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Michael and Yoichi had been living together for six months now.
And ever since the first night Michael brought his things into the house, he had made it a point to be useful.
It still irritated him — deeply — that Yoichi handled the utilities.
The house itself had been Michael’s decision. His purchase. His statement. He’d signed the papers without hesitation, jaw set, pride unshaken. If he wanted something, he acquired it.
Yoichi.
The house.
This life.
But when Yoichi had quietly taken over the monthly bills — electricity, water, internet — Michael had felt something sharp twist in his chest. Not anger.
Displacement.
So he adjusted the only way he knew how.
He woke up early.
Earlier than he needed to.
Earlier than Yoichi.
The kitchen light flicked on before dawn most mornings. Coffee brewed. Breakfast prepared. Laundry folded before it could sit too long in the dryer. Floors swept. Counters wiped.
Michael moved through the house like it mattered.
Like every small task was proof.
He didn’t complain. Didn’t announce it. Didn’t seek praise.
He just… did it.
This morning was no different.
By the time Yoichi stepped into the kitchen — hair tousled, shirt hanging low off one shoulder, alpha scent still warm from sleep — the table was already set.
Michael stood at the counter, back straight, pretending not to wait.
He heard the footsteps pause.
Felt the weight of Yoichi’s gaze move across the room.
The clean surfaces.
The plated food.
The quiet effort.
Then warmth pressed against his back.
Yoichi didn’t speak immediately. He simply slid an arm around Michael’s waist and pulled him in — firm, possessive, unyielding.
Michael’s breath hitched despite himself.
“You’re up again,” Yoichi murmured against his shoulder.
It wasn’t a question.
Michael kept his tone steady. “I was awake.”
A lie.
Yoichi knew it.
He always did.
The alpha’s hand slid lower, thumb brushing slow, absent circles over Michael’s hip. Not teasing. Not demanding.
Grounding.
“You don’t have to,” Yoichi said quietly.
Michael’s jaw tightened faintly.
“I want to.”
There was no sharpness in it. No pride.
Just truth.
He leaned back slightly, just enough that his weight rested more fully into Yoichi’s chest.
“I don’t like you paying for everything else,” Michael admitted, voice softer now. “So let me do this.”
Yoichi was silent for a moment.
Michael could feel the way his gaze shifted — not dismissive, not amused.
Measuring.
Then Yoichi turned him gently by the waist until they were facing each other.
Dark eyes steady. Intense in the quiet way only Yoichi could be.
“You think I’m keeping score?” Yoichi asked.
Michael didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Yoichi’s hand came up, fingers sliding through Michael’s hair, pushing it back from his face. Not rough.
Intimate.
“I pay utilities because I can,” Yoichi said evenly. “You bought the house because you wanted us here.”
Us.
Michael swallowed.
Yoichi’s thumb brushed just beneath his jaw, tilting his chin up slightly.
“You waking up early,” he continued, “cleaning, cooking… you think I don’t notice?”
Michael’s composure cracked — just slightly.
He hadn’t been doing it to be praised.
But knowing it was seen…
That was different.
Yoichi leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to the side of his mouth. Not hungry. Not claiming.
Affectionate.
“You don’t have to earn your place with me,” Yoichi murmured.
Michael’s fingers curled lightly into Yoichi’s shirt.
“I’m not trying to earn it.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
A pause.
Michael looked down briefly before meeting his gaze again — softer now, stripped of arrogance.
“I just want to be useful to you.”
Yoichi didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t let go either.
Instead, his grip shifted — one hand sliding from Michael’s jaw to cup the back of his neck, thumb pressing into the soft skin just beneath his scent gland. The other stayed firm at his waist, anchoring him there like he belonged.
“Mihya,” he said quietly.
The nickname landed differently.
Not teasing.
Not dirty.
Soft.
Michael’s breath caught in his throat.
Yoichi leaned his forehead against his, dark eyes steady and warm instead of sharp.
“You don’t need to be useful to me,” he continued, voice low and soothing, the tone he only ever used in moments like this. “You don’t need to cook, or clean, or wake up before me.”
His thumb traced a slow line down Michael’s neck.
“You just have to be yourself.”
Michael’s fingers tightened slightly in Yoichi’s shirt.
“That’s not enough,” he murmured reflexively.
Yoichi’s brows knit faintly.
“It is,” he corrected gently. “You think I’m with you because you make breakfast?”
A faint flush rose across Michael’s cheeks.
Yoichi huffed softly — almost amused, but not unkind.
“I’m with you because you’re you,” he said. “Because you’re stubborn. Because you’re loud. Because you’re selfish and brilliant and annoying and beautiful.”
Michael blinked.
“And because,” Yoichi added, voice dipping lower, more intimate, “you’re my Mihya.”
The possessiveness wasn’t sharp.
It was grounding.
Claiming without pressure.
Michael’s throat worked.
“I don’t want you feeling like you have to earn anything here,” Yoichi murmured. “You already chose me. You already share your space. You already let me see you like this.”
His hand slid lower, spreading warm against Michael’s lower back.
“That’s enough.”
Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, but heavy with something fragile.
Michael exhaled slowly.
“…You’re unfair,” he muttered weakly.
Yoichi’s lips curved.
“I know.”
He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Michael’s temple.
Then his cheek.
Then the corner of his mouth.
Soft.
Measured.
Until Michael tilted his head slightly, chasing it without thinking.
Yoichi noticed.
Of course he did.
His hand at Michael’s back tightened subtly, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned fully — chest to chest, hips brushing.
“You’re shaking,” Yoichi murmured.
“I’m not.”
Another lie.
Yoichi’s gaze flicked downward briefly, then back up, and something shifted.
The tenderness didn’t disappear.
It deepened.
His thumb brushed along Michael’s lower lip, pressing lightly until it parted.
“You really think I need you to prove yourself?” he asked quietly.
Michael’s breath came out uneven.
“No…”
“Then stop trying.”
The words were firm — but the tone remained warm.
Yoichi leaned down and kissed him properly this time.
Slow.
Not rushed.
Mouth warm and steady against his, hand cradling the back of his head as if Michael might fall apart without it.
Michael melted instantly.
There was no arrogance left in him now — no sharp edge, no pride. Just softness as he leaned into the kiss, fingers sliding up Yoichi’s chest, gripping the fabric like he needed something solid.
Yoichi hummed softly into his mouth.
When he deepened it, it wasn’t abrupt — it was gradual. Tongues brushing. Breath mingling. Heat building quietly beneath the surface.
Michael made a small sound in his throat.
That was all it took.
Yoichi’s hand at his lower back drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to rest warm against bare skin. Not demanding.
Exploratory.
Michael inhaled sharply at the contact.
“You’re sensitive this morning,” Yoichi murmured against his lips.
Michael’s answer dissolved into another soft sound as Yoichi’s fingers traced the curve of his spine.
It wasn’t meant to escalate.
It just… did.
Yoichi nudged him backward gently until Michael’s hips met the counter behind him. The contact jolted a small gasp out of him.
Yoichi pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Mihya,” he warned softly.
Not a command.
A question.
Michael swallowed.
Then, almost shyly, he spread his knees a little wider.
Yoichi’s pupils darkened.
“That’s not proving anything,” he murmured.
Michael shook his head faintly.
“I know.”
His voice was breathless now.
“I just want you.”
That did it.
Yoichi exhaled slowly — like he was steadying himself — before leaning back in. This kiss was different. Deeper. Hungrier, but still controlled.
His hands slid to Michael’s thighs, squeezing gently before guiding one leg up to hook loosely around his hip.
The shift brought them flush together.
Michael’s breath stuttered at the friction.
Yoichi broke the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth along Michael’s jaw, down to his neck, teeth grazing lightly over the sensitive skin beneath his ear.
“Mihya,” he murmured again, softer now. “You don’t have to earn me.”
His grip tightened slightly at Michael’s thigh.
“But if you keep looking at me like that…”
Michael trembled.
“…I’m going to forget we were talking.”
And this time, when he kissed him again, there was no mistaking the heat building between them.
Yoichi's mouth moved against Michael's with a deliberate slowness that made the omega's knees weaken, their breaths syncing in the quiet kitchen.
The alpha's tongue teased at the seam of Michael's lips, coaxing them apart before delving deeper, tasting the faint sweetness of morning tea still lingering on his tongue.
Michael's hands fisted tighter in Yoichi's simple black t-shirt—the one he always wore around the apartment, soft from too many washes—pulling him impossibly closer as a soft whimper escaped him.
"Mihya," Yoichi murmured into the kiss, the nickname vibrating against Michael's lips like a gentle command.
His free hand, the one not cradling the back of Michael's neck, trailed downward with unhurried intent, fingers skimming over the hem of Michael's loose gray sweatpants.
They were the kind Kaiser favored for lazy days off the pitch—baggy enough to hide his muscular frame but soft against his skin.
Yoichi's palm flattened against Michael's hip first, thumb circling lazily, before sliding lower to cup the firm swell of his ass through the fabric. He squeezed gently, kneading the flesh with a tenderness that sent sparks racing up Michael's spine.
Michael arched into the touch instinctively, his body responding to the alpha's warmth like it was second nature.
"Daddy," he breathed against Yoichi's mouth, the word slipping out soft and needy, laced with that rare vulnerability only Yoichi ever drew from him. His omega instincts purred at the contact, heat pooling low in his belly as Yoichi's fingers dipped just beneath the waistband, brushing bare skin.
The kiss broke with a shared gasp, Yoichi pulling back just enough to search Michael's flushed face—those sharp blue eyes, framed by the messy blonde locks with their signature blue tips, now half-lidded and hazy. But Yoichi's gaze drifted lower, drawn by the subtle shift in Michael's stance, the way his thighs pressed together unconsciously.
With a gentle nudge of his knee between Michael's legs, the alpha tugged the sweatpants down just an inch, enough to reveal the delicate blue lace peeking out from underneath.
Yoichi's breath hitched. The panties were a secret indulgence Michael rarely admitted to—soft, sheer lace of sky blue that hugged his hips like a whisper, the front panel already darkening with a telltale dampness.
His pussy glistened faintly through the fabric, slick gathering from the building arousal, the scent of it blooming sweet and heady in the air, mingling with Yoichi's own alpha musk.
"Beautiful," Yoichi whispered, voice rough but reverent, his hand still resting possessively on Michael's ass, thumb tracing the edge of the lace.
He didn't push, didn't demand—just looked, drinking in the sight of his omega so exposed, so ready.
Michael's cheeks burned crimson, a shy heat flooding him that clashed with his usual arrogance. He ducked his head, trying to hide against Yoichi's shoulder, one hand coming up to cover his face as his free leg shifted to close the gap between them.
"Don't stare, Daddy," he mumbled, voice muffled and trembling, even as his body betrayed him—hips canting forward just a fraction, seeking more friction against the alpha's thigh.
Yoichi chuckled softly, low and affectionate, wrapping his arms around Michael's waist to pull him flush again.
"Can't help it, Mihya. You're perfect like this."
Yoichi's chuckle faded into a focused hum as he held Michael close, his body a solid anchor against the omega's trembling form.
With deliberate care, he let his hand drift forward from where it cupped Michael's ass, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of those baggy gray sweatpants to press directly against the damp lace.
The sky-blue fabric was soaked through now, clinging transparently to the swollen folds of Michael's pussy, the intricate lace patterns outlining every intimate curve like a teasing veil.
He resumed those slow, circular motions over the wet barrier, thumb and forefinger working in tandem to rub gentle, insistent circles around the sensitive nub of Michael's clit.
The pressure was light at first—teasing, exploratory—building just enough friction to make the lace drag deliciously against slick skin.
Michael's breath hitched sharply, his body jolting as a soft whimper spilled from his lips, high and needy, vibrating against Yoichi's collarbone where he'd buried his face.
"D-Daddy," Michael gasped, the word breaking into another whimper as Yoichi's touch quickened fractionally, the circles growing firmer, more purposeful. His hips bucked involuntarily, grinding down against the alpha's hand, chasing the sparks of pleasure that bloomed hot and insistent through his core.
The slick seeped further, darkening the lace to a deeper blue, the scent intensifying—sweet like fresh rain on blooming roses, wrapping around Yoichi's senses and drawing a low growl from his throat.
"Shh, Mihya," Yoichi murmured, his voice a soothing rumble as he nuzzled into Michael's messy blonde hair, lips grazing the shell of his ear. He didn't stop the motions, didn't relent; instead, he pressed his palm flat against the front of the panties, letting the warmth of his hand encompass Michael's aching pussy entirely.
The added pressure made the omega's thighs quiver, his free leg hooking tighter around Yoichi's hip as another whimper escaped—longer this time, edged with a desperate whine that echoed softly in the kitchen.
Yoichi's dark eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide with restrained hunger, but his touch remained tender, coaxing Michael higher without overwhelming him.
"That's it, just let go for me," he whispered, free hand sliding up Michael's back under his shirt to trace the elegant line of his rose tattoo, grounding him even as the circles over his clit tightened, sending fresh waves of slick to coat Yoichi's fingers through the lace.
Michael's body arched, whimpers turning to breathy pleas, his arrogance shattered into pure, pliant need under the alpha's patient command.
Michael's whimpers grew more fractured with each pass of Yoichi's fingers over the soaked lace, his body trembling against the alpha's steady frame.
The circular motions had him teetering on the edge, slick dripping freely now, coating Yoichi's hand in warm evidence of his need. His hips rolled forward in desperate little bucks, chasing the friction, but it wasn't enough—not nearly enough to sate the building ache deep inside.
"P-please, Daddy," Michael panted, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths and stifled whimpers, his voice raw and stripped of its usual bravado.
He clutched at Yoichi's shoulders, nails digging into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt, face still half-hidden against the alpha's neck.
"More... I need more. Please, touch me—really touch me."
Yoichi's touch stilled for a heartbeat, his dark eyes lifting to meet Michael's flushed gaze, searching for any hint of hesitation. Finding only raw want, he nodded slowly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"Alright, Mihya," he murmured, voice husky with affection and restraint. "I've got you."
With gentle insistence, Yoichi hooked his fingers into the waistband of Michael's sweatpants, tugging them down incrementally. Michael helped without a word, lifting his hips just enough to let the fabric slide over the curve of his ass and down his thighs, the baggy gray material pooling at his ankles before Yoichi knelt briefly to ease it off completely.
The sky-blue lace panties followed next, Yoichi's thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of Michael's hips as he peeled the damp fabric away.
The omega shivered at the cool morning air kissing his newly exposed skin, his muscular thighs—honed from endless hours on the pitch—quivering under the sudden vulnerability.
Slick glistened on his folds, his pussy flushed and swollen, the scent of his arousal thickening the air like a siren's call.
Yoichi discarded the clothes in a careless heap on the kitchen floor, the blue lace stark against the tiled surface, before rising just enough to guide Michael's leg back around his hip. But he didn't stand fully; instead, he lowered himself with controlled grace, sinking to his knees between the omega's spread legs.
His hands slid up Michael's calves, then thighs, parting them wider with a firm but tender pressure. The muscles there flexed under his touch, powerful yet yielding, creating just enough space for Yoichi to fit his broad shoulders between.
"Mihya," Yoichi breathed, gaze locked on the glistening core before him, reverent as he leaned in.
His warm breath ghosted over Michael's sensitive skin first, drawing a sharp gasp from the omega, before his tongue extended—flat and soft—to lick a slow, deliberate stripe from entrance to clit.
The taste of him exploded on Yoichi's tongue, sweet and tangy like ripe fruit warmed by the sun, and he hummed in approval, the vibration sending fresh tremors through Michael's body.
Michael's head fell back against the cabinet with a soft thud, a broken moan escaping his lips as his fingers tangled in Yoichi's dark, messy hair.
"Daddy—oh, fuck," he whimpered, thighs clamping instinctively around the alpha's head, but Yoichi's hands held them open, steady and unyielding.
He licked again, gentler this time, lapping at the slick with languid strokes that teased rather than devoured, circling the throbbing clit before dipping lower to probe the fluttering entrance.
Each pass was measured, building the heat without rushing, drawing out Michael's pleas into a symphony of soft, needy sounds that filled the quiet kitchen.
Yoichi's free hand stroked soothing patterns along one inner thigh, grounding him, reminding him this was his—soft, claiming, and utterly devoted.
Yoichi's tongue worked with expert precision, delving deeper into Michael's slick heat as he savored every gasp and twitch from his omega.
He started slow, lapping at the swollen folds with broad, languid strokes that traced the length of his pussy from entrance to clit, teasing the sensitive nerves until Michael's breaths came in shallow, desperate pants.
The alpha's hands gripped the backs of Michael's muscular thighs, holding them spread wide as he alternated between gentle sucks on the throbbing clit and probing dips into the fluttering core, drawing out more of that sweet, addictive slick that coated his chin and lips.
But as Michael's whimpers turned frantic—his body quivering uncontrollably, hips grinding down against Yoichi's mouth in erratic pleas—the alpha quickened his pace.
His licks grew firmer, faster, tongue flicking rapidly over the clit while his lips sealed around it, sucking with just enough pressure to send electric jolts racing through Michael's veins.
"D-Daddy, yes—oh god, please," Michael babbled, his voice breaking into high, keening cries that echoed off the kitchen cabinets.
His fingers yanked harder at Yoichi's dark, messy hair, pulling him closer even as his thighs trembled on the verge of collapse, the coil in his belly winding tighter and tighter.
Yoichi could sense it—the way Michael's walls clenched around nothing, the flood of fresh slick, the frantic rhythm of his pulse under his skin.
He was so close, teetering right on the edge.
With a low, possessive hum, Yoichi pulled back just enough to replace his mouth with his fingers, slick-coated digits finding Michael's clit unerringly. He rubbed swift, tight circles over the oversensitive nub, the motion relentless and precise, pressing harder as Michael's body arched like a bowstring.
It shattered him.
Michael screamed—a raw, uninhibited sound that tore from his throat as his orgasm crashed over him, his pussy clenching and pulsing wildly.
Slick gushed out in forceful spurts, squirting full and hot against Yoichi's hand and wrist, soaking the alpha's fingers and dripping down to the kitchen floor in glistening puddles.
His entire body convulsed, thighs clamping around Yoichi's arm as waves of pleasure ripped through him, leaving him boneless and shuddering against the counter.
Embarrassment flooded Michael's flushed face almost immediately, the intensity of it all too much for his usual pride to handle.
He slapped a hand over his mouth, the other arm wrapping around his head to hide against the cabinet, cheeks burning hotter than before.
"N-not... don't look," he mumbled through his fingers, voice muffled and trembling, even as aftershocks made his hips jerk sporadically.
The overwhelming pleasure proved too much for his already weakened stance; Michael's muscular legs buckled beneath him, knees giving out as the last tremors wracked his body.
He slid downward with a startled gasp, the slick puddle on the kitchen floor catching his descent—but Yoichi was there in an instant, strong arms wrapping around his waist to catch him mid-fall.
The alpha's grip was unyielding yet gentle, preventing the omega from hitting the cool tiles as he sagged against Yoichi's chest, breath coming in shaky bursts.
"Easy, Mihya," Yoichi murmured, voice a low rumble of reassurance as he scooped Michael up effortlessly, one arm under his thighs and the other supporting his back.
Michael's bare skin—still flushed and slick-smeared—pressed against the warmth of Yoichi's black t-shirt, the alpha's scent enveloping him like a protective cocoon.
With careful steps, Yoichi carried him the short distance to the kitchen countertop, lifting him onto the smooth surface and positioning him so his legs dangled over the edge, thighs parted just enough to cradle Yoichi between them.
Michael's blue eyes peeked out from behind his hand, hazy and vulnerable, his messy blonde hair with its blue tips disheveled and sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.
Yoichi leaned in close, cupping Michael's jaw with one hand to tilt his face up, thumb brushing away a stray tear of overstimulation from his cheek.
"You're okay," he whispered, before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Michael's parted lips—tender and grounding, tasting of salt and the lingering sweetness of his own slick.
What started as softness quickly ignited. Michael's fingers curled into Yoichi's shirt, pulling him deeper into the kiss as a needy whine escaped him, and Yoichi responded with a low growl, his tongue sweeping in to claim Michael's mouth in a heated yet passionate battle.
Tongues tangled fiercely, Yoichi dominating the rhythm with confident strokes—exploring, teasing, conquering—while Michael's attempts to push back dissolved into breathless submissions, his body yielding just as readily as his lips.
The alpha's free hand roamed lower, fingers finding the sensitive, pulsing clit still throbbing from his release, caressing it with feather-light circles that made Michael's muffled moans vibrate against Yoichi's mouth.
Slick coated Yoichi's fingertips almost immediately, the warm, slippery essence surrounding Michael's pussy like a welcoming embrace.
He gathered it generously, tracing the swollen folds with deliberate slowness, heightening the omega's sensitivity without mercy.
Michael's hips twitched upward, chasing the touch even as he whimpered into the kiss, his embarrassment forgotten in the haze of renewed arousal.
Sensing the plea in Michael's trembling form, Yoichi broke the kiss just enough to murmur against his lips.
"Good boy, Mihya—relax for Daddy."
Then, with infinite care, he pressed one finger forward, sliding it gently into the tight, fluttering heat of Michael's pussy.
The entrance yielded eagerly, walls clenching around the intrusion as Yoichi pushed in to the first knuckle, then deeper, curling slightly to brush that sensitive spot inside.
Michael gasped sharply, breaking the kiss to throw his head back, a soft cry of "Daddy!" spilling from his lips as fresh slick eased the way, his body arching off the counter in exquisite surrender.
Yoichi's dark eyes locked onto his, watching every flicker of pleasure cross Michael's face, his thumb resuming those teasing circles on the clit to build him higher once more.
Yoichi's single finger moved with languid ease inside Michael's clenching heat, thrusting shallowly to coax out more of that sweet slick, his thumb never ceasing its gentle circles over the omega's throbbing clit.
Michael's pussy fluttered around him, walls rippling with aftershocks, but the alpha could feel the subtle tension—the unspoken need for more, for fuller.
He pressed a soft kiss to Michael's jaw, nuzzling the rose tattoo on his neck.
With deliberate slowness, Yoichi withdrew his finger just enough to circle the entrance, gathering fresh slick before pushing back in alongside a second digit.
He entered inch by inch, stretching the tight ring of muscle with patient care, the added girth making Michael's breath stutter into a deep, throaty moan that echoed through the kitchen.
"Ah—Daddy!" The sound was louder now, more desperate, his blue eyes squeezing shut as his body adjusted, hips canting upward to take him deeper.
Slick eased the way, coating Yoichi's fingers in glossy warmth, but the stretch burned sweetly, drawing out even more unrestrained moans from Michael's parted lips—high and keening, laced with that vulnerable edge only Yoichi ever heard.
"That's it, just like that," Yoichi murmured, voice rough with restrained hunger, his free hand splaying across Michael's lower abdomen to hold him steady on the cool countertop.
Once both fingers were fully sheathed, buried to the hilt in the velvet grip of Michael's pussy, he began to scissor them open—spreading his digits wide in slow, twisting motions that parted the slick walls, preparing him with meticulous tenderness.
The stretch intensified, brushing against sensitive nerves and that hidden spot deep inside, sending jolts of pleasure-pain racing up Michael's spine.
Michael's moans spilled out in a frantic cascade, his body arching off the counter as his thighs quivered around Yoichi's waist.
"Daddy—oh fuck, Daddy, yes! More, please—stretching me so good," he cried, the words fracturing into breathless whimpers, his usual arrogance dissolved into pure, pliant need.
His fingers clawed at Yoichi's shoulders, nails digging into the black t-shirt as he rocked down onto the scissoring fingers, chasing the building fullness.
Slick dripped freely now, pooling beneath him on the countertop, the obscene wet sounds mingling with his pleas and the alpha's low, approving growls.
Yoichi's dark eyes stayed locked on Michael's flushed face—messy blonde hair with blue tips splayed wildly, lips swollen and parted—watching him unravel further, the scissoring pace quickening just enough to make the omega's walls clench greedily around him.
Yoichi's patience frayed at the edges as Michael's moans grew more fervent, the omega's slick walls clenching around his scissoring fingers like a vice, pulling him deeper with every twist.
The scent of arousal hung thick in the air—Michael's sweet, floral omega musk blending with Yoichi's sharper alpha edge, driving a primal hunger through the alpha's veins.
His cock strained against the confines of his joggers, throbbing with the need to claim, to bury himself fully in that welcoming heat. But he wouldn't rush, wouldn't hurt his Mihya—not when the omega was still trembling from his first release, body sensitive and pliant under his care.
Still, the restraint was testing him.
With a low, guttural growl rumbling in his chest, Yoichi's dark eyes flashed with restrained ferocity.
"Need you ready for me, Mihya," he rasped, voice thick and edged with urgency, free hand gripping Michael's hip to still his writhing.
Without warning, he withdrew his fingers just enough to slick a third one in the gathered wetness at Michael's entrance, then thrust it forward abruptly—joining the other two in a sudden, stretching plunge that breached the tight ring of muscle.
Michael yelped sharply, the sound high and startled, his body jolting on the countertop as the added girth burned through him.
"Ah—Daddy! T-too much—" The words dissolved into a string of whimpers, breathy and broken, his blue eyes widening in a mix of shock and overwhelmed pleasure.
His muscular thighs tensed around Yoichi's waist, pussy fluttering wildly around the invading fingers, the stretch bordering on intense as slick gushed out to ease the intrusion. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, not from pain but from the sheer fullness, his hands flying to Yoichi's shoulders for purchase, nails scraping over the black t-shirt.
"Shh, I've got you—breathe through it," Yoichi soothed, though his tone carried that hungry undercurrent, his thumb resuming its firm circles on Michael's clit to distract from the sting.
He didn't give Michael time to fully adjust; impatience won out as he began to finger-fuck him in earnest—drawing his three digits back almost to the tips before slamming them forward again, the pace rough and unyielding, curling to grind against that spongy spot inside with every thrust.
The wet, obscene squelch of slick filled the kitchen, mingling with Michael's escalating whimpers, his body rocking with the force of it, rose tattoo flushing deeper on his neck.
"Fuck—Daddy, yes, harder!"
Michael gasped out between yelps, the initial discomfort melting into molten heat as pleasure coiled tight once more. His second orgasm built rapidly under the rough fucking, walls spasming greedily around Yoichi's fingers, clit pulsing under the alpha's thumb.
Hips bucked erratically, chasing the brutal rhythm, his messy blonde hair with blue tips whipping as he tossed his head back, moans fracturing into desperate cries.
"Gonna—gonna come again, Daddy, please don't stop—your fingers feel so good, stretching me open like this!"
The edge was cresting fast, his entire form quivering in anticipation, utterly at the mercy of his alpha's hungry, devoted touch.
The coil of pleasure snapped without mercy, Michael's body seizing up on the kitchen countertop as his second orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave.
"Daddy—fuck, I'm—c-coming!" he wailed, voice cracking into a high, desperate keen that reverberated off the tiled walls.
His pussy clamped down vise-tight around Yoichi's three thrusting fingers, walls convulsing in rhythmic spasms as the alpha's relentless pace—curling, grinding, pounding against that electric spot—pushed him over the edge.
Slick erupted from him in a forceful squirt, clear and hot, spraying out around Yoichi's hand in messy arcs that soaked the alpha's wrist, dripped down his forearm, and splattered across the countertop in glistening puddles.
Another pulse followed, then another, the squirting relentless under Yoichi's unyielding finger-fuck, forcing Michael's blue eyes to roll back as tears of pure ecstasy streaked his flushed cheeks.
Yoichi growled approvingly, his dark eyes devouring the sight of his omega unraveling so completely, exposed and vulnerable under his touch.
He didn't slow, twisting his fingers deeper to milk every last drop, thumb pressing firmly on the pulsing clit to prolong the flood.
Michael's messy blonde hair stuck to his sweat-slick forehead, rose tattoo blooming vivid on his neck as he arched off the counter, moans fracturing into breathless sobs.
"So good—such a messy boy for me," Yoichi murmured, leaning in to capture Michael's lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing the omega's whimpers as the squirting tapered into shudders, leaving Michael limp and trembling, utterly spent yet still clenching greedily around those slick-coated fingers.
Michael lay boneless and spent across the cool expanse of the kitchen countertop, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, body still humming from the aftershocks of his second explosive release.
Slick pooled beneath him, a sticky testament to his unraveling, and his thighs trembled weakly, legs splayed open by Yoichi's firm grip—one hand still lingering possessively on the inside of Michael's knee, keeping him exposed and vulnerable.
Yoichi's dark eyes softened with a mix of tender affection and barely leashed hunger as he gazed down at his Mihya, the alpha's fingers finally withdrawing from that slick, clenching heat with a wet pop that made Michael whimper softly.
"Easy, love—you did so well for me," he murmured, voice a low rumble of praise, his free hand sliding up to cup Michael's flushed cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. But the fire in his veins burned hotter now, his cock an insistent throb against the confines of his joggers, demanding more.
Gently, almost reverently, Yoichi grasped Michael's hips—fingers digging into the firm muscle there, mindful of the omega's exhaustion—and lifted him upright with effortless strength, drawing him away from the counter's edge.
Michael's blue eyes fluttered open, hazy and dazed, a tired but content smile tugging at his swollen lips as he instinctively shifted to align himself.
His arms looped around Yoichi's neck, fingers threading into the dark, tousled hair at the nape, pulling the alpha closer in a loose, needy embrace that pressed their sweat-damp bodies flush.
The movement brought Michael's core grinding against Yoichi's abdomen, a spark of renewed sensitivity making him gasp softly, but it was the hard, unyielding bulge nestled against his thigh that stole his breath—thick and pulsing through the thin fabric of the joggers, the alpha's erection straining like a promise of deeper claiming, hot and ready to plunge into the slick mess he'd just made.
"Daddy..." Michael breathed, nuzzling into the crook of Yoichi's neck, inhaling the musky alpha scent that always grounded him, his voice a husky whisper laced with fresh want.
His legs wrapped loosely around Yoichi's waist, heels hooking at the small of the alpha's back, the position leaving him open and aligned perfectly—the tip of that bulge teasing against his soaked entrance through the layers, sending a shiver racing up his spine.
He rocked subtly, testing, feeling the rigid length twitch in response, and a soft moan escaped him, body already stirring despite the fatigue.
"Feel you... so hard for me. Want it—want you inside, Daddy."
Yoichi's restraint hung by a thread, the alpha's breath coming in hot, measured pants as Michael's needy grind against his bulge ignited a fresh surge of possessive fire in his gut.
"That's it, Mihya—tell Daddy what you need," he rasped, voice gravelly with want, his hands tightening on those firm hips to steady them both.
With a swift, decisive motion, he shifted one hand down, shoving his joggers and boxers low enough to free his cock—thick and heavy, the length springing out rigid and flushed, veins pulsing along the girthy shaft, the broad head already beading with precum that glistened in the kitchen's warm light.
It slapped against Michael's inner thigh with a meaty thud, hot and insistent, the musky alpha scent spiking sharper as it bobbed eagerly toward its target.
Michael's blue eyes darkened with raw hunger, pupils blown wide as he stared down between them, lips parted on a soft, anticipatory whine.
His arms clung tighter around Yoichi's neck, body arching subtly to present framing his throbbing pussy—puffy folds slick and swollen, clenching emptily around nothing, begging to be filled.
"Please, Daddy... give it to me," he murmured, voice husky and edged with desperation, his messy blonde hair with blue tips falling into his eyes as he licked his lips, waiting, utterly ravenous for the stretch.
Yoichi met his gaze, dark eyes locking onto those hungry blues with a fierce intensity that made Michael's pulse race, a silent promise passing between them—raw need mirrored back.
With a low, approving growl, he aligned the blunt tip of his cock to that weeping entrance, the heat of it kissing Michael's slick folds, parting them teasingly before he pressed forward.
He entered gently at first, the thick head breaching the tight ring with deliberate slowness, inch by veined inch sinking into the velvet grip of Michael's pussy—stretching him wide, the burn of fullness drawing a deep, throaty moan from the omega's throat.
"Ahh—Daddy! Yes, fuck—feels so good," Michael moaned out, the sound fracturing into a breathy keen as Yoichi bottomed out, hips flush against hips, balls nestling heavy against the curve of Michael's ass.
His walls fluttered and clenched around the invading length, milking it greedily, slick easing the way as fresh arousal dripped down to coat Yoichi's sack.
Michael's thighs quivered around the alpha's waist, nails digging into the black t-shirt at Yoichi's shoulders, body yielding completely to the deep, claiming fill that hit every sensitive nerve.
Yoichi's hips rolled with a deliberate, unhurried rhythm, each thrust gentle and soft like a lover's caress, yet plunging deep enough to grind the thick length of his cock against Michael's most sensitive spots—the swollen bundle of nerves inside that made stars burst behind the omega's eyelids.
Buried to the hilt in that slick, clenching heat, Yoichi savored the way Michael's pussy hugged him like a velvet vice, walls rippling greedily around every veined inch as he withdrew just far enough to tease before sinking back in, the broad head nudging insistently against that electric prostate with precision born of intimate knowledge.
Slick eased the glide, a wet, obscene squelch filling the kitchen with each measured plunge, Yoichi's heavy balls tapping softly on Michael's ass.
Michael clung to him like a lifeline, arms locked tight around Yoichi's neck, fingers tangled in the dark strands of hair at the nape as his body rocked in time with the alpha's motions.
His face buried in the crook of Yoichi's shoulder, hot breaths fanning over the alpha's ear, every erotic moan spilling directly into that sensitive space—raw and unrestrained, a symphony of breathy whimpers and throaty gasps that sent shivers racing down Yoichi's spine.
"Daddy... oh god, right there—feels so deep, so perfect," Michael moaned, voice husky and fracturing with each hit to his spots, his messy blonde hair with blue tips brushing Yoichi's cheek, the rose tattoo on his neck pulsing with his racing heartbeat.
His thighs squeezed tighter around Yoichi's waist, heels digging into the alpha's lower back to pull him impossibly closer, body arching to chase that building coil of pleasure, nipples hard and scraping against Yoichi's black t-shirt through the thin barrier of Michael's own.
The alpha's control frayed at the edges, dark eyes hooded as he drank in those intimate sounds, his own breaths growing ragged against Michael's temple.
"Mihya... you're taking me so well," Yoichi growled softly, one hand splayed possessively on Michael's lower back to support him, the other gripping a hip to angle him just right for deeper penetration.
The gentle pace built a slow-burning fire between them, tension coiling tighter with every shared thrust, Michael's pussy fluttering wildly as the pressure mounted.
It hit them together in a shattering wave—Michael's spasms starting first, his entire body seizing up in Yoichi's arms as his third orgasm ripped through him without warning.
"Daddy—c-coming, fuck, yes!" he cried out, the moan vibrating hot and direct into Yoichi's ear, walls clamping down in fierce, rhythmic contractions that squeezed the alpha's cock like a fist.
Slick gushed around the buried length, a fresh, messy squirt coating Yoichi's groin and dripping down his thighs, Michael's hips jerking erratically as he rode the peak, blue eyes rolling back, tears of bliss streaking his flushed face.
Yoichi followed with a guttural groan, the vice-like spasms pulling him under as he thrust deep one final time, flooding Michael's spasming pussy with thick ropes of hot cum—pulse after pulse painting his walls white, the alpha's knot swelling just enough at the base to lock them together in intimate overflow.
"That's it, Mihya—take it all, come with Daddy," he rasped, burying his face in Michael's hair, both of them trembling in the aftermath, bodies fused in the kitchen's hazy glow, slick and seed mingling in a sticky claim that left them breathless and sated.
Michael slumped back against the cool edge of the kitchen counter, his body a boneless, quivering mess as the aftershocks of their shared climax ebbed away, leaving him utterly fucked out of his mind—blue eyes glassy and unfocused, lids heavy with exhaustion, lips parted on soft, panting whimpers.
His arms slipped from around Yoichi's neck, one hand weakly bracing against the alpha's shoulder for support while the other flopped limply to his side, fingers twitching.
Legs still loosely hooked around Yoichi's waist, but trembling too much to hold on, Michael's thighs parted wider in defeat.
Yoichi held him steady with a firm grip on his hips, dark eyes raking over the debauched sight of his Mihya with possessive satisfaction, his own chest heaving as the knot at the base of his cock softened just enough to allow withdrawal.
"Look at you, love—so beautifully spent for Daddy," he murmured huskily, voice laced with tender praise, pressing a soft kiss to Michael's temple before easing back.
With a slow, deliberate pull, he withdrew his thick length from that abused omega pussy—inch by slick inch emerging coated in a sheen of their mingled fluids, the veined shaft glistening with cum and arousal, a lewd string of it connecting tip to entrance before snapping free.
The view revealed was pure filth: Michael's pussy lay puffy and wrecked, folds swollen and reddened from the deep pounding, clenching rhythmically around the sudden emptiness like it mourned the loss—desperate, fluttering contractions that pushed out thick, creamy rivulets of Yoichi's seed.
Pearly white cum oozed from the gaped hole in lazy dribbles, soaking into the counter's edge and pooling on the floor below.
A fresh, weak spasm made more of it spill, the omega's body betraying its over-sensitivity with a soft, involuntary keen, hips twitching as if chasing the fullness that was gone.
"D-Daddy..." Michael slurred faintly, head lolling against the wall, too blissed-out to do more than gaze at Yoichi with hazy adoration, utterly claimed and ruined in the best way.
Yoichi didn’t rush him.
He never did—not when Michael looked like that.
Soft. Open. Worn down to something fragile and real.
“Mihya,” he murmured, voice low and grounding, one hand coming up to cup his cheek again, thumb brushing gently across flushed skin. “Hey… stay with me.”
Michael blinked slowly, eyes struggling to focus before finally landing on him. There was no sharpness left in them now. Just warmth. Trust. Exhaustion.
“…’m here,” he mumbled, though his voice barely held together.
Yoichi huffed quietly, something fond flickering across his face.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
Carefully—like Michael might actually break—Yoichi slid an arm behind his back and another beneath his thighs. He lifted him without effort, but there was nothing careless about it. His hold was secure. Steady. Close.
Michael made a small sound, instinctively curling into him, face pressing into Yoichi’s shoulder. His arms came up weakly around Yoichi’s neck, clinging more out of instinct than strength.
“Got you,” Yoichi murmured, pressing a brief kiss into his hair.
The kitchen was a mess behind them—cooling food, smeared counters, evidence of everything that had happened—but Yoichi didn’t spare it a glance.
It could wait.
Michael couldn’t.
---
The bathroom filled slowly with steam as Yoichi turned the shower on, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. Not too hot. Never too hot—not when Michael’s skin was this sensitive.
He stepped in first, testing it, then shifted his hold slightly.
“Gonna set you down,” he said softly.
Michael gave a faint hum in response, barely coherent.
Yoichi guided him carefully under the water, hands steady at his waist as Michael’s feet touched the tile. The moment the warm spray hit his skin, Michael shuddered—then melted.
“Warm…” he mumbled, eyes falling shut as his forehead dropped lightly against Yoichi’s chest.
Yoichi let him.
For a moment, he just stood there with him, one hand resting at the back of his neck, the other tracing slow, absent patterns along his spine. Grounding him. Letting him come back piece by piece.
“You with me?” Yoichi asked quietly.
Michael nodded faintly, though he didn’t lift his head.
“…Don’t move,” he added after a second, voice soft but stubborn. “I like it here.”
Yoichi’s lips twitched.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
Michael hummed again, tightening his hold just a little.
Yoichi didn’t argue.
When he finally reached for the soap, his movements stayed slow. Intentional.
He worked it into a gentle lather before bringing his hands back to Michael, starting at his shoulders.
No rush.
Just soft, careful touches as he washed him—over his arms, his back, down his sides. Fingers gliding over skin that still twitched now and then from lingering sensitivity.
Michael made quiet, content sounds under his breath, leaning into every touch like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“Sensitive?” Yoichi asked.
“…Mhm.”
Yoichi adjusted immediately, lighter now. Softer.
His hand slid up into Michael’s hair next, working shampoo through the damp strands, massaging his scalp slowly. Michael let out a quiet sigh, his grip loosening slightly as his head tilted into the touch.
“That good?” Yoichi murmured.
Michael nodded against him.
“Don’t stop…”
There was something small about the way he said it.
Yoichi didn’t.
---
By the time he rinsed the last of the soap away, Michael was barely holding himself up again.
So Yoichi stepped closer, steadying him without a word.
When the water shut off, the quiet that followed felt different.
Calm.
Full.
Yoichi reached for a towel, wrapping it around Michael first before drying him gently—patting, not rubbing. Careful around every place he knew would still be sensitive.
Michael watched him this time, eyes clearer now but still soft.
“…You always do this,” he said quietly.
Yoichi glanced up.
“Do what?”
Michael hesitated, then shrugged weakly.
“Take care of me like I’ll fall apart if you don’t.”
Yoichi went still for a second.
Then he reached up, brushing damp hair back from Michael’s face.
“You would,” he said simply.
Michael huffed softly.
“…Unfair.”
Yoichi smirked faintly.
“I know.”
He leaned in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to Michael’s forehead.
“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you to bed.”
This time, when he lifted him again, Michael didn’t even pretend to protest.
He just curled in closer—warm, clean, and completely, quietly his.