He doesn’t go into heat easily, because he has control over these sorts of things. Even living with Oikawa, they both have more than a modicum of control – a few of times hooking up had led to imprinting, but Suga likes to think that domesticity has calmed them down a bit. Sure, they haven’t had any less sex lately: in fact, cohabiting has led to it happening more. But it’s only when they’re cooking together and Oikawa decides to press him against the fridge and kiss him, or Suga’s playing with Oikawa’s ankles and kissing him there, or they’re both sleepy and too awake in bed and Suga can smell the heat, ask of desperation from both of their bodies.

So. It happens usually while Oikawa is around, and starts with an agreed upon smile and a kiss, but right now Suga has his ass in the air, clenching around his fingers, a half-open bottle of lube lying on the side. They don’t use lubricant, usually, since Suga’s body tends to take care of that. But some jobs are better with a little help.

He groans into his pillow and feels his cheeks flame. All he’s thinking about is Oikawa licking into him, touching him gently, murmuring Suga’s name into his skin and against his mouth, and Suga twists a finger. He thinks about Oikawa whispering, mine, mine, and the collar around his neck feels tighter, hotter. Suga buries his face into the pillow as he digs his middle finger into him, searching, quivering for Oikawa, wanting his nails and teeth, wanting bruises.

The collar presses against his chin awkwardly. Suga grapples with one hand, feeling the kanji under his fingertips. Knowing that he’s Oikawa’s sends him over the edge, and he comes helplessly onto the mattress just as the bedroom door opens.

When he’s done, he lifts his head up, dazed and still half-embarrassed. Oikawa is standing there, a frozen grin in place. His jacket is on and his bag has fallen to the floor, and Suga doesn’t really know what to do except yank for the bedsheets over his body. Even though Oikawa has seen him naked so many times before.

“… hi, Oikawa,” he says, as the weight of what Oikawa is seeing settles over him. Suga’s cheeks are on fire as he tries to meet Oikawa’s eyes, but Oikawa’s jaw has gone slack, hanging open. Suga can only imagine why, as Suga’s hair is ruffled from the pillowcase, light skin flushed neck down, and he’s… wearing the collar.

Suga is kind of self-conscious about that, but it makes him feel better when he reminds himself that it wasn’t his fault in the first place. He’d only been cleaning out their closer when he found it, buried under some of Oikawa’s jackets on the top shelf.

Oikawa’s scent – a little sweet, hot and like their bedroom after sex – is radiating brightly off him. Suga swallows.

“You – found that?” Oikawa says. His voice is hoarse.

Suga manages a laugh, despite their situation. “Obviously,” he says.

“I… didn’t mean…” Oikawa slides down to the bed, running his fingers along the warm leather. Suga shivers against Oikawa’s cool fingers. All his blood is rushing south – he can’t believe that just Oikawa’s touch is making him hard again, except he can.

He giggles. It comes out breathless. “Well obviously I like it,” he says, as Oikawa traces the characters of his name on the collar.

“Obviously,” says Oikawa.

Alphas are conventionally possessive over their omegas, and Oikawa had been no exception, from the get go. He’d asked Suga if he’d slept with anyone before, bit at his collarbone when Suga responded with a smirk and a yes, fucked Suga so raw that he ruined any other alphas for him and couldn’t think of anyone else, wanted Oikawa back for more. But after that they developed the emotional aspect of things, going on dates and fucking on the tile of Oikawa’s kitchen as the vegetables burned on the stove. There’d been no reason, afterward, for either of them to behave particularly possessively, if Suga was going to give head to Oikawa for thirty minutes in the shower.

He hadn’t expected to find the collar. Suga had suspected that maybe Oikawa would give it to him as a joke birthday present – he hasn’t quite ruled that out yet – but seeing Oikawa’s name on it had made him curious. Putting it on had only led to a spike in blood pressure, a desperation to get his hand down his pants.

And he’s feeling it again as Oikawa thumbs at the sharp edge, resting on Suga’s neck.

“Do you,” Oikawa says, and meets Suga’s eyes. “Have you satisfied yourself yet?”

Suga can read the question in Oikawa’s gaze. He laughs and shucks the covers off, suddenly shameless now, because Oikawa’s as hard for this as he is.

“Of course not,” he says, leaning up on his knees and pressing into Oikawa. Oikawa returns it eagerly, wrapping a hand around Suga’s waist. His pulse is rapid against Suga’s skin. Suga tugs his fingers into Oikawa’s hair, leans down to kiss him on the mouth.

Oikawa moans and Suga smiles, scraping his fingernails into Oikawa’s scalp. Oikawa likes force as much as he does, and adjusts himself on the bed so that Suga can crawl into his lap. Suga spreads his naked legs on either side of Oikawa’s thighs, ducking his head into Oikawa’s shoulder, sniffing and whining at his scent. Oikawa reeks of heat and gray haziness of outside, from walking back from class. Suga presses his trembling, begging lips to Oikawa’s skin.

Oikawa rubs his fingers into Suga’s spine, catching at the ridges. “I could smell you from the hall, you know,” he whispers into Suga’s ear. Suga opens his mouth and no sound comes out. “I thought you were just jerking it.”

Suga pulls away, bright-eyed and smiling. “I’m glad I caught you off-guard,” he says.

Oikawa laughs and rolls them over, pushing Suga into the mattress. The collar lifts an inch or so from his neck. Suga will need to ask Oikawa to tighten it next time. “You like this?” Oikawa asks, and Suga nods before he even needs to finish the question. “Being mine?”

“Yours,” Suga says simply.

He can see it in Oikawa’s expression how that goes straight to his dick. Oikawa lets out a carnal noise and dives for Suga’s mouth, growling, “Mine.” Suga trembles under him, feeling the outline of Oikawa’s cock through his dark jeans, pressing against Suga’s thigh. Suga’s already hard, leaking on his stomach, and his insides are so slick already as he murmurs, “Yours, yours, yours,” as Oikawa’s mouth travels down his stomach, teeth sharp against his nipples, pulling them red and hard and making Suga cry out against him.

Oikawa lifts himself up and fumbles with his belt buckle. Suga watches, fascinated, as Oikawa shoves his jeans and underwear down, freeing his cock.

He asks Suga, “Do you want to do this on your hands and knees?” and Suga gasps, “Yes, yes,” and he’s turning around as Oikawa grabs for his ass, rubbing his palms against it, pressing harder and harder till there are sure white marks from his hands.

Suga moans as Oikawa dips a knuckle between his cheeks. Oikawa says, “You want it, you want it so bad, do you,” and Suga babbles, “Yes, yes,” pressing up against him, needing, needing Oikawa inside him.

Oikawa runs his knuckle against the rim, mutters, “Shit.”

Suga turns, winds his head around so he can see the flush on his boyfriend’s cheeks. “Oikawa,” he complains, because Oikawa is staring, and teasing, and sometimes Suga likes that but right now Oikawa’s cock is dark and beautiful and dribbling against Oikawa’s shirt. His jeans have been pushed barely past his thighs, and it looks so uncomfortable, but Oikawa bends down and presses a kiss so close to Suga’s hole.

Suga stuffs a whimper into the pillow. Oikawa grips at Suga’s hips with both of his hands, and then he’s breaching inside Suga, big and hot. Suga squeaks and drags his fingers into his collar, the silver of the kanji scraping his nails. Oikawa is so lovely inside him, fucking him shallowly with his hips. Suga murmurs and cries, rocking back, not knowing the words that are spilling from his mouth.

But Oikawa does because he lets out this low noise from the back of his throat. He crouches over Suga and stops, balls deep and leaking. Suga gasps. His arms are shaking as Oikawa tucks one finger between his skin and collar and says, “You’re mine?” and Suga nods, fidgeting and oversensitive.

Oikawa says, “Say it,” but it sounds more like he’s begging than commanding and Suga can, Suga will.

“Yours, yours,” he says again and again, and Oikawa keeps his fingers in Suga’s collar. He’s pulled back again, forcing Suga’s body with it, and it hurts wonderfully as Suga fucks himself hard into Oikawa, with, “Yours, yours, yours, Oikawa.”

He rocks back as Oikawa’s pace increases, no longer as smooth as before, testing every nerve as it hits Suga’s prostate, then not, then over and over again until all he knows is this imperfect slickness. Love and heat rise inside Suga, to his fingertips and behind his ears, to his cock and toes, to the skin around his neck, every part of him not touching Oikawa on the leather declaring who he belongs to.

It breaks through him with a cry, and Oikawa doesn’t need to touch him once when his orgasm bursts out of him, smearing on the bedsheets, crying out Oikawa’s name, collapsing into his trembling arms. Oikawa comes too, louder than usual, and Suga can feel the shake of Oikawa’s thighs as he curses himself through it.

Suga rolls over when Oikawa’s done, crinkling his nose a little when his thighs brush against the mess on the bed. They can clean it up later, though. Oikawa huffs at Suga’s movement.

“I don’t want to lie in it either,” he says, as he tries to nudge Suga to make room.

Suga sticks his tongue out and doesn’t relent. Oikawa sighs and gets comfortable next to him, because he’s the one still wearing clothes.

He glides a finger along Suga’s collar again, humming as his eyes trace over his name once more.

“So was this going to be a joke birthday present?” Suga teases.

Oikawa is the one who sticks his tongue out this time. “No. I was going to… propose it to you, when I thought you might be more sure to like it.”

Suga rolls his eyes. His hand finds Oikawa’s on his neck, and he tugs it away with his own. Their fingers tangle together as Suga watches him from under his eyelashes.

“I’ll always like it,” he says to Oikawa.

“Well I know that now,” Oikawa says, but he’s smiling. He’s breathing a little heavily, his side digging into the mattress. Suga leans over and presses his lips against his.

“Should I get you one with my name on it too?” he asks.

Oikawa laughs. He starts to tickle him, and Suga tickles back, knowing that that’s not a no, but a definite yes to his question. Suga is gone, heart tied up in Oikawa, in being Oikawa’s – and it works so well, because Oikawa is his, too.

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owning me (mess you up)

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu