Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/584989.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Persona_4
  Relationship:
      Dojima_Ryotaro/Seta_Souji
  Character:
      Seta_Souji, Dojima_Ryotaro
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, dirtybadwrong, Kink_Meme, Incest, Sexual_Coercion
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-06 Words: 1838
****** Goal in Sight ******
by figaro
Summary
     Souji wants nothing more than to sleep. Dojima doesn't care.
Notes
     Written for the Persona 4 kink meme, where the prompt was 'Souji very
     reluctantly gives his uncle a rimjob.' The keyword here is
     'reluctantly'. For once I went down the route of non-sexy. It's not
     up to me to dictate what the reader finds hot or not, and I sure as
     heck wouldn't judge anyone, but in this one I was mostly trying my
     hand at revulsion, reluctance, a warped sense of duty and, well,
     dirtybadwrong. This piece is pretty old by now, but I read through it
     the other day and found that I was still happy with it, so - here it
     is!
Sucking Dojima off was alright. Souji was used to it—a bedtime routine which
had started not very long after he’d moved to Inaba. He’d been no stranger to
sucking cock before arriving, didn’t mind having his mouth fucked, didn’t mind
swallowing; so the act wasn’t repulsive in itself. What had made him resist in
the beginning was the glaring fact Souji and Dojima were blood. Sure, they
hadn’t met since Souji was still in diapers but that didn’t change the fact
Souji was Dojima’s sister’s son, and with that off limits. Clear as day.
Blinking neon sign. A thousand miles of ‘do not cross’ police tape.

It hadn’t deterred Dojima in the least, not even when Souji had pointed it out
loud and clear while pushing and scratching and fighting best he could.

Uncle Dojima was far stronger than he looked.

Souji had soon found out that resistance, as they say, was futile and in
realizing that he’d done what had worked for him earlier in life—given in:
belly up and throat bared and hands clear in sight with palms turned up. Not
long after that he’d learned his surrendering hand was just barely large enough
to wrap around his uncle’s erection.

Uncle Dojima was big.

Souji had a steady ache in his jaw these days. If he closed it hard he could
feel muscles along it he didn’t remember having bulge under his fingertips. He
tried not to do that, but somewhere along the way grinding his teeth had become
a habit and getting rid of it was harder than it looked.

While doing his homework before bed he practiced stretching and relaxing his
mouth, opening it wide, grimacing and snapping it shut over and over, vocal
warm up on mute. Souji thought it best warming up before Dojima came for his
nightly visit. He’d be using his mouth for a while.

Uncle Dojima had stamina.

Souji could remember giving blowjobs lasting thirty minutes or more, where
every second after the fifteenth minute was hell and he ended up crying in pain
and frustration and covering his tears by gagging on purpose, swallowing
thickly around the fat head of Dojima’s cock while dipping his head more than
was necessary. The tears produced by retching were more than enough to cover up
his own measly ones.

Souji was a very, very skilled cocksucker because Souji didn’t want things to
last long. Making Dojima blow his load in five minutes—a shower of pats and
hair ruffling and praise following—didn’t give Souji a sense of pride; it gave
him peace of mind.

Still, the long and short of it: he didn’t mind terribly much giving his uncle
head; it was routine by now.

What wasn’t routine was the request that came one night—one when Souji was worn
out and exhausted, his shoulders and neck aching from having dragged a goddamn
broadsword around for hours through a strip club. On top of it the pounding
beat echoing in the endless pink corridors had given him a throbbing headache
and neither a shower nor an aspirin had made the slightest bit of difference.

He sat crosslegged in pajamas on his already rolled out futon the night in
question, arching his tender neck to look up at the man towering above him.
Souji had known the moment Dojima closed the door behind him—the click of the
lock like a gunshot in Souji’s ears, a spike of white-hot pain piercing his
brain—something was up. It was in Dojima’s smile; it was too nice, no teeth at
all.

We’re gonna try something new tonight, Dojima said, loosening his tie and
running a hand over the front of his pants, the bulge already there painfully
obvious.

You won’t be sucking me, he said.

Thank god, Souji thought.

You’ll be licking me, Dojima said, and no, that was not Souji’s favorite
pastime, no. Sucking cock was alright as long as the cock in question was
reasonably clean; licking ass was disgusting, didn’t matter to Souji if it so
had been scrubbed inside and out and polished to a sheen—it still repulsed him.

But, throat bared, proverbial tail tucked neatly between his thighs, Souji
nodded with a ‘Yes, Uncle.’ and prayed to all deities he could recall, ticking
Personas off in his head, that Dojima had washed himself properly. It would at
least lessen the risk of Souji retching.

Fifteen minutes later Souji cursed how low his couch was. He was crouching on
all fours in front of it—neck craned at an excruciating angle, head tilted back
and to the side, making muscles all the way down to the small of his back
scream—as he mouthed Dojima’s perineum, slipping lips and tongue over the
expanse of sensitive skin, pausing now and then to drag his tongue over the
back of his hand to get rid of hair in his mouth.

Dojima was grunting above him. They were alone that evening and the man could
allow himself to make noises. Souji preferred it when Nanako was home and his
uncle had to shut up, even though the sense of danger that lurked in his gut
when she was around was very uncomfortable. What if she—No. Souji couldn’t
allow himself to think it. He focused on the grunts above him, on the
irritation it created, allowed himself to fume for a moment, safely out of
sight with Dojima’s balls resting heavy on his nose and his fringe shading his
eyes.

Lower, Dojima said, spreading surprisingly muscular legs wider and sinking down
deeper on the couch, presenting his ass to Souji’s curled mouth and scrunched
nose.

Souji hesitated, grabbing Dojima’s cock in a placating gesture, trying to
distract him by ever-so-gently sucking a large testicle into his mouth, rolling
it on his tongue while working his fist in the corkscrew motion he knew Dojima
enjoyed.

Luck wasn’t with him that evening, though. Dojima planted a hand on his skull
and pushed, also ever-so-gently, apparently not in the mood of having his ball
sac stretched.

It slipped from Souji’s mouth with a nasty slurping sound as he, eyes closed in
defeat, allowed himself to be pushed further down, and obediently stuck his
tongue out when Dojima stopped pushing and instead just held still, square-
tipped fingers closing  tightly in his hair. Souji hated when people messed
with his hair, and fought biting his stuck-out tongue off as his jaws
automatically started closing, wanting to clench and grind.

Instead he opened his mouth as wide as it went and stretched his tongue out
further, sliding it slick and flat over Dojima’s asshole. When Dojima groaned
deep in his throat Souji repeated it; lapping at the puckered skin like a good
dog, adding panting born from the strain in his muscles and a witch’s brew of
emotions bubbling over in his belly for good measure.

He took the hint when Dojima mashed his face against his ass, and made his
tongue pointy and stiff and let Dojima set the pace, pushing and pulling, using
Souji’s tongue to fuck himself shallowly. It really didn’t go that deep. Still
Dojima moaned like a whore. Souji supposed it had more to do with the act than
the actual sensation.

Swallowing bile, Souji started counting seconds. His head was moved roughly
every third, Dojima’s moans came every tenth, then after eighteen of those
changed pace, the sounds slowing down by a couple of seconds at a time, like a
watch running low on batteries.

It wasn't until Souji was close to giving up, the state of his poor tongue
added to the rest of his worn out muscles, that Dojima grabbed his cock and
started jerking it, spattering Souji’s hair with precome with the first couple
of rough tugs. Souji couldn’t make himself care. Dojima could’ve pissed on him
for all he cared then, if it meant they were finishing up.

He allowed a whimper of relief to slip out, the pathetic little noise smushed
against Dojima’s asshole, when he recognized the pace of Dojima’s jerking hand,
at least three tugs per second, and knew for sure it soon would be over. To
hurry it on he started thrusting his tongue as well, and threw in a couple of
moans just to make sure; the hand he now used to help brace himself against
Dojima’s thigh curling into a claw, blunt little fingernails digging into meaty
flesh, making Dojima jerk and grunt, and a heartbeat later the man came.

The grip in Souji’s hair tightened, tightened and then let up and Souji flung
himself back until he sat up straight, gasping for fresh air and trying to
think of how to wipe his mouth off without letting his distaste shine through
more than it already had. Dojima was slumped on the couch, though, his
breathing heavy as a bull’s, eyes shut peacefully, and Souji, relieved, seized
the moment to rub tongue and lips and chin and nose and—fuck—his entire face
with his sleeve, drooling into it when he wanted nothing more than to spit and
spit again but didn’t dare make any noise.

He rubbed his tongue until he could taste nothing but cotton with a hint of
fabric softener and it was infinitely better than the musky tang that had
resided there before. He dreamed of brushing his teeth, of using so much
mouthwash the insides of his mouth felt raw and achy. He wanted a shower. He
wanted to sleep. He wanted Dojima out of his goddamn room and—

That was sweet, Dojima said, cutting Souji’s wishes off.

Acrid, Souji thought, lowering his arm and letting his hands rest in his lap,
unable to stop the corners of his mouth from sagging.

We have to do that again, Dojima said.

I need to move, Souji thought, at that very moment all but ready to give up his
fight against evil, give up his newfound friends and baby sister and just flee
back to the city; fuck his parents, he got by fine on his own. Friendships, as
much as he treasured them, could be managed long-distance, and country life
could be poorly mimicked by picnics in the park or daytrips to the nearest
village, and Nanako could, should, had to come live with him later on, he’d
make sure of it.

But he couldn’t. Too much was at stake and besides, Souji was a boy who took
his duties very seriously and ‘paying rent’, as Dojima jokingly had called it
one time while thrusting his cock too far into Souji’s mouth, was definitely a
duty among others.

Catch the killer, tend to his friends, manage his jobs, get his uncle off and
get good grades, if he could juggle those things for another six months he’d be
home free.

Six more months. The thought pounded in Souji’s skull along with his headache,
now worse than ever, as Dojima wiped his sticky hand off on his chest before
getting to his feet.

He couldn't wait.
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