Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13875588.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo_&_Serizawa_Katsuya
  Character:
      Serizawa_Katsuya, Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Additional Tags:
      Serizawa_Katsuya_/_Suzuki_Touichirou, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon
      Divergence, Loser_AU, Alcohol, Clothed_Sex, Rimming, Intercrural_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-05 Words: 4850
****** Cherry Flavored ******
by goretier
Summary
     Serizawa isn't great at parties.
Notes
     This is for Motte!
     This is a bit of a strange set up, but this fic is a loser au in
     which Mob and his friends lost to Touichirou in the world domination
     arc. This is set directly after Claw's victory, and to celebrate
     Touichi has thrown a house party (?) and poor Seri has to find
     something to do as he thinks about what boss might have in store for
     him.
Night had descended hours ago in Salt City. The light pollution washed out the
stars, and the streetlights cast the sky in a sticky yellow that spread out for
miles around. Even at the edge of the city, nestled between trees and cuddled
into the country, the mansion’s many windows gazed up into that sickly shine
through the leaves and branches that covered the sky.
Katsuya gripped his empty hands tighter against his sides as the celebration
behind him shook the bricks down to the dirt beneath them. The anxiety in his
chest was tight, high, a firm fist over his throat. Sweat broke down his back.
He couldn’t swallow properly.
Victory had been decisive. The building had collapsed, sure, but the children
were in hand, docile in their defeat and fear. They had been separated and
tucked away, and bedrooms acted as prison cells until the boss decided what to
do with them. He had a plan for each of them, Katsuya was sure. He wrung his
empty hands a little tighter together, feeling the sweat on his fingers.
Where would this new world order leave him?
“Serizawa.” A cool, smooth voice pressed into his ear, and he jumped, heart
racing, when Shimazaki glided into view with a bottle of rum in his hand. He
pressed it into his chest with a strange and empty grin, and his posture
remained cold. “This is from the boss. He’s busy right now, so don’t go looking
for him.”
Katsuya gripped the bottle hard around the neck as he remembered. Suzuki with
his hand, firm, on his son’s bruised shoulder. He hadn’t seen either of them
all evening.
“I – I mean,” Katsuya stuttered, recalling that slow smile and the curl of his
long fingers in that shock of red hair, “That’s um, alright, but I don’t –
where are you going?” He asked, watching the slim and handsome man break away
to pace down the hall. The bedrooms lie in that direction; he had been here
often with Suzuki, he knew the layout of the house. Not treading the polished
wood floors with him, though, left alone in a party with wine and whiskey and
cigar smoke thick at the top of the ceiling as people crashed and shouted and
kissed… Katsuya balked, and followed him, aching for something to comforting to
hold on to.
Shimazaki’s hand stopped him square in the chest. The door they were in front
of was ajar, and he could just make out a bed, a body. A boy. Blond hair.
“Who is that?” Katsuya asked, watching the boy pick his head up to meet his
gaze, only to feel his own widen when he watched the boy roll his eyes and
settle back in the pillows before flicking off the light with a lazy twitch of
his finger.
“Three’s a crowd.” Shimazaki said, pushing him back a step. “Try the next room
over.”
And then the door snapped shut in his face.
Katsuya clenched his fists. The bottle warmed up in his grip.
--
He didn’t really know what he was doing, but that only occurred to him after he
had taken a handful of drinks. The lights were pounding into his eyes and the
music was pounding into his ears, and the back of his throat was thick with the
sticky cough-syrup sweetness. But the anxiety was packed away at the back of
his head, behind the ache. Almost unnoticeable. And so, he took another drink.
The party was going on, and on, and on, and he clung to the shadows in the
hallway Shimazaki had walked down, and prayed for peace and for the night to
end and leave him be. Alone, in a room, with the windows shut and the curtains
drawn. Maybe he could hide for a while and keep to himself until Suzuki called
for him, and guided him from the room once more. A fresh start.  
His feet took him back to the door Shimazaki had disappeared behind. The light
and high giggle of a boy. Three’s a crowd; try the next room.
The next door over was unlocked. He pushed it open with a faltering hand, and
as soon as he stepped inside a weight fell from his shoulders and he all but
stumbled all the way in and slammed the door shut behind him with a gasp. His
stomach churned and he covered his mouth, and the whole room rocked around him
and for a second he was sure he would be sick.
“Are you alright?” A small, docile voice asked. Sluggishly, Katsuya looked over
at the bed, and saw a boy in a gakuran seated like a black diamond nestled in
white silk sheets. His hair was dark, cut in a plain fashion, but his eyes
caught Katsuya right around the throat and ripped a gasp from his lungs. He
stumbled forward and stopped only when his knees hit the bed.
“You’re the boy. From the city – the stairs.” He said, clutching his rum to his
chest. That same gakuran, those same eyes. Those words, that grabbed him, shook
him, petrified him.
“I’ll be your friend.”
“Serizawa-san.” The child murmured, pulling his legs tighter to him under his
body, glancing uneasily to his side for a moment. “Are you alright?”
“N-no, yes, I mean.” He said, mesmerized, pulled forward by the power of those
soft, sad eyes. He could smell his own breath, sticky and sweet, with that
bitter bite at the back that burned down his chest. The bedclothes bunched up
under his hand. He couldn’t focus on anything but the child’s face. “What… What
are you… I thought Suzuki would…”
The boy turned his head back to the side. He could see his eyes glinting, red
around the rims.
“What’s that in your hand?” The boy asked, pulling his hands into his lap.
Katsuya watched as his fingers twitched nervously.
“It’s um. Rum.” He said, holding it out, tipping the neck in his direction as
he climbed up onto the bed.
The boy glanced over, at the slosh of the liquid. The smell of it seemed to
burn his nose, even from across the bed. Katsuya crawled closer.
“Here.” He said, gesturing at him with the bottle. “It’s cherry.”
The child snatched it from his hands and tipped his head back to drink,
spluttered when it hit his tongue and all but shoved it back into Katsuya’s
chest when he was done. He coughed, covered his mouth with the back of his
hand, and sagged back against the headrest as he swallowed.
“I’m sorry. It’s strong.” Katsuya said, gripping the bottle tight, working to
swallow as he watched this fallen angel scrub his face with his sleeve before
looking back at him.
“It’s fine.” He said quietly. “I’ve just. Never…”
“Neither have I.” Katsuya said, setting the bottle on the bed, propped between
his knees where he sat crouched, “Well, been – been drunk. I’ve had drinks,
with Suzuki... Just never…” He stopped himself, suddenly shy, in front of this
fourteen-year-old who was still trying to get the taste off his tongue. His
spit would taste like it for a while. “What’s your name? I don’t… I’m not sure
if I remember…”
The boy looked up at him – they were close, now, close enough for Katsuya to
see the dark circles under his eyes, the dried blood under his nose. He
flickered his eyes down, recalling the bruise on Shou’s shoulder and the rocks
he had flung during their fight. What kind of terrors hid under that black
material? Casualties of war, bruises and scars and hasty patch jobs to make
sure he didn’t bleed on the upholstery.
Now a spoil of war, with dark hair and dark eyes and pale, fine skin, smooth
under the collar. Katsuya swallowed thickly.
“Kageyama Shigeo.” He said, small, tired. “Some people call me Mob.”
“Mob.” Katsuya echoed, sliding his eyes up off his collar, back to his face.
His lips were so red. Cherry flavored. His vision swam.
“Serizawa-san,” Mob said, still huddled up in the pillows at the headboard; he
could cage him in like this and keep him forever, “What are you here for?”
 “Try the next room over.”
Katsuya flushed, noticed their proximity, and let out a breath that stirred the
full bangs on Mob’s forehead. His fingers twitched in nervous need, but he
straightened his back and thought about the rum, until warm, gentle fingers
touched down on the back of his hand.
An uncertain place in this brave new world. “He is… just like me…”
Katsuya had to keep him.
“Would – would you like more?” He said, offering the bottle again as he caught
Mob’s hand with his other. His fingers were soft and small, and he clutched at
his hand and pulled it tight to his chest. “I can’t finish the whole thing on
my own.”
Mob hesitated, looking at it and shying from the sight. Katsuya could sense his
desire, though, as he licked his lips like he was recalling the taste of it.
Judging the utility. It isn’t pleasant, losing friends.
Victory, then, when the boy took it from his grasp with no further coaxing.
Allies in this strange mansion with music blasting through the walls. Maybe
they could leave together, after a while. Just the two of them, in the wide
world, on this wide bed, pressed up tight against the headboard.
Katsuya watched his neck hungrily as he took one sip, more slowly this time.
Aware of the burn. Familiar with the cloying sweetness of it that tried to mask
the bite, like anything could take the pain of it away completely.
Foolish, darling boy, with his bleary eyes, already a shot in before his last
sip. Young, small, no tolerance and so trusting. Katsuya’s heart fluttered in
his chest, and he took it back from his grasp and considered drinking again
just to taste his spit. He buried his fingers into the sheets.
“What, ah… What are you doing here?” He asked, biting his tongue with a flinch.
A stupid question. He knew.
“Suzuki-san said I could stay in this room.” Mob said gently, pulling a pillow
into his lap and twisting the corner of it with his anxious fingers. “I’ll be
able to see Ritsu soon, and Reigen, and everyone else. He said so.”
Katsuya thought back to the blond hair in the bedroom next door. To the
victors, the spoils, and their small, gentle hands. And – maybe, if he dared to
hope for himself – their cherry flavored lips. He could feel the lonesomeness
pouring from the boy, so similar and just as powerful as that brief encounter
in the stairwell, just as real. Katsuya ached, and he leaned to the edge of the
bed to push the bottle onto the bedside table before he pulled the boy by his
hand into his chest.
Mob came willingly. Did alcohol work that quickly, Katsuya wondered with a
thrill down his spine, because Mob’s cheeks were red under the streak of his
tears and his hands were clumsy at the collar of his shirt as he pushed his
face into his neck and shook. All traces of sorrow in his own chest were
squeezed out as he let go of the boy’s hand and instead took hold of him by his
hips. Heat flooded his fingers and bubbled up in his stomach and he shifted
back, to lean against the headboard, and he thought he might pass out when Mob
climbed up into his lap to press tight into his arms.
“Oh my god, oh my god…” Katsuya breathed, fisting the thick fabric of his
uniform, feeling the boy’s tears soak his shirt at the base of his neck. His
skin burned and he could feel his heart beating wildly under Mob’s hand, and he
was hard and aching and tight in his pants before he could even bury his nose
in the soft, dark hair, and smell him, the sweat and blood and sweetness.
“I’m so s-scared,” Mob wheezed, curling his fingers into Katsuya’s sides,
lighting up his skin as he pulled the child tighter against him and smoothed
his hands down his back, “I – I can’t do anything, to help, or he’ll, he’ll do
something.”
“I think they’re fine!” Katsuya said frantically, hooking his arms under Mob’s
thighs and hauling him up his chest, away from his hips, higher so he could put
his own nose in the corner of his neck as he sealed his teeth into his bottom
lip to hold back his groan. “I-I’ll help you find them!”
His voice was thick and slow and it felt like there was cotton in his mouth,
and every jerk of the boy’s body in his arms tilted the room a little more. Mob
could barely keep his hands under him as he writhed, so small against him,
light and pale and pretty, a mirage or illusion of water vapor and perfume.
“You will?” Mob pressed, picking his head up off his chest to stare at him with
his large eyes. They were red, spilling over with tears, drawing clear paths
over the faint layer of dust still powdered over his cheek from the rubble. The
child was probably divine. Katsuya was floating with an angel in his arms.
“Yes, yes.” He promised, grinding the words out through the throb in his head.
What wouldn’t he promise? “But – but we can’t do it yet!”
That spark of hope in Mob's eyes was burning already, bright and hot, and
Katsuya swallowed through his dry mouth and thought distantly, for a moment,
about his own future. This anxious state, this sense of limbo. Had Suzuki
forgiven him, truly? The bottle of rum would say as much, but Katsuya knew,
deep in his chest, settling in his stomach with the alcohol, that he still had
reparations to pay, and they would come soon enough.
He swallowed again, and Mob cuddled closer in his arms. Perhaps he could forget
about it for a while with his new little friend. Surely, they both would rather
think about something else.
Katsuya moved on his own to nuzzle his nose into the side of the child's neck.
His stomach pitched with delight when the boy turned his head away and let him
press closer, and he felt the tight grip of anxiety over his throat calm down
into that warm simmer that the rum had lulled him into earlier. It smelled nice
here, just under his jaw, in the space by his ear, and he exhaled slowly and
placed his shaking hands down on his thighs, up by the jut of his hipbones.
Mob shuddered, and shied away. "That tickles, Serizawa-san." He protested
gently, in a sleepy, slurred, and sweet voice. Katsuya could smell the rum on
his breath, and he thought, once more, about the taste of his spit.
Clumsily, he pressed his lips to the boy's neck. His heart was already pounding
hard in his chest and he found himself holding Mob tighter, already frantic
that he might leave him, try to escape. Already he was used to the burn of his
body heat against him, in his lap, and the stiff material of his uniform under
his fingertips. He wanted to tear it off and feel his skin, so he took his
shaking hands and pushed them up the boy's small and slender chest, and fumbled
his fingers over the buttons.
Mob pushed himself back from his chest with both hands, freezing Katsuya in his
daze. He looked at the smudge of spit shining by the collar of his gakuran and
burned with the need to see more.
"Just - just for a little?" He asked, working his hands on the buttons again
and pulling Mob closer by his jacket. "We can't even do anything right now, to
- to help your friends. I, I have to - it would be good, you wouldn't have to
think about them!" He said, pulling the last button free and shoving it down
off his shoulders, taking in the bloodstained white t-shirt that it hid beneath
it. Guilt arrested his hands from taking anything further as he stared and
passed his eyes over his shirt and wondered what kind of bruises he would find
underneath.
"I'm - I'm not sure," Mob said, looking away and squeezing his thighs together
around his hips. "I've never, I've never done this..." He said, biting his
bottom lip, drawing Katsuya's heavy and dark eyes to his mouth.
Katsuya swallowed, and bunched his fingers up in his shirt. Breathed in his
air, the sweat and sweet of it, and there must have been something convincing
in his eyes because the child relented with his hesitating and thin fingers and
shrugged his jacket the rest of the way off.
As soon as Mob set it carefully to the side, Katsuya pressed forward and kissed
him. He was greedy, impatient for it, and it showed in the way he whimpered
into his mouth the moment he was able to sweep his tongue inside. Mob’s lips
were soft, his mouth was wet, his tongue small and sweet and Katsuya bucked his
hips up in his eagerness at the first tentative groan the boy let out. He
couldn’t hide it now; Mob would feel his cock under his hips, thick and long
and hot and hard, massive against his own tiny prick as he stiffened against
him quickly.
He was shaking – they both were – and Katsuya pressed the boy down against the
bed and climbed above him. He slid his hands up his ribs under his shirt and
his fingertips were burning against the feeling of his smooth skin, and when
the child’s own small, warm hands came up to grip his hair, Katsuya just about
lost himself as he pulled away from his mouth and licked at the side of his
neck, instead.
The inside of his head was rolling with a distant headache, pounding behind his
eyes, but Katsuya floated on top of the boy, oblivious to all except the taste
under his tongue and the gasps in his ears. Mob was arching up off the bed,
pushing his hips into him like he wanted more, and Katsuya panted into the
space under his ear as he caught his breath. Getting his hands under his
shoulders, he pushed himself up so he was towering over the child so he could
take in the sight of him.
Mob’s eyes were spilling over with tears, creating new fresh tracks over his
dusty cheeks, but this time his face was flushed a deep red and his lips were
wet, bruised looking, and open. Some of Katsuya’s spit was shining off his
neck, above the collar of his plain undershirt. He could see a bruise peeking
out from the hem of his sleeve, high up on his arm, and he quickly turned his
eyes back up to his face.
Mob’s skinny chest was rattling with breath, and Katsuya fancied he could hear
his heart hammering all the way up here, like he could his own. Had he ever had
anything as beautiful under him before? Had he ever dreamed of it? The shiver
that dragged down his spine rolled his stomach, and he clenched his hands into
the comforter under Mob’s head urgently.
“Can I – can we…” He began, letting go with one hand to feel down the boy’s
side, until he was groping his hips, his thighs, full and pretty in his pants.
Mob gasped and turned his hips away. He reached up to cover his mouth and
looked to the side, back at the wall, as his cheeks turned a darker shade.
“I don’t know, I’ve never – I don’t know…” He said, pushing his own hand down
to cover the front of his hips like he was naked already in front of him –
really, Katsuya’s intense gaze might have made him feel so.  
Was he shy? Katsuya wondered as he gazed at his flustered face and trailed his
large hand down his thigh once more. It was a pretty expression on him. He kind
of liked the tears, too.
Katsuya sat back on his haunches and licked his lips. He could taste Mob’s
spit, and the rum, and the dirt and the blood, and he decided he wanted a
little bit more, so he grabbed at the boy’s belt and tore it open, popped his
button, and pulled down the zipper of his pants.
Mob was completely rigid in front of him, both hands now covering his mouth as
he watched Katsuya pull his pants down over his hips just far enough to get
them clear for his goal. As soon as he was ready, Katsuya grabbed Mob under his
knees and pushed his legs up to fold him in half, exposing his ass, and he bent
his head down to lick into him properly.
Mob choked out a sob and scrambled for the sheets under his hand, ripping into
the fabric as the ceiling above them cracked like a spiderweb and dusted them
both with plaster. Katsuya payed it no mind; the boy was strong enough to hold
that together, by far, and he focused instead on pushing Mob’s knees back so he
could roll his tongue against him rough and sloppy.
Katsuya was leaking into his pants already just at the taste of him. Mob’s hole
fluttered against the flat press of his tongue, and he smelled so much like a
boy that he nearly whimpered once more. Instead he pulled back for a moment to
bite down at the inside of his thigh as he pawed on the bed for Mob’s hand. As
soon as he grabbed it, Katsuya shifted forward on his knees and set his small
palm down over his own cock, still trapped in his pants and soaking through at
the tip.
He couldn’t see Mob’s eyes fly open wide, but the gasp was just as gratifying.
Katsuya grabbed at his knees again and let his eyes fall shut as he rocked into
the boy’s slack and distracted grip. It wasn’t much, but Katsuya was used to
nothing if not taking what he could get, and it wasn’t every day he could push
his tongue inside such a cute boy anyway.
When he did press it inside, Mob’s toes curled above him and he flew his hands
up to his hips and tugged hard at Katsuya’s hair under his pants, hastily
shoved halfway down his thighs.
Katsuya let himself be pushed back dazedly, licking his lips and panting as he
relaxed his press on the boy’s legs and looked at him.
“Don’t put it in there,” Mob gasped, letting his hands fall back to the bed
before bringing one up to drag the back of his hand against his forehead, “I’ll
– I don’t know, it feels so strange…”
Katsuya hummed, half listening, as he watched his wet and pink hole move, like
it wanted him back inside. He shivered lightly, and bit into his bottom lip.
“Have you ever done anything – anything like this, before?” He asked, letting
Mob’s legs fall to the bed on either side of his thighs as he finally pulled
himself out. When Mob shook his head no something hot and electric jumped up
his skin, and he let himself imagine it, working him open and down on his cock,
being this angel’s first and only, keeping him all to himself and showing him
all the hundreds of different things he knew that would keep him gasping and
shivering under him.
He could bend him over the bed, or take him up against the wall. Or put it in
just as they were moments ago, so he could watch his face and listen to him
beg. Or he could sit back and let the child ride him, the way Suzuki preferred.
Katsuya fancied, for a second, that he might be able to see his cock pressing
into the boy’s stomach if he sat on him like that, and his dick twitched in his
hand. He was close already; something Suzuki would berate him for. But it was
fine. They had all the time in the world together.
“Turn around?” Katsuya murmured, reaching up to spit in his hand before gliding
it down over his cock. The boy moved in a haze, his eyes dark and pupils wide,
trusting and willing and maybe beyond caring about what happened to him as long
as his friend was behind him – or maybe Katsuya was projecting.
When he crowded in behind him, bracing himself over the child’s back with one
arm, he marveled at the difference in size. Mob fit under him so nicely his
mouth felt dry. Katsuya let his head fall down to his shoulder with a shiver
and smelled his shampoo faint on the back of his neck, by the cut of his hair.
“Push your thighs together.” He spoke, already hot, like his clothes were too
tight, his skin on too close.
Mob obeyed with a cherry scented sigh, turning his head to let Katsuya mouth
against his neck once more. He couldn’t help a slow drag against his wet hole
on his way under his balls, but it was fine, the boy only whimpered and let him
move on, so trusting, so giving, so perfect and his now as he bit into his bone
and pushed his thick and hard cock between his thighs.
Gasping, Katsuya let go of his cock and gripped Mob’s hip hard enough to
bruise. He fisted the sheet under his hand as he rocked and shuddered. Sweat
broke out on his forehead and at the back of his neck almost immediately;
pathetic, Suzuki’s voice spat at him, not two thrusts into his thighs and
you’re already almost finished.
It was true, Katsuya had no fight in him left to deny it, and all he could
think about anyway was the drag of the child’s smooth pale thighs against his
cock as he snapped his hips against him and drew blood on his next bite. The
boy gasped, dropped his head below his shoulders, and Katsuya wondered if he
was watching his cock press in and out imagining it was pounding into his ass
instead. He spread precum between his thighs.
He worked up a rhythm fast, beyond his ability to give a damn about
presentation. The blunt head of his cock dragged against Mob’s balls, against
his own pretty little prick, and they both leaked against the sheets underneath
them as he bucked into him wildly with only his name on his mind and his taste
on his tongue.
When he got his wits about him to remember to put a hand on Mob’s cock, Katsuya
wrapped his spit-soaked fist around him and pumped only twice before the boy
was off in his hand. It startled him – this boy was nothing at all like Suzuki,
really, but it was fine, it was better like this – and he let the child fall to
the sheets as his arms gave out under him. Later tonight he would take more.
Breathing harshly, Katsuya fisted himself over the boy with his filthy hand,
rocking back onto his haunches and closing his eyes to the reeling world around
him briefly before focusing on his ass. He thought about it, about pushing his
fingers inside, making room for his cock and taking him just like this, spent
against the bed, laying in his own release and too powerless to move. He would
let him; Katsuya was sure of it. There was no fight in this boy like he had
seen on the stairs, but that was fine. Safer this way. Better to put your head
down and accept it, maybe even beg for it a little, if the moment was right.
Maybe Mob would beg for him in time, perhaps even tonight. He groaned as he
squeezed his cock, slick with the boy's cum. He would look gorgeous like that.
Katsuya bit his cheek and held back a sob, and reached down with his free hand
to pull the boy's ass cheek so he could look at his wet and puffy hole. Katsuya
came thinking about filling him up.
He watched his cock paint across his hole, up his back onto his shirt, down
over his red and slick thighs and onto his pants still tight around his knees,
and Katsuya swayed behind him for a second before letting go of his cock,
backing up on his knees, and getting down on his forearms just above Mob’s ass.
He licked his cum off it in a few lazy passes, heedless of the boy’s sobs of
overstimulation, and rolled, boneless, off to his side to stare at the ceiling.
As he closed his eyes against the snow of plaster dust drifting down from the
ceiling, he called the bottle of rum to his hand and took a drink to get the
taste of his cum off his tongue. He hoped Suzuki would give him another
sometime. He liked the taste.
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