Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"Frankincense Burning"

CHAPTER 6

upsurge

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Of anywhere else on the premises, Gojo had wandered into a kitchen. The peach in his hand was round, its hue evening with her ruddied cheeks. Kasumi was famished—so hungry she didn't comprehend her actions as she gazed into his eyes, taking a nip from the peach in his hands. She caught the peach before it fell, not bothering to check whatever he was up to. For a minute, he let her eat. Her short legs dangled from the edge of the broad, shiny countertop on which she sat. She ate noisily, each bite voracious. Her mouth stopped moving mid-bite. She sniffed. There was something amiss. She whiffed again, her nose twitching. The air was thick with the scent of dessert, spring and frankincense. It felt like a rut in here. If anybody were to come here, they'd smell the same. Of course, only if they were alphas or omegas.

If it were daytime, crows would've cawed from the branches tipping over the window sill. The curtains were closed. They saw no skies dotted with stars, and they weren't pried by anyone who felt like waking up in the middle of the night to stretch their legs or for a sip of water. Highly unlikely, yes, but not impossible. Utahime thought Kasumi was in her room, sleeping. Kasumi had recited to her over the phone like a parrot. "Oh. Sensei, I was showering... ...And could you please tell Momo not to call me later? I'm tired. I was about to sleep... No, it's okay. I'm fine." Who even wants to thrust Utahime into her problems, like a patch of okra in a vineyard? Not her. She cannot wrap her head around trying to explain to this woman all that had led up to this situation. She wasn't ready to steam her head debating over what she should and shouldn't say.

Miwa wetted her lips with her tongue and bit into the peach, the juice exploding in her mouth. Satoru rolled his eyes at the sunny smile on her face and craned his neck to twirl a fringe of her hair on his index finger. His other hand caressed the bare skin of her back under her top, slowly hooking his digits to unhook her bra. She lifted her arms, slipping the camisole off her body. His hot breath fanned her jaw as he tucked her blue locks behind her ear.

Her nipples were hard between his fingers. Her face scrunched up when he prodded before taking one between his teeth. One tug and she squeezed his clothed shoulders, moaning. His tongue began to swirl around her abused nipple, an endless torture. Her toes were arched even before he released it with a loud pop. Miwa sighed, "Your eyes really did hold magic."

Satoru raised his eyebrows, surprise leaping through his words. "I'm beautiful, aren't I? Why not just fall for me already?"

She jolted back to the world, and he was appeased to know she wasn't smelling like a wrathful river stained with pepper.

Mirth rippled in his features as he placed his chin on her knee. He sounded like he was in some dream. "You're about to see me as more than that." He's many things.

"I know. That doesn't sound so good."

"But you're excited." This is the law of nature. "I can feel it. It's dense in here."

Their billowing pheromones made them wear rose-tinted glasses. Kasumi feared it would leave the entire kitchen smelling like their dirty secret for days. Secret. Will Gojo pay these people to keep their mouths shut? Their scents drifted once more when he peeled her scent blockers without warning. Pain pricked over her skin where the patch had been. Then, as swift as the wind that rushed to soothe, the pain was gone. Although it didn't sound good, nothing had ever felt this good. It felt like heaven was luring them inside each other's pants. Gojo breathed in the vivid burst of cardamom and clove, whizzing along the whirlpool of spiced milk tea that had permeated the air, the memory of which had caused him countless sleepless nights. It was followed by the undertones of petrichor that seeped into his soul. Spring rains used to lull him to sleep, but after he met Kasumi, the calm was replaced by a feeling of longing. It was never the same again.

The shadows of embrace and butterfly kisses joined those of the pots, bottles and cookers stretching upon the floor. Miwa had a thought. If he was after me, I should get this done—get this over with. Fuck consequences.

His fingers walked over her knees and slid upwards. Her mouth came apart, and sweat bloomed on her naked back. The kitchen was not someplace where you'd do this, but it was hard to focus. The thoughts swirled as his fingers inched closer to where she wanted it. And the nose poking into her swollen gland was not helping. He was scent-marking her. Gojo—no, Satoru—was so much for her to handle. Each time she resisted, he took it as a challenge. Once he got serious, he'd go on for hours, days and months. Once he got started, there was nothing that could stop him. She parted her knees, and his other hand squeezed her thighs, letting her feel his fire. He looked up at her from underneath his lashes. She whipped her face, trying to elude the sight of his devilish, dashing grin. He was so close, his voice breezy on her entrance.

His lips hovered over her wet slit as his hands cupped her ass cheeks. One lick had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Her slick made his cock jump in his pants. He pulled her off the countertop and into his chest, her thighs supple in his palms. They jerked backwards in the incursion of hormones, but stubbornly, Satoru grounded his feet.

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The sunset had burred into twilight. The night sat sanguine on the crescent swing of the moon as white as Inumaki Toge's bangs. Her nightmarish lashes fluttered as she glanced shyly from afar. Inumaki wasn't thrilled to get back to his room after the dinner. He tossed and turned in the bed before finally deciding to give up on trying to sleep. Miwa wasn't at the dinner table. And nobody was overly concerned as she wasn't the only one trying to hole up in her room. The ponytail brunette from Kyoto and Yuuta, who had not participated due to a mission, had also skipped the meal with the excuse of having gotten sapped from the day's activities. Even Gojo Sensei's absence did not make him curious. Of course, considering his position, he might have something or the other keeping him busy.

He scanned the sprawling strokes, his hand ghosting over the paper. The lines were clear, but Inumaki used to have bad handwriting. His table lamp was the only light in the room. The story went like this: Two boys met at a busy station one morning—oh no, this is not your cute gay romance—and the first boy extended a chocolate box, asking the second boy if he could hand it over to a girl who was his classmate. He added something about not wanting the sweets to go to waste. He was the bad boy senior he'd rather avoid. Pretty infamous, you see. The second boy was neither fond of lies nor interested in playing Cupid, but he could understand. So he shrugged, although it was an irritating request. They were not friends or classmates, but this might not hurt. The girl got the chocolates, but before he could explain, he had fallen for the girl. The next day, he came to class holding hands with the girl, donning a proud black eye from the guy he met at the bus station. Not only had he taken the credit, but he had also given the chocolates to the wrong girl. But Inumaki knew it was worth it when Miwa exchanged her number with him in the afternoon, giggling as they licked the chocolate off each other's lips behind an open textbook.

He closed his diary, sagging in his chair with a yawn. He scratched his head with the base of his pen, his feet sliding out of his slippers. After fixing his shoelaces, Inumaki snuck out of the room with a destination in mind. He got to the quarters where the Kyoto students slept in twelve minutes. This would've been easier if he hadn't deleted her number from his phone. The place was quiet, like a cat stealing milk. Toge stalked towards the building, taking a circular path, searching for the scent that would make his nostrils flare and dissolve his heart into butterflies. The sneakers crushed the grass underneath when he stood on his tiptoes to knock over the windows with Kasumi's faint scent. Eyebrows aslant, he realised before long that she wasn't inside her room. If she was inside, the scent would be vigorous. It would make his nerves dance. But Inumaki wasn't about to give up. He had to see her. Self-control was long forgotten. He lacked the will to stay separated from her.

He'd wanted to bury his face in her neck, sigh, and bite. Inumaki clapped his cheeks, shaking himself awake from the daydream. She mustn't have gone far. Why would she? He didn't know when disquiet had rusted into fury, but it had happened. He could not believe it because how could this happen! His brain must be playing tricks from lack of sleep or rest. Relentless, Inumaki sped along the kitchen garden fences, tailing the scent—no, scents, overfamiliar and disgruntling. When he reached the door, he almost broke it. A squeak of the hinge and gust rushed inside—must be all those breaths that were wrenched out of him. Naked forms and lustful caresses burst in on his line of sight.

Inumaki came to the room like an upsurge of frost. As the curtains along the walls flew up, she saw his face. Pain boiled underneath his glare, accusing her. It broke through his facade and bled down as tears. Suddenly, Kasumi wished she could shrink into a ball and block out everything he might say. Her feet froze, and her voice cracked. "Toge. Toge, let me explain—Toge!"

The time had slowed. Inumaki's eyes asked her: why? You moved on fast. Was I that insignificant? Kasumi bit the inside of her mouth, searching for words, grieving for lost love. She was so caught up in her musings that she forgot the reason behind their grief. Large arms flew over her shoulders, snaking around her midriff to embrace her.

Satoru held tight, as tight as Inumaki's fists pressing down on the edge of the countertop. Toge was never the furious type. She had never been on the end of his outbursts if he had them. Who thought July nights could get this cold, or it was the singe of Inumaki's scent. The way their forehead flinched as reality sank down on them, showing them what had become of them. Is this how things end? But unbeknownst to her, something primal was taking over her past lover. In his sane mind, he would've stepped back to think. That's how he worked. This time, however, Toge felt his animalistic instincts gain the upper hand. Should he have marked the Omega as his the first time he mated her? Should he have bitten into her gland forever? Was letting her go a mistake?

Kasumi's attention strayed to the next thing that was bothering her. The smell of ash and smouldering cinnamon crashed over their senses at once. She glanced around at invisible smoke rising across the room between the men staring each other down with a promise of violence. Her terror didn't stop there, cold sweat cascading out when she heeded the nails sharpening like edges of swords. She turned to Satoru, her mind soaring. The magnitude of her naivety knocked her sideways, fathoming what was wrong. The jokes on her if she expected him to act like the older one of them should. How the fuck did she imagine a different reaction or forget that both Satoru and Toge were cut from the same cloth? They were adults, adult hot-blooded alphas. All colour drained from her face as Satoru's nails grew into claws that could lance through the skin, peeling flesh to shreds.

She tried to assuage hopelessly, placing a palm over Satoru's chest right above his heart. She thought it was working until she regretted it. Her attempt was a double-edged sword that had rattled Toge's cage. He saw red, and it was all her fault. His teeth were grit, a snarl carving its way to his lips. A mixture of drool and blood dripped from his mouth, fangs aslant and shining. So, this was what kept his Sensei so busy!

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