Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10550178.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Suzuki_Shou/Suzuki_Touichirou
  Character:
      Suzuki_Shou, Suzuki_Touichirou
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Parent/Child_Incest, Unresolved_Sexual_Tension, severe_daddy
      issues, Masturbation, Size_Difference
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-04-05 Words: 4832
****** descent ******
by leifmotifff
Summary
     After a few drinks, Touichirou gets a little touchy. Shou has a hard
     time.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Shou takes his time getting home from school today. He lags after wrestling
practice, showering at the gym, even changing back into his school uniform
before finally calling their driver to come pick him up. He’s barely been at
his new school two weeks—not to mention already being an oddity for
transferring in after summer break, rather than at the start of the school
year—and already they’re calling home to his parents.
He watches the late afternoon sunlight glint off the shop windows as they drive
through the city, and wonders how his father will react. Probably not at all,
Shou thinks sardonically, though he’s not sure which prospect is more annoying.
His fingers tap erratically against his thigh as he recalls their last real
encounter. Shou had been bothering Touichirou in his study, grousing about how
boring his homeschooling was. Touichirou, naturally missing every layer of his
grievance, was dismissive.
“Why am I paying for the best tutors in the world if you’re just going to turn
your nose up at them? Do you even realize how fortunate you are?” he said,
trivializing, as he stepped past Shou towards the door.
Shou made a scathing noise, hot on his heels. “You always think throwing money
at things you don’t want to deal with will just make them go away,” he
retorted, before adding, mutinously, “But hey, maybe you’re onto something—I
mean, just look how well it worked with Mom.”
He knew as he was saying the words that he was playing with fire, but he didn’t
expect Touichirou to spin around, eyes flashing, and shove him forcefully
against the bookshelf-lined wall. Shou gasped loudly in surprise, Touichirou’s
broad hand shooting out to grab his jaw roughly, the spread of his thumb and
index finger easily spanning the width of Shou’s face, and for a moment—Shou
thought Touichirou was going to hit him.
But Touichirou just pinned him there, eyes hard, his jaw clenched tight, and
Shou suddenly felt very small, pressed between the wall and Touichirou’s
hulking form. He didn’t dare breathe, let alone try to get away. The air seemed
to thicken around them, hot and tense, when, incomprehensibly, Touichirou’s
thumb moved, dragging in a slow, inward slide, to press against the soft swell
of Shou’s bottom lip.
A strange tingle zipped up Shou’s core at the touch; he remembers having the
offbeat realization that they hadn’t been in such close physical proximity in
years. His heart beat fast and anxious in his chest, wide eyes not leaving
Touichirou’s, and something like confusion, or some other nameless emotion
skimmed across his features.
Whatever it was, it was enough to bring Touichirou back to himself, and in an
instant he reverted to his usual cool demeanor, so effortlessly it was almost
like the brief break in equanimity never happened.
Touichirou dropped his hand, straightening.
“Perhaps you do need to get out of the house,” he said softly, like an
afterthought, before turning gracefully and leaving the study.
Shou remained a few minutes longer, still leaning against the wall, chest
rising and falling quickly as his pulse petered to a more normal pace. He
wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but just before Touichirou let him go, he
thought he saw a flicker of something unfamiliar, even unstable, in his
father’s eyes.
Shou hasn’t seen much of him since then, Touichirou having left a few days
later for a two month-long trip. Though a couple weeks after his departure,
Shou received paperwork in the mail announcing his acceptance into an elite
private middle school, where he was slated to enroll in the fall.
Shou rests his head against the cool glass of the car window. He doesn’t
pretend to understand Touichirou. He’d looked up to his father so much when he
was younger, but now… sometimes Shou questions whether he made the right
choice, staying with him instead of going with his mother.
The car eases to a stop in front of the house, and Shou thanks their driver
before getting out, jogging up the few steps to the front door. The remaining
daylight spills transiently into the entryway when he enters, and he toes his
shoes off quietly. Just when he’s almost certain he’s the first one home, he
hears Touichirou’s calm, deep voice call for him from the drawing room.
The room’s largest windows face west, giving them a somewhat glorious view of
the imminent sunset. Touichirou is noticeably less buttoned up than usual,
sitting with his shirtsleeves rolled up, one hand holding a drink against his
knee, the other thrown over the back of the sofa. His eyes are trained lazily
on Shou as he steps into the room. Shou isn’t quite sure how he knows, but
immediately he can tell something's different about him.
“Hey, Pops,” Shou greets him, trying for nonchalance.
Touichirou regards him for a moment, then brings the nearly empty glass to his
lips, tipping his head back to down the rest of its contents. His tie has been
loosened somewhat, the first button of his shirt undone, and Shou watches his
throat work, feeling himself swallow reflexively.
“Your teacher called me earlier,” Touichirou says, inflectionless, when he
looks back at Shou.
Shou shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He decides as always that
honesty is probably the best policy. “Yeah, I know.”
A pause. “He tells me you pushed another student down the stairs.”
“It was an accident, I swear,” Shou insists.
Touichirou looks disinterested. He twists the glass on his knee between his
fingers, ice cubes clinking softly inside it. A few seconds pass before he
speaks again, voice pitched low. “Am I expected to discipline you?”
A peculiar prickling sensation dances across the small of Shou’s back at the
words. They make him sound so juvenile, and Shou feels warmth rise to his face,
discomfited. He bites one side of his lip into his mouth and shrugs. “Teach’
already talked to me after class,” he mumbles.
Touichirou’s eyes narrow slightly, and he angles his head back a bit, as if to
get a better look at him. It occurs to Shou that this might be the first time
his father’s seen him in his school uniform. It’s silent for another moment,
Shou’s hand clenching and unclenching fitfully around his bag straps.
“Good,” Touichirou answers finally, seemingly satisfied.
He turns to reach for the crystal decanter on the minibar beside the sofa, and
Shou’s eyebrows quirk up a little in surprise. Could that really be it?
Touichirou pours himself another generous serving before bringing his attention
back to Shou, still standing a few feet away.
“So what is it, Shou,” Touichirou eventually says, sounding bored. “Do you not
like your new school?”
Shou’s shoulders tense, defensive. “It’s not that—”
“Why are you picking fights, then?”
“I’m not!” Shou bursts out angrily. “Some punk dared me to show him my powers,
so I did! He got scared and fell all by himself. Besides, it was only like five
steps, and he’s huge, anyway. Everyone’s making a big deal out of nothing.”
Touichirou raises an eyebrow at this, and if Shou didn’t know any better, he
might think he actually looked amused—even impressed. He does his best to
ignore the tiny lick of giddiness in his stomach at the thought.
It’s subtle, but something in Touichirou’s entire countenance changes. He puts
his drink down on the coffee table with a small sigh. “I suppose you get that
sort of riff-raff everywhere, even in the private schools,” he intones, before
catching Shou’s eye, beckoning him over with a little tilt of his head.
Shou tries not to let his astonishment show too plainly on his face at the
invitation. Touichirou moves over a bit to make room, and Shou is spurred into
action, unable to recall the last time his father willingly spent time with
him. He shrugs his blazer off, placing it and his schoolbag on a nearby ottoman
before taking a seat on the sofa, half-expecting Touichirou to change his mind.
“I never went to private school, myself,” Touichirou divulges, his broad
shoulders slackening a little. He crosses one leg over the other and turns to
face Shou slightly.
“Really? How come you want me to, then?” Shou asks, curious, eyes drawn to
Touichirou’s sinewy forearm when he reaches forward for his drink.
Touichirou leans back against the sofa and brings the glass to his lips.
“Because,” he says simply, “it’s supposed to be the best.” He eyes Shou over
the rim of the glass and takes a long, slow sip.
Shou feels color in his cheeks again, and he averts his eyes, Touichirou’s
unwavering gaze making his chest tighten for some reason.
“Well,” Touichirou amends once he’s swallowed, voice gravelly, “that, and
because the material your tutors were teaching you is far more advanced than
what’s being taught in the public schools. You would have been… ‘unstimulated’
– is the word I think you used.”
His distinctive drawl carries only a hint of derision, almost as if it’s just
for show, and when Shou glances up again Touichirou’s expression is neutral,
free of any visible annoyance. Shou shoots Touichirou his best cheeky grin in
response, an easy, “Sorry, Pops,” falling from his lips. He’s gratified when
the corner of Touichirou’s mouth lifts in an almost imperceptible smirk.
A certain languidness settles over the room as the sun descends lower on the
horizon, brilliant reddish-orange hues coating the walls. Shou is hyperaware of
Touichirou’s presence beside him, so much more relaxed than Shou is used to.
His usual coldness seems to have dissipated, at least for the moment, and Shou
suspects it has more than a little to do with the amber liquid in his glass.
Fairly confident that Touichirou isn’t going to tell him to run along now, or
something equally condescending, Shou allows himself to get a little more
comfortable, swinging his legs up to sit on his shins.
“Hey,” he chirps, motioning with his chin towards Touichirou’s drink as he
repositions himself on the sofa. “Can I taste?”
The corner of Touichirou’s mouth twitches again. “I don’t think you’re going to
like it.”
“We won’t know unless I try,” Shou says cheerfully.
“Mm. You’re also a little young,” Touichirou says, but it’s evidently just for
effect, because he puts his drink down on the table before turning to pick up a
new glass from the bar.
Shou’s eyes widen a fraction; he had expected a sip of his father’s drink at
most, but Touichirou proceeds to get him a couple ice cubes from the small
bucket, unstopping the decanter to pour him about a third of what he poured
himself.
Shou feels an excited little jitter when Touichirou hands him the glass; he’s
had beer and wine before, but never any of the hard stuff. He holds it with
both hands, looking up expectantly, and Touichirou retrieves his drink and
meets his gaze, raising his glass in a little mock toast before taking a sip.
Shou imitates him.
He’s startled when the liquid seems to burn across his tongue, the harsh bite
of it overwhelming. His face scrunches up in distaste, and he hastens to
swallow it down, feeling the fiery substance travel all the way down his throat
and into the pit of his stomach. He coughs a little, eyes watering.
“Gross,” he croaks, once he can speak again, and Touichirou lets out a soft
laugh.
“You’re not old enough to appreciate it,” Touichirou maintains, taking another
slow drink from his glass.
Shou winces at the sight, but goes at it again, determined. He’s more prepared
for it this time, and he finishes off his admittedly small pour, swallowing
quickly instead of letting it linger on his tongue. He attempts to school his
reaction, but his eyes still squeeze shut at the keen burn.
Touichirou observes him, expressionless. “You shouldn’t drink scotch that’s
this expensive that fast, either,” he comments dryly.
Shou ignores him, proud of his feat, and places his glass on the coffee table
before sitting back, already starting to feel a pleasant warmth permeate from
within. “Maybe it’s not so bad,” he lies, mouth twisting into a playful smile
at Touichirou’s doubtful glance.
The silence that follows is, incredibly, not uncomfortable, and Shou allows the
fuzzy, boneless sensation he knows is from the drink to engulf him. The sun has
just set now, the soft glow of early twilight bathing everything in the room in
a sort of serene calmness. He takes in the rapidly dissolving colors in the sky
and says nothing for a while, enjoying this unanticipated civility.
“How do you like it?”
Shou’s reaction is a little delayed. He blinks, pulling his gaze away from the
vista to turn his face towards Touichirou. He’s forgotten what they were
talking about before. “Hmm?”
“The school,” Touichirou clarifies. “Besides your new friend, how are you
finding it?”
“Oh.” Shou chews on his bottom lip, noticing how it feels kind of tingly,
almost numb. “I mean, the uniform blows,” he sasses, using a finger to flick
the end of his tie away from his chest. He aims a sly grin at Touichirou, who
merely rolls his eyes in response. “But otherwise, it’s good. The wrestling
team is cool. And it’s nice having people to talk to, other than like,
Serizawa.”
Touichirou hums, apparently in grim agreement, before taking another sip of his
drink. This makes Shou giggle, and Touichirou gives him a half-hearted look of
admonition, but Shou can still see that little hint of a smirk on his face.
It’s almost like they’re sharing a secret, and Shou feels that lightheaded
giddiness bubble up in him again.
He starts a moment later however when he feels Touichirou’s hand at the back of
his head, gently pushing the tips of his fingers into his thick hair. He looks
inquisitively at his father, but Touichirou doesn’t offer any
explanation—simply watches him with that relaxed, unconcerned expression as he
combs his fingers slowly through sections of Shou's hair.
Shou is unused to this sort of physical affection—if that’s what this
is—especially from his father, and hesitation initially causes his shoulders to
bunch up. But they soon unwind as he gives into the sensation of fingers
grazing lightly against his scalp. It feels… really nice, actually, and before
long he finds himself leaning back into the mild caresses.
Combined with the slight lightheadedness from the liquor, the whole thing seems
somewhat surreal—Touichirou talking to him, rather than at him, for once not
giving the impression that interacting with his only son is a chore. Then
again, maybe it’s just the scotch-induced bliss that’s causing Shou to perceive
it that way, but he doesn’t mind too much at the moment, his eyelids beginning
to droop as he relishes the tactile pleasure.
“Your hair is getting long,” Touichirou murmurs, assessing the soft locks
between his fingers. “They let you wear it like this at school?”
Shou licks his lips absently before he answers, voice coming out sleepy and
soft. “Mm, they haven’t said anything yet, so it must be okay.”
Touichirou moves his hand to sweep a couple errant strands away from Shou’s
forehead. “You should get it cut soon. It always gets in your eyes at the end
of the day.”
Shou barely has time to be shocked that Touichirou even notices things like
that, because then Touichirou’s fingers brush inadvertently against his ear,
the touch feather light, and Shou squirms at the ticklish sensation.“Dad,” he
complains weakly, arching his neck to tilt his head away from Touichirou’s
hand.
But Touichirou doesn’t take his hand back, instead sliding it down to cup the
back of Shou’s neck, massaging his fingertips deftly into the base, working out
the tension there. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that,” he purrs,
voice low.
Shou flushes instantly, embarrassed at the slip. The alcohol must be making him
extra sensitive, too, because his entire body is starting to feel like it’s
buzzing, especially where Touichirou is touching him. A slight frisson passes
through him, the hand on the nape of his neck making him think of their
altercation in the study—the way Touichirou had handled him, pinning him
against the wall so easily… that huge, iron-like grip crushing his jaw, until
it wasn’t…
He’s jolted back to the present when Touichirou’s index finger dips delicately
into his collar, stroking lightly, back and forth in the thin space between
skin and fabric, and Shou drags in a soft, ragged breath. Something about that
slow, almost teasingly gentle movement—the suggestion of Touichirou’s hands
under his clothing—makes his insides twist into knots and his skin flame. He
knows his father must feel the rush of heat under his palm, must feel his pulse
doubling, and he panics.
Shou scrambles dizzily to his feet, so quickly that the room briefly seems like
it’s spinning. He registers acutely the loss of Touichirou’s hands on him, but
he pushes the sentiment away, grabbing hastily for his things.
“Sorry, I—just remembered—homework—”
He’s just stepping out from between the sofa and the coffee table when he makes
the mistake of glancing back at Touichirou, and his breath nearly catches. Dusk
is upon them now, and shadows throw Touichirou’s features in stark relief,
accentuating high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, the hollow of his throat just
visible through the unbuttoned shirt collar. The whole picture betrays a
restrained sensuality that makes the pit of nerves in Shou’s stomach contract
violently, before fraying and scattering throughout the rest of him. Lidded
eyes lock with Shou’s own, and a hot, urgent prickle of warning darts up his
spine.
It’s like fighting the pull of a magnet, but Shou forces himself to tear his
eyes away. “Catch you later, Pops,” he utters faintly, leaving no time for a
response before he all but flees the room.
Once safely in the confines of his bedroom, he drops his blazer and bag from
where he’d been holding them strategically at his waist. His uniform pants are
thinner than the jeans he’s used to wearing, the unmistakable bulge of an
erection clearly visible through the fabric.
Shou swallows nervously, trying to rationalize. He’d known that arousal was a
possible side effect of drinking, but he didn't think he was so starved for
affection that a harmless little neck rub would result in this. He presses a
palm between his legs, a small sound escaping him at the contact, and he
quickly undoes the placket of his pants, kicking them off before flopping back
onto his bed.
He pulls his boxers down his thighs and takes a deep breath, wraps his fingers
around his half-hard cock. Just a byproduct of adolescent hormones and pent-up
frustration, that’s all… He gives it a couple strokes, feeling it grow bigger
still, and lets his eyes fall closed, concentrating on trying to lose himself
in the tight squeeze and pull of his hand.
He doesn’t get very far before the nebulous forms in his mind’s eye become
increasingly, frighteningly recognizable: a strapping forearm hooking across
his front, drawing him closer; strong arms folding around him, pulling him in
until his back is flush against a broad chest, so that smoky-liquor flavored
lips can brush softly over his temple…
A shudder wracks his body, and Shou screws his eyes shut tighter, throwing his
head stubbornly to one side of the pillow and trying to expel the unbidden
visuals. He speeds up his strokes, hoping to race towards release without
addressing what his subconscious seems adamant to push on him. After several
frustrating minutes however, it proves futile; even with his most inventive
twisting and pumping, the mental dissonance is too strident and too inhibiting
to get him near the edge.
A helpless, frustrated little sound escapes him, and Shou pulls his hand off
himself. But he’s too turned on to stop now, too agitated to wind down. With
the vague impression of falling over a steep precipice, he takes his cock in
his hand again, a ripple of vertigo hitting him as he gives up the
pretense—surrenders to the visions his mind is so ardent to conjure up.
The misty, obscure figures Shou tried to push to the periphery of his
consciousness converge fluently into one that’s sharp and clear: his father, in
all his stolidity, tall and massive and looming before him. But there’s a
glimmer of variance from his usual mien, the same one Shou had detected earlier
tonight—most noticeably in the glassiness of his eyes, the languorousness of
his body language. The blithe, mild way he had touched Shou’s hair, his skin…
That fluttery, breathless sensation creeps up on him again as he soaks up this
incarnation of Touichirou, and Shou begins stroking again in a slow, cautious
rhythm, his other hand pushing his shirt up to trail hesitantly around his
navel. He envisions being enveloped by strong arms, being pulled close, almost
into Touichirou's lap, as warm lips press softly into his neck. Guilty heat
shoots through him at the notion, but Shou’s cock twitches in his hand, his
thighs spreading incrementally wider.
He sweeps his hand up his torso to fiddle with his tie, pictures Touichirou’s
skillful fingers unknotting it with ease, before unfastening the buttons of
Shou’s shirt so he can run a big, smooth palm down his chest. Shou’s breathing
gets a little more labored, stomach muscles clenching as he rubs gently at a
nipple. Would Touichirou tweak and prod at the little nub, teasing until Shou
squirmed in his lap, clutching that bare forearm, head falling back against
Touichirou’s shoulder as he pleaded, begging him to stop, or for more…?
The idea is so salacious that Shou’s eyes fly open, blood rushing so fiercely
to his face he thinks a few blood vessels just burst on his cheeks. His whole
body throbs with heat at the thought of Touichirou like this, playfully
indulgent and brimming with intent, but he finds his thoughts wanting to drift
elsewhere, to a scene that’s all too familiar.
His eyes fall shut again as he melts into the memory of light filtering in
through the high windows of the study, dust motes glittering in the sun’s
slanted rays, the scent of leather-bound books in the air. The shock of being
thrust against the wall, Touichirou pressed so close, his hulking presence
overpowering him. Dark, unguarded heat in eyes that pierce, a ruthless grip on
his jaw, and Shou breathes deeply through his nose, keeping his strokes slow,
allowing his mind to embellish.
What if Touichirou hadn’t pulled away? If he had stayed, instead pushing that
capricious thumb past Shou’s lips? What would have happened if Shou had opened
his mouth to it, flicked his tongue out gently, to taste the salt of his skin?
He pictures the way Touichirou’s expression would change—the threat of it.
Touichirou shoving more fingers into his mouth, pressing even closer, his other
hand coming up to settle against the wall beside Shou’s head, trapping him.
Pushing a strong, muscular thigh between his shaky legs.
Shou’s hand moves a little faster, squeezes a little tighter as he imagines the
unyielding pressure of that leg, so hard and firm against him—how achingly good
it would feel to roll his hips forward, grinding against that immovable thigh,
panting around thick, wet fingers. Touichirou’s eyes on him, dark and dangerous
and gleaming with repressed lust as Shou ruts needily against him, a small hand
scrabbling against the wall behind him, the other curling in Touichirou’s suit
jacket.
“Nnh…”
Shou’s movements are slippery now from pre-come, and he starts to arch a bit
off the mattress, just as he would arch off the wall, closer into Touichirou’s
huge body bearing down on him. He pictures Touichirou, still somewhat detached,
rubbing his leg slowly, rhythmically against Shou’s clothed erection—giving him
just a little, but still not enough, just as always. Shou bites his lip and
wraps both hands around his leaking cock, his hips starting to rise and fall in
tense little waves, and he can hear himself making these weak little noises,
tiny little grunts and mewls, but he can’t stop.
Maybe Touichirou would pull his fingers from Shou’s mouth, threading them
messily through Shou’s hair—not soothingly, like this evening in the drawing
room, but rough—grabbing a fistful and tugging, so that his head knocks back
into the wall, and Shou lets out a little moan as he imagines the sharp pain
against his skull. He’s so close now, thrusting into his hands, his face dewy
with sweat. The grip in his hair is tight, almost painful, Touichirou forcing
Shou to look up at him, and somehow, even after all this, Shou’s stomach
clenches, heart rate ratcheting as he envisages Touichirou leaning close,
imagines hot breath on his lips, and Shou can’t help how he whines, so
desperate for it.
But even in the fantasy Touichirou doesn’t kiss him, angling around the side of
his face, and Shou imagines soft lips on the shell of his ear, his father
rasping in that deep, deep voice, Now come.
And then Shou’s hips are stuttering, leg muscles clenching so tight, and he
thrusts into his hands a couple more times before his body locks up completely,
biting his bottom lip hard, keening high in his throat as his cock pulses
between his fingers, release bursting out in hot, satiny white spurts all over
himself. He’s left gasping, stunned by the force of his orgasm, and he lets one
hand fall away, continuing to stroke loosely, unevenly with the other until he
can’t anymore, until he’s exhausted and shivering and oversensitive.
The dreamy high is short-lived though, and Shou’s breathing slowly returns to
normal, his eyes adjusting to the black of the room. The pleasant tingling in
his extremities begins to fade, and the reality of what he just allowed himself
to do slithers over him.
It’s fine, he tells himself, trying to drown out the tinny panic that threatens
to surge in his chest. It was just a one-off, a freak physical response,
brought on by overeager pre-teen hormones and one sip too many of expensive
whiskey. But as much as he tries to add levity to the situation, the breezy
reassurances seem hollow.
Shou sighs heavily and sits up to turn on the light on his bedside table,
grabbing a couple tissues so he can wipe down his thighs and stomach. No,
something tells him that whatever this is can’t be waved away as easily as
that. Even if it was just the alcohol and the rare physical affection that
elicited his arousal, that still doesn’t explain why he couldn’t get off until
he let his thoughts turn to his father. He runs a hand through his hair, trying
to understand.
Maybe it’s not as deviant as all that, he posits hopefully. Maybe he’s simply
discovering that he’s into older guys, and his subconscious just arbitrarily
latched onto the one who happened to be closest.
But, he realizes with a sinking feeling, that still doesn’t quite make sense,
as there are a handful of adult males Shou sees much more often than
Touichirou—Hatori, or Shimazaki, for instance—who would have been a thousand
times more acceptable to have raunchy fantasies about. Yet when he tries,
experimentally, to picture himself in an intimate situation with either of
them, he feels nothing, other than slight aversion to the concept.
The more he ruminates, thoughts swarming in anxious spirals, seeking and
failing to find a logical explanation, the more the sense of dread from
earlier, like preparing to plunge off a cliff, rolls over him. And what’s
perhaps most alarming isn’t even how lascivious the fantasies were, how lewd… A
tremor builds deep in his core as he dares consider what even the Touichirou of
his licentious imagination wouldn’t do, even when Shou was blinded by his own
wanton need.
He takes a quiet, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut—and for one
terrible, irresistible moment, he thinks of Touichirou’s lips melting into his.
He exhales quickly, the image so vivid and so arresting he has to open his
eyes, needs the glaring light of his bedroom to pull him back. He fists his
hands in the comforter, chest impossibly tight, his reaction undeniable.
He’s getting hard again. 
Christ. It’s going to take years of premium psychotherapy to even begin to deal
with the issues he’s unearthed tonight, he can already tell, and he’s never
even seen a therapist before.
Shou falls back onto the bed helplessly—his father's lips behind his eyelids,
that tiny little smirk, voice like liquid velvet in his ears—and huffs out a
soft, delirious little laugh.
Trails a hand slowly over his abdomen, desire sparking under his skin.
It’s fine. Touichirou will pay for it. 
End Notes
     Thanks for reading! Find me on twitter @leifmotifff for more bad dad/
     sad son!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 warm hand covering his mouth and a solidness against
his back. He tried to turn his head to glare at his assailant but his cousin
held firm, wound his arm through Harry’s to prevent movement and retaliation.
The blond was lucky Harry didn’t feel like committing assault in front of a
teacher. Indeed, he had no qualms about hitting below the belt. Proverbial and
otherwise.
“I trust that is all, sir?” Draco pressed, and his hand tightened briefly over
his cousin’s mouth. It smelled of something sweet...
And reminded Harry of his empty stomach, which gave a violent lurch.
The teacher surveyed them a moment longer, dark brow arched. Harry wondered
what the man was possibly thinking. Then Riddle nodded. More a single, sharp,
downward tilt of his head. “As this was all a misunderstanding you may leave.”
“But my hand!” Higgs roared. “He broke my hand!”
“Did he?” Riddle questioned, voice strangely frigid, “and how did this come
about?”
“Well, he was calling my missus a slag—”
Riddle shifted, equally as impatient as Harry to get away, it seemed. “Which
we’ve covered,” he interjected, gestured at the boy absently. “Do hurry it up.”
Higgs paled, nodded and licked his lips nervously. Personally, Harry wanted to
hit him again, the idiot was wasting his lunch time and he was starving.
“Anyway, he grabbed my hand—”
“This was after the derogatory comments regarding Ms. Edgecomb?” Riddle
interjected.
“Yeah.”
“Before you, yourself, attempted to retaliate in defence of Ms. Edgecombe’s
questionable state of virtue?”
“I—” Higgs frowned. “Marrietta’s virtue isn’t—”
“Answer the question, Mr. Higgs,” demanded the professor, coolly, gaze glacial.
“Yes.” Higgs grunted, looking thoroughly put out.
Well so he should. Harry was more inconvenienced by this lovely little tête-à-
tête than that moronic lout was. He heaved an aggravated sigh into Draco’s
palm. Wondered, idly, if doing something so completely juvenile as licking said
hand would have it leave his face.
“And how might he have managed that?” Riddle probed. “Considering your
disagreement, one would think a certain distance would be employed. Unless, of
course, you were right in each other’s personal space while this argument took
place?”
Higgs appeared slightly flustered. “Not too close.”
Funny that’s what he took from that...
Draco snorted, the warm air dancing through Harry’s hair, over the sensitive
skin of his neck. It tickled.
Harry simply ground his teeth.
“No? Then presumably this took place once your argument had already escalated
into a physical altercation?” Riddle pressed, expression calm but gaze intense,
drilling into the large, unattractive teen.
“Um... Yes?” Higgs agreed and Harry inwardly rolled his eyes.
“Close enough that he was able to grab it while he was fending it off?”
Higgs nodded. “That’s right.”
“So you admit it was in self-defence?” Riddle pressed.
This time, Higgs appeared less than certain. “Er...”
Riddle merely nodded and glided away, affording Harry the very nice view of his
toned, slack-covered arse.
“I do so dislike liars, Mr. Higgs,” uttered Riddle and Harry jerked out of his
staring. “Come along, now. Let’s see if Madame Pomfrey has something for that.
Then I shall have words with your father about your deplorable behaviour.”
Harry watched the pair go. Riddle seeming to move over the ground without
really touching it—which was impossible—and Higgs, lumbering along like the
daft slug he was.
“What was that?” he demanded the moment he was released, turned burning eyes on
his cousin.
Draco pinched his nose in a gesture that seemed... vaguely familiar. “I was
keeping you from saying something that would land you in trouble.”
“I get that,” he replied, drily. Folded his arms over his slim chest. “I meant
Riddle.”
The blond blinked. “Oh! He’s our head of house.”                    
Riddle was his house dean?
“He’s also an old friend of Father’s.”
Harry was stumped. “Uncle Lucy has friends?”
The Malfoy looked thoroughly put out, his fine, pale brow furrowed, his
forehead creased and pink lips twisted into a sort of grimace. “Father isn’t
that bad.”
“I’m sure.”
“He’s friends with Sev,” insisted the blond.
“Snape is an anomaly... You and I both know that.”
 
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                                    --x&x--
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This was meant to be posted sometime last year after I had Cynical0range
enquire about it... but I never got around to finishing the chapter. I looked
over it recently and decided screw it, I’ll post it as is. Before anyone
comments, No, I am not back in my full capacity. I am currently trying to
finish studying and find myself a new job. This was posted because I felt like
sharing and was curious as to how this Harry would be accepted by the general
masses.
Note: Tessa (the girl Harry chased off in this chapter,) is 15 turning 16.
Harry has several advanced classes which place him in some fourth form (year)
classes and Tessa was held back a year instead of being in Fifth.
While Harry is promiscuous, all the graphic depictions of his sex life will be
when he’s finally with Tom. Or when he’s trying to goad Tom. (Partially because
I will not write graphic sex scenes featuring minors and 16 is the age of
consent in the UK. Secondly, because I'm not overly fond of main pairings
having side partners before hand, unless (like in Riddle's case, in this
story,) it is well before the pair meet.) All other relationships are
peripheral and shouldn’t (hopefully,) put anyone off reading. There is a reason
that Harry is the way he is. And even while he may sleep with other nameless
guys frequently, his interest in Tom never wanes.
EDIT 7/9/15: I shall clarify a few things after a comment I received regarding
parentage... I have rearranged family trees around somewhat. James and Sirius
are first cousins. Lily and Lucius are half siblings and these are only the
main switches I have done. There are others. Please read all the warnings
listed above. I have endeavoured to ensure all the required tags are listed for
this chapter if it isn't listed, there is a reason for it. However, I will add
the following tags: Complete love triangle, Harry has alternate namesand
Rearrangement of family trees. Hopefully this will keep people happy.
Question, Con-crit, reviews? Always welcome. I hope you liked it.
~Gen
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