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Komatsu blinked in confusion as his sous chef entered the apartment, Sawa's expression suddenly confused—maybe embarrassed?
“Sorry to interrupt, Chef Komatsu!” Sawa said, hovering in the doorway. “I should have—since you asked for the paperwork first thing—”
“You're not interrupting,” Komatsu assured him instantly, maybe a little confused himself. It was just him and Toriko in the apartment, and Sawa had gotten over the last of his nervousness around Toriko—Komatsu still wasn't sure whether or not any of his staff knew about the werewolf thing, which was an impossible guess except for the Kings' lack of subtlety—either way, Sawa had made his peace with Toriko's sometimes-alarming presence even before Sunny had found his way to them.
Komatsu snuck a glance at the werewolf in question. He was sprawled in his chair, fully human-shaped even though he hadn't been a minute ago, just brushing against Komatsu's shoulder, a few emptied bowls of snacks on the table. Komatsu had set a few stacks of papers on the broad expanse of his leg, Toriko obligingly still. The rest of the table, within Komatsu's reach, was scattered in similar stacks of paper, normally better organized, but Komatsu was budgeting, and it always took some wrangling.
Then Komatsu looked again, with a slight double-take: Toriko was half-naked, just pants riding low on his hips, incredibly broad shoulders and muscled chest casually on display. Which... didn't mean much to a werewolf, and Komatsu had seen them naked fairly regularly, it just didn't seem to bother them much, and of course they'd be naked after shifting—
But did Sawa know that? It must just look like—Komatsu, and an unclothed man in an unclear relationship with the chef.
Sawa wouldn't know that the werewolves in Komatsu's life were more physical than humans would be, closer to Komatsu in ways that were platonic but—maybe—looked more intimate to an outside. Or no—not more intimate, because there was no lack of intimacy between them. Komatsu's breath still caught, thinking about his Kings on the full moon, fierce and wild and loving. Not that they thought the same of him, necessarily, but—
The point was, Toriko didn't think about romance, sex, physical closeness, the way that humans did. Komatsu didn't quite understand it himself—and he was, maybe, a little smitten with the Kings—but Sawa, even if he knew about werewolves—
“Are you sure?” Sawa asked, very carefully.
Toriko sighed, just shy of a dismissive snort. Because Sawa hadn't immediately accepted Komatsu's word for the situation? That was—surely not.
“Thank you very much for bringing them up,” Komatsu said instead, jumping to his feet to accept the papers, then looking around, trying to find a spare space for yet another stack of files.
Toriko held out his hand, sleepy and indulgent with summer heat and good food. ...and maybe Komatsu. He wasn't sure what he meant to the Kings. He didn't have words for what they meant to him. He did know that the Kings sought out his company, not just his food, that they trusted him right down to their wildest hearts, that he seemed to make them happy.
Komatsu handed Toriko the files, and Toriko willingly held onto them. His hands full, that left Komatsu to grab another stack off of the corded muscle of Toriko's thigh.
...It didn't mean the same thing to the Kings that it would to Komatsu, that it did to Sawa. Komatsu peeked at Sawa again, not sure what he was looking for, or what he was seeing.
It wasn't the full moon—waxing gibbous, just past half-moon and they'd be out again soon for the Kings to run wild—but the weather was sticky-hot in Komatsu's apartment, miserable for him even if he didn't want to complain about it, and almost as unpleasant for the Kings, he thought. There was too many people for the space, with four werewolves and Komatsu. Four huge werewolves.
They were camping, or at least sort of. The smell of graying charcoal and roasting meat mixed with the sweet hay smell of August fields—that was what Komatsu could smell. The Kings—it was different for them.
Toriko and Zebra had been chasing each other around earlier, wolf-shaped, and Toriko hadn't bothered to put any clothes back on when he'd changed back. And Komatsu knew that Toriko wasn't any more naked than Zebra, a small hill of wolf against his back, the prickle of fur in hot weather tolerable as evening fell and a cool breeze filtered out of the mountains. He knew that, but...
He was—always—too-aware of Toriko's body against his. Of—all of them, but Toriko was the one he'd known longest, the one who was most forward with physical contact.
Physical contact that wasn't the same for werewolves, and Komatsu understood, he'd always wished that he could be more physical with his friends, the ones he wasn't in love with, but it—wasn't. For Toriko to—
Lay his head on Komatsu's shins, his breath a warm tickle against the bare knees of his flesh, that was just Toriko taking the comfort of a safe person. Of a packmate. Of—technically—his alpha. When Zebra licked his wrist, or Sunny nuzzled against him,wolf-shaped or human-shaped or in-between, it wasn't a kiss, didn't mean what a kiss would mean.
He'd heard a few details about past partners the Kings had had, sexual or romantic, none of them sticking long enough to become part of the pack. Not that... there had been much of a pack, back then, the four of them slowly self-destructing, anger and guilt tearing them apart.
Komatsu loved them—loved being a part of them. His own temptations to—to kiss the taste of a spoonful out of their mouths, to chase trickles of rain down their muscled limbs—that didn't matter, the way that their trust in him did. He would be happy, just like this, for the rest of forever.
He knew they could probably smell his arousal, when he woke up half-hard from memories of his teeth gentle around Toriko's throat, feeling the vibrations of his small needy noises through the flesh. Nothing he'd imagined before, but—he'd never imagined werewolves, either.
“You're deep in thought,” Coco said quietly, a little hesitantly, settling in beside Komatsu, pushing a plate of barbecued meat in his direction. Komatsu took a bite, just catching Coco watching him lick meat juices off his fingers—was he really that hungry?—before offering it to the others, too. Sometimes they wouldn't take something from him until after he'd tried it. With their appetites, it was a nice bit of thoughtfulness, even if it wasn't necessary.
“I should just enjoy the evening,” Komatsu said, a little ruefully. He knocked his head against Zebra's shoulder when the King growled at Sunny, a mild rebuke about not fighting over dinner, before grabbing another piece to offer up to Zebra. His gleaming teeth brushed oh-so-carefully against his fingers, tongue lapping at a stray drip, as he took the offered mouthful. It wasn't enough, anything like close to enough, but the Kings were going to go hunting later.
There was the strange shiver of a body changing against his, and then Zebra's voice, his (bare) arm reaching over Komatsu's shoulder to grab another mouthful. “Damn right you should.” His voice wasn't quite human yet in a not-completely-human throat, the growl in it too deep, and there was still fur against Komatsu's shoulder—it was nice.
“I should have brought my ice cream maker,” Komatsu said with a sigh, shifting a little. “Even if it would have taken a lot of batches to feed all of you! Our next picnic is the full moon, though, so that won't work—”
“We could have ice cream for breakfast,” Toriko said, with a slightly smug smile, shifting until he was almost curled around Komatsu, his flicking furred ears tickling against Komatsu's thigh, Komatsu's toes feeling the warmth of his body.
“Toriko!” Sunny gasped, horrified.
“It really isn't a complete breakfast,” Komatsu added. Toriko laughed, and Komatsu had to giggle with him.
“You're the only person I've ever known worry about our diet,” Toriko said, with deep, sleepy affection.
“Everyone should have someone to worry over them,” Komatsu said, not really thinking about the words even though they were true, almost thoughtlessly brushing his fingers through Toriko's hair. When Sunny shouldered his way into the pile of them, Komatsu switched to his hair, Sunny going boneless and pleased at the attention.
“What about you?” Coco asked, not quite rhetorical.
“Mm?” Komatsu said, the lazy evening and full day of cooking starting to catch up to him.
“Who worries about you?” Sunny cut in, impatient and oddly intense.
“Oh! Ah—well, the staff—”
“Us,” Toriko said firmly. None of the other Kings tried to argue. “But before—”
“It's been a while since I've had anyone—especially close to me,” Komatsu admitted, a little quietly.
The strangled sound Sunny made was a little anguished, and he shoved his face in Komatsu's neck, growling—Komatsu wasn't sure why.
“Thank you for looking out for me,” Komatsu added. He took Coco's hand in his, reaching for it, nudging closer to Toriko as he went, and then reached back to grab Zebra's hand-paw, too.
“Always,” Toriko said, hoarse.
“Chef Komatsu? It's time for your break,” a cook said, standing slightly apologetically to the side.
“Mm? Oh, Serafina, I'm fine for now, we're understaffed—”
“Chef Komatsu! That's what you said last time!”
“I've got him,” Toriko said, closer than Komatsu would have expected—he normally knew who was in his kitchen when he was cooking. Toriko was so familiar, though.
“Toriko!”
“I brought lunch,” Toriko said, and—yes, food was important. Komatsu had been working a while, but...
“We're fine right now, Chef! Go have some lunch. Mr. Toriko takes up too much room in the kitchen,” Serafina said, with a little laugh. Komatsu had to laugh, too—because it was true, and because he loved seeing his staff welcoming the Kings. His restaurant wasn't quite a family, but it was more than just a business—cooking together formed a bond.
“I'm outnumbered!”
“I could just carry you out,” Toriko told him, with a grin, and that—was true, but the idea of Toriko manhandling him was also a little ridiculous. At least, not without permission, implicit or explicit. The other Kings—well, other than Coco—were a little freer about using their weight to push Komatsu around, but Toriko seemed to relish Komatsu's—permission, maybe? Carrying out his wishes and wants.
“Kidnapped out of my own kitchen!” Komatsu said, fake-scandalized, and Toriko snagged him under one arm, warm and solid against Komatsu's side, pulling him out the back door to the kitchen, accompanied by the laughter of the other chefs.
Out on the small balcony of Komatsu's apartment, the sunshine just catching them, not quite enough room for it to feel like it fit both Komatsu and Toriko but comfortable anyway, Toriko handed over a savory turnover, just gently warm, keeping a few for himself. It looked small in Toriko's huge hands but dwarfed Komatsu's, and he knew it was going to be messy as he took his first big bite, suddenly starving now that his head was out of the kitchen. It was comfortable, curling into Toriko's side, sweat from the hot kitchen drying in the cooling breeze.
“Delicious!” Komatsu mumbled around a mouthful of pastry and beef, meeting Toriko's blinding grin with one of his own. “Thank you, Toriko—”
He was about to lose some of the filling, and Komatsu leaned down to catch the chunk of potato before it fell off his hand, wasted. He looked up, laughing, a smudge of gravy on his cheek, he was pretty sure—
Toriko was staring at him, oddly intense, and Komatsu paused. What...
Focused, Toriko leaned in to lick Komatsu's cheek, expression just a little distant and very intent. His tongue was hot, slick, a little raspier than a human tongue would be even when Toriko was completely human-shaped, and Komatsu knew that, he'd had Toriko lick him before, but—he was leaning in close, blue hair framed by blue sky, one hand cupping Komatsu's head gently, licking up a stray drip of juice from lunch and—and Komatsu's lips were right there and—
Toriko pulled back just a scant inch, not meeting Komatsu's eyes, not quite in contact with him, still so close.
“Toriko?” Komatsu managed to say, mouth dry, something fizzing through him, sharp and sweet as carbonation.
Just like that, it was over, and Toriko pulled away, lounging back, as casually and solidly present as always was, smiling lazily at Komatsu like nothing had happened.
“It is good! I found them last month, a few towns over. I went for a run, and thought I'd bring something back—you never stop to eat when you're understaffed.”
“We're all working hard!” Komatsu protested, a little—a lot dazed, not sure at all what he was feeling, a whirlwind of—want, nerves, not understanding—
The silence fell just a little too heavy between them. Komatsu didn't know if that was him, if he was the one reading into it.
“Did you run back with the bag in your mouth?” Komatsu said, suddenly struck by the thought and—
“Yeah,” Toriko said, smug and pleased with himself, and Komatsu had to laugh—his wolves, his Kings, were anything but domesticated, but they took such care of him. They weren't wild, either.
Komatsu woke up to the smells of pancakes and bacon.
It was, momentarily, surreal, because he'd fallen asleep to an empty house—it felt almost like an extension of his dream. But of course his Kings had come home, not that it was their home, in the middle of the night or early morning, and he couldn't expect them to not eat—it was nice, really, that they'd started cooking, not just eating whatever they found raw, because food was a necessity, but it was also a pleasure, and he thought they'd started to forget that, before. It made him terribly sad to think about.
“Good morning,” he said, wandering into the kitchen after a quick stop in the bathroom, not bothering to pull on any more cloths than the underwear he'd worn the night before, the summer too hot for anything else.
“Good morning,” Coco said, soft and welcoming, passing him a perfect cup of coffee with a smile. The other three were squabbling by the stove, Zebra with his sharp teeth digging into Toriko's bicep just hard enough to not quite break the skin, Sunny gesturing wildly with a spatula, Toriko with a piece of bacon in his mouth.
“All four of you? Wonderful! I wasn't expecting—”
“We're sorry to intrude,” Coco said quickly, looking worried.
“No, no, that's not what I meant! It's a good surprise—the apartment always feels too empty these days,” Komatsu said, trying not to think about the implications of that—the fact that it wasn't the Kings' home, technically, but it felt like it should be, to him, at least.
Sunny turned around, after depositing the last pancake on the stovetop griddle onto a plate, and then promptly choked on nothing.
“Sunny?!”
“'Matsu,” Sunny managed to say, preternatural grace the only thing keeping the plate of pancakes from crashing to the floor.
Toriko wavered a moment, looking torn, before guiltily swallowing his mouthful of bacon.
“—I'll put on some clothes so I can help,” Komatsu started, suddenly a little uncomfortable—the Kings were all fully dressed for once, unusual for the werewolves when they were, well, not at home, because this wasn't their home, but relaxed, not around any humans but Komatsu.
His meat underwear was maybe not the most flattering thing he owned. Not that there was anyway to hide that he was all too human, and not even impressive by human standards, and compared to the Kings...
“No!” Sunny yelped, amazingly undignified, another too-big gesture with the pancake-plate hand ending in another just-barely-averted almost-disaster. Hastily, he set them on the table, then went off to fuss with a bowl of fruit salad.
“You cook too much, so just sit down and eat some damned pancakes,” Zebra said, a growl in his voice and something in his voice that would be flustered on anyone else.
“I can't cook too much for you,” Komatsu said, with a certain amount of satisfaction. He wished that they could have their appetites fully sated more than—hah—once in a blue moon, but he didn't mind always having someone happy to eat what he cooked.
The fruit salad, as gorgeous as any Komatsu had ever eaten, was placed on the table, and he was presented with a plate. Halfway through serving himself, he looked up—he was the sole focus of all four Kings, even if none of them were exactly staring straight at him.
“Are you eating with me?” Komatsu asked.
“Toriko had to eat your fucking meal!” Zebra snarled, hands clenched like he wanted to hit something but didn't have any safe targets, not in Komatsu's kitchen. Was it about—the piece of bacon?
“Eh? But—there's plenty—”
There were more ears and tails and fangs visible around the room; Coco's ears were pressed back, unhappy and upset, as were Toriko's, but while Coco's tail was stiff with anger, Toriko's wanted to press between his legs.
“It fell on the floor!” Toriko said, stubbornly. “I wasn't going to waste it—”
Komatsu winced, and didn't quite miss how Toriko ducked his head a little further. “That's dirty! I guess—”
“It won't hurt him,” Coco pointed out. He didn't look very happy with his packmate.
“I—it just feels wrong to me? To eat food that's fallen on the floor. But I'm glad it wasn't wasted.”
“It's yours!” Zebra bellowed.
“...so you don't want to share breakfast with me?” Komatsu asked. He gave a look at his cooling cup of coffee on the table, still perfect, and picked it up for a hurried drink. He wasn't quite awake enough to be sure what was going on, and—
“No, it's not—we made breakfast for you,” Toriko said, something urgent in his voice.
“I'd be happiest if I ate it with all of you,” Komatsu said, honest, not sure what else to say. “I lo—like—love sharing meals with you. Thank you so much for cooking for me!”
“I wasn't going to eat it without you,” Toriko said, sounding worried of all things.
“I'm not sure I really get it, but it's okay,” Komatsu told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand—almost a paw, by now, fingers growing furry and stiff, thick claws developing. “I'll just—put on some more clothes,” he said, sidetracked by the fact that it was getting a little chilly, and he was still wearing almost nothing.
At least everyone else seemed to have forgotten, or just taken it in stride, used to casual nudity around the house. Sunny probably thought it was undignified—that was probably why he wouldn't meet Komatsu's eyes.
“Well, hello, little man,” a voice purred unexpectedly, enough of a shock that Komatsu yelped and flinched away, smacking a shoulder into a stack of apple boxes. “Don't you smell just delicious?”
The woman talking to him was tall, muscular, and the sort of preternatural beauty that Komatsu had started to associate with the nonhuman—technically, her slim jeans and heeled boots and wide-brimmed hat were normal for a farmer's market, but she made them look like a ballgown. Her eyes were icy and captivating, her canines just a little too long and pointed. And she was standing very close to Komatsu, and he hadn't heard her coming at all.
Werewolf, was Komatsu's first thought, but that didn't seem right. No matter what she was, fully human or not, something about her was upsetting, and Komatsu scooted sideways, getting a little bit more room.
“Must be the apples!” Komatsu said with forced cheer. “They're beautiful this time of year, I love the early apples, such a treat—” She was following him, and now he was stuck in the corner, surrounded by displays of zucchini, late plums, and sweet corn.
It was very unlikely she would do anything, in a crowded public place, full daylight. At the farmer's market.
Komatsu still let out a sigh of relief when Sunny shouldered her aside, as mad as Komatsu had ever seen him—teeth bared in an expression that would never really pass as a smile, his expression gone as hard as ice. Maybe most people would think of Sunny as cold, haughty, but Komatsu knew how much warmth he had to him, and this kind of fury, true anger not at all like his occasional fits of temper, was all the more shocking because of it.
“No need to get your disgustin' hands all over our 'Matsu, is there?” Sunny said, crowding into Komatsu's side, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders, hair down and falling around Komatsu's face. Komatsu wiggled even closer.
“Oh, let the little bite decide for himself if he wants to come with me,” she purred, and Komatsu shuddered as she caught his eye. Now there was no hiding that she was a predator, not human at all.
“No thank you!” Komatsu said insistently, pulling his eyes away from where they were caught in her gaze to shake his head. “I'm going to stay with Sunny!”
“'Matsu's not weak-minded enough for that to work,” Sunny said, expression a mix of cruelty, satisfaction, and angry protective fear.
“Strange to find that strength of mind in someone who rolls over like a bitch in heat,” the woman snapped back, and—finally, there was the woman manning the stall, horrified as she caught the edge of the comment.
Sunny just laughed in her face, short and sharp, turning dismissively away—a huge insult, Komatsu knew, for werewolves.
“How dare you talk to my customers that way!” the shopkeeper said to the stranger's retreating back, and Komatsu sighed with relief, leaning against his packmate. “I'm so sorry about that—I'd never have any problem with you or your boyfriend, Chef Komatsu! Let me add in an extra pound of peas to your order—”
“Oh! Um—” Komatsu bit down on the immediate protest that Sunny wasn't his boyfriend, because there wasn't much of an alternative to that, the way Sunny was holding onto him, and 'werewolf in my pack' wasn't something he could just explain. “Thank you very much? I know it wasn't you who was encouraging that woman—”
They walked away with Sunny carrying a large bag of fruit and vegetables, a smaller bag in Komatsu's hands.
“Sorry about not correcting her!” Komatsu said, when they were safely away, anonymous in the crowds of people. But not too long, so it wouldn't be too strange to bring it up. “When Karen said we were dating—I just didn't know how else to explain!”
“It's not like what she thinks matters,” Sunny said tartly. It didn't sit quite right, but Komatsu let it go.
“Thank you for saving me! What—who was that?”
“Vampire,” Sunny said matter-of-factly, tone almost normal but his expression still hard around the eyes, shoulders tight with anger.
Komatsu yelped, almost dropping his bag of groceries, and at least that made some of the tension in Sunny's frame go away.
“If you want us to leave, you can just tell us to,” Zebra said suddenly, voice aggressive and just a little too loud in a way that Komatsu had come to associate with stress. It didn't fit into Komatsu's kitchen and living space, didn't fit the casual meal they were sharing—the Kings eating, Komatsu cooking—after a dinner party, where Komatsu had gotten his fill but the Kings had had to show human restraint.
“Eh?! What would I do that for—this is your home, I mean, I know you have your own places, but you're always welcome here—”
“We'd listen,” Coco said, just as suddenly, like it was important. “If you wanted the privacy. For whatever reason.”
Komatsu tried not to think back to the last time he'd jerked off in the shower, knowing the werewolves could probably smell it afterward, and when that failed, he tried not to go too red. Even if they probably did the same, on occasion. It was five men, a small apartment. He tried not to think about them going off for sex, but—it was likely. With other werewolves, at least, so they wouldn't have to explain teeth and claws, scent marking and submission, to a human.
“What? I—I don't understand.”
“Ishiro. Or anyone else,” Sunny said, with a sniff. Toriko, uncharacteristically silent, was staring at the middle ground, too still to look relaxed.
“Ishiro—?” He knew the chef, he'd been there at the dinner they'd just come back from, a talented pastry chef just starting a bakery in the next town over. Friendly, personable, handsome enough.
“He wants to fuck you,” Zebra said bluntly, untorn side of his mouth curling in disdain.
“What? No, that's—really?”
“I can smell it on him,” Sunny said, sneering.
“Oh! I—you know I wouldn't turn you out of your home?” Komatsu didn't want to think that they believed he would.
“You shouldn't have to,” Toriko ground out, a little strangled. “If you want sex, we shouldn't be stopping you.”
“It's—” Komatsu had the feeling that they were talking at cross purposes, but he didn't know how or why. “Maybe—maybe someday that will be a problem, but I don't like Ishiro-san that way, or anyone! It wouldn't be fair to you to chase you out of your home, and—and maybe we should move to a larger apartment anyway, now's not the right time to talk about it—”
“You can tell us to leave,” Coco repeated.
“No, I can't! I—even if I had someone I wanted to date, I don't know how I could! There's—you, I wouldn't change any of my time with you, and I'd need someone who knew what you were, who understood being pack, who'd go out into the woods with us, pile up into the bed, share food with us!”
Toriko made an anguished noise.
“And it's all hypothetical! I don't—there's no one I'd want to do that with,” Komatsu said, feeling almost panicked, unsure how to say this, that he'd take his crush (more-than-crush, he loved them all so much) and live with it forever, because his bonds with them were no less important because of a lack of romance, or sex.
“We shouldn't be stopping you,” Sunny said.
“You should—not like that, but—it's more important—”
“We know when you're horny,” Zebra said, rude and aggressive in a way he hadn't been for a long time now.
“Komatsu,” Toriko interrupted, finally turning to look him in the eyes. A stranger might think his face was blank, but the brokenness hiding in his eyes left Komatsu's heart in his throat. “Who takes care of you?”
“You do,” Komatsu said, so absolutely sure. He knew the right answer. “You do, Toriko—all of you. I don't need anything else, sex or—or romance, or whatever, because you meet me coming home and make me lunch in the mornings and—and hog the blankets and bring me gifts and I love you, of course I do, I don't care if you don't want to have sex with me, it's enough anyway! I wouldn't trade any of it, I wouldn't risk you, I wouldn't risk us, I'll take care of you, always, not just because I'm your alpha but because I couldn't do anything else! How could I do anything but love you?”
They knew that, of course.
“So it's—fine, if you don't mind me waking up from dreams hard, sometimes, and—masturbating in the shower, and I don't expect you to do anything about it, that's not your problem. It's just... You. All of you. You're extraordinary, I love you without sex, I'd love you just as much if I wanted to have sex with anyone else or no one, I'll just—try and keep it from being a problem. You know that, right? That you can—you can bring someone back, you can have whatever relationships you want—”
Toriko was whining, and Komatsu finally bit back the tide of half-frantic words, terrified to look up and meet their eyes and see their faces, but doing it anyway, because they deserved it, his Kings, his pack, the people he was closest to, sex or no.
Toriko moved towards Komatsu, very carefully, telescoping his movements so that Komatsu could—avoid him, dodge, so he didn't feel trapped or caught? Komatsu wasn't sure why. But he knew that he would always, always, trust Toriko with his life. With everything. So he stayed still.
Toriko sunk onto his knees so he was more of a height with Komatsu, eyes almost closed, open just a thin slit, and he nosed at the curve of Komatsu's jaw, breath warm against Komatsu's skin, enough to prickle the hairs at the back of his neck. And—it was intimate, it was, but not sexual. Komatsu wouldn't take this away from Toriko—didn't even want to lose it, because of the intimacy. Because it was Toriko, his werewolf, his packmate, beloved, who'd torn his life open and given him the gift of a family—pack—he'd never known he was missing.
When the submissive touch went open-mouthed and wet, Komatsu shivered, Toriko pausing for a minute at his reaction, and Komatsu almost said something. His heart was in his throat: was he misunderstanding the gesture, the kiss or not-kiss? If he wasn't, did Toriko understand, did any of the Kings understand, that he wanted them only if they wanted him, that he'd never ask for anything less than what they wanted, and not because it would make him happy.
But he didn't, because—because he could trust Toriko.
Slowly, Toriko raised his head and kissed him, and Komatsu's arms tightened around Toriko, hardly able to breath. It wasn't a good kiss, but it was so good—Toriko steadying him, the other Kings watching, Komatsu wanted to see their faces but he couldn't pull away from Toriko.
“Love you,” Toriko said into the kiss, his words—not at all a surprise, really.
“I know,” Komatsu said, finally pulling away, just minutely, their breath still mingling between them. “I know—that doesn't mean you want to—to kiss me, have sex with me, Toriko!”
“I want that too,” Toriko said, something easy and warm in his eyes, everything Komatsu had dreamed about. He leaned back in to press another lingering kiss to the corner of Komatsu's mouth. “I always want more.”
This time, Komatsu was the one to lean in, kissing him, knowing that Toriko was scenting into the kiss, probably drowning in the smell of him.
Toriko was staring at him with the same trust and devotion he'd grown so soon after meeting, only intensified with time.
"I didn't want to push," Komatsu said, carefully. "I didn't want to—"
Zebra growled, and Toriko just huffed a laugh, tail beating against the floor.
"But you'd tell me?" Komatsu needed the verbal confirmation, to be able to let it go.
"'Matsu!" Sunny wailed, and that—Komatsu pulled himself away from Toriko, hard as it was to keep from pressing kisses to his face, because there were the other Kings, too.
"You need to be taken care of! It's my—my job, my responsibility, to take care of you! I—is it a problem if I, I love you all, you're all—beautiful and I've always been polyamorous but I should have—I didn't think it would matter, I didn't think you were interested, I—are you interested?" Toriko was, but the others—
Coco laughed too, breathless with delight. "Of course, Komatsu, alpha, how could we not be?" He must have seen Komatsu's flinch, and Komatsu felt the pinch of guilt when his giddy, joyful smile went paler. "Not—it's not an obligation. Plenty of alphas don't have sexual relationships with any of the wolves in their pack. It's—Komatsu, it's you."
"You don't mind? Sharing? You—Sunny, Zebra?"
"'Course you'd try to take care of all of us," Sunny said, trying to sound put-upon, Komatsu thought, but failing when he had that smile he sometimes got, bright and unselfconscious and stunning. "We're yours. All of us, we understand."
Zebra was scowling, but underneath it all Komatsu could see was want. "Fuck, he's right. Komatsu, I don't—you share. You'll make it work even when I'm—me. Greedy. Angry. You'll make it work.”
"You're crying," Toriko said, not quite concerned, not quite amused. He took it as an opportunity to pull Komatsu close and lick up his tears, and that was new, but it was also—so Toriko, and so clearly a kiss, but also nothing like human. Of course his werewolf pack—his werewolf pack and, and boyfriends or, that wasn't the right word, his something—would still be strange and amazing and surprising in this, too.
Komatsu kissed him back, then reluctantly pulled away. The other three Kings were still rooted in place, not approaching, their gazes intense—intimidating if they were anyone else, but no, not anymore, not now that Komatsu knew them—and Sunny was whining quietly. It was a little heartbreaking, and Komatsu didn't know how to feel, that he probably had more romantic experience than the four of them put together. That he'd missed this kind of desperate desire for romantic affection in the four of them, even if he'd been trying to keep himself from reading into something he couldn't believe was there—
None of them moved, and Komatsu hesitated, not sure who to reach out to, not—able to choose between them, now or ever. But Coco was closest, and his ears were just slightly back, his gaze pulled away, elongated canines just barely visible where they dimpled still-human lips, so Komatsu had to reach out to him, careful and sweet, as sweet as Coco always deserved and never seemed to think he did, and kiss him. His surprise and relief broke the part of Komatsu's heart that could never forget the dysfunction his pack had had before him.
"Coco?"
"I love you," Coco said instantly, just shy of apologetic. "—before you protest again, I love you and I want—romance,"
"Fucking," Zebra cut in, crass and rough and so much himself. And afraid. It hurt to hear it, but Komatsu wouldn't change it for the world, the fact that Zebra, terrifying even by werewolf standards and in so damned much pain underneath it, was someone who'd opened up to him, who trusted him.
"As he said," Coco said, tightly. "If—you want it, with—me. If it's only the others, I'm not—"
"Coco," Komatsu told him, and then—brightening—he leaned in to kiss the fear off of his face, because he could now. "Whatever you want to give me."
"Whatever you want to take," Coco promised. "I trust you, alpha."
Coco was the one to release his embrace, and Komatsu didn't want to go, he leaned in for one last hug, breathing in the scent of Coco in the downy fur just below his ears. But there were the others. And he had—all the time in the world, now.
"Sunny?"
"'Matsu," Sunny said, mouth working like he had something else to say but couldn't find it. His fear and elation left him looking younger, Komatsu's age instead of some perfect ageless god.
Komatsu tugged him down, so he was closer, and Komatsu was the one to lean in while Sunny stood stock still, but when he brushed his lips against Sunny, he snapped his arms around Komatsu faster than his eyes could follow, holding him tight, just shy of too tight, except that the desperation made Komatsu ache a bit. Sunny's few insecurities were painful, and Komatsu hurt with sympathy.
A strand of Sunny's hair got caught between their mouths as Sunny went in for a kiss, and Komatsu struggled not to laugh at the distressed sound he made, and they pulled apart. Komatsu ran his hand through Sunny's hair, relaxing in the luxury of its cool weight, the way it made Sunny go boneless and content, the trust of the gesture, and when it was safely out of the way, kissed him again. He was a little too aware of his chapped lips against skin like the finest silk, but Sunny didn't seem to care.
Zebra was almost quivering with—nerves, anticipation, agitation—when Komatsu pulled away from Sunny, who he'd never seen look quite so uncomposed.
Zebra was the one who lunged at him, almost before he'd left Sunny's arms, Sunny growling at him as Komatsu was swept up in the clutch of heavy-muscled arms, implacable and immovable. The kiss wasn't so much fierce as desperate, open and wet, and when Zebra pulled away, panting, still intimately close, enough to give the illusion of privacy, Komatsu was half pleased, half worried.
"You don't have to," Zebra whispered, urgently. Even without Zebra's extra-sensitive ears, Komatsu knew the other Kings could hear even if it was just barely audible to him. It had to hurt him, opening up in front of his old packmates, his fellow Kings, but Komatsu couldn't help but be fiercely glad that he'd given them back enough to rebuild trust between them.
"I know," Komatsu told him, gently, not sure what about—but suspicious that his guess was right.
"If I push, or—fight you—"
"Zebra," Komatsu told him, just as quietly, just as fiercely, but not at all desperate. "I know you'll always stop when I say no."
"You couldn't make me," Zebra said, terrified, and it had to be of himself. Of what he could do to Komatsu—was he afraid he'd push him into something he didn't want to do?
"I trust you," Komatsu said again, insistently. A little louder, this time, loud enough a close-by human would hear.
"If you don't want to kiss me, if you—if I'm angry and want to—to fuck, Komatsu, you know I'm not damned safe or easy or nice!"
"Listen to your pack leader," Komatsu said, still a little odd claiming himself as that to them, a little awkward, but more and more it fell off his lips like the unvarnished, unequivocable truth. "You always do—always. I am never afraid of you because you let me lead you."
"Alpha," Zebra acknowledged, a shiver of relief running through him, his voice hoarse with it. He nuzzled apologetically at Komatsu's mouth and jaw, the ripped scar at his mouth slick and familiar.
"As long as you promise to tell me if you want to stop," Komatsu said, and that made Zebra shudder again, relieved, always surprised to be looked after, taken care of.
"Komatsu," Zebra said, rough and exasperated, and still so so relieved.
"Why didn't you say anything earlier?" Coco asked, suddenly. "If you wanted—"
"I didn't want to assume, I thought—if you didn't feel the same way, I didn't want to push. You're—you, being your pack leader, your alpha, is enough for me. More than enough, I'm blessed, it's—amazing, and I don't need more, I didn't want you to think I needed more!"
"Komatsu," Toriko said, half amazed, half amused, all in love, and that seemed to be the cue, Zebra not letting go but loosening his hold, Komatsu suddenly the epicenter of a werewolf pack hug, surrounded by huge hot bodies, various degrees of partially furred, all loud and insistent and overjoyed, and Komatsu gave in, and let himself cry, tears of joy that this was his family, his pack, his partners, more than he'd ever dreamed he'd get.