Maybe that's what I want. [The tables have turned, and Natsume is rising onto his hands and knees, golden gaze intent, almost predatory. It's another thing that isn't normal for him -- he's polite to a fault, deferential, submissive. He lets people walk all over him. But here he is, having broken a guy's nose and now moving forward slowly, crawling up with sinuous, graceful movements, until he's right in the omega's face, inches away.] Maybe I don't care about being the first. Just the last.

[He lingers for a moment, reaches up slowly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind the omega's ear, very very gently. Then he sits back on his heels, chin lifted in trimph.] See? You aren't the only one who can control themselves.

Sixty minutes left. What's your real name?