The Phoenix and the Cat

Chapter 23

Note: I don't own Haikyuu and stuff. It's a long one, could've split it in two but couldn't decide where so it stays as a long one with a huge smut chunk. NSFW.

Yawning, Fukunaga lays half-awake in bed. Every year on his birthday he wakes up early (for once) with no idea why since it's the one day he can definitely sleep in.

It's a total pain in the ass.

He's trying to coax himself into moving since he can feel how low his sugar is, knows he needs to recharge his batteries with food, but... It's so cozy with a personal heater under the quilt with him, holding him just right and surrounding him in a comforting, slightly musky scent that reminds him of his favorite parts of winter when he relaxes with a hot cinnamon coffee (usually from the cafe a few streets over on his way to school) that soothes him down to his bones even when snowing.

It takes forever since he really doesn't want to, but eventually he manages to sit up groggily on the edge of the bed for more stare-into-space time. He tells himself over and over to stand, dazedly looking at the foreign twitching on his thigh.

It takes longer than it should to register his lover's hand that was wrapped around him is still there from his trek into sitting up, moving as the monster dreams. The alpha shifts and the hand leaves to push some loose red tickling his nose away before falling limply, boneless as it lands with a graceless muffled thump.

The cat watches him over a shoulder, smiling vaguely while delicately clutching the bright red spade of the dom's tail that the feline had acquired sometime during the night. He runs his thumb across the velvety skin before finally pushing to his feet to go make some food while stealthily placing it on the bed. He wonders at the fact that it feels that way before the red bleeds to a flesh tone where the spade's base turns into the length of the limb, the change to soft skin obvious under his calloused hands as he marvels over it. It's nothing like his fluffy fur tipped tail.

He nurses a cup of coffee and sits to nibble through his breakfast, jumping with a startled yelp. "Cold! Cold, cold, cold!" He glares accusingly at the chair he was on a second ago before looking down at himself in confusion, a lot more alert now.

His legs are bare which explains the chill (and breeze) and his numb toes as he belatedly remembers his lack of pants and socks. He peeks down the collar of the borrowed shirt to confirm he's not even wearing briefs which is something he never does unless in heat, alarm jolting through his system starkly until last night's memories rush back. His tail shyly tucks close to his legs with the end wagging, cheeks burning brightly as a giddy smile tugs the corners of his lips into a grin.

Sighing, he moves to sit down a lot more carefully, this time fully prepared for the chill as he tucks the shirt under his bottom. He takes his time eating then uses the restroom to clean up and not finding the mess he thought he might between his thighs, glad there's very little despite knowing a hell of a lot more than that was spilled inside his body (his instincts purr at the notion, he stubbornly ignores it even as his thoughts flash to it still being somewhere in him) and choosing to brush his teeth while already there. He'd hate to ruin a nice moment with bad breath.

He expected to be in a lot of pain this morning, horror stories from the internet talking about the morning after firsts (especially with big alphas) flashing through his brain. He grimaces while wiggling his hips, cocking his head as he brushes. Not bad actually, barely anything. Omegas really are built to take it, I guess.

Stupidly proud of them both, he smiles as he takes note of the dull ache that has its own appeal with an almost inaudible gratified purr. It really wasn't a dream, any of it. He loves me. He glances over the rest of himself and finds only a few marks besides the raw claim, his dark orbs trailing over his body back first in the mirror.