Chapter Text
“I need an alpha,” Kise says, lingering on alpha . He drags his fork through the dregs of salad dressing on his plate, cheek propped on his other hand. Most of Kise’s expression, between his hair and the angle of his face, is hidden from Yukio; Yukio, however, is certain Kise can see him. “Humor me, senpai.”
Yukio coughs into his napkin, haphazardly wiping his mouth. “Why would you need an alpha?” He stares at Kise and wills him to meet his eyes. “Humor me, Kise.”
Kise shifts, hand falling away. He smiles, more to himself than anything. “For all the reasons an omega would need an alpha, of course.”
- - -
Kise moves in with him. Officially. Unofficially, Yukio’s apartment has been an extension of Kise’s apartment for years. Three shelves are dedicated to Kise in the bathroom, stocked with his skincare and hygiene products. Most of Yukio’s closet space is reserved for Kise’s clothes, and more than once Yukio has ended up wearing Kise’s clothes when his busy work schedule prevented Yukio from doing laundry.
Kise’s spare laptop is on the coffee table. Kise’s favorite brand of coffee is in the cupboards. Yukio buys avocados for Kise’s weekly face mask.
“See,” Kise says, half an avocado in one hand, a knife in the other, “basically, we’ve been soft-launching our relationship forever. It’s believable.”
Yukio doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes the knife and avocado away from Kise before the other man can cut open his hand trying to stab out the pit. He shoulders Kise out of the way. “Is your manager behind this?”
Kise hops up onto the counter, leaning forward on his hands and knocking his heels against the cupboard. Yukio looks away from the slope of Kise’s shoulder. He focuses on scooping out avocado into the bowl. “She’s supportive,” Kise says at length. “I’ve hit a wall, Kasamatsu-senpai. It was fine so long as I was undesignated. But now that I have presented . . .”
Kise’s lashes cast a soft shadow on his face. His mouth parts, but Kise seems to reconsider saying anything. Yukio ruffles his hair and gets a small smile in return.
- - -
Kise has never done well with free time, so when his agency forces him into a sabbatical until his scent and hormones settle (meaning, until he smells enough like Yukio to be believable), Yukio gives Kise a list of things to do. He doesn’t care if Kise does laundry or reorganizes the closets, but Kise does well with direction and Yukio does not want to come home to Kise having taken apart the oven (again).
“You cleaned?” Yukio drops his work bag in the middle of the room. He drags his thumb across the coffee table. Everything smells like lemon.
Kise blinks at him. His blond hair is pinned back with little cat clips. Yukio’s sweatshirt is tight across his chest and shoulders. Yukio’s heart thumps a little. “It was on the list, senpai.” He waves the notepad for emphasis.
“But you cleaned.” Yukio wipes a piece of dust off Kise’s cheek, and Kise scrunches his nose. “You hate cleaning.”
“I also made dinner.” Kise tries to duck away from Yukio’s hands, whining when Yukio tugs on his hair. “See if I ever do anything nice for you again, senpai!”
“You hate cooking,” Yukio breathes out. He squeezes Kise’s face, turning it left and then right. “Who are you, and where is my self-absorbed, crybaby kouhai?”
“Mean!”
“Ah, there he is.”
- - -
It seems simple enough. Be an alpha. Be Kise’s alpha. Yukio grew up in a traditional house, with alpha-father/omega-mother parents. His mother’s nest was private and still is. Yukio only remembers sleeping in it once as a child, when his mother was pregnant with the twins.
Yukio knows he’s always worn responsibility well. Kobori and Moriyama never suspected he was nervous in those early days of his captainship. Imayoshi told him later that he never considered anyone else for vice-captain of STRKY, and probably would have let Yukio be captain if he felt any strong way about it. Some of his underclassmen still slipped up and called him “captain,” which was probably the best indicator that Yukio left an impact on them, either beneficial or traumatic. His work promotions were almost clockwork at this point.
As for Kise . . . well, Yukio knows he’s always taken care of Kise.
- - -
Kise’s scent rolls in, subtle and sweet, and Yukio finds himself scenting Kise in the kitchen before he leaves for work.
Kise’s shoulder blade is delicate under Yukio’s palm, and he wants to push a little until Kise is flat against the counter. He wants to lick from the base of Kise’s neck to the dip of his spine, drag Kise’s boxers down by his teeth, and then bite —
Kise is bright red when he turns around, wide-eyed when he takes in Yukio pressed against the opposite counter.
“Um,” Yukio says.
“Uh,” says Kise.
They stare at each other foolishly. Yukio can’t help but glance over Kise’s bare chest, the sharp lines of his clavicle, the lean muscle Kise has held onto since high school. Kise’s neck is bare, and Yukio wants to change that, he wants to sink his teeth into the scent gland just under Kise’s jaw and hold tight.
He’s known Kise for years. Yukio wishes he could say he’s never had these thoughts before.
- - -
Kise grew up with alphas. He played basketball with alphas. He walked, talked, and smiled like an alpha.
Yukio expected Kise to be an alpha, and so Yukio prepared himself accordingly. Kise was ruthlessly talented, beautiful, and brilliant if it served his goals, and so Yukio anticipated heartbreak. Kise has had the country at his beck and call since he was 14; what could Yukio give him that Kise couldn’t get anywhere else?
“Where’s my confident and mean senpai?” Kise teases, curling his hand into Yukio’s pocket and tugging him close. Yukio swats at him, then reels Kise in by the waist. He tries to ignore the shutter of cameras to his left.
“Not all of us are used to paparazzi.” He scowls. “How long will this last?”
Kise hums. “Anywhere from a few weeks to forever. Depends on when you get tired of me, Kasamatsu-senpai.”
“I’ve been tired of you since I was 18.”
“There’s my mean senpai!”
- - -
Kise takes over cooking. He watches Yukio unblinkingly as he pokes the pickled vegetables and nibbles at the roast fish.
“How is it?” Kise presses closer, pretty golden eyes dissecting Yukio’s taste test of the food with almost feral intensity. “Your mother told me it was delicious. Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect,” Yukio says, a few mouthfuls later. He thinks about his mother’s phone call and how proud she was when she admitted that Kise had been commuting to Yukio’s childhood home for homestyle cooking lessons. “Is there more?”
Pleased, Kise tucks into his meal. Preening, he glows, the setting sunlight catching his hair and the curl of his smile. Yukio can only watch. He wonders how much longer he can have Kise, like this.
- - -
Yukio hangs back at the show, trying to stay out of the way of the dozens of designers and set hands running around trying to prepare the models for going onto the runway. His spot by the wall is quiet, despite the other alphas lingering around. Kise is not the only omega model; all of them are required to have their alphas supervising.
Kise finds him. There’s golden dust on his cheekbones, in the dip of his collar. Kise’s mouth is soft and pink. One of the other alphas watches him, and Yukio gives him a warning look. Kise ignores it and takes Yukio’s hand in his. He nuzzles Yukio’s wrist, sliding it along his jaw. Yukio swallows hard.
“Next time,” Kise says, “come stand next to me. I want senpai to see that I’m working hard.”
- - -
Yukio tosses aside one of Nakamura’s socks and hopes that the guys know Kise won’t be returning their clothes. Even years later, Kise Ryouta was Kaijou’s Kise, and he seemed uninterested in changing that.
Kise makes a displeased noise, reaching over Yukio and grabbing the sock. He shoves it back under Yukio’s neck. “Senpai, you don’t see me rearranging your room.”
“You rearrange my room at least twice a week,” Yukio says dryly. He lets Kise yank off his belt and resigns himself to buying a new belt when Kise pushes the belt under Aomine’s college practice jersey.
“But you don’t see me do it,” Kise stresses. He frowns. Sweat beads on his forehead. “I hate being an omega,” he says suddenly, surprised by the words. Guiltily, he looks at Yukio.
Yukio waits. Kise’s expression breaks a little, tears filling his eyes.
“I’m not ungrateful,” he tries. He leans into Yukio’s hold. His tears are hot against Yukio’s collar. “I just. This isn’t how I wanted it to happen. This isn’t what I wanted.”
Yukio strokes his hair. It’s easy to ignore the ache in his chest while Kise cries in his arms.
- - -
Another omega would be the best partner for Kise’s first heat, and grudgingly Kise accepts Kagami’s assistance. Yukio grudgingly lets Kagami in and reminds himself Kise is only temporarily Kagami’s, just like how Kise is only temporarily Yukio’s.
Then, Kise throws Kagami out of the room.
“Um,” Kagami says, a bag of frozen spinach pressed to his jaw, “Kise did agree right?”
Yukio, a little dumbly, nods.
Kagami shifts from one foot to the other. Hesitantly, he says, “Maybe you should try Kasamatsu . . . . san? You are his alpha.”
- - -
Kise’s scent is heavy, and Yukio thinks he can taste it when he calls Kise’s name. He thinks about that morning in the kitchen and of Kise’s soft skin under his mouth. From the edge of the nest, Yukio pushes damp hair out of Kise’s face.
“Kagami is going to bruise,” he says mildly. He drags his knuckles across Kise’s brow and frowns. “I thought you wanted him?”
“I lied,” Kise mutters. He sulks and stares Yukio down. “Senpai should know better than to take me at face value.”
“Don’t be a brat,” Yukio scolds. Kise’s scowl gets sharper, but his eyes get wetter. Yukio pivots, because he’s Kise’s alpha, for better or worse. “Tell me what you want, Ryouta. I’ll get it for you.”
“You.” Kise sniffles, rubbing at his nose. “I’ll do anything, senpai. But I just want you. I only ever wanted you.”