Final Fantasy VII, chaos!Vincent/Cloud, alpha
They tried to listen, tried to obey. Their host would never let them loose again if they did otherwise.
But Chaos was not a submissive creature, and every time they were given an order, it grated.
First had been that scientist, he who smelled like chemicals and mako and the bitter, bitter scent of something else. The cause of the host's death, stealer of mates. It was frustrating and galling to obey him, but they had, too disoriented and weak to put him where he belonged.
Then had come sleep.
And the thin boy, broad in the shoulders, blue eyes full of things that told them that he knew their pain. He had come and freed them.
But he was not alpha, no matter how the others bowed to him. He didn't want to be alpha, and Chaos could smell that in his scent.
Chaos listened when it suited them, when it would give them what they wanted.
Right now, though, they wanted something that the pretty blond one would have to give them.
Cloud had looked up when they had followed him, away from the others, wanting quiet, hidden in the form of their host. But it was Chaos in control, and they watched, hungry for contact, for control. They were alpha, and they would make sure none of the others touched their pretty human. Not even the one called Sephiroth, who was not of them, but not of anything else. He sniffed around what was theirs for too long, and smirked over the lack of the mark.
The blond had turned his back to them, talking about something they didn't care about, and they had moved, pressing against his back, pinning him. They took away his leverage, made sure that he couldn't move.
They had gotten a yelp from their human and their host, both struggling for a moment before Chaos pressed down on both.
"Ours," he purred into the pale one's ear. It wasn't as if their host had not been playing stud for this one, and they were in charge of everything. And now was the time to mark what was theirs.
It was nothing to shred the clothing that the human wore, nuzzling against the back of his neck, teeth settling against skin, sharp and just shy of breaking the skin.
He was soft and warm under them, and they rubbed against his skin. It was easy to settle into a rhythm against the other, who had settled, cursing at them, but they ignored it. All that mattered was the motion, the feel of him as they rubbed against him to the point where everything flashed red and hot and good, spilling seed against his skin as they bit down against his neck.
Marked with the scent of their seed and their bite, he was theirs.
Let's see that silver bastard smirk now over their mate.