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It's non-stop. Weeks, months. The kid's going to work his hands down to smoking nubs.
Puberty hits him like the front face of an eighteen wheeler, late bloomer that he is. The sudden growth spurt is mind boggling.
Mob will go to the restroom for half an hour. And Reigen is supposed to pretend he doesn't know what he's doing. He's obligated to tell a joke about what constitutes as normal or abnormal fiber intake.
But, Reigen was sixteen too once upon a time. You tell kids you were their age once and they never believe it.
The man is at the restroom door, knocking with the back of his hand, saying, "Hey, we've gotta get a move on, Mob. Serizawa is on site waiting and we're losing daylight here."
"Hah, Shishou please just—" Mob's voice dips so unsettlingly low nowadays, rarely cracking like it so often did just a year or two ago. Reigen barely recognizes it anymore. "—hold on."
The lights are flickering sporadically. Reigen is massaging his eyelids. "Mob."
He’s pretty sure Mob has even chanced doing this right under the little desk he sits at in the corner, when he thought Reigen was distracted behind his computer with work.
But, it’s not hard to miss how hard Mob bites his bottom lip when one of his hands aren’t visible.
The kicker is, Mob really thinks Reigen is utterly oblivious to it all. Like he's the world's most elusive masturbator. A ninja, or something. He thinks he's discovered the wheel in a world full of automobiles. He looks up to Reigen for life advice but when it comes to everyday existence, he thinks the man is blind in both eyes and consistently walking into walls. When he exits five minutes later, flushed pink and wiping his hands clean with one of Reigen's handkerchiefs—which was not gifted to him with this in mind—he has the nerve to say, "I'm sorry. I really had to pee."
Masturbation is new and riveting and Mob just can't get enough of it, and fine, fine, fine. Reigen understands. But, he would prefer if he at the very least didn't do it on the clock. He'd prefer he didn't have to know about it.
The man gripes, "Wash your hands. Even if you already washed your hands, wash them again."
And it should probably disturb Reigen that he knows what does and doesn't do it for Mob, if you catch his drift. It doesn't, but it should. The kid just gets this look when something lights a match in him. Like… Like…! Reigen couldn't even tell you. He's drawing a blank, he's throwing his hands in the air, he's giving up. It's a dumb, glazed over look in his eye and you could easily picture him drooling, except he's never quite literally drooling. He gets less and less adorable every year. No longer the bright-eyed boy right on his heels.
Sweetly calling him Shishou.
Reigen thinks about those tall tales of changelings replacing newborns in cribs, but discards them after privately admitting that Mob is still a good kid. If a bit hormonal.
Here they are now, riding on the train, nice and snug on a bench seat together, and Mob is utterly enthralled by a woman reading across from them in a summer dress. Hairless legs crossing, uncrossing. Unintentionally flashing her panties. They're cotton, nothing racy, nothing wild. Bargain bin underwear. She’s old enough to be the kid’s mother, but Mob’s a fidgeting mess. He keeps his bookbag in his lap and his thighs so very tightly pressed together. Reigen sighs, head tipping back, eyes shutting. Arms crossed over his chest, he waits for their stop.
Anyway it's tits. Mob is super into tits. Go figure.
It's a movie night with the Kageyamas. They invite him every blue moon, like he's an addition to the family. It's just something to do on the odd Friday night, nothing to write home about.
...Oh fine, he'll confess.
It's touching.
Reigen is hidden away in the bathroom with a towel tucked under the door and a lit cigarette between his lips with the air vent just about screaming. He shouldn't be smoking in their bathroom but he'll die if he doesn't. He feels like he's a kid again, trying to get a smoke in without his father catching him. He's sitting on the toilet with the seat down, legs crossed, thumbing through a dirty magazine he found under the sink, behind conspicuously lined up cleaning supplies. The pages are hard to peel apart. Concerning. Anyway it could be Ritsu's, but it was such a miserable hiding spot that Reigen would bet his life it belongs to Mob.
Girls, girls, girls.
Reigen takes a long drag on his cigarette. Unimpressed.
He probably shouldn't be looking through the kid's porn, but his morbid curiosity got the better of him.
Dirty mags are a little old-school, but Mob's a borderline technophobe. Makes sense, what with how he can fry any gadget on hand with a bad enough sneeze. Reigen flips through the remainder of the pages. At the very least, he hasn't found anything he should be genuinely worried about. No gore, no vaginas fisted bloody. Regular dime a dozen porn. He hikes an eyebrow, catching a glimpse of his reflection between the pages. He turns back, finding a hodgepodge project of a cutout of his head glued onto a woman's body, grapefruit tits based in cum. Well, he’ll admit that it's… It's a little bizarre. Even for an on and off again crush on a mentor, which Mob has "secretly" nursed for years.
He's not sure if he'd be more or less disturbed if he discovered this actually belonged to the younger Kageyama brother after all.
Reigen puts the magazine back where he found it, only briefly considering ripping his face free from that page. He shuts the cabinet door as softly as he can manage. Stands, studying himself in the mirror. Cigarette nearly burned down to the filter, hiked eyebrow drooping. He absently squeezes at his flat chest with both hands.
He doesn't really get the appeal of breasts, if he's honest.
But, he's a deeply closeted individual so perhaps his opinion can be safely discarded.
He flushes his cigarette butt.
Outside of the door, he finds Ritsu waiting, leant up against the wall. Glaring beyond the material world and right into his very soul. And he decides, yes, it would be more disturbing if the magazine belonged to Ritsu.
They don't exchange greetings, but when Ritsu shuffles into the bathroom, he makes a big show of picking up the air freshener and gassing the perimeter, nozzle fired in all directions. Reigen's smile is strained.
Ritsu grumbles, "Smells funny in here."
"Oh? Can't imagine why."
"Maybe it even smells like smoke."
"Kids tend to have overactive imaginations. Though, one would think that you're getting a little too old for that. What are you, about thirteen now?"
“Fifteen.”
Ritsu's fumigating the bathroom. Citrus. Citrus everywhere.
The stench suits him, anyway. Sour brat.
It's almost enough to make Reigen forget about the Frankenstein porn Mob's apparently been jacking it to these days. Almost.
Downstairs, the Kageyamas are waiting. Minus exactly one Mob. Reigen sets himself down on the couch beside the boy's mother, raking his mind for safe topics for small talk. He loosens his tie, popping the first button to his collar. It's as casual as he can get. He stretches his toes out in his socks. Their home is hearthfire-warm. He feels so at ease in their living room.
Mob is entering with a smoothie from the kitchen, aloof. He takes his place on the other side of his mentor, wordlessly offering the smoothie in question. His eyes are on the screen. Ritsu is taking the stairs two at a time, because his dad already pressed play, and the man is calling, "Hurry up if you don't want to miss the opening credits!"
Reigen sips at the straw piercing the center of his smoothie. He can't place the flavor and doesn't exactly like whatever it is he's tasting, but Mob bothered to make it for him… His lips curl into a fond smile around his straw. He looks to Mob, because he means to whisper his thanks. But Mob, he's just staring at him with a spine chilling intensity. He looks so serious, God knows why. Like he’s got Reigen strapped down and he’s prepping for open heart surgery. He's watching as Reigen slurps at the straw. When he sets his hand upon the thickest part of the man's thigh and squeezes, Reigen jolts up from his seat, much to Ritsu's pleasure who climbs over the back of the couch to smugly steal his place beside dearest older brother.
"Looks like you'll have to sit in the recliner after all, Reigen."
Ritsu looks so satisfied with himself. Which, ordinarily, would grate at Reigen’s nerves like mad. But he’s preoccupied being scared shitless by Mob’s brazen attempt at coming onto him with his parents in the very same room, no matter how distracted they may be.
Impassive as ever, Mob says, “You’re blocking the screen, Shishou.”
Reigen, who knows Mob’s taste in women like the back of his hand, is beginning to wonder if he himself has unwittingly been absorbed into the monstrous amalgam of sexuality festering at the core of the boy’s being. The boy's always held a torch for him, Reigen knows, but it's only recently that it's begun to feel sort of... Sexual.
Anyway, he’s absolutely certain Mob has been contaminating his food.
You know.
. . .You know?
“I think you’ve finally lost it.” Dimple is flat on his back, floating as if he were sagging in a hammock. Gaseous legs crossed, hands held behind the noxious plume of what passes as a skull for him. He looks like he’s on vacation, all he’s missing is a tropical lei. A nice red one. Mob’s just ran off for the day after dropping off Reigen’s takeout order at the man’s request. It's nothing unusual, Mob grabs his Shishou a milkshake or a burger all the time. And there’s nothing too obviously amiss. However.
He’s been on edge since last Friday.
He wonders how long Mob could've been doing something that unhinged. It's going to keep him up at night.
“C’mon, you really think a kid like Shigeo is hunching over your burgers giving them a lil’ special sauce? Not that you wouldn’t deserve it.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it looks tampered with.”
“Maybe this shiny new neurosis will slim you down some. You won’t eat nearly as much if you keep it up... The kid has a crush on you, sure, but I still think you’re being kind of paranoid here.”
Dimple, he won’t take any of this seriously. Reigen’s rigid at his desk, pulling out fistfuls of his hair, eyeballing his burger and daring it to move. The bun sticks to the broiled patty below it. The meat sweats. Molten swiss cheese cascades. Reigen’s stomach lurches and he clamps a hand over his mouth.
Oh, he feels ill.
“Reigen. Shigeo isn’t coming on your big macs.”
Shrilly, “You don’t know that!”
He really does lose a few pounds after that, much to Dimple’s amusement.
Mob comes to work emboldened, sometimes.
Reigen has to beat him off with a stick. Likeso:
"Absolutely not. It’s out of the question."
Reigen is behind his computer, irritably sipping his tea, drumming his fingers on his desk. The poster child for stress. His phone is squashed between his shoulder and his ear and he's on hold with a client. Mob is waiting nearby for his mentor to reconsider, stoic, towering over his desk. Reigen's eyes reflect a loading webpage. A broken webpage. What's wrong with his website? He and Mob, they've got a few jobs lined up for the day. Serizawa's taken a day off and Mob always seems to take that as an invitation to openly harass his Shishou.
Reigen's sleeves are rolled to his elbows and there's a woman getting undressed in the back room, waiting for him and his ever capable hands to knead a demon out of the dough of her back. Mob tried to ask him for a massage the other day, actually. He’d even offered to pay. Reigen feels like the kid needs to be exorcised himself, the things he's been trying to pull lately.
"Shishou. I know that you're busy."
Beyond busy.
"But this is important to me."
Reigen's eyes flit up as he sips at his tea. He levels the boy with a look.
"Mob. I'm not kissing you."
He can think of about five different reasons off the top of his head for why that would be a terrible idea. Sixteen and aching, all he ever does is stare at Reigen's mouth. Probably because Reigen doesn't have a set of bombshell tits to stare at instead.
The boy is not looking down at his shoes as he should, in sheepish embarrassment or perhaps shame, but instead looking at Reigen dead on, undaunted. It’s almost intimidating. He's a little more sure of himself every year. Growing up so fast. Reigen would be proud to see him so firm in his resolve if he wasn't annoyed in what he was choosing to be so resolved about in the first place.
Mob wants to know, "Why won’t you?"
Reigen raises his hand from his desk, thumb tucking itself against his palm. "One. You're a kid." His index finger drops. "Two. You're a kid." His middle finger drops. "Three. You're—!"
Mob is hastily leaning in to simply steal it, take it, and Reigen's palm is pressed against his forehead to stop him. Heart lurching, speeding. Rapidfire, like fireworks pumped into the night sky. That was … Close. Really fucking close. Reigen shouldn't be as nervous as he is. In fact he should probably be pissed that Mob would even try a stunt like that. He releases his forehead to lightly flick it as if to say, "Cut it out already". Mob's hands are resting on the arms to his swivel chair. His grip is tight. The call is picked up from hold, and his client is in his ear prattling about spirits. He makes bets with himself sometimes; will this or won't this be paranormal after all? He drops his mug without meaning to, which should hit the keyboard but floats just above the keys instead. Tea and all, caught in the net of Mob's psychic powers. It's like living on the space station, like living without gravity.
Nothing ever really breaks anymore, when they're together.
"Well I could certainly try and squeeze you in for tomorrow. As of today, our schedule is packed. Mm, let me set up an appointment time for a proper consultation…"
The mug sets itself on his desk, tea languidly whirlpooling just above, and then eventually plopping into it in one seemingly solid mass. Tea sloshes around the rim and splatters on a few merchant copy receipts.
As the chair creaks, as Mob leans more of his weight onto it and hikes up a knee to rest itself between Reigen's spread thighs, Reigen inclines his head away from the boy's heat seeking mouth. It grazes his jawline sloppily.
"Ack!" He doesn't mean to make that sound but he does, and he's stumbling over himself to apologize a beat later, "Please… please excuse me. I'll have to call you back."
Phone snapped shut. He sets it on his desk. His vexation is written so plainly on his face. Cheeks hot, eyes narrowed to slits.
"Shishou, my first kiss has to be special. I want it to be with you." This, murmured darkly against his pulse where Mob's mouth has dragged itself down to. Which might come across as sexy, in another realm, with a grown man, but spit is bubbling past the boy's lips and it’s making Reigen think of carps or catfish. Puckered mouths gaping. It tickles, even, right where the boy is nipping, and Reigen giggles shrilly before he can stop himself.
"And what," He's trying to sober himself up, "what about Tsubomi? Wouldn't that be special too?"
"I want it to be with you. I'll kiss Tsubomi in the future, when I'm ready."
"Okay, time out. I'm not going to be your practice dummy, Mob. Go… go sit down. At your desk. Now. I'm serious."
But, Mob does not go sit down at his desk.
Mob sucks at Reigen’s neck feverishly and that is not okay, in any universe, even if Reigen is bursting at the seams with high-pitched laughter.
He really is that ticklish.
Reigen suspends Mob without pay and examines the hickey for days after the fact, feeling like a braindead teenager; he hasn't gotten a hickey this dark since high school. He has to tell everybody he's the sole survivor of a wasp attack, when they ask about the mark.
When Mob is allowed back in the office after his little slap on the wrist, Reigen occasionally catches him staring at the still-fading hickey.
Like he’s pleased with how long his mark lingers.
A high school party.
It's a rite of passage, lying to your parents and drinking the night away with your friends. Reigen suspects so anyway, seeing as his teenage years were a little more friendless than Mob's and as a result, woefully uneventful. Anyway, he's not incredibly bothered when Mob comes to him tipsy, on the verge of being outright drunk. Just a smidge annoyed that it's the middle of the night and he was sleeping before Mob came knocking. Yep. No big deal.
Mob seems to enjoy being intoxicated. Probably because the kid is always so tense; alcohol really does wonders. That Hanazawa, he lives alone. It follows that his apartment is where the gang gets up to no good.
Mob is on Reigen’s couch, one shoe missing, the other unlaced but still very much on his foot. He's trying to kick it off and failing. Reigen is in his pajamas, back turned to the scene, phone held up to his ear. "I know it's short notice. I’ll take full responsibility in the morning, but this spirit needs to be exorcized tonight. Urgently." Reigen is lying through his teeth to Mob's parents like it’s easy. He should let them ground the kid until the end of his life, as out of hand as Mob has gotten lately. But.
It's not something he can help, his desire to protect his student.
"Yes. Yes, I know it’s a school night.”
He'll need to get Mob some bread. Water. Sober him up enough to lecture him without fear of it going through one ear and out the other.
The little shriek he belts out when the boy's arms wind around him is quickly and anxiously explained away, "E-Evil spirits, they're everywhere! Don't worry, it's nothing Mob and I can't handle." Mob is nuzzling his neck. When did he get so god damn tall, anyway? He has to be taller than Reigen at this point. "Goodnight."
Reigen scrambles with his phone. Ending the call.
"You smell nice, Shishou."
Mob, on the other hand, smells like a brewery. His breath could light gas pilots. Reigen is pinching his nose shut, breathing through his mouth. "You're taking a shower in the morning. Christ, Mob. Would you let go?"
"Mmph." Mob is shaking his head, or trying to. The world must be a hazy blur of feel good energy.
They stumble about his apartment in a rhythmless dance of push and pull, skin aglow with moonlight. The bed springs squeak as they tumble onto his bed together. Wrestling against each other. This mattress isn't large enough for the both of them; he likes to sleep alone, the odd annual fling had elsewhere. Reigen is flat on his stomach and Mob is so heavy on top of him. His unease is mild, barely there but present all the same. Mob pins one of his wrists, but this seems to be done experimentally. He's wondering the same thing Reigen is. If he's finally stronger than him now. After all, isn't it an inevitability?
The clock on his nightstand glows in red:
12:05AM
Reigen does make an attempt to wriggle his wrist free. His failure to do so is a silent admission. An answer to their shared question. Mob's grip on his wrist loosens considerably. His thumb works gentle circles into flesh and bone.
"You're too heavy," Reigen mutters, half his face buried in his pillow, the other half facing the window. Mob's made himself comfortable on top of him. His body seems to swallow him. Warm. So warm. He’s got that unpleasant, earthy musk to him that only a teenage boy could achieve. There was a time Mob smelled like fresh linen and morning glories, but he's not quite a kid anymore. "When somebody tells you no, Mob, you have to respect their wishes. It's a basic principle I expect you to understand."
"But you haven't said no."
As if it needs to be stated so explicitly, as if it needs a contract written up with lawyers present and Mob needs a soul-binding signature drawn out in blood.
The teen rolls his hips down against him. Reigen grunts, wrist flexing underneath the weight of the broad hand on top of it. Mob could probably pop a boner from a particularly insistent breeze, Reigen knows all too well. So it's definitely there, pressing into his ass, and Mob's breathing is labored even though they haven't even done anything yet. Or, not to say yet. It's not like Reigen is planning to, not like he's thinking about it. The point is, all he's done is grind against the man.
Sexually inexperienced, wound up and quickly unwinding.
The high schooler waits. He waits until he thinks he's found his answer, even though Reigen hasn't said anything. Unusually quiet, the man is chewing the inside of his cheek. Without ceremony, Mob begins to rut against him like he’s in heat. Honestly, he probably is in heat with how demanding he is about it. The swell of his cock feels so much bigger than what's fair. He's breathlessly gasping into his ear, "Shishou."
And thinking better of it, wetting his lips, hoarsely testing the name, "Arataka."
Brat.
He’s really pushing his luck.
Reigen is tense beneath him, breaths measured. He's got a fistful of his sheets. The mattress won't stop squeaking, and his mind is drifting to… Other things.
His face is a grease fire.
He thinks about the lube in his nightstand, he thinks about that long dead dildo leaking battery acid over yellowed utility bills.
His pajama bottoms are tugged down.
His fuzzy thighs tremble.
Mob is dragging him up onto his knees by his hips, and Reigen is entirely burying his face in his pillow now, inhaling his own scent. Purple shampoo and tobacco. The teen's hand is under his top, racing up clammy tummy skin and leaving flesh tingling unbearably in its wake. He squeezes at his pec like there's something to be felt up, except there's nothing to be felt up and it hurts when he pinches his nipple like that. Horny. Drunk. Mob’s a little careless like this. Reigen squirms as that same hand snakes south, resting just outside of his boxers like there's a point in being modest when he's bent over his Shishou, impatiently dry humping him in the dark like a Catholic schoolboy right before mass.
"Do you want me to touch you here, Arataka?"
Inquisitively groping the man through his boxers.
Mob's voice is like smoke trapped in velvet and when did it get so deep? When did he get so…?
Reigen doesn't mean to keen so sharply. And he doesn't mean to lift his ass and he doesn't mean to just let this happen. But, he does.
His cock is released. His thighs are twitching in anticipation. There's no atmosphere. His apartment is absolutely a wreck, walls quaking, dishes crashing. He thinks Mob is going to peel down his underwear. He’ll graze his cockhead over Reigen's hole, getting the bright idea that other things might feel twice as good, and Reigen will have to tell him they can't do that dry. Well, they can't do it at all.
"Fuck, Mob."
Reigen wants to get the lube. He just about can't breathe.
He flinches as he's fallen upon. Abruptly. Like a collapsed house of cards, Mob's deadweight comes crashing down. Engorged dick trapped between the mattress and his body, Reigen huffs, needily pushing his ass up against what feels like a very much deflating erection. He wants to complain, he wants to tell him to get off of him at least, but Mob is breathing so deeply now.
Battery depleted.
Fast asleep.
Reigen does manage to squirm out from underneath him, to stand himself up. Tenting in his pajama bottoms, panting like some blushing virgin. Mob rolls himself onto his back. Even in the dark, the wet spot clinging to the crotch of his trousers is hard to miss. The clock reads,
12:09AM
Reigen pinches the bridge of his nose.
He sleeps on his own couch.
Ideally, Mob would have woken up with amnesia. Shenanigans forgotten, he'd swear off drinking and he'd decide to stop pursuing Reigen with all the persistence of a savage, meat eating predator.
But in reality he only seems to realize that Reigen is pliable in ways that would not have immediately been obvious to him when he was but a child.
They walk down the tracks of the abandoned metro, Serizawa leading with his flashlight. The white beam of it punches through darkness. Mob walks in time with Reigen, restricting his long strides with some effort. It's been a bit of an adjustment period, getting used to his high school uniform. Reigen doesn't even have to help him with knotting his school necktie anymore; Mob caught on to the mechanics of it pretty quickly.
Serizawa says, "I can feel it further ahead. What do you think, Kageyama-kun?" The man glances over his shoulder.
"I feel it too. Let's keep moving in this direction."
Serizawa nods, smiling proudly at the confirmation as his head swivels forward. Reigen's not really included in spirit detection conversations anymore, but he can't say he misses it really.
He occasionally tries to walk ahead of Mob, but the boy is quick to match his pace. Their footsteps echo.
What's happening is, his hand keeps dipping down into darkness to grab a palm full of Reigen's ass. Like grinding against him, like brazenly calling him Arataka, Mob is curious about how much is too much, if there even is a too much to be found. Because Reigen, though he is blushing madly and shooting Mob warning glares in the dark and tugging at the teen's unbudging wrist in distress to stop him, well, Reigen doesn't say a word.
Mob watches him in the corner of a glassy eye. Maybe he even smiles, but it's too dark to fully make out the curl of his lips. Reigen operates on guesswork.
His hand strays up from his ass, trailing the grainy leather of his belt and towards the crotch of his pants. He squeezes him between his legs, bleaching Reigen's brain.
His phone's chipper jingle plays. It sounds eerie down here, really giving him a full case of the creeps.
Mob teasingly drums his fingers on the phone vibrating in Reigen’s back pocket.
His hand drops.
"Ah, I need… I need to take this call. You two go on ahead." Reigen stops to take out his phone, flipping it open, and the flashlight briefly blinds him as it settles upon his face. He squints past it, shielding his eyes. He supposes Serizawa is nodding.
"We'll be right up ahead, Reigen-san."
Mob's already walking by to catch up with his fellow Esper. No excuses to stay made up on the fly, not that Mob is any good at making up an impromptu lie anyway.
He doesn't linger.
Reigen turns his back to the departing duo, one hand resting on the cool wall of the tunnel, head bowing, sweat soaking through his dress shirt and giving him pit stains. In his ear, an automated message about an expired warranty drones on.
He claps his phone shut, listening to the distant sound of his employees retreating footsteps.
"Mob. We need to have a talk. It's long overdue."
The office is empty, besides them. Afternoon, close to evening. The sunset is raw, bloody on the horizon. Mob sits on the couch with his hands clasped together, watching Reigen pace at length.
The man is gesturing wildly with his hands.
"Lately, I've noticed that you've been going through some… changes. Usually we talk about these kinds of things but I know that this topic might be more uncomfortable to broach than the norm."
Probably, they should've talked about this when Mob first started beating off in the office to relieve himself around Reigen.
"Everybody goes through a phase like this."
Probably not everybody, if he's honest. But when is Reigen ever honest?
"But you have to learn what is and isn't appropriate. And I need you to realize that I'm not interested in… I'm not interested."
"Oh." Mob stares at him so blankly with those round, unblinking eyes of his, it's hard to tell if any of this is actually getting through to him or not. "What sort of things am I doing that aren't appropriate, Shishou? Please help me to better understand."
Reigen clears his throat.
His ears are burning.
"W-Well." Voice warbling. "Well, to begin with, any business that you have to take care of should be taken care of at home."
"Do you mean that I’m not allowed to do my schoolwork in the office anymore? I didn’t realize that it was upsetting you."
Somehow, Reigen’s the shaky one between the two of them. He sweats.
"That’s… Not quite what I… Your—! The—!"
"Yes?" Mob unclasps his hands. He absently sets one on his groin, staring up at the man. He lazily traces a circle there with his middle finger. Gaze drifting off. Mob knows. When did he learn how to play stupid?
“Mob.”
The boy’s hand falls away from his crotch as he pushes himself to stand. He approaches Reigen, who stumbles over his own feet. The backs of his knees bump against the hard edge of his desk. It’s frustrating that Reigen has to look up at him when he stands over him like this. It’s hard to believe this kid barely came up to his waist just a few years ago. Mob grasps at the man’s chin, fingers squishing his cheeks.
“You’re completely disrespecting me.” Which should sound bitter and biting, but his words are all garbled on account of Mob holding his face like that. “You can’t just manhandle me whenever you feel like it, Mob.”
“I don’t think Shishou really minds.”
Mob drags him forward by his face, pecking Reigen’s protruding lips with a featherlight kiss. The first of many. A bruising onslaught. Reigen’s fingers are curling around the edge of his desk. His heart is pulverizing his ribcage. Dust, ash. Mob releases his face, kissing him properly now, hand dragging one of Reigen’s from the edge he’s been so tightly gripping at. He sets the man’s hand on the swell of his dick. It’s hard under his palm, and Reigen is beginning to wheeze into a kiss that is quickly growing wet. Because Mob’s using his tongue, because Mob doesn’t know how to use his tongue. He's brash and overeager, clumsily lapping at Reigen’s downy lips with sloppy wet licks.
He worries that it’s turning him on, Mob being this terrible at kissing. Mob's as filthy as he is innocent.
Reigen so badly wants to teach him how to do it properly.
Mob's guiding his hand, his own layered on top of it. He shudders as he forces the man to rub his erection for him. Arousal paints Mob's cheeks red.
Reigen tilts his head back, breaking their kiss, and Mob's at his throat. Sucking it black and blue. He giggles so nervously as his student does that. Tickles. And he's the adult, he's responsible or something, and he should be protesting a little more than he is. He should probably not be squeezing Mob between his legs and trying to work out just how thick his cock is through two layers of fabric.
Mob's leech-mouth detaches and Reigen is shoved down to his knees by his shoulder. Mob's belt buckle catches stray sun rays, blinds Reigen and the man has to squeeze his eyes shut. His hands scrabble up the fabric of Mob's slacks to find something sturdy to hold onto. The teen's dick is out, the tip of it smearing precum on his upper lip before being shoved into Reigen's mouth. The groan Mob makes when he does it has Reigen's hands twitching, trembling.
…God, he knew this kid when he was just in elementary.
There's crayon sketches hung up on his wall in frames. Signed, "Shigeo! :)"
Reigen's disturbed by how hard he is right now.
Mob is gripping at the back of his head, forcing his cock deeper, deeper, and he must be astounded by the fact that Reigen takes it without gagging, without coughing. Compliant. It's heavy on his tongue, pushing well into his throat. Mob's pubic hair smells musky, unwashed, and he needs to sit the kid down and give him a talk about hygiene. At the very least, Mob still respects Reigen enough not to point out that he's clearly had practice to take a dick this well without complaint. But maybe it's worse that he says instead, "Do you want to suck it that much?" Mob's hand slides from the back of his head and forward, carding through Reigen's choppy fringe. "But I thought Shishou wasn't interested?"
Reigen grips at the boy's thighs.
He pulls back, the strain on his jaw easing. His eyelids lift partway and he can see that his mouth is still connected to the tip of his dick with a thin strand of spit. It snaps as he parts his lips for his tongue to come through. Hot passes of his tongue over Mob's cockhead has the boy alternating between gently playing with his hair or yanking at it. Mob sounds incorruptibly young, panting like that.
Reigen's tongue streaks the underside. Thick. He's so thick. Reigen's frazzled, he's going to overflow. He hasn't sucked anyone off in ages. So, so good. He drags Mob forward by the hips, taking his cock back into his mouth. His nails dig beyond polyester and into flesh. The boy's thrusting his hips, matching the rhythm of Reigen's bobbing head. His cock is flexing against his tongue like he's already close and Mob's so sensitive, he can feel a tremor thrum through the wood he's kneeling on.
"Ahh, Shishou, Shishou—"
He's far enough down his throat that Reigen doesn't think he can do anything but swallow if he comes.
"Alright, Reigen, I've been thinking about what you said about the burgers." Dimple is phasing through a wall with impeccable timing, pinky picking at an ear that he does not actually posses and flicking earwax that he did not actually find. "I even talked to Shigeo about it and—ah, okay, classy. I'm out."
Reigen jerks his head back in full on alarm, banging it against his desk, grunting as cum strikes his face like a splotch from a paintbrush slapped against canvas. It's in his eye and snailing viscously down his cheek and dripping onto the collar of his button up. Swollen red lips, fried frizzy hair. He sniffs up the snot running from his nose and sheepishly watches as Dimple phases back through the wall shaking his gaseous head, muttering, "Unbelievable."
Reigen wipes a streak across his fogged mirror. The reflected look in his eyes is nothing short of grim. He grips at the corners of the sink. He thinks he can see his roots showing.
…He should brush his teeth.
He already did, but he should do it ten more times at least.
The first thing he did after blowing his student was tell him to just go home.
Reigen pushes away and grabs for a towel, damp soles tracking water across the floor as he exits his bathroom. He's drying his hair, trying to think up an escape plan for what is clearly turning into some kind of an affair with the kid he's been mentoring for years, and when he peers up, there's Mob. You know. Just sitting on his couch. Reigen means to scream but somehow isn't surprised enough to follow through with it. Mob is covering his eyes, like he cares about Reigen being indecent. And he most certainly does not. Dripping, absolutely bare, Reigen stands there.
It's the middle of the night. Mob is really getting too comfortable just showing up unannounced like this. Reigen's still got the towel draped over his hair, though he's ceased in grinding it dry.
There's takeout on the coffee table. Mob must've brought it for dinner.
Thoughtful.
"And when exactly did you learn to teleport?"
"A month ago." Mob's fingers spread wide enough for one eye to peek through the break between them. "You'll catch a cold like that, Arataka."
Reigen turns on his heels, yanking his towel from his head and irritably wrapping it around himself. "Stop calling me that. I mean it, if you do it again you're losing visitation rights. And I'm phoning your parents. And other things."
Mob's probably already filing that threat away as something to test later in the night.
He's behind him, now, wrapping an arm around his middle. Undoubtedly scalding his lips against the hotplate of Reigen's face with that gentle kiss to the man's cheek.
Mob feels solid behind him. Besides that, he's obviously erect.
It's really at the drop of a hat with this kid, Jesus Christ.
Mob's got a milkshake in his other hand, is holding it up, daring the man to take a sip. Reigen's hesitation breaks down like a heap of sugar in a saucepan. Melting. Burning. Reigen… Sucks at the flimsy red straw.
Hollowing his cheeks.