Chapter Text
In Teyvat, omegas make up the upper echelons of society while alphas are considered temperamental and dangerous creatures ruled by instincts, unfit to live in common society without an omega mate to control them. Alphas are expected to protect and serve their omega, nothing more, nothing less. This is what tradition tells them.
Gaming has never been a fan of following tradition, though. When he presents as an alpha at the tender age of 16, it is the final push for him to run away from his broken home. His father was fighting tooth and nail against him chasing his dreams as is, so he couldn’t imagine his newfound alphahood would improve his circumstances. Plus, he would much rather face the world alone than face a lifetime of servitude under an omega who probably sees him as less than human. So, for nearly a decade, he survives on his own; keeping his alphan nature hidden, working 24/7 for the transport agency, and training to be Liyue’s best lion dancer. And for nearly a decade, that works just fine.
But all it takes is one small, stupid mistake for his carefully built life to fall into shambles.
He forgets to apply his scent blockers one time before dance practice—one time!—and the next day, his home is suddenly swarming with Millelith and medical personnel ready to wrangle him away. Unmated alphas are dangerous and unpredictable creatures ruled by instincts, after all, so of course, his concerned troupe-mates had called him in to the authorities when they discovered his alphan status. As he is being restrained and dragged away, he lets out a snarl of disbelief seeing Dip Yeuk’s expression of betrayal; whatever he is feeling is nothing compared to the treachery he just subjected Gaming to. If they see him as an animal, then he’ll show them a fucking animal!
That, apparently, is aggressive enough to warrant a sedation—the young alpha is out like a light before he even registers the needle in his neck.
That was… who knows how long ago, now. Since his capture, Gaming has been stuck in a “stray alpha shelter” (a prison) and trapped in a small room with three padded walls and one wall made of glass (his cell). The only indication of the passage of time is the facility lights switching on and off, but he’s not sure he trusts that they actually align with the true day-night cycle outside. The room is empty except for a round mattress covered in thin blankets and flat pillows for a ramshackle nest, and various pet toys meant to “enrich his experience” at the shelter, one worker had chipperly explained on his first day.
They had also told him that all of his belongings were currently in the custody of the Ministry of Civil Affairs, and that they would be released to the possession of the omega that chose to claim him—his Vision included.
Gaming wonders if anyone has contacted his father about his detainment. He wonders if his father would even care. Probably not. The last time they’d seen each other had nearly ended in physical violence. In fact, the old man is probably glad to finally have his troublesome child out of his hair. Gaming just hopes that Man Chai is doing okay without him.
Here at the shelter, Gaming isn’t allowed to wear clothes or speak or even stand, sometimes. The workers all reprimand him harshly when he tries to say a word and the alphas are never brought together even for socializing; that would be too dangerous. Food—if the nutrient-packed slop the place serves can even be called that—and water is delivered by immovable bowls that rise from the floor three times per light cycle. He can’t lift the bowls, nor is he provided any utensils, so he’s forced to crouch over them and eat with his hands like a filthy animal. Even his cock gets locked up in its own little cage, bent downwards in a sharp arch that makes relieving his bladder a pain and relieving his sexual frustrations practically impossible.
The worst times, however, are definitely the tour days, where omegas visit the shelter to “adopt” poor, wayward alphas. Obviously, the shelter wants its charges looking as presentable as possible so they are more likely to be adopted, and that leads to a whole series of humiliating events.
First, Gaming gets dragged to a grooming parlor, where he is thoroughly bathed with invasive contact to his rugged face, his wild mane of brown hair, his groin, and everywhere else. No place on his body remains untouched or private anymore. After they’re done scrubbing him down, they lock him up in a ball-gag-muzzle combo and mitts, preventing him from speaking and severely limiting the use of his hands and feet. The gag causes him to drool everywhere, yet another humiliation he’s forced to endure as he leaks like a faulty waterline. Tours are also the only times they remove his cock cage, and yet he doesn’t even have the use of his hands to jack himself off. The final touch—the one he loathes the most—is a hormone patch placed on his abdomen that triggers a temporary rut-state in a matter of seconds. The adhesive is strong and its position on his body, alongside the mitts restraining his hands, prevent him from being able to tear the patch off himself. It spells hours of burning need and arousal, even well after the patch is removed, and he’s sure that his natural rut cycle has been thrown out of whack because of them.
Once he’s all trussed up, he is returned to his cell with the lights at max brightness, bound and gagged with a raging hard-on between his legs for complete strangers to ogle at. At first, he had thought that the visitors would surely try to help him. Oh, how badly it burnt to find out how wrong he was. The omegas that stopped by his enclosure never spared him even an ounce of sympathy. Some would move past him without a second glance, while others would point and snicker with their friends. All of them only saw him as an object for their entertainment, and he eventually gave up trying to garner a kindness from them that he now knew did not exist.
Gaming has suffered through what feels like dozens of tours during his stay, so far. He’s tried several methods of protest to his treatment, but each one just results in punishments worse than the treatment itself.
At first, he tried physically fighting his way out, using his martial arts to beat down workers or ramming into the glass of his enclosure, but each time it only earned him a swift sedation. The nauseating feeling of the sedatives mixing with rut-inducing chemicals wasn’t worth the trouble, he decided (although he was at least able to hiss and growl at them all he wanted). Next, he tried hiding under the blankets of his nest whenever the omegas came to his room, a rather impressive feat considering his constrained grip. Several cold nights without covers taught him better, though.
He’s tried ignoring the workers, going on hunger strikes, even hospitalizing himself, but the shelter always finds a way to work around it. Gaming refuses to let this damned place break him, but every day that passes makes it just… so much harder. The only solace he has is that his actions have successfully discouraged his adoption so far—no one wants an alpha as temperamental and volatile as he is acting—but it’s not even close to the freedom he so desperately craves.
Unfortunately for him, there is another tour today. As per usual, he is washed and groomed, strapped into his gear, patched up with synthetic hormones, then brought back to his room, burning hot and sexually frustrated. He crawls towards his nest and collapses into it with a groan, wishing he could just sleep through the torture. His hips begin to gyrate against his will as the rut-patch works its magic, desperately grinding his turgid dick against a pillow to give himself some sweet, sweet stimulation. Saliva dribbles from the corners of his gagged mouth as he chases after that high, wishing he had something tight, wet and warm to knot in and breed. At this rate he’ll probably end up giving himself a friction burn, but his rut-addled brain doesn’t give a damn.
Just as he feels that telltale tingle in his loins signaling his imminent orgasm, his movements suddenly falter and then halt completely, leaving him dangling right on the edge of finishing.
‘What?’ It takes his brain a moment to catch up with his body and realize that he’s stopped moving. ‘But why?’
Subconsciously, Gaming sniffs the air and is barraged with a most luscious scent. It’s thick and sweet like honey, with zesty tones of citrus and a floral hint similar to silk flowers. Most importantly, however, is that it is unmistakably the smell of omega. Gaming’s body practically screams at him to take it, breed it, be inside of it now, now, now.
His head shoots up to locate the source of that mouth-watering scent, and he quickly locks eyes with his observer on the other side of the glass.
The omega is a svelte little thing; if Gaming stood beside them, he bets the top of their head would barely even reach his chin. Despite their short stature, however, they stand tall with commanding poise, hands tucked behind their back as they assess him with a calculating, amber gaze. Long, navy-blue hair cascades down their back over flowing robes of silk. The expensive material and intricate design of those clothes clearly signify an individual with money and status, as does the phoenix that is emblazoned across their chest in golden thread, its wings spread wide in majestic flight. Even in rut, Gaming can recognize the symbol of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, the most prestigious and profitable trading guild in Liyue. He also notices a Hydro Vision hanging from the omega’s hip. A high-class individual, clearly, so he can’t help but wonder why they are visiting this dump for an alpha. His arousal doesn’t let him dwell on that thought for long, though.
Without taking his eyes off of the omega, he resumes his thrusting into his pillow, imagining himself slotting his dick between those plush thighs instead. Through the glass, he hears the muffled voice of a shelter worker presenting him to the omega. “—and this here is Gaming: alpha male and 25 to 26 years old, by our estimates. He’s a wild one, for sure, which is the main reason why he has been in our care for three and a half months now, but we believe that with the right omega, he will settle down just fine.”
When the omega turns to respond, however, they reveal a third observer that has Gaming’s movements once again stuttering to a stop: another young alpha, staring at him from the darkness with cat-like eyes.
The man absolutely towers over his companion, probably standing taller than Gaming by a good two or three inches, and he is built like a brick shithouse, all of that sculpted musculature visible even from afar. His hair is also blue, but unlike the omega, whose long locks are as dark as the deep sea and kept in a neat and tidy ponytail, the alpha’s hair is light like a wintry sky, cut short, and tousled in all directions. Taking another whiff of the air, Gaming manages to distinguish the smell of pine, mint, and bitter Qixing musk from the omega’s intoxicatingly sweet scent. It would be a pleasant scent if he weren’t dick-deep in a pseudo-rut; as it is, it just sets off all the intrinsic alarm bells in his head as a rival. He snorts, trying to expel the alphan stink from his nostrils so he can study the other man further.
Similarly to Gaming and the omega, the other man has a Vision, a rarity for alphas to be allowed to keep on their person. He is also restrained with a white leather muzzle around his face and mitts around his hands. Unlike Gaming, however, the other man is clothed in loose, white pants and a black undershirt, and there is a thick, blue collar with a golden insignia wrapped around his throat. The omega firmly grips a simple, black lead connecting to said collar, leaving enough slack for their alpha to stand upright and peer around, but not enough for him to wander far. One tug on the lead has the alpha obediently bending an ear to his master, although his piercing blue eyes never leave Gaming’s position. The omega whispers something well out of Gaming’s earshot, but whatever they say has the alpha nodding in response.
Then the omega turns back to the handler and requests with words audible even through the glass, “Would it be possible to take a closer look at this one, my liege?”
Their voice is as alluring as their appearance, smooth and confident. The handler acquiesces, turning to unlock the door to Gaming’s room and letting them all in. Defensive instincts kick in and Gaming growls as they approach, fangs and claws bared behind his leather restraints. His initial response to the omega’s scent may have been enthusiastic, but he still doesn’t trust anyone here for shit, visitors included. Although his words are locked behind the gag and muzzle strapped to his face, he can still make his displeasure known.
“Like I said, Gaming here can be a bit of a spitfire,” the handler chuckles nervously. “C’mon, boy, play nice, okay?”
He does not “play nice”. No, he lunges towards them with a gurgled snarl, stamping his mitted hands forwards aggressively. It’s nothing more than a bluff, really, but it’s frightening enough to send the skittish worker tripping ass over teakettle. The omega and their companion, however, are unfazed by the display. In fact, the smaller man even lets out an amused chuckle at the scene, eyes twinkling with mirthful light. Gaming isn’t quite sure what to make of their responses—or lack thereof, with the other alpha.
He becomes even more uncertain when the omega suddenly says, “Could you give us some privacy?”
It is spoken as a command rather than a request, and the handler—who hasn’t bothered to stand from where they are still sprawled out on the floor—looks at their client incredulously. “I-I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t leave you in the room with him unattended. An unclaimed alpha in rut is dangerous enough as it is, and this one is particularly volatile—”
“I assure you, my liege, nothing will happen,” the omega interrupts sharply, his smile razor-thin. “Even if he were to try and attack me, my mate is more than capable of keeping me safe. Isn’t that right, dear?”
His alpha's affirmative growl reverberates through the tiny room, causing any further objections from the handler to wither on their tongue.
“O-of course, Master Xingqiu, my apologies… j-just call me if you n-n-need me, I guess?” they squeak as they hightail it out the door, locking it behind them and leaving their ward alone with his visitors.
“Now then… Gaming, is it?” Not wasting a second, the omega—Xingqiu, the handler had called him—boldly strides forwards, his alpha trailing behind him on silent footsteps. Before Gaming has a chance to even think about moving away, slender fingers have already hooked around the straps of his muzzle. He growls, tossing his head wildly to try and shake the omega off, but he is held fast by a startlingly powerful grip for such a slender individual. When he goes for another head-shake, the omega just clicks his tongue and chides, “That’s enough.”
Gaming wilts immediately. Without any walls to separate them, he is also given unadulterated exposure to that delectable, saccharine scent, and any of the remaining fight drains from his body. He’s putty in the omega’s hands, obediently letting the smaller man move him this way and that as he is thoroughly inspected from head to toe. Xingqiu is firm but gentle, so very unlike the handlers’ rough shoving and dragging, and Gaming can’t help but lean into his touch.
He’s almost completely forgotten that there’s a third person in the room until Xingqiu pulls the lead he’s still holding taut. In an instant, the other alpha—who has so far quietly remained at a respectful distance from them both—is summoned to his side, bowing his head to his mate respectfully. Even after crouching down on all fours to match their level, the dude is enormous, looming over the two of them with an inquisitive stare.
Gaming growls defensively, but the omega pulls his muzzled face to his chest and shushes him. A wave of pheromones mellows his reaction, stamping down the fight response that is hardwired into his primal instincts and forcing him to calm. Xingqiu continues to hold him as the other man leans in curiously, taking in his scent with heavy breaths. Every muscle in Gaming’s body freezes when they come muzzle-to-muzzle, bronze eyes staring into blue, but the collared alpha only lets out a friendly chuff. When he doesn’t respond, the other man takes even further initiative and starts sliding their cheeks together to cross each other’s scents, purring so strongly that he can feel it vibrating in his bones.
“It seems Chongyun has already taken a liking to you,” chuckles Xingqiu, scratching both alphas’ chins lightly as he adds, “Honestly, I don’t know what those fools are talking about, calling you a troublemaker. We’ve only just met, but you seem perfectly obedient and well-mannered to me.”
A part of Gaming wants to protest, but the smell and the praise and the gentle touches all go straight to his now agonizingly hard dick, washing away any coherent, rational thoughts. He whines as he is reminded of the persistent problem between his thighs, which draws Xingqiu’s attention to it, too.
“Oh my.” He brings a hand over his mouth with mock-demureness, eyes going half-lidded as an unmistakable hint of arousal bleeds into his scent. It just makes the brunet’s cock pulse even harder. “You poor thing, that looks rather painful. Why don’t I give you a hand, my liege?”
And he does just that, pulling up his sleeves and grabbing Gaming’s stiff dick right below the glans. The alpha sobs into his gag at the first skin-to-skin contact he’s felt down there in months, his forehead dropping onto Xingqiu’s shoulder for support. The realization that the other man’s fingers don’t fully enclose the girth of his dick nearly has him coming on the spot like an overexcited whelp, but he fights to hold out just a little longer, if only for the omega to keep touching him.
By now, a waterfall of spit is running down his chin, dripping from the bottom of his muzzle directly over Xingqiu’s expensive silks. It surely is ruining them, but the omega doesn’t seem to mind. He is entirely focused on the task literally at hand, skillfully twisting his fingers up and down Gaming’s length to bring him closer and closer to climax. Gaming just needs a little more, he’s so close, he’s right there—and then the omega’s touch is suddenly gone. An involuntary whimper escapes him, and he hears the other man chuckle.
“Look at you, such a needy alpha,” Xingqiu croons, one finger lightly tracing the shape of his soft knot. Leaning in close, breath hot and ticklish against his ear, he whispers, “Won’t you let us take you home, dear Gaming? Won’t you let us take care of you?”
He nods emphatically, desperate for release, and he feels the way Xingqiu’s lips curl into a smile against his cheek.
“Then present for me, alpha.”
Without a second thought, Gaming obeys, craning his head back to present his scent gland for Xingqiu to claim. There is a burst of pain as thin, sharp, omegan fangs sink into the meat of his neck, before it’s replaced with a blooming warmth that spreads through the rest of his body. The moment it reaches his burning groin, he’s coming completely untouched. His cock spits out ropes of white seed and his knot swells to fill a hole that isn’t there, and yet it is still somehow the best fucking orgasm Gaming has ever experienced.
It’s so good that he feels a bit light-headed, actually… and he barely finishes the thought before promptly collapsing forwards into Xingqiu’s lap. He mashes his muzzled face into the omega’s neck, teeth aching to claim him in turn, but he can feel the exhaustion and overstimulation catching up to him. Still, he fights slipping into unconsciousness, compelled to help his mates finish with him. Gaming knows the other two are both aroused; he can smell it in their scents and can see how their erections tent their robes. Even as his vision starts going spotty, he attempts to paw at his omega’s groin, but Xingqiu gently catches his bound hands.
“How very attentive of you, my liege, but do not worry yourself with that. We will take care of things from here, okay? Now rest, dear Gaming.”
And he is helpless but to obey.