemon scrunching your face. What a repulsive notion.

"Men are frustrating and mercurial. I understand your pain. Reasoning with them can be fruitless, I lost the better part of my life to pining after one," Tome's bone colored fingers are clasped around her tea cup, her gaze is intense as your mother rubs her cheek. "Somedays I still think he'll call or write. My son tells me I need to stop living in the past. But my point is that you did what you could. Please don't blame yourself." You're unburdened, now.

"I just wish he didn't kill himself, I really feel like everything I did for him is down the drain. I've lost the man I've loved for as long as I can remember." Your earliest memory of your father was him taking you to a park to feed ducks and patiently spoon feeding you a little bit of ice cream in your stroller as leaves rustled impatiently around you two. Now both him and the man who lived in the recliner are nothing but ash on your mother's nightstand. Your toes curl into the worn down soles of your slippers as you continue to listen in. Tome offers your mother advice that you approve of, not that you have any business delegating yourself to being your mother's owner in wake of your father's demise. You can't even stomach a trip to the mailbox without running from your neighbor and bitching about the sunlight on your face. To what end are you an authority in any matter outside of your bedroom?

"Sometimes," your mother begins with a familiar water logged tone "I feel as if my daughter is not coping."

"She lost her father. It will be difficult for her for a while. When my own parents passed away some days I could not even pull myself out of bed and my son would have to wash my hair for me."

"Ah, my daughter cooks for me... The night he passed away she got me into bed and laid with me. I cried a lot, I fear I haven't let her cry or process her emotions, I've relied on her for the home to be kept up. It should be the other way around, I think."

"No no," Tome waves a hand. Where is she going with this? You can't see the pair, but you can make an educated guess on their mannerisms. "It is okay to rely on others. You trust your daughter, yes?"

"Of course,"

"Then trust that if she felt she was burdened she would tell you." Tome speaks as if she knows what she's talking about. She doesn't, you're sure of it, and you've heard the woman slept with men for money. Perhaps this is a skill she's picked up, appropriate, solid advice that is appropriately applicable yet you get the sinking sensation she does not practice what she preaches.

"But, another thing," your mother grips the bone china cup, glancing haphazardly at the steps. "She's asleep still," she is not. Tome blinks, expecting some revelation about the assumption. "My daughter is 25, her father is dead, and she's lived at home with us for seven years. She attended college locally at a small University. I'm afraid she may stay here forever and die in this home as her father did, as I will, and then her. I have no other children, Tome, I can't take care of her forever. What should I do? She's never had a boyfriend."

"I see," ice crystalizes in deposits under your skin, right into the layer of adipose fat. Tome sets her cup down. "Funny enough," there's nothing funny about this "My son Hyakunosuke is in a similar boat, a little older than your daughter. After he was in the army he came back to live with me and got a job in an office. No girlfriend, some days I don't think he has friends at all. He's a handsome enough young man, but he simply is in his own head too much."

"Yes, my daughter is like that too, I tried for years to get her to put herself out there, but you can only do so much. Her friends are all married and she's at home with no prospects. Once my husband's funds run out she will have to help support us. I'd like grandchildren, Tome, this family is only getting smaller as the years pass."

Maiden. Mother. Crone.

As you dwell on the repetitive cycle, you draw yourself a steaming hot bath and force yourself to scrub away the days worth of sleep off of your skin. Something about a woman like Tome speaking to your mother makes you uncomfortable. Your mother always said Tome was beautiful and worldly, but syphilis had touched her mind and she had gone a little crazy from the years of pining after her child's father- apparently some political bigwig now. You don't understand why women engage with them, you don't understand why they birth their children and want for them, you don't understand why they do all of this just to have the fruits of their love grow fat and old and bloated. Perhaps you're missing something vital that every other woman seems to have, perhaps you were born deformed and lacking an organ that would allow you to see the humanity in the opposite sex. Dragging a washcloth over your face you deliberate and turn the thought over in your brain until it's sandblasted down into a smooth pebble. You make two conclusions, wholly informed by your own observation.

1. Men are fantastically parasitic animals. They must be, in some way, alluring enough to get a partner. Once secured, they dig in and become too comfortable.

2. Self preservation erodes significantly over time and having children exponentially speeds up this process. It is also irreversible and manifests brainwashing.

Why your mother would ever suggest you partake in such a vicious cycle is beyond you. Perhaps she secretly dislikes you and wants you to suffer just as she did in the end. Perhaps this is one step closer to self actualized womanhood , or whatever that is. You would never become a woman like Tome, you would never become a woman like your own mother. Indignation flares within you, a rare instance of bitter frustration licking at the innermost membrane of your brain. It bubbles and spits like pork fat in a hot pan.

Tome becomes a regular guest at your house for some reason.

The woman is clearly versed well in the art of speech despite her starved brain, every conversation is a meal to her and every complementary sweet and drink in front of her is merely nibbled at. Tome thrives on gossip and struggle more than she gains sustenance from food. Even still, she's a beautifully shaped woman with a beautiful face and a deep practiced elegance about her. The first time you miscalculated your descent from your bedroom you made eye contact with her and nearly started crying. The gap between you was cavernous, steep, and yawning, it was like seeing a groomed show cat perched in your kitchen, an oversized silk yukata half hanging off the old prostitute.

"Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Ogata."

"You can call me Tome, you don't have to be so formal, we're neighbors. How are you doing? Are you holding up alright?" Ah, perhaps you feel guilty for judging the woman. She's just lonely, clearly.

"I'm okay." Well, that's all you say before you feel awkward as Tome waits for you to supplement a little more into the conversation. She's starving, can't you see it? "...Thanks for coming by and talking to my mom. All of her friends moved away. Her best friend lives in America now and they can't talk much."

"Of course, it's always nice to get closer with someone else. Your mother's a good woman, I'm very sorry about your father."

"It's alright, it's nobody's fault." The lie tastes sweet and measured on your tongue, like a sugar cube weighing exactly six grams. Maybe if the fat bastard hadn't ate and drank himself to death he'd still be here, albeit slightly less fat and rocking back and forth in the recliner like a drinky-bird mechanism. Tome's expression softens very slightly at that, her fist curling like a paw and her cheek resting on it.

"If you ever need to get out of the house you're always welcome to come over for tea or lunch. I'm home most days and my son works the weekdays."

"Thank you, that's very nice to offer." You can't imagine anything more awkward, but Tome smiles all the same, her pretty lips quirking up. Busying yourself, you make yourself a reheated bowl of leftovers and squirrel yourself up to your bedroom. The taste of leftover soup lingers thick in the back of your throat like cobwebs, and the bowl remains half finished and room temperature on your desk.

Something questionable lingers in the back of your brain, nestled deep between the sand blasted pebbles of prior ponderings and the other rougher works in progress. Sunset brings a blue wash over your bedroom, oozing in meticulously through the pinholes of the blinds. The glow of your phone screen and the hovering of your thumb over your keyboard was not a new sensation, in fact it was the thing you did to occupy your time more often than not, but an itch had to be scratched. You were privy to a lot about your body, exceptionally well acquainted with being your own lover had given you more than a decade of experience of what had to be done. You were, unfortunately, curious.

Hyakunosuke Ogata is 30 years old and works for a data processing company as an IT specialist. You heard Tome say his name a few times, Hyaku, Hyaku, Hyakunosuke.

Cat-eyes stares back at you with the same robotic expression in his corporate profile under his public resume and you scroll, thumb tacky against the scuffed screen protector, another thumb half jammed in your mouth. This feels wrong to be doing, like you're some kind of creep for being curious about the man who's mother has inserted herself rather brazenly into your life. Your mother doesn't complain, so you don't understand why you feel compelled to do so. Part of you is afraid she'll spoil your mother. Tome's morals are not your mother's morals and absolutely not your own, after all, you fear her influence will spread to her taking up Mr. Kobayashi on a date. How ironic of a daughter to fear for her mother's purity at the hands of a friend she doesn't approve of.

You swallow. Cat-eyes is the son of a whore. He's handsome enough to be the son of a whore, He clearly got a lot from Tome, just not her seductive eyes. You wonder briefly if Cat-eyes can pull the fine line of slovenly and erotic the way his mother so effortlessly does. Ah, what a sight it'd be. Part of you doesn't believe Tome is correct when she asserts her son is as alone as you are. Men are sexually driven animals, aren't they? It's what kept food on the table at the Ogata residence for so many years- a rather grim and bleak thought if there ever was one. Perhaps Cat-eyes lies to women, including his mother, and he keeps a low profile. Maybe he-

Your fingers are inside of you before the thought can reach a conclusion and your cellphone is dropped onto your duvet. What's one more stain? It's your bed after all.

An illusion shatters the morning you walk downstairs having made peace with the fact that Tome would likely be there and thus you had no reason to restrict your movement to only your room while you starved all morning out of indignation. Hyakunosuke is sitting with his mother across from your own and suddenly you feel beyond nude. Tome's eyes crinkle and your mother cranes her neck, a twitch forming in her eyebrow.

"We were just talking about you."

"Ah."

"This is my son, Hyakunosuke." Oh, you're well aware of that. Cat-eyes gives you a polite nod and says hello, his mother petting his arm soothingly as if she were stroking an uneasy animal. It's surreal. Your mother chews on her words before she spits them at you, thinly veiled contempt leaking from her painted mouth. There was always a sort of cardinal sin about being dressed the incorrect amount around men. Another social construct you didn't fully comprehend as you shakily go for a canister of green tea.

"I was hoping you'd be dressed. You know we have company."

"...Sorry."

"Oh, it's alright, really, we don't mind."

"Thank you, Tome, I swear she has manners."

The man you're pointedly not looking at has said nothing, but you feel his gaze on you. Unbeknownst to you this is something he specializes in as Ogata has perfected the art of latent discomfort to an almost terrifying degree.

Cold sweat drips down your spine as you clamor around the ancient kettle and pour a hot slush of water over your tea leaves and watch as the yellow seeps from the pouch. Making assumptions is often a losing game, but when a risk this large is present in your home you have to afford to assume the worst. You came from my rib, did you know that? Such disrespect from the filthy animal sitting in your kitchen makes you hesitant to throw a look at him one last time as you retreat to your room, feeling dirty and sticky in all the wrong places. Ogata's voice is low and rises with little effort to quell the conversation between his mother and your own- what he's saying, you don't know. Your home has been compromised, a man has been here that was not your father.

A very frank conversation is had when the guests leave. Your mother grips your arm and sternly tells you to sit down. Your humanity is pouring out of your body like a leaky faucet, its a tangible feeling and it feels like the drop in a rollercoaster.

"I was disappointed that you didn't come talk with us."

"Sorry." You aren't. Your mother does not flaunt you like you're some prized debutante, pimping you for praise.

"You have to understand that your place in this world only becomes more confined the older you get. Your father is dead." You know. She takes a breath, removing her hand from your arm. "I know you're going through a hard time. But it's not healthy to hide inside all the time and you've done this for years, it's nothing new. I think you should start going over to help Tome for a little money and just to get out of the house. Make her dinner a few nights. I'll be fine here. We spoke about it with her son, and he's not opposed to it. He mentioned her mental facilities fail her occasionally and she has a habit of making the same thing for nights on end."

"Okay, b-but"

"No. No you're going to do this, it's not cute anymore. What will people think of you when you're 30 and have no husband, no children, no way to provide for yourself?" Well. It works for Cat-eyes, Hyakunosuke, but you hold your tongue. If you were a better daughter you would've been dressing up this entire time with a proper display of flowers on the breakfast table each morning and new flavors of tea cakes. You'd have your lips painted and a beautiful silk garment hanging off of your body like water. Your mannerisms would be poignant and measured, you'd be elegant like a crane in a tidepool.

Tome is thrilled to have company.

The Ogata residence is, externally, a humble thing but the interior is decorated with a fine touch. No doubt Tome is a woman with a taste for fine things, and what you can assume is gifts from prior suitors and lovers dominate every inch of the space in which she dwells. You're not quite sure how her son can stomach a notion like that, having the leering presence of men etched into the very domicile he shares with his mother. You're chopping up a head of cabbage when you formulate another stone to sandblast- perhaps Hyakunosuke's relationship with his mother is no different than that of other men?

Cleaving down into the crisp leaves you turn your tongue over in your mouth and it feels heavy, like a glass paperweight. The smell of incense singes in your nose, Tome is humming something softly as she strokes a rather plump looking tuxedo cat. Deductive reasoning has led you to the conclusion that maybe Tome is just another resource of Hyakunosuke's, maybe she's just an extension of himself that all men collectively leech from in some way or another. But, you have no brothers, so what do you know, really?

Tome does not make a habit of complaining about your cooking, in fact she seems quite pleased to be eating something she didn't have to make. Based off of what you know you get the impression her tastebuds have been numbed to enjoy even the blandest of dishes. When you enter such a line a work you're not really yourself anymore, right? You're somebody else, you're someone's idea come to life. Your chopsticks pick up a square of okonomiyaki that falls limp against the wooden utensils. An appetite is hard to come by when your bizarro-world self sits across from you, gleefully and delicately nipping little pieces of her dinner like a finch.

"You're a good cook! You know, your mother said that was always your chore at home."

"Yes," You dip your piece back to your plate, sopping up bonito flakes. "Thank you, I'm glad you like it." That feels right. It's hard to meet the pretty woman's gaze, her hair loose and curling like cat whiskers. Speaking of, the feline she was tending to earlier has made a home for itself in the crux of your crossed legs.

"Did your mother teach you to cook?"

"No, I had a recipe book I learned from. It was very old and simple. My mom never was good at cooking, nor was my father." Tome nods along like she's interested to know more about you. It feels dirty, in a way.

"My son is actually quite good at it. He's an avid hunter, spent a great deal of time in Hokkaido and picked up some of the cuisine there. Sometimes I think he wishes to go back and leave Tokyo, but he insists he's fine here."

"I see." You've never been to Hokkaido. Your mother always said it was snowy and mountainous, many people there enjoy a beautiful landscape and mild summers and there's plenty of untouched land. The concept of virginal land is a vexing thing. You shove the soppy piece in your mouth and masticate on it for a while.

"It's noble of their children to take care of their parents. You share that in common with him. I really think I'm the reason he hasn't left yet."

"I wouldn't want to leave my mother either."

"Ah, but she's a good woman. I wasn't always so attentive to Hyakunosuke, I think it's why he's such an independent man."

"Maybe," Tome watches as your hand falls and cups the tangerine sized skull of the cat dozing in your lap, the creature curls like a ribbon and stretches like rubber. "I think my mother worries I'm not independent enough. But I reason that someone has to take care of her. Good daughters do that."

"Yes, but you must live for yourself too."

"I think I live for myself enough."

As you leave for the night after cleaning the kitchen, you dwell on what the woman said. Tome speaks of living for herself and you scoff. A woman who lives for herself does not do so in the beds of parasites with heavy pockets. That makes her no safer, no more dignified than a tree who is swallowed up by kudzu- an inanimate thing at the mercy of the organisms around it. Your mother is sitting in the recliner when you get home, in her hands more mail.

You hope none of it is from Kobayashi, the lech.

"How was Tome?"

"Fine, I think. I made her okonomiyaki, she didn't complain." You rinse your hands in the sink and your mother jeers her head.

"You have cat hair all over you."

"Yes, she has a cat. It's very friendly."

Your soak in the tub that night goes on far longer than your mother would have liked and you get out only once she bangs on the door to get her own bath. You're only in a short towel when you emerge and your mother pinches your shoulder lightly, a soft smile on her face. She laughs when your fingers pinch her cheek back with a tenderness you didn't know you were capable of, the give of her skin so very soft and full of love. She calls you a silly girl and wishes you good night.

Cat-eyes doesn't know it but you've been touching yourself after you come home from tending to his mother. There's a sense of imperiousness that comes with moving freely in the Ogata household, putting your hands on his silverware and his mother and his pet cat that doesn't seem to know the difference between a stranger and a family member. Tome tells you about him rather incessantly, as if she's selling you a used car or an item on clearance.

"I'm very proud of him, he was a superior private officer in the army," she declares one day, threading a ribbon around the throat of the squirmy pet cat. "He got a good education too, he makes good money for himself."

"Is that so?" Of course he's celebrated even if he's a bastard. You know about the Hanazawa scandal, the pig.

"Mhm. Your mother tells me you're still single."

"Oh." Tome looks nervous when your face falls, picking grapes off of a stem at the counter and slicing them in half for a fruit salad.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as rude."

"It's alright."

"Do you have any plans to find a boyfriend? You're a pretty girl." You slice grapes faster and you feel a cold sweat bead up on your neck. A whore calling you pretty? You don't believe it. Tome is pretty, Tome is so pretty in fact that you're not quite sure what she's doing even wanting you around her. Perhaps the older woman likes to feel superior over you, perhaps this is that female-posturing rearing its head that was so prevalent back in school. You shrug, it's all you can offer.

"No, I've never had an interest, really. It just never was a priority."

"Nobody likes to eat Christmas cake after the 25th."

"Cake is good any time of the year, I think..." This is the most brash she's been with you, and you're too anxious to see that it comes from a place of concern. Hyakunosuke comes home early that day, the cat in Tome's arms chirrups to life and bounces from her lap, trotting over to him. You hear his low register say something to the animal and he emerges from the living room with the cat tucked in his arm like a baby. Tome clasps her hands and you start to slice into a pineapple, the crush of the fruit under your knife grounds you.

"Hyaku, welcome home, how was work?"

"Fine," The cat its kneading against his chest, its eyes squinted in euphoria as he drags his thick fingers under its fuzzy chin. His gaze focuses on you. "I wasn't expecting company, I thought I was cooking tonight." Tome waves a sleeve, a tight smile on her lips. "Nonsense, we can all eat together." You busy yourself in your work, preparing dishes as the mother and son duo chat among themselves. He's a man of few words and has an air of unease about him.

Having spent the better part of the day feeding Tome placating half-lies and awkward phrases of self preservation, you don't think you're equipped to handle her son. He's a different beast entirely, and his presence is far more foreboding than you were anticipating. He can play your game of ignoring the other, and you get the sinking feeling he's figured you out entirely. The man seems to hold you in little regard and focuses his attention squarely on his mother. Before you can make any further judgements, you have to focus on making peace with the possibility that Hyakunosuke Ogata has already dissected you and put pinned descriptions into each one of your organs.

Supper tonight is gyudon with a fruit salad dessert. It's a simple dish as all of your dishes are, and you swallow down your meal in terrifying mimicry of Tome's own mannerisms. She's a woman, you, somehow, are not and your failure to self actualize such a notion keeps you scared in the presence of the man sitting across from you. Tome's hands find her son's arm, and she squeezes the thick muscle.

"Do you like it? I think it's very good. If you weren't so dedicated to your own mother I might just steal you!" Her laughter is soft and sweet like a lark and you follow suit with sparrow noises, not quite as alluring. This feels like a losing game no matter what pieces you play. Hyakunosuke nods, sitting ramrod stiff and with his dark eyes fixated on his bowl. "I agree."

"Careful, I might just have to marry you off to my son and keep you forever." The man next to her gives her a look and she guffaws, patting at his shoulder. Your eyes don't match the light smile on your face, you're oozing with discomfort, with some sort of godless repulsion that doesn't quite manifest.

"I'm glad you like it."

Cleaning the kitchen and refilling the cats water dish before you go to leave calms your nerves, but only slightly as Ogata helped his mother to the bathroom to wash her hair and get her ready for bed while you scrubbed at bowls that left nothing more than a few grains of rice in them. Your own personal audience has not shut their eyes once since you've started coming over to tend to Tome. To think women could end up like her makes your skin ripple and crawl, to think women like her produce sons makes you nauseous. The man is a culmination of lust and obsession, of infidelity and exploitation. Ogata doesn't represent anything more to you than the misfortune of women in society, therefore, he's something you tuck away and only play with when it comes to bringing yourself to orgasm. It's only fair, right? He's a pool to drink from just as his mother is, everyone else has had a taste so why shouldn't you?"

Bumping against your legs, the soft nose of the cat pushes against your ankle and winds against your feet. The hot water burns against your skin to the point your nails start to hurt, but you just want to get the job done and go home. You can smell too much of Ogata in his own home, his cologne permeates in the background noise of the air like a subtle miasma and it's making your stomach feel strange.

"My mother seems to think she's hurt your feelings."

For the second time you nearly throw what's in your hands into the air, turning around and shutting the water off. You go for a dish towel, immediately.

"Oh, not...not at all, really, I promise. Why, is she alright?" His gaze is hard and the cat has left you, slinking against the man and leaving fur on his pants. A strand of his black hair hangs over his face like a whisker.

"Yes, but she's overstepped, she realizes that."

"It's fine, my own mother talks like that too, I think all mothers do that," He's difficult to hold eye contact with. He's geometric in every facet, like a mathematical equation that gained sentience, but not nearly enough to be considered an established person. Ogata sweeps his hair back, glancing at the animal desperately fawning for his touch at his feet.

"She wanted me to tell you she apologizes."

"That's okay, nothing to be sorry for," is all you feed these people lies? You seem to lie every time you open your mouth.

"If she says anything inappropriate it's because she's losing her mind, don't take it personally. She has a habit of talking about things she probably shouldn't," a twitch in your eye forms as you drag the dish rag over the water stained countertop. An air of nonchalance and calm is getting more difficult to administer as the seconds tick down.

"I understand," you'd like to smack him for the way he dismisses his mother's faculties.

"I scared you again, didn't I?"

"You have quiet feet. I'm jumpy."

"Clearly."

Ah. This, you fold the rag up, your back to him as you try your best not to let the disgust show on your face. He scoops the needy animal up in his arms and sits down at the countertop you just wiped off, staring at your rigid motions. You can hear the flicking of a lighter behind you. A smoker, bastard, and son of a whore? Hyakunosuke keeps sinking to new lows.

"Humor me here,"

"Sure."

"You're nearly 26 and you've never left your mother's side. Why?"

"I would ask you that but your mother says you stayed in Hokkaido for a while," the words are difficult to force out with a dry throat, and you hiccup on your speech when you say Hokkaido. Ogata's gaze burns deep into the back of your head as you wipe at a spot that isn't there anymore. Smoke eases out of his nose.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I love my mother is all..."

"Most people do. Are you unambitious?" Storm clouds must form over your face because he sits up slightly, intrigued. The dishrag gets set aside and you make the plunge to face him, his fingers laced and elbows on the countertop. You don't understand why he's interrogating you, but you do understand his intention behind it. Posturing, even when you're the scum of the earth like Hyakunosuke men like to pester and meddle. You had a cousin like that and your uncle scolded you when you kicked him for pulling your hair.

"I suppose I am." I have to leave now, bastard-whore, please never speak to me again with your dirty tongue. You stay to argue with him. His cigarette is tapped against an ornate ashtray in the shape of a crocodile.

"At least you're somewhat honest." Your tongue curls a little. This man is a blight and he seems to know it.

"What makes you think I'm a liar?"

"Women lie a lot. It's something they have to be good at."

"Are you speaking on your own experiences here or do you hold a grudge against your mother?"

"Both can be true."

"There's no point in telling me this, we don't have anything to do with each other. I feed your mother and keep her company and it doesn't have to be anything more than that. I'm not interested in her assets, I assure you."

"I wasn't intending to come off that way," He runs his palm against his hair again, glancing down at the animal in his arms. The stupid thing blinks at him.

"Alright."

"I don't dislike you, if that's what you're afraid of." Quite the opposite, but both outcomes are horrifying in their own right. If you upset the tightrope balance anymore you might just end up on the news, certainly an unfortunate possibility. You seem to let the revulsion well up in your eyes because the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

"That's good to hear," he clearly knows you're lying again, exactly where he wants you to be. This is no better than plucking the feathers off of a chicken trying to eat-pointless and mean. Men seem to do a lot of pointless and mean things, like expiring out of gluttony or thrusting cash in your face for sex and pestering the woman who's taking on the brunt of your mother's personality.

"I don't think you mean that, really, we're more alike than we are different. I can see it all over your face that you're discontent with whatever role you've confined yourself to. Or maybe, what you've been pushed to confine to out of comfort. I'm not stupid, I can read between the lines."

"I have to go."

"Don't, I think we're on the same page more than you assume. Your mother said you never cried at your dad's funeral." You stop short of whisking out of the kitchen and go to point a finger at him, he's stopped you effectively in your tracks with a mere suggestion hidden within his phrasing. Is he like you? A wave of doubt begins to ebb and flow, drawing back a little more as he rolls his thick, naked fingers against the cat. It purrs like an engine and sinks its claws into his hand so that if he draws his hand away it will snag his flesh.

"...Alright, you're the product of an affair. We both have less than ideal fathers. That's a very common thing. I think everyone dislikes their father a little bit, even if it's a secret."

"Exactly. You understand then."

"...I'm going to go home now. It's late."

Your fingers don't even begin to suffice when you're knuckle deep in your cunt and face down in your stale sheets. Thank God your mother is asleep and unaware of the unrelenting gush of your cunt around your fingers that are far too thin to bring you any sort of tangible satisfaction in the moment. Hyakunosuke's fingers were thick and calloused and rolled like a snake, a mesmerizing display of human machinery in such a mundane action. He saw you off with a slight smile that didn't register as one as you hurried out of the bowels of his home and back to your mouse hole. Guilt rises within you at the notion you've allowed him to see some of your privacy- nothing is more valuable than keeping your cards close to your chest and protecting the sanctuary of your information. You can't mimic his fingers in the way you can play copycat with his mother and it leaves you frustrated and crying and in need of a hot bath.

The smell of breakfast welcomes you in a far more caring way than the sun does. Your mother must be getting back to her old self, or maybe her new self because she never made breakfast regularly even before your father died. Your fingers still smell like sex and your underwear is crusted over with last night's misfortune. Women joke about men being unfulfilling sex partners, something that is apparently true in the realm of fantasy as well. You descend the steps after pissing and washing your hands and try to focus on forgetting last night, the terrifying thing it was. Your mother is tossing together some eggs with vegetables and has her hair in silk scarf.

"Good morning, you're up a little earlier today," She's smiling to herself and it looks unnatural considering her bloodhound expression is all you've seen for the past month.

"Breakfast smells good," You take a seat, uneasy and still cold. She presses a dry, warm palm to your cheek and wipes at your face with her thumb.

"Eat then, you're thin."

"I will."

She's stirring up a pan with a spatula, the heat on a little higher than you would've set it for your own eggs, but that's neither here nor there. You feel strangely compelled to assume maybe she knows you spoke to Ogata. Her and Tome are getting closer and seem to share a vested concern in the sex lives of their children. It's a stomach churning endeavor and you don't understand what obsession women have with providing meat for an endless meat grinder. A plate is sat before you all the same, slightly hard eggs piled up neatly on the white porcelain you've eaten off of a million times before.

"Tome's expecting you to come over again tonight. Her son dropped some money off for you before he left for work, the envelope's on the table. Count it up."

A white paper envelope tucked against a potted plant beckons to you, and you take a little pleasure in slipping your finger under the lip of it and swiping it off in a clean motion, disemboweling a dead animal. Colorful bills spill from it like blood, and your mother moves the pan off the burner to get a closer look, her hands sliding against the countertop. Something about it feels dirty as you slide the crisp bills and leaf through them, your mother muttering the numbers along with you- "50,000 yen."

You bite your tongue and stuff the money back in the envelope before handing it over to her as you always have. Ever since you were small you handed her your spending money and she kept it filed away in a bank account you make a meager habit of touching. There's really no point when you have no earthly desires and your parents keep a spoon in your mouth. "Hyakunosuke is a generous man to give you that much."

"...maybe."

"Ah, don't be like that, you're not doing anything excessive for Tome. Do you feel shorted?"

"No," Not physically, at least. This feels like it's a habit he picked up from his uncaring, unloving stud-father.

"Make sure you thank Tome when you go over, that's truly a very nice amount he's given you."

"I'll just thank him in person... He came home when I was there last night."

"Hm?" You gag at the glissando in your mother's tone and at the dirty smile she gives you. This feels like something just short of molestation as heat rises up your neck and stains your ears red.

It's akin to pulling teeth to drag yourself over to Tome's home that late afternoon. You're wearing your mother's dress because all of your leaving-the-house clothes are sitting in a stale pile in the corner of your bedroom. Laundry isn't an appealing thing to be doing anyway, even if it's necessary work. Tome smiles like you're her beloved daughter when you enter her home, slipping off your shoes. In your arms you have a basket of tea cakes your mother insisted on you bringing her. This feels like an endless exchange of fanfare and niceties with nothing to show for it. The cat rattles excitedly while pressed against the wall, tail fluttering like an insect. You get to work and have significantly less patience for any sort of prattle at the moment, something Tome is completely unaware of as she runs hand over hand over hand against the animal in her lap, recounting some vacation she took to Thailand many years ago.

Tonight's dish is smoked mackerel and rice. You feed a little tender piece of fish to the fussy cat and watch as it laps of the sweet meat with its raspy tongue. Tome coos at it like its a baby when it turns to her and whines, a wet look on its face it goes trotting to its mother for comfort at having no more fish to snack on.

"Poor baby, you'll just starve, won't you? What will we do then? You're just skin and bones..." The fat thing bats at her with its paws, never daring to strike its mother with any real malice. She tickles the plump creature as you drag a sharp blade against the belly of a cooked fish and begin to meticulously dislodge the pin feather bones stuck in the meat. Maybe Ogata isn't wrong to want someone to step in for his mother every now and again, you wonder if he really does come right home after work or if he lingers and meanders and stretches his time out. Working for a company like that can't be that taxing. He's probably only doing it to avoid an awkward repetitive conversation with his half insane mother.

But Ogata does come home as you're plating up dinner and seems to notice that you've reached to fix a third as he walks in. His mother goes through the typical song and dance of asking about his day, petting him over while she chatters to him like a parakeet and tells him he's a good, handsome boy. Dinner, once more, is a humiliation ritual you want no part in.

"Hyakunosuke sent over some money this morning, you got it didn't you?"

"Y-yes, thank you, you're very generous-"

"Don't worry about it. I enjoy the company. Not many people stick around, you know. It's an important thing." There's a weight in that sentence that Ogata seems to dislike the flavor of as he gives his mother a side glance and she shuts up about it, changing the subject to something she saw on the television about an endangered animal being born at the Ueno zoo. The food has no flavor in your mouth despite your best efforts and knowing you seasoned and dressed everything properly. You chew your food to liquid and swallow tea down to wash the remnants of the slurry out of your mouth. Being in the presence of Ogata has rendered you to being a cornered animal as if you've forgotten your civility entirely.

You do your best to finish washing the dishes while Tome is taken to bed so you can avoid a conversation with Hyakunosuke. Throwing glances over your shoulder every so often as you scrub plates clean does nothing in particular to ground yourself. You're borderline manic when you do hear his footsteps and it makes you a little angry that he's finished his job and that he could've been audible the entire time you've been stuck playing this stupid game with him.

"She's glad you don't hate her."

"I have no reason to hate your mother, I promise you."

"That's good, a lot of people don't really like her very much." He's lighting another cigarette up, watching as you dry waterlogged plates with a new rag. It has a persimmon pattern on the cloth.

"That's unfortunate. She's nice. Probably my mom's only friend now."

"She's crazy."

"You don't speak highly of her." A plate goes in the drying rack.

"It's not a dislike, but she's a handful. Drove me crazy growing up."

"That's very normal for parents. Also, wasn't she the one who stuck around and raised you?"

"Your father stuck around to raise you and you're fine with the fact he's dead. What does that have to do with anything?"

Your finger fits perfectly in the lip of the plate in your hands and you turn to him, his shoulder pressed against the wall. He looks like he's going to melt if he puts anymore weight into it.

"I don't know. Is there a reason you want to talk about this?"

"There's an understanding I think we share here," he starts again, and there's a crease in your brow as he lights up another cigarette. From the looks of it, it's hand rolled and neatly packed with tobacco. The silver zippo in his fingers snaps like a firecracker before he slips it back into his pocket. Nothing about this impresses you and he can sense that. "You'll never come to experience love in the same way my own mother won't. Your mother's love expired too. Don't you think that accounts for something? Why are you different than them?"

"I just am"

"I don't think you are. You played it too safe, I think. I've listened in on enough brunches to know you're a basket case and a half- but I don't think it's unjustified at all." He slides his finger against the cigarette case in his hands, an ornate piece of metal that has a forest scene etched on it. Bile wells up in your throat as he forces your gaze to linger on his.

"...You don't have any authority to comment on this-"

"Maybe you think that, but we're both correct in that there's an unchecked problem going on here that's deeper than either of us want to acknowledge. You're sensitive to the very imbalance you're forced to partake in."

"You're the one handing me money to play nice with your mother. Is this different than what she did for a living, or is that an acceptable outcome for the both of us? You seem to be aware of what the problems are and what's caused them. You can't deny that our condition isn't nebulous despite pretending it's not clear cut."

He swipes his hair from his face, looking away just to collect his thoughts. He's a handsome creature, built like predator with a petty sense of resolve painting every minute, little action of his. He exhales through his nose, half shrugging.

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," he starts, those unsettling eyes boring clear through you like a gunshot, "But the way I see it is that you're doing nothing to protect yourself. Your own mother said it best, when she dies, what choice do you have?"

You feel compelled to shake him as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, unblinking, like he's already gotten his prize and he's just anticipating the apex of the conversation. The persimmon print rag falls from your hands on the counter in front of you and you swallow, feeling as if every raw nerve in your body has been exposed. There's no triumph in his gaze, just simple confirmation. This isn't a sport to him, this is a natural progression of courtship. He can sense you want to bolt the second he can see the gears stop turning in your head.

"I don't trust you."

"I don't expect you to trust me."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because we're getting drawn closer together. I'm not my father, the only bad habit I have is skirting hunting regulations."

"Wrong. You're the same as every other man on Earth, are you so arrogant to think you're special?"

"I asked you that about yourself and you seemed quite content to believe you were some heavenly chosen virgin in some way or another. You won't ever admit it, though. That kind of thing is only admirable in women, I think. I have a half brother who holds the same belief about himself and he's insufferable. I don't find you insufferable, though, your reasoning has a legitimacy to it. His doesn't." He looks away again, a whisker strand falling in front of his face. "Men like that destroy everything they touch."

You take a breath, trembling. To have to articulate yourself about something you've snuggled up with so long feels like getting your ribs yanked out of a gaping wound. He looks like he's about to close the gap between you but you grip the rag again and knead it back and forth into a ball with your hands. He nearly smiles. Nearly. "...Don't flatter me."

"I'm not trying to, I assure you."

He thinks you're going to leave when you wordlessly go to walk out the door and just stop short in front of him, the look in your eyes is wild.

"I want you to know that I had a lot of really bad thoughts about you. And they won't go away. And I think it's some sort of punishment for putting into words about what I know is true and keeping myself chaste. It isn't fair to me. It's unbearable, I think, really." His hand is dry and warm against your head as you stare at his chest, making a subtle move to snuff his cigarette out and toss it off. "I don't doubt that you did."

"No, these are sexual thoughts, actually. If I could kill you and do away with you and get away with it I think I would."

The heat is palpable in your face and he studies the way your features lock up in something short of a rictus grin. His thick fingers brush the hair out of your face and his poker face is something you envy deeply. The gnawing roar of a hormonal crash is doing a good job of suppressing every one of your firing neurons screaming at you to cut your losses, go home, disappoint your mother, and never show your face to the Ogata family again.

"Repression makes you do weird things."

"I'm not repressed."

"You are."

"Don't tell me what I am."

It's more tongue than not when your arms find their way around his neck, the scent of him clogging your brain up like beeswax. The sensation of a kiss is somewhat disgusting but he holds you all the same as you eek out something new for once, heart hammering in your chest. He can feel the palpitations against his own and he stands there in utter graceless patience as the awkward merging of your mouths cease. Wordlessly he wipes his lips off with the back of his sleeve and you're a trembling wreck on the verge of hyperventilating.

Ogata waits for your next move as your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt and you give a dogged look at him. Why, you're pleading, why does this happen to me? But he allows you another heavy, unpracticed kiss as you grip at him with an intensity you've never made an effort to show before. His broad hand smooths down your spine like he's soothing the fussy pet cat that's resting in Tome's room for the night. Between kisses, he takes the gaps as an opportunity to inform you.

"You," smack, "don't have a clue" kiss, "of what you're doing." He can feel the kneading motion of your little hands in the muscles of his back and it becomes abundantly clear he's nothing more than a sexual outlet for you as you notch your fingers into every powerful square curve of his broad-cat body. He should be flattered, of course, but there's a sensation of consumption lingering under your touches. You don't want to be free from the role of men, you want to assume it in its entirety by any means necessary. He can respect that, he supposes, only the unmeasured insanity of a forgotten woman could be a beast in the face typical male behavior. She's unpredictable, only she could operate with such a sense of erratic franticness and be a threat in her own right.

Scooping you up in his arms he wordlessly takes you up the wooden stairs of the house and can feel the sagging limp of your body, winding subtly under his touch like an ermine. It's serpentine and erotic the way you tumble gently into the plush covers of his futon, the door securing shut behind you. For all intents and purposes, he's trapped himself in a cage with a wild animal.

Your legs spread with a shocking effortlessness as you wind in place in the dark. Only the low warm light from the hallway offers a parcel of sight in the indigo darkness of his bedroom. There's a rustle of fabric and your hindbrain hijacks your better judgement as you slide a hand up his bare stomach and up his ribs. He's dead silent and slowing his movements, as if you'd sink your nails into his skin and rip it off if he made any sudden moves. You cup a pectoral and squeeze it, then drag your hand over his bicep, then back to his chest and down again. It's no different than an animal examining roadkill, determining if there's enough to nourish her for the night or if she should cut her losses and go hungry another night.

Hyakunosuke is built sturdy and compact in the way a bobcat is. A soft whine croons from you when the man lays you down with surprising carefulness, and you're unable to suppress a squirm when his thick fingers curl against your hips and then legs, feeling you over as if he were looking for the spot to start tearing your feathers off after you fell out of the sky. But there is no soft eiderdown to yank out, there's only untouched skin. He swallows when you don't push him away. An understanding has been met.

"Do you really not have any experience."

"...No."

"I see," he breathes, taking his time to slip a finger against the soft nest of hair between your legs. It's an electrifying, ticklish sensation and your stomach jumps at his firm, sure touch. You lay still, allowing him to feel you over and drink in the unmapped, uncharted parts of your body. There's a supposition to be made that he's truly never going to know until sex occurs with the lights on, but you concede and melt into the futon below you like water. You can make out the deep black gaze he's holding against you as his finger touches down between the puffy folds of your vulva, a heady moisture clinging to his digit.

He's half tempted to tell you about why that makes you so whole, so ideal, but he doesn't out of knowing it could spurn your mercurial nature and swipe at him. There's a set of cards he must play and he's aware of this as he inches a finger inside of you. It's an alien sensation to have something you can't control nestle deep within your core and blindly nuzzle around your plush walls. He exhales, his voice catching the edge of his breath.

"Do you feel that," He begins, slightly withdrawing his finger only for it to retreat inside of you. "You're receptive. It's not uncommon for different animals to display signs of it- are you ovulating?"

"I-" You face heats up as he maneuvers his finger again. That didn't sound like pillow talk, he's asking as if he's about to lecture you. "I don't know?" Are you supposed to be? Such fluctuations during the month have only proven to upset you when all you wish for is quiet.

"Many animals, when they go into heat, will signal that they're receptive to the males of their species. Typically, by urinating or posturing in some way," his finger curls, you feel like he's stroking your bladder from the inside of your vaginal canal, too syrupy and slippery not to keep his finger inside of you without some sort of effort on both of your ends. "I've seen mountain cats kill each other over a bush a queen pissed on. They slice each others throats open and bleed to death and the queen mates with none of them. She'll have kits with a reserved, older male who has survived his years of competition. Only those who have self control and know what battles to fight are successful."

His finger slips into his mouth and he sucks it clean, watching the way your chest rises and falls, aroused at his low, droning voice. It's not something you should find erotic, before now you thought he seemed as emotionless as a serial killer, a metal blade of a man who has no proper consideration or appreciation for life outside of some arbitrary exception. It's a strange thing to watch him drink you off of his finger and furthermore, savor it. He makes a noise like he approves of something and a tingling sensation nips at the nape of your neck. You're allowing such a man to bed you in a desperate bid with God to render you complete and cure yourself of this ailment you can't shake. Shame is harder to come by when the man that's permeating your mind and body happens to have every intention of affirming whatever assumptions you've given him and telling you you're right. Vindication is nothing more than foreplay for something greater.

A burning sensation runs through your veins as his body lowers down upon you, the slight scruff of his beard soft against your skin as you tuck neatly into his square angles and curves padded with muscle. You don't understand why he feels the way he does, he's a salaryman, an office lackey who should've lost the privilege of his army hardened body years ago. His spiel about the cats precludes the way he allows his cock to settle just at the apex between your legs, and he stills, allowing the gears in your head to start screeching and groaning as they spark and turn again. Your brain switches on like you've come to life once more and you're feeling him again, pressing your nose into his skin and breathing in the soft biscuit-scent of his flesh. It's a scent that's akin to pheromones, you reason, maybe this is why Tome and your mother suffered the way they did. Maybe Hyakunosuke will force you to suffer too.

He makes a soft noise when your sweaty, hot fingers touch his cock, petting over it like you're unsure of what you're doing- simply because you are unsure of what you're doing, you haven't been sure of what you're doing in a long time, and doubt you'll ever figure that one out even if you waste more time thinking about it.

"You smell good," you tell him, your nimble fingers winding up into his product stiffened hair as he grasps his cock with his hand and brushes the head gingerly against the gooey center of your cunt, the powerful roll of muscle under his skin urges you to press closer to him. The accumulation of this affair is driven solely by thousands of years of instinct culminating to a singularity point, a horizon you cannot leap back from, a mark that will be with you forever. Ogata's only half listening though and he sinks within you as if it's as natural as the Earth itself. You laugh a little, the thick stretch is somehow lacking in pain as he settles his weight down upon you further, his thick arms sliding under your back and neck to hold you in a brace. "Is that so,"

"It is."

"I thought you didn't like me," He muses, voice low. There's nothing teasing in his tone, a suggestion for you to explain yourself.

"You said it yourself, we're the same kind of animal, aren't we?" There's no love in your tone, you don't think you can feel something like love for him the way you love your mother. You think she'd be so happy that you've been dragged down to her level now, you think maybe this is what will make you a good daughter in her eyes. You've had the touch of a man on you, you will wear his fingerprints with pride and righteousness and you will finally be one of us. Aren't you happy?

Ogata moves and you feel the punch of his weight in his thrusts. He's not a tall man, and he's not particularly large, but he's maximizing what he's got and he's damn good at it. There's a noise in his throat like a purr as he drops his head down and closes his eyes, his forehead next to your head as his hips drive into you with a surprisingly methodical rhythm. It's hard to formulate something to say when there's a thick cock plunging deep within you and the man on top of you has your world in his hands, but you manage to laugh at something- you don't know what, and he doesn't care to find out. The heavy smack of his balls against your ass reminds you that he's his father, truly, and that this is an evolutionary means to an end for him. He's breeding you with vigor, he's sensed that you're a willing mate, and now he'll make nice on his existential promise to go forth and multiply- at least in the moment, of course, there's a worming fear in the back of your minds as his hips pump that this could end in something far more permanent than the boast of getting laid.

You kiss him as soon as he picks his head up and he reciprocates as if it's his job to, his hands squeezing just enough at your body to appreciate the womanly curves you kept hidden from the world. He breathes again, lips against yours.

"It's a privilege," He sounds somewhat drunk off of the wet, suckling, incessant heat around his cock, hips emphasizing every few thrusts the stupid carnality of the situation that's snuffed out any sort of rational thinking between you both. You grab his face, dragging your tongue across his lips in a fervent mess. "It is, isn't it? You're mother said nobody likes Christmas cake after the 25th," and he rolls this time. Thankfully it's dark so you can't make out the stare he's giving you, borderline abyssal. "Men can't afford to be picky. That's why we die in wars and shoot ourselves in the head," you kiss him again, feeling the heavy, hot weight of his tongue in your own mouth. "Expendable, that's all we are."

There's a wretched softness that comes from you both as he sweats over you and fucks you against the floor, cock bullying against your innermost parts. Sex is a dirty, hot, messy thing and he heaves as he struggles not to collapse under the godly weight of his arousal. You think you're going to piss as your body is jostled under him, all of your soft-squishy parts are flush against the stockiness of his chest and midsection, your toes curl as he bares himself down upon you in rapid succession. Your forehead is sticky with sweat and the steam thick smell of sex makes the room feel like a hundred degrees, but you suffer the burning coil in your stomach as Hyakunosuke's thighs flex and he angles his hips to a sharper degree.

Every fiber of his being is like a loaded spring, the potential energy in his body practically thrums as every movement he makes rubberbands back to a locked state, only to ricochet again. He's panting through his nose, and you sweat you see a hand of God hovering over your face and closing your eyes for you. The coil bursts into a near painful explosion, your legs involuntarily yanking as they fight with your tendons to keep them put, the noise you make is loud enough to awaken his mother and he shushes you, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as he fucks you through an absolutely brutal orgasm. Your cunt cinches tight over his cock and his own belly flexes with a feverish warmth creeping through his groin and through his testicles. The head of his cock has been drooling liberally within you for the better part of the ordeal, the vein on his shaft throbbing with every powerful contraction.

He drops and goes limp when he cums, absolutely useless as his cock spits rope after thick rope of semen deep inside of you. Hyakunosuke is a heavy, sweaty presence as you stare into the dark up at the ceiling, his hot breath chuffing against your neck as he shudders and weakly pumps his hips. There's no shout, no cry, no exuberant declaration of consummation- Intercourse has taken place here and life will continue, the world will turn another day. You feel a strange sense of dread wash over you as the man on top of you slows his breathing and begins to stir again. Your vagina feels puffy and wet and your skin feels far too unlike your own. You're waiting for your revelation from God to come, the Virgin Mary to send you on your way with a blessing, some angel or diving being to affirm that you are no longer a diseased woman and can pick yourself up and proceed successfully in society from now on.

Instead Ogata pushes himself up and sweeps his hair back, his breathing slow as he lays next to you, his eyes drifting to your unmoving form. Your head tips to his.

"...I don't feel different."

"You're not supposed to."

"Oh."

You glance at the analog clock- it's far too late to go home now, and you're unsure if you can face your mother now that you're like her. Like Tome. You don't know when you're supposed to stop feeling like an uneasy child, but what you do know is that you have an animal of sorts lazing next to you that seems to find you attractive enough in whatever way to allow you to intimately integrate into his life. To what degree you're unsure. He doesn't seem like a romantic or loving person, you hardly think he may even be a person at all.

"You should sleep."

"I should go home."

"You are not walking home like that. You would be humiliated if you went home and your mother was awake and saw the state of you. Sleep here, shower in the morning and tell her you fell asleep reading to my mother."

You don't think she's going to buy that but what do you know? The gentle pelting of rain is a soothing balm on the open burn wound of your vulnerability. Your head feels as full as your cunt did and it's doing you no favors that the very bed you lay on smells of your lover-thing and brings you a sense of comfort. You want to cry having spent your life in such a state of survival and denial with no easy answers, but Ogata doesn't pry as he allows you to lay against him and rest. There's no patronizing cuddling or soft kisses or sweet words exchanged. Something about the transaction brings you peace above all else. He's as leftover as you are, if not more.

Tome frets over you the next morning wordlessly as Hyakunosuke goes through the motions of getting his items in order before he leaves for work, hardly sparing you or his mother a glance. A hot cup of coffee made its way into your hands at some point and you murmured a thanks. He doesn't kiss you goodbye, he doesn't give you any sort of condescending form of affection. You know neither of you operate on software like that, but the sentiment is there. You are beneficial to me as I am beneficial to you.

You return home at some point after Tome fed you a light breakfast, a little bit less clear on where you stand in the world, but ultimately a little less angry. You did it, you made it, you'll be fine now. When you shyly step foot inside, your mother gives you a slight smile, knowing the look on your face has changed. She seems at peace, telling you good morning as she leafs through another stack of mail- more cards stuffed with money having finally made their way over to your gluttonous mailbox. You kick your shoes off and fail to hold eye contact, it feels weird still, too fresh. You begin to doubt if that feeling is ever going to go away and wash off in the bath.

"Mom?"

"Hm?"

"Can we get a cat?"

#ooohhh this was so so good #what beautiful writing it had me hooked from the beginning #ogata hyakunosuke x reader #fic rec #ogata #golden kamuy

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heazueken · 5 months ago

Text

Letting Go

*ೃ༄ summary: Jayce and Viktor have their part 2

warning(s): MDNI, explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, ftm!viktor, knotting

pairing(s): Viktor/Jayce

w/c; 12.2k

a/n: i went a littleee overboard with this part 2 request of cured... did not mean to make it this long but! here we are! enjoy anon and everyone else! part 1 for those who didnt read :3

Translation list for Viktor:

Přesně tam - right there

Kurva - fuck

“Jayce, would you mind joining me later tonight in my chambers for uh…part two, if you will?”

The sentence played over and over in Jayce’s head like a broken record and he’s coming up on hour six of his work day. Viktor is still next to him, goggles on, focused and taking every few seconds to scribble down some runes and speak to himself quietly. He’s engrossed in his work and hasn’t spoken a single word to his vastayan partner in Gods know how long. Jayce is storming with more thoughts of nefarious things he could do to him, meanwhile Viktor sits there, earnestly working without so much as a glance towards the man next to him. Clearly he hadn’t been as affected by the events that transpired that morning.

Jayce had him on this very table just hours ago, fucking into him deeply, falling into the temptation of having Viktor all to himself and claiming him. When he glances over to Viktor he can’t help but be aware of the knowledge that under the clothing, there’s marks he left on his partner. It sends a shiver down his spine and he has to pull on the collar of his dress shirt to relieve the tightness of his tie around his neck. They’d been silent for so long that Jayce was too afraid to break it.

“Right, so, Viktor? When you said go to your place for part two did you really mean that? We have three more hours left and I just thought maybe we should go relieve some stress…”

Well, that would just sound stupid and needy if he said that out loud. Plus, Viktor was never the type to leave his work ever. It’s Jayce who literally had to force him sometimes to go back to his apartment because he was not going to walk back into their lab to see the man slumped over a table and drooling on their research papers again (yes, Viktor has done that so many times now it was starting to be a daily thing). Jayce was hoping for once he could convince Viktor to sleep in his own bed tonight, he was only worried about his well-being after all.

Who is he kidding?

He wants Viktor on his back, wants to see him spread his legs and expose himself for Jayce. He wants to hold him down and fuck him like he’s never been before and hear his name fall from his partners voice in that soft, melodic tone. He wants to make him his, bite him and leave a scar that tells people he’s the property of Jayce Talis. He needs Viktor to know just how badly he wants him, his body calls to him like a moth to a flame and he doesn’t give a damn for getting burned because for Viktor it was worth it. Anything was worth fighting for when it came to his lab partner.

Jayce’s ears perk when he hears the grating sound of Viktor’s chair pushing away from the desk. He glances over to sneak a peek at him. He’s taken off his goggles, his jaw opening to release a yawn as he raises his arms above his head to stretch. Jayce can see just the edge of a hickey he left earlier on Viktor’s neck and it’s like something within him crawls its way forehead to the forefront of his mind.

Mine. All mine.

Jayce has always been good at holding back the more undomesticated part of himself. It helped that there weren't many other vastayans in Piltover, or the fact that he didn’t really take any notice to anyone romantically. There was Mel Medarda, but that had faded so quickly he could barely remember the scent of her or why he had been so infatuated in the first place.

But Viktor…there was something about Viktor that made it so fucking difficult for Jayce to hold back. He’s almost scared of himself when he thinks back to that morning and the things he did to him. It wasn’t good for him to let himself be the beast that stirred inside him— that’s what he’s always thought. He had never truly let himself freely explore the animal side to him before, and Viktor had the makings to completely rewire his brain and bring forth the very monster he’d thought he conquered.

“You’re stiff as a board, Jayce. What’s with you?” Viktor’s creaky voice breaks his train of thought, and he looks to his partner who’s looking up at him with slight concern. Had he been standing here behind Viktor for that long for it to be weird? Oh, yes he had. He takes a step back and laughs awkwardly, his tail tucking between his legs slightly, the other taking notice with a glance downward before flickering back up to his face.

“Sorry, I— uh— lost in thought, I think.”

He’d gotten a taste— no, not a taste— a mouthful of Viktor and he’s just supposed to act like that wasn’t a life altering experience? How could he go about the rest of his day normally when the man he had buried himself inside of sits in front of him like that didn’t happen and be completely normal about it?! Maybe Viktor just had more experience, maybe he just didn’t reciprocate the same intensity of feelings as Jayce did.

“You think…” Viktor trails, still looking at him like he’s hiding something from the older one. He points his chin in his direction. “What are you doing just lurking behind me?”

“Nothing! Really! I was just…thinking…” He can’t stop himself from glancing back over to the table again and seeing Viktor’s naked figure laying there like he had been. Basking in the sunlight that drew its way into the room and highlighting the wonderful curves and moles riddled across his skin. Jayce practically begins to drool at the thought of it again. He doesn’t notice Viktor setting his goggles down and scooting out of his chair to get up.

“I’m tired,” He announces, Jayce once again broken out of his trance just in time to see Viktor brush past him. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck and limps towards his cane. “Perhaps we should call it a day, hm?”

Jayce stares at the back of Viktor’s hunched over figure as he begins organizing a few stacks of paper and scraps of metal and gears that have yet to be sorted by size and usage. Something kicks within his brain, seeing him tired, drained, and messy with his wavy hair poking this way and that after hours of his delicate fingers running through it, setting Jayce in that classic “helper” mode no one ever needed from him.

“Viktor,” he gently says, and it sounds like warm honey on the other's ears, Viktor immediately turning to look at him. There’s a sparkle in his eyes like finally, finally Jayce is noticing him.

“Uh,” Jayce falters, stopping himself from taking a further step towards his partner, but holding his hand out like he’s reaching for him. “I just—I wanted to—“ How is he supposed to even begin what he’s been ruminating all day? Walking Viktor back home, inviting himself into his apartment, helping him get undressed, bathing him, feeding him, laying with him, kissing him, feeling him up and spreading his legs and burying his—

“Sorry. Forget it.” He lowers his arm and his ears lay back into his hair completely hiding them from view. He ducks his chin into his chest and screws his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to assume anything, doesn’t want to pressure or push too much. He knows they had just been close in the most intimate way possible and yet he couldn’t get himself to ask Viktor if he truly meant what he had said; “Jayce, would you mind joining me later tonight in my chambers for uh…part two, if you will?”

That had to be a joke, right?

Viktor’s jaw clenches and Jayce can feel the tension rise in the room. He can barely meet the older one’s stare but catches a glimpse of the harsh pain and disappointment that flashes across his eyes before he parts his lips to say something.

“Okay, well, I’ll be seeing you…whenever, I suppose.” He grabs his coat and only the sound of his shoes and cane clicking on the floor can be heard. Jayce waits until the sound finally fades to release his breath and let his tense shoulders fall.

He looks over to the clock and sees they still had half an hour before they were going to close up shop and head out for the night. He hangs his head in shame feeling like he’d done everything wrong, slumping into the chair Viktor had just been in. It’s still warm from his body heat and he can still smell his sweet scent. Jayce stuffs his face into his hands and mourns what could have been a good night.

Later that week Viktor completely disappeared. On the first day Jayce wasn’t too worried, he was used to this sort of thing and Viktor never stayed away long enough for him to really grow concerned. But when he spoke to Sky on the sixth day his mild anxiety turned into full blown panic.

“Hey, uh, Sky?” He starts as he hunches over some of Viktor's lab journals and deciphers the runes. Sky turns to him with files in her arms.

“Y-yes?” He rarely ever speaks to her, especially lately and since— well…what had now happened a week ago.

His ear twitches as he forms his questions. “You…hang out with Viktor outside the lab, right?”

He doesn’t see it but Sky is perplexed by the question, her brows furrowing as she places her thumb and forefinger on her chin.

“I mean,” she laughs awkwardly in a way where Jayce can practically see the blush on her face without even turning towards her. “Sometimes? He’s only asked me for some drinks like twice and every time he goes way too overboard and I have to take him back home.” Her words slow as she speaks, like shame creeping up on her. They’re both quiet for a little.

“He talks about you when he’s drunk…” She admits like she hadn’t wanted to say it and he knows why. It was clear to her that Viktor had no interest in her and he was probably just asking her to come along because who else would?

Jayce’s ears perk and that’s when he finally tears himself from decoding to look over his shoulder at her.

“What?”

Sky stands there and hunches her shoulders inward, her feet drawing close together and ducking her head just slightly to make herself look smaller. Like if she could, she would disappear right now instead of having to admit that the man she loved did not love her back.

“He only ever talks about you when he gets really drunk. Like—like last time, he went on and on about you and how…how much he likes you.”

A beat. Jayce has to take in the information and his tail swats to the right a few times, the gears in his mind beginning to turn and creak.

“That can’t be.”

“Well, you asked.” Sky replies with a short tone, pushing her glasses over the bridge of her nose and making her way to the door. “I better go now. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait—“ Jayce has more questions and reaches out to stop her, but Sky is already slamming the door shut, her footsteps fading down the hall in quick succession. He lets out a loud sigh and slams Viktor’s journal shut. He runs his claws through his hair, vigorously messing up its clean cut look and ruffling it in frustration. What the hell was happening?

It’s the next day when Viktor once again doesn't show up that he finally decides to take action. Jayce had been all alone for a full week now, barely making any progress with their new project they’ve been tweaking for the upcoming Progress Day. The biggest day of their career and Viktor has still been abandoning his duties as Jayce’s partner!

He should be furious, he should be marching to his apartment and demanding an explanation— and if he’s not home, then he would have to storm around Piltover in hopes of finding him. Turn every stone in the Undercity to find his partner. He should grab him by the collar of his shirt and force him back to the lab. But Jayce isn’t capable of that. He’s not mad at Viktor in the slightest, he blames himself for it all. He gave in and put his friend in a predicament— it’s his fault something came between the two of them. He never meant for that to happen.

He needs to see Viktor.

It’s 7:30PM and Jayce is at Viktor’s apartment door.

The welcome sign he had made for him still hangs outside and he smiles at it warmly. Viktor had mentioned once that he never had much of anything that gave his home a comforting feeling (perhaps that’s why he rarely ever went home after work and spent his endless nights in the lab). Jayce had listened intently and began his metalworking. He spent hours on many things; first— the welcome sign and he made a butterfly out of different colored metals that sits reverently on the ‘W’ of Welcome. Second— a pair of bookends. Viktor had mentioned his endless piles of books, journals and memoirs. Jayce thought it would be a good idea to make a few pairs of book ends in order to keep his books safe and secure. Viktor had mentioned his favorite bird to be a mourning dove and Jayce took that as inspiration for his hand crafted gift. Two mourning doves now frame and protect his precious readings. And finally the third— Jayce had meltworked a figure of one of Viktor’s childhood friends that he found in the Undercity one day; An abandoned, worn down golem that he had called Blitzcrank. He went off on a whole tangent once about the way he found it as a child, how he often dreamed of piecing it back together, making it new and finding some utilization for it to help the people of the Undercity. Jayce discovered a newfound admiration for Viktor that day and he spent two whole days perfecting a mini figure of the golem and gave it to his friend on his birthday.

He knocks a couple times and no answer. He waits the appropriate amount of time that he assumes it would take for Viktor to get to the door before he knocks again. Still no answer.

Jayce isn’t the type to give up that easily but if Viktor wasn’t answering him, well, he’d just have to pack it up and try again tomorrow. Worry nags at the back of his mind and he tries not to think of all the terrible things that could have happened to his friend during their— are they fighting? Quarrel isn’t the right word…perhaps avoidantness? Whatever this thing was. He tries to reassure himself that Viktor is more than capable by himself and Jayce just needs to back off and give him room to breathe for a moment. He’ll come back when he’s ready.

He heads back to his own apartment. Now at 8:13PM he gets his keys out in anticipation to get into his home when he sees a familiar figure standing at his door.

Viktor stands there, slumped with his forehead on the door. His mouth is moving and mumbling something while he tries to jam his key into Jayce’s lock. What is he doing? Jayce begins to make his way to him quickly. His tail begins swaying back and forth with hope.

“Viktor!” He exclaims and his friend slowly turns to look at him. He looks…Jayce doesn’t want to say terrible but he’s never seen him so disheveled in such a way where he almost didn’t even recognize the man he spends most of his waking hours with.

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” His hand reaches out as a slew of questions pour out of him.

His hair is the messiest he’s seen it, chunks cling together in a greasy mess like he hasn’t washed his hair in days, his eyes are barely open and they’re bloodshot, purple smears across his lower eyelids in proof of his sleepless nights. His cheeks are sunken in, he looks ghostly pale and barely even registers Jayce and has to lean in close to get a good look at who’s speaking to him before he can reply. Jayce smells it then— the alcohol imbuing his nostrils, soaking into the roof of his mouth and down his throat. He can’t stop the scrunch of his face at the smell. He’s drunker than ever before.

“Jayce? What are you doing at my apartment?” His accent gets thicker the more he’s drunk— Jayce notices but can’t dwell on it for too long because what?

“Your apartment? Vik, this is my apartment. You’re sticking your key into a lock that doesn’t even fit.” He gestures to the uncoordinated way Viktor is lazily jamming his key over and over into Jayce’s doorknob. He looks down at what he’s doing and slowly pulls his hand away.

“I…I hadn’t realized I walked all the way over here…I’ll…I…” He stuffs his key into his pocket and stumbles backward from the door to give himself enough room to turn towards Jayce. He trips on his own cane in the process, his right foot bumping into it and he releases a small yelp as he loses his footing.

Before he can succumb to the hard pavement below, Jayce’s quick reflexes catch him just in time. The cane falls with a metallic clang and it echoes through the corridors of doors. Jayce’s strong arm hooks under Viktor’s shoulders, the other wraps around the front of his torso and his large hand wraps around the entirety of his bicep. The adrenaline coursing through him isn’t enough to sober him up but his eyes widen as he locks eyes with his Vastaya partner.

“Careful!” Jayce exclaims. “My Gods, you scared me half to death.” He wants to ask him why he’s standing at his doorstep, why he’s drunk and alone, why his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for at least three days and why he looks so sad.

“C’mon,” He helps him back to his feet and pats his back gently. “Just come inside, let me help you.”

He lets Viktor step out of the safety of his arm and he shakes his head. “No, I…I shouldn’t. I don’t need you babying me like—“

“Viktor, you almost just bashed your head in outside of my place. I’m not letting you leave without at least sobering up a little.” He reaches back out and grabs his shoulder this time and pulls him to his side. He unlocks his door and pushes it open, letting Viktor go in first.

He’s slow to enter his apartment. They didn’t frequent each other's places often, he could count on one hand how many times he’s stepped inside Jayce’s home— being drunk, though, was a first.

Jayce’s home is warm. Incredibly warm and he wonders how he could keep his place so fucking hot. He has carpets on wooden floor boards and Jayce insists he take his shoes off before he steps over the threshold of the step that leads into his living room. His socked feet pat over soft carpet and Jayce leads him to the brown cotton couch where he sits him down. Viktor knows Jayce always has a pot of tea ready to be boiled every time he comes home. He’s expecting to be handed a cup of warm tea but when his vastaya friend comes back with two cups he’s wondering what the contents are.

“Ice water,” It’s like he’s read his mind. He lifts his left hand holding the water and he hears the clink of the ice hitting the walls of ceramic. He sets it down at the coffee table in front of Viktor and then sets the other one down. “Coffee, with extra sugar and cream.” He turns the handle towards him.

Jayce is really good at remembering what people like and him remembering something as simple as Viktor liking his coffee extra sweet tugs at his heart strings and he feels sick. His heart rises to his throat and becomes frozen solid.

“Thanks,” he chokes and gently reaches for the cup of coffee first. It’s perfect and the warmth of the drink soothes the frozen heart in his throat, it begins to thaw almost immediately and he breathes once more. His mind is still muddled and his vision isn’t all there but he feels the dip in weight on the couch beside him. He turns to see Jayce sitting next to him.

“Make sure you drink the water, too.” His voice feels millions of miles away in Viktor’s ears but he knows he’s only a foot away from him. His vision blurs and he sees three pairs of Jayce’s ears, they turn towards him, erect and alert to any sound or word that comes from him. His tail is fluffy and makes a makeshift wall between their thighs, stopping them from touching. In his inebriated state, Viktor lays his hand over it and gently pets it.

Jayce, unsure of what to do, lets him continue his petting. It feels good, if he’s being honest and he’s embarrassed with himself over it.

“Soft,” Viktor mumbles. It feels like the softest material known to man, he could sit here and pet it for hours. The other smiles gently and places his large fingers around his wrist, he lifts his arm to stop him.

“Drink, Viktor. You need to shower.”

Reluctantly, he takes large gulps of water and takes a few more shy sips of his caramel colored coffee.

Jayce is too timorous to begin asking why Viktor had been so avoidant for the past week and he decides to kick it into helper mode because taking care of his friend is more important than figuring out the reason for some quarrel of theirs. It’s easy for him to set aside any ill feelings and focus on the wellbeing of his drunk lab partner. He reaches over to pat Viktor’s leg.

“You well enough to shower by yourself?”

It finally registers in Viktor’s brain.

“Shower? Where? Here?” He points downwards, eyebrows hitched up on his forehead and eyes wide. Jayce gives him a firm nod and places a firm grip on his shoulder.

“You’re going to shower, drink more water and stay here for the night.” His cheeks immediately blush and Viktor’s shoulders shrug his hand off and he shakes his head. He begins to get up.

“Jayce, no, no, I’m not. I-I can’t do that— you…I know you’re just— oh, nevermind.”

“Viktor,” He grips Viktor’s shoulder again and uses his animalistic strength to keep his ass snug on the couch. He feels bad using it but this is for his own good. “You’re drunk. You can’t go home like this and you clearly haven’t been caring for yourself this week!”

Viktor smacks his hand away instead and his brows furrow, his face contorting into one of anger.

“Quit pretending, will you?!”

Pretending?

“What?” Jayce is clueless.

“You barely even looked at me after we had sex! Barely spoke a word! You’re ashamed to be with me, admit it!”

Still clueless. “What?!” He says with more gusto.

“Barely spoke a wo— ashamed? Me? Ashamed of you? I…I thought— how could you think that?”

Viktor can’t even look at him.

“After we…you barely spoke a word.”

“I was shy,” Jayce exclaims. “It had been awhile for me and…and you were… everything and when you invited me over I was waiting for you to mention it again and you never did!”

“Didn’t think I had to again!” Viktor spits out.

Jayce, defeated, lets his head drop. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I just got overwhelmed and…and I guess I didn’t realize I had hurt you.”

There’s a long silence and Viktor sighs.

“No. It was me. I left you and avoided you for a week.” He rubs his thumb over his brow bone and contemplates his next few words.

“I’m sorry, Jayce. I guess I was scared you felt indifferent after our coming together.”

“I’d never. I…I had been thinking about it all week, actually.” He chuckles awkwardly, running a hand through his hair and daring to look back at his friend. They look to one another, cheeks blushing red and nervous clammy hands in their own laps. Viktor gives him a knowing smirk.

“Really?” His ears are flushed red from the alcohol and they only increase in intensity at the implication of Jayce’s words.

“Really.” He confirms. He thinks for a moment, Viktor is in his house right now. He’s sitting a foot from him, he might even spend the night and they could…No! He’s in no state!

“You need to shower!”

Viktor’s still inebriated mind jumbles and he was almost too caught up in the thoughts of Jayce taking him right on this couch to realize how badly he stinks after wallowing in his own misery for 7 days. He has to agree.

“Right. Sorry. Show me where?”

Jayce leads him to the bathroom and he even grabs a pair of his sweats and a shirt for Viktor to change into when he’s done.

He showers quickly, using Jayce’s shampoo in the process and it smells like cedar and mint and like Jayce. He thinks back to that morning in the lab and how deeply he was inside him that night. He could touch himself right in this very bathroom, rid himself of his arousal— but that was wrong wasn’t it? In Jayce’s home? It almost excites him further but he knows nothing could suffice except for his Jayce.

While Viktor is tormenting himself with ideas, Jayce is pacing his living room. His partner's scent is everywhere. It’s on the couch, on his clothes he wears, his hands, by the front door, it’s in his senses and it suffocates him. His sweet vanilla scent has taken over the glands inside him and something about it has his composure crumbling, his mouth waters and he’s ashamed to know he can feel himself grow hard in his pants.

Being a vastaya has its perks, he can hear better, smell better, his reflexes are more refined than the average person, he has great balance due to his tail and his ancient senses can warn him of any nearby danger.

But, there was one small problem and that was his libido.

Having animal-like attributes didn’t just mean his superior senses— it meant he had the sexual tendencies of an animal too. For a long time it was easy for Jayce to resist those urges, he had never found someone he felt compatible with to the point where he felt like…well, mating with them. But Viktor had changed all of that.

Having him in the man’s home, showering in his bathroom, wearing his clothes, sitting on his couch and drinking from his cups. It’s like a switch went off in Jayce’s brain and suddenly he was in full heat. He can’t say he’s ever felt this way about anyone and holding back these feelings are proving to be too difficult.

It only gets worse when Viktor steps out of the bathroom in Jayce’s clothes.

They practically swallow him whole. His shirt which has his high school crest on it is wrinkly and drapes over Viktor’s small shoulders like a sheet. His sweatpants are much too large and he has to grab a fistful of the fabric and hold it up so as to not expose himself right here in Jayce’s living room. His hair drips water and soaks into the shirt, discoloring it and he actually looks much fresher, like the life in his eyes finally came back and the heat of the water encouraged the blood flow through his cheeks. Or maybe he’s just blushing profusely— either way Jayce felt a sort of pride for being the one to help Viktor.

“Thank you,” is the first thing the older says. He pats his way closer to Jayce and can’t seem to make eye contact. Neither can the other.

“I…I feel bad.” He admits and Jayce goes to ask why but Viktor continues. “I shouldn’t stay the night, Jayce.” He’s sobered up somewhat since his words aren’t slurring together anymore.

“You can’t go home alone. I won’t let you.” He’s stern and it surprises both of them. Jayce’s back straightened and his hands curl into fists at his sides. He realizes his harsh tone almost immediately— he’s becoming too possessive again. He relaxes.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—“

“I get it.”

It’s quiet again. Both of them stand there awkwardly and Viktor shivers slightly at the water cooling in his hair. Not even the heat of Jayce’s home could diminish the inevitable shock of cold after stepping out of the shower soaking wet. Jayce notices this.

“Oh—! You must be cold!”

“Jayce, wait—“ He’s already gone into his bedroom and comes back with a large hoodie in his hand— another thing Viktor will be swallowed into. He can’t decline the offer now (not that he would be able to anyway.) “I really can’t stay.”

This crushes Jayce and it’s hard for him to not show it with the way his entire demeanor seems to shift. His body looks too heavy to carry all of a sudden, his tail curls between his legs and his ears turn downward with defeat.

“I understand.” His ears perk up a little bit with an idea like a lightbulb shining over a cartoon character’s head. “I’m walking you home.”

Viktor takes a step backward and lets out a breathy laugh as he speaks, “That’s not necessary.”

“No. It is.” It’s final. No arguing, no pushing back. Jayce knows what’s best and Viktor will not be able to have a choice in the matter. Something about his tone is enticing and excites the eldest in a way.

It’s a silent walk, much like most of their night and the palpable tension can be felt by the both of them like the fog that surrounds them as they round the next block to Viktor’s apartment. Viktor leans heavily on his cane, limping as his other hand clutches the waistband/fabric of Jayce’s borrowed sweatpants to keep them up. Jayce wonders how he managed to walk so far so drunk without tripping. Little does he know the amount of times Viktor had to pick himself back up because of how often he stumbled over his own two feet in his drunken state. He’s much more sober now and there’s still a wobble in his step and his eyesight still isn’t all there but at least he’s not traveling the streets alone drunk anymore. He’s sober enough to be embarrassed that he walked all the way to Jayce’s apartment to be then escorted back to his own like some lost puppy.

It’s when they get to the door that Viktor suddenly feels his body start to give out. The events of the night have caught up with him and he leans his full weight into the door as he unlocks it. Jayce is preparing himself to catch him again if need be when he turns the doorknob but his partner’s got a good grip on the handle and uses it as a crutch.

He doesn’t usually flip the lights on but knowing his furry friend isn’t as familiar with the interior of his home, he does and he kicks off his shoes. Jayce, with politeness, sets his own by the door and steps further into his place.

The scent is the first thing he notices. Warmth, cider, cinnamon and that whiff you get of a new book you open for the first time. There’s hints of sweet vanilla coffee that he knows Viktor brewed just earlier that morning. It fills his chest with a rapture he can’t contain. It’s just so Viktor.

He’s pleased to notice the little figure golem he made right by the front door. It holds its fist into the air and Jayce can see Viktor has utilized it to hold his keys. He smiles towards it and his ears rotate towards the sound of his partner's voice.

“What’s got you so excited?”

He tilts his head curiously. “Huh?” Viktor tilts his chin and his eyes drop to below Jayce’s waist.

“Your tail is wagging,” he laughs. Blush dusts both of their cheeks. He didn’t even realize it and he immediately stops the wagging then clears his throat.

“Sorry…”

“It’s okay. It’s cute.”

He doesn’t know how to handle that comment despite knowing he was inside this man just a week ago.

Viktor tells him to help himself to anything as he turns the corner into a hallway towards what he can only assume is his bedroom. Jayce does not follow but he stands at the entrance and notices that Viktor kept his bedroom door open.

Help himself to anything. He can’t assume that meant waltzing into his room, laying him down and burying his mouth into his cunt was considered anything even though that’s pretty much all he wants at the moment.

He turns towards Viktor’s living room to browse the bookshelves he has on display against his walls. They’re tucked into a corner and a dark red velvet chair sits with a small side table beside it. He notices the mug atop it with coffee staining the inner walls. His eyes trail over the wall of books and that’s where he notices the handmade bookends framing what he recognizes as the elders favorite books. He lets his tail wag freely knowing no one can see.

His eyes dart down to an open book on the seat and he barely takes in the contents before he’s letting them wander somewhere else— but wait— he does a double take and looks back down at the book.

A drawing is shown on the open page. A sketched drawing and color coded diagram of a species of a male vastaya lies on one of the pages. It’s Jayce’s species. Lines connect to body parts and point to a scientific word and Jayce’s eyes linger over a paragraph describing the workings of the body and how it’s different from the human body.

Then he glances to the next page.

Sex Anatomy of the Vastaya

A diagram of a penis is shown and Jayce’s cheeks burn hot like the fires of Ornn. It’s not like he isn’t familiar with what’s being shown! But this book is in Viktor’s apartment, open and on a seat which means he’s been reading it! Which means—

Jayce looks at the diagram. It shows the way a normal human penis becomes erect with a vastaya’s next to it. There’s one big difference between the two.

Vastaya’s penis’ become enlarged at around the middle point of the shaft. It looks sort of like a ball, like a hump and it becomes extremely sensitive. Jayce is curious to see what the segment says about it.

The knot becomes sensitive to the touch and is primarily used in cases of mating. This is when the male vastaya becomes aroused to the point where the goal of the knot is to ensure the likelihood of conception. The knot acts as a plug inside a vaginal canal to increase the chances of pregnancy.

Now, Jayce has never experienced such a thing himself. He knew he was capable of it, but like the textbook says, it is only during mating or in intense instances of high emotions. Basically, if he’s horny enough he could produce a knot.

But one thing nags at the back of his mind as he reads; Why is this book in Viktor’s collection? Is this sort of thing like his morning paper? Surely not. He can’t even picture him sitting there with this book in his hand. What does he even gain from having the knowledge of the way vastayans mate? There’s no gain for him, is there?

He shuts the book, unable to read any more (he already knows most of this anyway) and he looks back over his shoulder towards the hallway that leads to Viktor’s room. Worry suddenly bubbles up in his stomach and it churns into anxiety. He needs to check on him.

He makes his way into the room. The lights are off and the room pitch black, but Jayce can see enough. Viktor lays on his bed, eyes fluttering shut and hugging a stray pillow on his messy bed. It’s unmade and his sheets hang off the bed and pool to the ground- he didn’t even bother tucking himself in. The vastaya takes a quiet step forward, reaching his bedside and grabbing for the sheets. He straightens it and looks down at the lying figure.

He looks so cozy in his clothing. He’s let the sweatpants fall so now he’s just in his boxers and Jayce’s t-shirt that’s already ridden up his waist to expose the expanse of his back. He notices the metal following the path of his spine and wonders for a moment where his back brace went. He doesn’t wonder too long though because Viktor for once looks peaceful and he could never disturb that.

He lays the sheets delicately over Viktor and makes sure he’s well tucked before taking a step away.

“See yah.” He whispers affectionately and turns around to leave.

There’s a shuffle, limbs rubbing along fabric and all of a sudden Jayce is being tugged by the end of his tail.

“Hey—!” His ass falls against the bed and he looks over to Viktor who’s got one eye open and looks up at him with a slight pout.

He parts his lips like he’s going to say something but when Jayce slowly pries his hand off his fur he shuts his mouth for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers to his partner.

“Can…” Viktor looks uncertain and he hides under the covers. “Will you stay…?”

Gods, it’s cliché and Jayce shouldn’t spend the night. He can’t think straight with Viktor’s scent suffocating his senses and seeing him in just his shirt has already got him breaking into a sweat. He really shouldn't spend the night…

“Of course I will.”

Fuck, how can I say no to him?

Despite asking him to stay and clearly inviting him onto the bed, Viktor doesn’t cling to him. He’s never been a very physical person nor has he been very intimate. Even during their escapade in their lab he didn’t linger for any kisses, soft touches or any of that pillow talk. It’s just the way Viktor is. But Jayce knows he at least can be touchy with him. So, he wraps an arm around Viktor’s torso and tugs him close until they’re spooning and the smaller one can feel Jayce’s thumping heart.

It’s soothing and he’s already falling into a deep sleep.

Jayce is the first to wake up. He’s not very shocked to see Viktor still slumbering beside him, but their limbs tangling together has him pleasantly stunned. In the middle of the night Viktor turned over and wrapped his arm around Jayce’s waist and shoved his thigh in between his to perfectly shape his body against the other.

He peels himself away from him even if it does emotionally hurt him to do so. But he needs to piss and he can’t linger here for long. Drunk on his scent and the view of Viktor’s torso half exposed to him to the point where he can see the beginnings of the scars on his chest has him already worked up.

It doesn’t help that he fell asleep half hard and it doesn’t help any further waking up with his lab partner curled into him and sleeping soundly. Something about seeing him so peaceful and knowing he’s the cause for it has Jayce feeling that possessiveness over Viktor once more.

He finds Viktor’s bathroom and it’s unpleasant to piss when hard but he has no other choice.

Jayce quietly steps back into the room, Viktor’s back is to him and he assumes he’s asleep. He bends down to grab his sock that fell onto the floor— he’s always losing those in his sleep. He turns to leave then.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Viktor’s accent is thick and it's riddled with exhaustion but there’s that hint of amusement. Jayce gasps and his eyes widen, his tail sits perfectly still and stands to attention in shock. The man who he had assumed was asleep, turns over and rests on his elbow, he looks at Jayce with stern brows.

“You were just gonna leave me?”

“I…” Yes he was but he can’t admit that now. They both know the answer to the question but Jayce still lies. “No, no, of course not. Sorry…” He takes a seat on the bed. His tail lays comfortably across the bed and it rests over Viktor’s legs atop the blanket covering him. His delicate fingers instinctively card through the soft fur and Jayce struggles to stop the love sick grin on his face. It’s intimate, the way his fingers feather the brown fur and how soft his eyes become when they look at each other for a moment.

There’s something unspoken between them, it doesn’t need to be said especially since Viktor made his feelings for Jayce very clear their first time together. But Jayce needs the confirmation again. He rests a hand on the bed and leans in a little to talk softly to the man beneath him.

“Did you really mean what you said back then in the lab?”

Puzzled, Viktor looks at him with a cocked brow.

“What did I say?”

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Well, you…invited me for…part two of our…part two of when we—“

“Yes, I did mean it.” Viktor’s tone is very matter of fact and holds no tomfoolery. He’s firm with his answer. There’s a nod from Jayce who still can’t meet his eye.

“Were you…wanting that?”

Jayce is a little too eager with his answer and his tail escapes from Viktor’s fingers to thrash back and forth.

“Yes! I do want it!”

Viktor struggles to hold in a laugh, clasping his hand over his mouth.

“Okay, well, we can do that—“ Suddenly the covers are being ripped off of him and Jayce is inserting himself between his thighs, both huge hands on either knee and separating them from each other to fit his large frame. Viktor looks at him with wide eyes and in the crack of light seeping in from between curtains he sees Jayce as the animal he is in this moment.

Ears flicker atop his head, angling downwards with a predatory look to them, his eyes gleaming with determination. He shifts so he’s closer to Viktor.

“We do this now.” He can’t wait. Not when his partner is still in his clothes, not when he’s inside his home, on his bed and taking in Viktor’s entire scent and consuming as much as he can as he loses control of his coherent self.

“Yeah…alright…we do this now…” Viktor is too stunned to speak more. Curiosity gets the better of him and he inspects Jayce as he gives him the okay.

“Do whatever you need…” He says with a small voice, his words slurring together much like the night before only this time arousal is the cause. He has a slight headache and he knows if it weren’t for Jayce making him hydrate and relax he wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed, let alone engage in sex.

It’s criminal to be up this early, but anything is worth it when Jayce is this needy.

Viktor watches Jayce’s moves with a calculation, he’s read up on some of these animalistic tendencies the vastaya have and he’s curious to see Jayce finally relent and let this side of him control him.

He does just that.

Jayce presses his hips against Viktor’s and they groan in unison of the feeling of his hard-on pressing into the other's core. He’s still just as large and Viktor’s still amazed for even being able to fit him inside. He doesn’t worry too much about that when Jayce begins grinding into him, his hips thrusting like a dog in heat.

A whimper drips from between Jayce’s lips and his eyes shut tightly, his hips move with expertise and he runs his length up and down Viktor’s clothed slit. The man beneath him lets his body go slack and he breathes heavy, his entire body submitting to the animal above him. His thigh is being grabbed and Jayce digs his claws into his skin so roughly that he almost draws blood.

Viktor dares to look up at Jayce, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and barely seeing the red blushing his cheeks, down his neck and what chest is exposed. His arms are thick and veins travel up them, large and straining against skin as he gives it his all to thrust. Viktor can feel himself becoming wetter with each press into him and feeling Jayce’s girth. A growl comes from deeply within his chest and Viktor moans at the sound coupling with the sensation of his claws on his pale, soft skin.

“Jayce—“ Viktor gasps, “Jayce…ahh…” Jayce drops to his elbows, his back arched and hips never relenting. He leans down and presses his mouth into the crook of his partner's neck, his scruff is rough against the other’s jaw and his eyes roll back at the sensation. Jayce’s lips part and his sharp canines press into the skin where his jaw meets his ear and he runs his teeth flush against the skin. Viktor begins gasping and he wraps his arms under his armpits and grabs fistfuls of his shirt on his back.

The room— despite always being freezing— begins to heat up much like Jayce’s apartment, only it wasn’t the heater. Their very bodies pushing together and hot breaths mixing and combining together cause their space to warm and Viktor was already beginning to feel his skin dampen with desire and sweat. He lets out a drawn out moan, high pitched and winey when Jayce clamps his teeth on skin and wraps his lips around to suckle on his delicate skin. It hurts but it hurts good, he can ignore the aching of his back and his leg cramping when he feels that thickness drag across his damp boxers. Gods, Jayce is as girthy as his thigh, perhaps even more.

Jayce’s chest rumbles with a growl of need, his mind becomes muddled with arousal and he can’t seem to stop himself the moment he’s gotten a taste of Viktor pliant skin. He soothes the harsh wound he’s left on his neck with his warm tongue, lapping at it like a dog drinking from a water bowl. His nose grazes over to a new spot where his neck meets his shoulder and in Jayce’s eagerness to have another taste, his canines bite down and this time he draws blood. There’s a yelp, tightening of limbs around him and Viktor’s sound of pain dissolves into another moan and he curses in his mother tongue.

Jayce pulls away enough to take a look at the damage to see two little holes that slowly ooze blood, he places his lips back over it and takes in the metallic taste with his tongue. He holds Viktor down with a strength he didn’t recognize and he pulls his hips away just to snap them back into place like he’s already fucking his partner into the mattress. He lets out another low moan from his chest and finally pulls away, his lips glistening with spit.

“I need to taste you, I can’t help myself.” He’s suddenly grasping at the elastic band of Viktor’s boxers and tugging them with fervor. The other watches this, leaning up on his elbows and lifting his hips as well as he can. Wetness sticks to the boxers in a bridge of clear and white to his forest of hair. His dick poking between the bushes, enlarged and red.

Jayce shimmies himself down further on the bed, he plants kisses down Viktor’s body, biting gently at his nipples and grabbing as much flesh as he could during his descent. His lips trail over scars and moles, kissing the constellations traveling across his body and fingers dancing on his skin like a pianist playing a slow ballad. Careful, calculated and passionate. He kisses down the trail of hair from his bellybutton to where he’s aching and his clit twitches when it feels Jayce’s breath.

He pushes Viktor’s thighs up from the back of his knees and raises them over his own head, his heels find purchase on the vastayans shoulders. He begins to dive in.

His tongue lays flat against the expanse of his dick, swiping side to side and letting his lashes flutter shut as the taste of Viktor spreads across the wet muscle. Satisfied when Viktor releases a sigh and moans, he takes his large clit into his mouth and suckles it. He flicks the tip of his tongue over his clit since he can’t get enough of the way Viktor’s hips buck upward with each suck. Jayce lazily laps at it, spit already collecting in his mouth and spilling out from the corners as he takes in a deep breath after holding it for too long.

“So good…you taste so good…V…” He huffs between lapping. He feels Viktor ooze more arousal fluid to the point where his face is practically drenched in it. He pulls away to take another breath in but Viktor is grabbing his messy hair by the roots and shoving his face back into the bush of coarse hair and his dick gets shoved back into his mouth.

“Don’t stop!” He says breathlessly, hands clammy and heels digging roughly into his shoulders to pin him down. “Please, don’t…keep going…” Jayce thrusts his face forward and backward, tightening his lips around his clit to jerk off the length of it. Viktor begins whimpering, his words turning incoherent and more words in his mother tongue gasp between his lips. Jayce doesn’t understand a word but he can read the tone. Don’t stop. He doesn’t intend to.

Jayce lets go of the man’s clit with a pop of his lips and he slips his tongue between his slit to dive the tip of it into his soaked entrance. His hands now slide to cup his ass cheeks and his thumbs rest on each either side of his dick to spread him apart. Sticky lines of arousal are stuck to hair and he watches Viktor’s hole clamp shut and open, fluttering around nothing and practically aching to be filled.

His own hips begin to lazily buck into the sheets, his hard-on straining against his clothes and he feels it. He feels part of himself start to expand and pulse, blood pumping through it to increase the size between his legs. Jayce moans loudly, he wants to stuff Viktor full. He briefly thinks back to their morning together, how well Viktor took him and the bulge protruding from his lower stomach with each thrust. The thought alone would be enough for him to cum right there but he’s too determined to mate. An animalistic sound comes deep from his throat and it startles Viktor— a frustrated, rib cage shattering groan that vibrates the entire bed. His tail snaps side to side like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“I saw the book you were reading last night.” He says in a low tone, his mouth running along his slit teasingly, up and down, up and down. Viktor’s entire body shivers and he twitches with overstimulation. He takes a breath.

“What book?” He can’t even think right now. What the hell is Jayce doing by engaging in pillow talk in the middle of sex?

He smiles and runs his tongue up and down the shaft of his large clit. He expertly draws a moan from Viktor once more.

“About vastaya’s…” That’s all that needs to be said for Viktor to realize what he means. He goes bright red, ears burning hot and his eyes widen. He was not meant to see that and he’s a fool for keeping it out like that! But how was he supposed to know this would happen?!

“I…well…”

“About knotting? You’re that curious?”

His confidence comes back to him, he can’t have Jayce have the upper hand like this, can he? He struggles to bite back a whimper when Jayce’s fingers circle around his entrance and barely inserts one finger before he finally dares to speak.

“Mmfh…Don’t you have something to show me, then?”

Jayce shifts, lapping him up a few more times before he’s finally releasing himself and Viktor lets go of his hair. His fingers delicately rubs across his ears, something so soft and intimate that it makes Jayce’s chest ache with a fullness he can’t quite describe.

He gets up on his knees, Viktor’s legs still spread and he scoots to sit up against the headboard of his bed. He’s not going to miss a show like this— watching Jayce take off his pants and finally reveal his dick once more. Only this time he had much more to show.

His fingers drag the hem of his pants down, unzipping them first and sliding them down along with his briefs to the halfway point past his thighs. There’s an immediate relief as his cock springs forth from the confines of fabric and it bobs a few times, precum drips from the tip as he releases a drawn out sigh.

Viktor had seen the diagrams, had seen vastaya porn (he could never admit that especially not to Jayce) but he wasn’t expecting such length and girth to come from this man. It truly is thicker than his own thigh. He knows for a fact that if he were to try and wrap a hand around it, his fingers would not meet each other. But still his curiosity gets the better of him and his hand slowly reaches out. When Jayce’s cock lays against his palm, he runs it down the shaft, then to where the knot begins, bulging outward, veins running along it. He can practically feel his heartbeat on the shaft and Viktor follows down and down the underside of his cock until his fingertips drags across Jayce’s balls. Heavy, warm and needing to be emptied.

He looks up at Jayce then who’s eyes are shut and chest is heaving with deep breaths.

“Take your shirt off,” Viktor says, already stripping his own off, tossing Jayce’s shirt to the side. Jayce takes his off, hairy torso being fully exposed once more. Oh, how Viktor missed it, how often he would lay in this very bed and fantasize about it, touching himself until he was cumming on his fingers to the image of Jayce thrusting into him. Now he’ll once again get the real thing.

“Come here,” he says gently, laying back down and leaning against a pillow so he can have a good view. Jayce takes this moment to awkwardly kick off his pants, now both fully exposed.

He sits between Viktor’s legs, grabbing his dick in his hand and positioning it so his tip kisses Viktor’s. They both release a startled sound of arousal, Viktor already moving his hips to encourage more friction between them but the other falters for a moment.

He stops, looks at Viktor and there’s a hint of worry in his hazel eyes. “I might lose control on you…”

Bewildered for a moment, the older looks at him.

“Okay…and?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t think I really care if you do.”

His dick twitches in his hand and he has to physically bite his tongue to halt the moan.

“Don’t…don’t say that…”

“Jayce—“ Viktor reaches out to place a comforting palm on Jayce’s chest, he pets the hair soothingly and they meet eyes. “Let yourself go…give it to me. I know what I’m getting into.”

He really doesn’t. But it’s too late to back out.

Jayce doesn’t even acknowledge what he says, his ears pivot into a phase of concentration and he drags his large length up and down Viktor’s wetness. One hand grabs his waist, the other holding the base of his cock to steady it. His knot seems to grow in size and even he can’t believe his eyes to the sheer size of it. It’s so thick and he can barely get enough coating of Viktor’s arousal to even begin to think about entering him.

He looks up, desperate. “You have any lube?”

Viktor is quick to grab some from his bedside table and Jayce puts a generous amount in his hand and warms it in his palm before he’s slowly jerking himself off.

That textbook wasn’t joking, his knot is indeed extremely sensitive but he makes sure to lube the base of it as much as he can before he’s aligning his tip to Viktor’s entrance.

“Shit…stay still,” He warns with a softer tone, but that rumble in his chest still lingers. Viktor holds his breath, trying to relax his muscles as Jayce begins to insert himself.

He’s been fucking himself for a week now, he’s used to a girth but this one…this girth that’s pushing inside him hurts. He scrunches his face in pain and throws his head back.

“Agh….Mmmfhh…Jayce…m-more lube!” He chokes, the head of his dick splitting him so far apart he can feel the burn of it. He’s quick to slather more lube, pull away slightly to watch it dribble down his head and into Viktor before he attempts to enter him again.

It goes smoothly this time, he slides right in and there’s still the burn of the stretch but it’s pleasant enough for Viktor to release an aching whine. He swears under his breath, he cups his hands under his knees to hold his legs up and he lets his chin drop to watch Jayce force his way inside him.

His knot comes up fast, his stomach is already bulging in size and Viktor’s jaw locks open in an aroused shock. He slides his hand to his lower stomach and palms the length poking through. Jayce falters, his thighs tremble and his cock twitches at the sensation. His knot lays flush against Viktor’s fluttering hole and he can’t stop himself.

Jayce pulls back, witnessing his glistening length slowly pull out, and in the same pace he pushes back in. Viktor’s hand now grasps his pillow beneath his head and he gasps his partner's name. His knot slides in just barely, and he repeats the same slow thrust.

The bed begins to creak under their weight, Jayce is moving slowly and calculated so as to not hurt Viktor or stretch him too harshly. He’s patient despite the struggle already hold back filling him up with his seed and fucking it into him until his knot get stuck inside him. He’s a good boy and he’ll let it happen naturally.

That is until one simple word slips out of Viktor’s beautiful mouth.

“Faster.”

Jayce’s hips snap, skin on skin starts to rise in volume and he obeys, his thrust going a little bit faster. Just enough to cause Viktor’s body to lurch with each press into him. He’s fitting his knot half way now, just a few more thrusts and—

“Harder.”

Jayce has to grab Viktor’s waist with both hands now, his thumbs dig into his hip bones, his gaze drops down to watch his stomach protrude and indent back to its normal state over and over again until finally he lets out a groan, a strained sound and he snaps his hips so harshly that Viktor cries out as he’s forced to take the entire knot.

He squeezes around it and Jayce barely feels it, he’s already so tight around him, any spasm around him barely flutters the nerves on his cock. He pulls out, both of them gasping before he’s plunging forward with such fierce strength that his thighs smack against the back of Viktor’s with a harsh sound that echoes in the room.

“Vik…fuck…!” His knot goes deep inside his partner and this time he feels his hole tighten around him. When he tries to pull out he finds he can’t. His knot is stuck and all he can do now is desperately rut into Viktor like a dog in a ferocious heat.

Jayce lifts Viktor’s hips off the bed and the sound of their moans mix together in a filthy harmony of their carnal desire for one another.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He swears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Jayce whimpers, unrelenting with his thrusting, guilt trickling into his muddled mind as he uses Viktor’s body for his own pleasure.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I need this…I need you…please…” His lower abdomen begins to tighten, his balls smack hard and heavy into Viktor’s ass and Jayce’s tail wags frantically. He’s already getting close.

Viktor reaches downward, hand lingering on his stomach once more to feel the protruding cock in his stomach before he slides it further down to wildly jerk himself off with three fingers.

“Jayce…Aghh…cum in me…”

“I will— shit, V. I’ll cum in you again and again…I’m sorry but I need to—“ He chokes on a groan. “I need you to breed you…fill you up full and— haaah— fuck my cum into you…”

“Do it…I’m close…Jayce, just— přesně tam— make me cum…”

Jayce presses Viktor back into the bed and presses his chest against the other’s. He replaces Viktor’s fingers with his own and they lock eyes as Jayce gets him closer to his orgasm.

“I’m right there with you,” His voice trembles with each thrust, “C’mon, V…cum for me and I’ll cum for you…”

And that was enough. Jayce’s fingers quicken on his clit as Viktor cries out, his body begins convulsing as the tsunami of pleasure invades his entire being. Jayce feels him flutter around his cock, tightening and pulsing, his clit jolting as his body rides out his orgasm. He grabs for his partner's shoulders, digging his nails into him now and he lifts his legs, wrapping them around Jayce’s waist.

“Jayce…ngh…cum in me!”

He gives one final thrust, his cock spurts out white ropes inside him, sweat gathers at his forehead and he rides out his own orgasm now. Viktor moans at the sensation, wetness increasing between them, feeling the head of Jayce’s cock press into his cervix, his knot stretching him so well and plugging him up so no cum can escape.

Jayce ruts his hips harshly into Viktor’s, the ropes of his cum never ceasing. His balls tighten, thighs ache when the muscles contract and he can’t seem to stop filling him up. He knows it’s only Viktor who can make him feel this way, no other partner has ever been able to make him feel this strongly. He lowers his head into his neck when his dick begins to feel too sensitive and he lets out a strained groan when his climax finally begins to subside.

He makes sure not to let his entire dead weight lay atop of Viktor, he holds his upper torso above him and lets his head hang. His chest heaves with each heavy breath, the both of them attempting to catch it together. Viktor’s legs unwind around him and he flops them back down onto the bed. Jayce wishes he could he could rest, lay down next to him and relax in Viktor’s arms but—

“I think I’m stuck inside you…” He admits weakly, letting out a defeated chuckle and Viktor laughs hoarsely. He feels delicate fingers on his scruff, scratching under his chin much like he did a week ago and lifts the vastaya’s chin so they can look at each other.

“You haven’t kissed me,” Viktor says almost in a disappointing tone. Jayce does not hesitate to lean in and hook his lips in between the other’s. Viktor’s fingers instantly find themselves in his tousles of hair, thumbs finding the base of his ears instantly and rubbing them soothingly— massaging them and it draws out a broken moan from Jayce.

Their lips slot between each other’s, Jayce taking the lead for the most part and struggling to not devour Viktor right here. He cups a hand over his cheek, his hand so large that three of his fingers rest on his neck under his jaw and he slips his tongue out to taste the inside of Viktor’s mouth.

He still tastes the alcohol, the hint of coffee from the night previous. As for Viktor, he tastes that faint saltiness of his own excitement on Jayce’s tongue from when he went down on him. He can feel the desire, passion and need in the way his tongue invades his mouth and invites itself to run along his teeth and press into his own tongue. They both part their lips and let the wet muscles swirl together is a messy evidence of their dedication for one another.

Jayce suddenly pulls away.

“I won’t be able to get out of you if we keep kissing like this…” He lets out a breathy laugh, kissing Viktor once more but on the cheek this time. The man underneath him shifts and tightens around him to feel that his knot has not subsided at all in the slightest.

“Hm,” He hums and wiggles his hips side to side. “Guess we’ll have to do a part three, won’t we?”

Jayce, in shock, lifts himself up on his elbows and meets Viktor’s gaze.

“You’re insane. I could hurt you!”

There’s a pointed look. “Do you really think I care? Haven’t we gone over this?”

He’s stupid for still being concerned, clearly.

“Right. Sorry.”

They catch each other's breath for a beat long before Jayce begins to try and pull out of Viktor. It’s no use, he’s bulging, still hard and being squeezed around so tightly he’s afraid he might tear something inside him. He can only move a few centimeters backward but it’s enough for him to rock his body into Viktor’s.

Instantly there are limbs wrapping around him.

“Yes,” Viktor breathes, “Right there…” His tip grazes his cervix, kissing it with each thrust and there’s a filthy wet sound between them. His partner is becoming wet again, lubing him up even further and his hole loosens with arousal and it gives Jayce enough room to pull out of him halfway over his knot and push back inside him with a great force.

“Fuck,” Jayce releases with a bestial grumble, his cock already aching and sensitive, ready to fill Viktor even more with him. “So tight—“ He gasps, tucking his face into his neck and biting down hard once more and drawing blood. Iron spills into his mouth and nails dig into his back surely leaving marks in their wake. A whimper and cry out in pain comes from below him and he fucks into Viktor harder, voice shaking and headboard slamming into the wall. If the neighbors somehow didn’t hear them earlier then now they would.

“Jayce…use me!” He cries. “You’re so deep— kurva— I can feel you—“ He lays his hand back over his stomach, the dick imprint protruding over and over. They both look at it in wonder, Jayce’s lips now tinged with blood.

“Look how deep you are…” Viktor says softly. Slack jawed and moaning, he lolls his head backward into his pillow as the pleasure and overstimulation haunts his nervous system. Viktor’s body trembles again, barely five minutes into round two and he’s already drawing closer to his second orgasm.

The larger man above him pins him down with his hand, grabbing his wrists and slamming his pelvis into Viktor, skin slapping together in a vicious sound and he feels his own cum begin to slip past his knot and dribble down the underside of his cock and down into Viktor’s ass.

“Gonna cum for me again?” He asks with a harshness he doesn’t even recognize. His fingers are tightly wound around Viktor’s wrists and he knows he’s going to leave purple marks, possibly bruising. He knows he’ll feel bad about it later.

His partner can only nod, sucking in his bottom lip to chew on it, neck growing red in color and chest heaving as he struggles to hold back his wave of pleasure. He nods his head frantically and releases a gasp.

“Yes! Yes! I’m going to cum again!”

“Not yet— don’t…not until I do,” Jayce demands. He releases one of his wrists to push down Viktor’s leg against the bed and witness the way his cock slides in and out, it’s creamy and soaking, he see’s Viktor’s dick twitch and muscles tighten when he struggles further to hold back his orgasm.

“I’m almost there…let…ugh…let me bury my cum in you and then you can too, okay?”

“Use my cunt,” Viktor cries out his plea. “Use me…Jayce…give it to me…”

He’s already cumming again, getting to the finishing line much quicker, his dick almost hurting with how overstimulating it all is but that doesn’t lessen the pleasure he feels when he shoots more hot ropes into Viktor’s pliant cunt.

It increases when he doesn’t stop abusive plunging and Viktor finally cums around him.

Once more Viktor cries out and his leg breaks free from Jayce’s grasp and they rise above his head as liquid pours out of him a violent spray, soaking Jayce’s lower torso and dripping down him and his partners thighs.

“Fuck, V—“ Jayce pulls out immediately and grabs himself at the base to grind his knot against his dick. More liquid sprays around them and Jayce does his best to help Viktor ride his orgasm out.

Cum seeps out of his hole and into a puddle into the sheets, staining them and soaking them all the way to the mattress. His entire body goes limp all except for the final jolts of the residual climax causing his whole body to jostle as each wave dies down.

Immediately, Jayce begins after care, leaning down to kiss Viktor on his sweaty forehead. He brushes sticky hair off his forehead and kisses the skin exposed, salt tints his lips and he can taste it when he runs his tongue along them. He stops himself from calling Viktor beautiful, being too shy but knowing he has to later.

He’s handsome, laid out on the bed, eyes half lidded and flowers of bruises and marks beginning to bloom across his pale, beautiful skin. Moles frame the artwork left by Jayce’s fingers that he reaches out to pet and leans down to kiss each one.

“You okay?” He asks with a soft tone, his voice hoarse but fingers delicate and tentative to sensitive skin. Viktor nods, cracking his eyes open to look up at Jayce with a crooked smile, teeth shown.

“Yeah…I’m great,” He groans, his stiff legs moving to squeeze together and more cum oozes out of him like honey. “Achy…but okay…” He struggles to sit up on his elbows and Jayce scoots himself to help, wrapping an arm around him and their faces are inches from each other. They pause for a second, taking in the silence between them all except their huffs of breath that escape their lips. Viktor’s eyes glance down to Jayce’s lips, then back up to his eyes.

A beat. Viktor cups a hand over the side of his neck and follows his jawline with his thumb.

“Kiss me?” He asks with a knowing smile.

Jayce leans in gently, ghosting his lips over Viktor’s and pressing them together with a patience they lacked just minutes ago.

They’re like this for a while, in each other's arms, kissing and running their hands through their hair. Viktor massages Jayce’s ears at their base, rubbing his thumb into the cartilage and Jayce lets out a purr, rumbling into his chest and fluttering his eyes shut, rolling back into his head at the pleasure. Then nails scratch around the base of them and Jayce lets out another sound of pleasure.

“You really are like a dog, hm?” Viktor teases.

“I could bite like one too.”

“Oh, I know very well.” They chuckle and Jayce dips his face into Viktor’s palm that pulls away from his ear. His tail twitches, wanting to wag but not being able to have the energy to.

More silence and Jayce slowly gets off the bed to begin the cleanup.

“Let me help you change the sheets. You got a bathtub?” Viktor hums a yes and points Jayce to the door where he walks in and already starts a bath.

“You take a bath while I clean, yeah?” He’s not going to give Viktor a choice in the matter but he’s still polite. Viktor blushes over the kindness of his partner and he nods.

“You’re too sweet, Jayce.”

He shrugs. “I just like you…a lot.”

He picks Viktor up like a princess and carries him to the bathroom. His arms are around Jayce’s neck and he smiles up at him.

“I like you a lot too…Can we do this again?”

Jayce gives him a side eye.

“Let’s take a break for a bit before we do this again.”

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