Yokohama Japan 21’
Ryu Suzuki is rotten.
Like all forbidden fruit, they say, he appears lush with deliciousness, but his insides are the color brown, sodden with the foul stench of bacteria. They are black and blue they say, slimy green, covered with rot and deterioration. It’s disgusting to look at.
The fruit is shriveled up, with pus oozing through the thick skin. On the outside he looks perfectly normal, shining—shimmering in the light, deceiving everyone.
Ryu is the picture of ripening fruit, ample with flavor, ready to be tasted and explored by anyone who dared. Conversely, among other fruits, he would never let on his infectious disease until it was too late, and it spread.
They say Ryu Suzuki is indeed rotten to the core.
His bitter hands grip the headboard as the man above moves forcefully. The durable bend and twists of his hips make him choke violently, back arching off the bed, pale skin shining in the moonlight.
His hair sprawls like a black curtain, long and silky in the sheets. Earlier that day, it had been upon him, the slick and fever of desire, so ripe and deep it made him wrench in anguish.
Ryu found the closest Alpha, decent size, large and empowering, and released his intoxicating scent. No Alpha could ever resist. Ryu lured him into his tiny apartment, no more the size of a small box, with the bathroom and kitchen all being in one spot.
The Alpha didn’t ask questions, he tossed Ryu onto the bed, tearing off his clothes in a deep rage that would later consume him in his rut.
No kisses. No words of any kind.
Just lips, teeth, and skin.
Fuck—the man licks down the pale column of his neck, lapping at the skin, tonguing his glans, causing passion to tear through him.
He comes again for the fifth time that evening, soaking the Alpha and the sheets. This goes on for several more hours. When it’s over, they are both covered in sweat, the stench of sex and freesia filling the room.
The Alphas knot dies down.
And Ryu knows what’s coming next. The Alpha stands, barely letting the air cool around them, throwing on his tight white t-shirt and jeans, his physique muscular, arms rippling and straining against the fabric.
He isn’t bad looking.
Just not at all Ryu’s type.
“You got a mate?” The Alpha asks.
They all did. Ryu ignores the question, lazily stroking his flat stomach, noting the sharp arch of his hip bones. He hasn’t eaten in days.
“Silent type eh?” The Alpha probes. “Look…. I only did this because you seemed desperate.”
That’s what they all say. Ryu wants to crackle in maniacal laughter. He doesn’t though, his eyes watch coolly, like a feline.
“You have a mate,” he continues. “I can tell. Your Māku is strong, very strong. He must be a powerful Alpha. You shouldn’t be wandering around here without him. Whatever happened between you two… it doesn’t matter…the stench of another Alpha on his Omega is enough to drive one mad…”
Isn’t that what Ryu wants? To drive his Alpha mad? He turns his head away dismissively. This conversation is over.