Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9228155.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo/Reigen_Arataka
  Character:
      Reigen_Arataka, Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo
  Additional Tags:
      Mob_is_16, Reigen_is_30, they_screw_in_the_car_and_it's_a_horrible_idea,
      cars_are_designed_to_crumple
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-06 Words: 8941
****** Pig's Blood ******
by snowtears
Summary
     Mob's fists clench. He nods, his lips pressed tightly together. He
     still wants it more than anything. Reigen knows this, he can see it,
     he understands perfectly. He still wants it, too, like all hell even
     though Mob is too young and too dangerous for him and the back of his
     throat still tastes like rust.
Notes
     I saw a fantastic piece of art by ynna-anny/Nushanchel on tumblr and
     it really inspired me to write this. 'Mob Psycho 100' and 'Carrie'
     have many similarities and I got this idea after seeing the art and
     it wouldn't leave me alone! This fic is not a 'Carrie'-AU but it does
     share similar themes/motifs so... 'Pig's Blood'. There it is.
     Here is the art: http://ynna-anny.tumblr.com/post/152089085235/pigs-
     blood-for-a-pig-crossover-with#notes
     Nushanchel, I really hope you don't mind that I took inspiration from
     your gorgeous artwork!
     UPDATE: So in a delightfully-meta turn of events, this fic now has
     its *own* gorgeous artwork by Nushanchel. The Circle of Life is a
     beautiful thing indeed. <3 http://ynna-anny.tumblr.com/post/
     155819240755/pigs-blood-inspired-by-this-fic-thanks
     Thank you so much, Nushanchel! I am truly humbled and honoured by
     this stunning art. You are too kind. T.T
     ...This fic is a trainwreck. I hope you won't be able to look away.
Pig's_Blood
This is a suicide spot.
(theirs, perhaps) Probably haunted as all hell. He wouldn't know, of course,
but the air is heavy and thick, lying low in the lungs. Reality is altered
here, deep in the forest where no-one would think to look, masked in the sick-
sweet stench of decay. Summer is ending, cloying, overripe, swelling unwelcome
into September.
Mob is sixteen and more powerful than ever.
Reigen checks his watch as he hunts for his lighter. Twenty-two minutes past
eight. It's almost dark already, the heat of the night closing in, cicadas
whining like a well-oiled machine. He's sitting in the car with the fan on,
windows down, waiting. It's a disgusting night, too hot to function, and he's
glad they have no work. People don't complain as much of spirits and sore
shoulders in such punishing heat. Funny.
He can't see Mob but he can hear him somewhere deep and dark between the trees.
Now the excess energy crackles off his skin as he breathes, building up between
bouts of work, and it must be unbearable, his body bending beneath the weight
of his power as it warps. This is how people with these abilities go bad,
Reigen thinks idly, lighting up, leaning back. Some of them mustn't have much
choice – but Mob does. They come up here where there's no-one around and Mob
goes off by himself and lets it out. Maybe he wrecks a few things. It seems
very personal so Reigen doesn't ever follow him. He looks at the cigarette
packet crumpled in his palm – only three left – and thinks he doesn't much like
Mob watching him, either.
As for the reason, well, it could be anything. Arataka Reigen has never been an
esper but he has been a teenaged boy. Exams, girls, the swinging pendulum of
pressure and choice, he's got the fucking T-shirt. The older Mob gets, the more
he realizes how alike they really are. He understands misery, even if it's only
the superficial kind. Who cares, who cares. Ten years from now, no-one will
care, not even you. Mob will be twenty-six. Reigen will be about to turn forty,
still stuck here in this sour heat.
He puts on the radio, fiddles it to a classical station – Dvorak, not his
favorite – and slides the driver's seat back. It's broken and it goes back way
more than it should, something he already knows and quite likes about it,
because he can be practically horizontal. He throws off his suit jacket and
pushes up his shirt sleeves and flops back and inhales deeply. He knows he
shouldn't smoke, he's not stupid, he knows how bad it is for the body and how
much of a hypocrite it makes him – but damn if he doesn't enjoy every last
fucking drag on the wretched things. Mob will smell it on him when he comes
back and smolder coolly at him in that way of his, telling him he shouldn't,
and Reigen will lie and say he won't ever again and then...
Well. Maybe not. They should both know better. Even Mob, who is stupid
sometimes (or at least acts like he is).
He doesn't know the piece well but he enjoys it, closing his eyes. He can hear
the dull casual snap of tree trunks over the swell of the string section, feel
the earth shaking ever so slightly beneath the bass. He should invest in noise-
canceling headphones, really. And a pillow or two. The suspension in this thing
is shot. Hardly surprising.
It seems a long time before Mob comes back. Reigen enjoyed the first cigarette
so much that he's on his second – he hasn't smoked back-to-back in a long time,
bad sign – and he lifts up his arm to stare overhead at the time as he hears
the footsteps outside the car. Twenty minutes to nine. At this rate, he'll be
hungry again by the time he gets home and he's already made up his mind to pick
up some instant noodles from the convenience store and eat them in his pajamas.
Of course, he'd be happy to go for more ramen with Mob after this but it's a
school night so he wouldn't ask.
...His moral high-ground is a joke, he knows. How did it come to this?
Mob puts his head in through the driver's window. "Shishou," he says blandly,
"you're smoking."
"I'm almost done." This isn't a lie. He holds up what little of it there is
left, half-expecting Mob to pull it from his fingers with his power and crumple
it to nothing. He's done it before.
Mob only pauses, however. "You shouldn't smoke," he says finally. "It's bad for
you."
"I know."
"So why do you do it?"
"I don't know." Reigen shrugs. "I like it."
"I don't like it."
"I know." Reigen breathes out again, cautious. "I'm sorry, Mob."
Another pause. Mob leans out of the car again and circles around the bonnet,
coming to the passenger side. He wrestles with the warped lock for a moment
before finally managing to pop it open, sliding into the seat. He lets it swing
closed, leaning back, breathing out. Reigen sees his nose scrunch a little in
disgust at the drench of smoke.
"Do you feel better?" he asks, wringing out what's left of his cigarette and
stubbing it out.
"Yes." Mob gives an awkward shrug. He's not a good liar. "A little bit."
"You must have a lot of excess energy built up."
"Yes," Mob says again. "I got rid of most of it but..." He looks down at his
hands. "There is some residue."
"Like static electricity."
Mob looks at him. "Can you feel it, Shishou?"
"Yes." This, again, is not a lie. Mob is so charged up that his mere presence
is like a dead weight, close, stifling. Reigen doesn't usually mind but, in
this heat, it's admittedly a bit uncomfortable.
"There's a lot of it," he goes on, "even after that. Perhaps you should
discharge some more."
Mob doesn't move. "I'm too tired," he says.
Reigen doesn't push. "Fair enough."
There is silence between them for a moment, filled only by the sighing piano
concerto leaking from the radio. Beethoven. Mob shifts in his seat. Reigen sees
him clenching and unclenching his hands.
"Is something bothering you, Mob?" he asks gently, closing his eyes.
"Not particularly," Mob replies.
"What does that mean? General discontent? That's normal, I'm afraid."
"No, it's not that."
"Then what? Is school alright? Has somebody been unkind to you?"
"No."
"What about that girl?"
"Tsubomi-chan?" Mob does not hesitate or blush about her name now. It comes to
his tongue like a hard fact. "What about her?"
"Did you ever confess to her?"
"I guess I forgot."
"That isn't like you."
Mob shrugs. "I suppose I didn't think it was important anymore."
That, Reigen thinks, is a true mark of growing up: a flower that has withered
and died. Summer has passed. He almost smiles but stops himself. He doesn't
want Mob to think he is being cruel – or gloating. That would be even worse.
"Well, that's normal too, you know."
"Yes." Mob pauses. "Hana... Hanazawa-kun asked me on a date."
Reigen opens his eyes and actually halfway sits up. "Teruki Hanazawa."
"Yes," Mob sighs.
"Really."
"Yes."
"Do you like him?"
"I don't know. I mean... I like him, of course, but I..."
"I understand."
Mob is gazing at him again, his eyes piercing and black. He is like a
supernova. He'll take the whole world with him.
Reigen coughs. "You shouldn't worry about me, you know," he says, looking away.
"I'm, well... Hanazawa is a nice boy. He's a bit odd, yes, but... I mean, the
point is, if you like him, then... well..."
Reigen isn't usually so lost for words but he wasn't expecting this. He wonders
if Mob is fucking with him but then he looks at his face. No. He's not. He
wouldn't. He couldn't.
"You don't have anything to lose," he says at last, his voice a little hoarse.
"I mean, it's... just one date and Hanazawa is like you, you can trust him, you
don't have to..."
"Hide it?" Mob finishes. "...Be afraid?"
Reigen lies back again. His shirt is stuck to his spine. "Well, if you want to
be blunt about it, then yes." He frowns at a dent in the roof. "What does Ritsu
think?"
"I haven't told him. I haven't told anybody except you."
Reigen bites his lip. "And why is that?"
"Because I feel like I should tell you. It's unfair to–"
"That's kind of you, Mob, but I'm not... well, I'm..." Reigen trails off,
exasperated. He despises being tongue-tied. It happens so rarely but it's
always, always in front of Mob when it does.
"Anyway," he presses, putting his arms behind his head, "I think you should go
with Hanazawa. Just once, see if you like it. And if you don't, you can still
be friends with him."
There now. Sound, adult advice. Sensible.
"I don't think Hanazawa-kun is like me, Shishou," Mob says. "At least not
anymore."
He sounds so calm as he says it. It's not Mob's usual tone. It sounds
rehearsed, practiced. Perhaps someone else wouldn't have noticed but Reigen
does. To him it sounds like a cry of utter despair.
"Mob," he says softly. "Shigeo. You're not alright."
Mob brings his hands together, palms pressing, clasping them tightly in his
lap. Energy sparks and crackles between them. For once, Reigen actually feels
the urge to recoil, to move away from him, but he fights it down, he doesn't
move a muscle. He stays on his back, complicit, complacent, staring at the
ceiling.
"Tell me," he says. "Tell me."
"I'm really powerful," Mob says. "It won't stop. Every day, I seem to... I
don't know where it's coming from."
"You're growing older. I think it's normal."
"Not like this," Mob says. "There's so much of it, it's so strong, sometimes I
don't think I can control it anymore. How much more powerful will I become? Can
my body even take it? Or... will I end up like Suzuki-kun's father–"
"No, you won't," Reigen interrupts firmly. "Because you're a good person. You
won't become like him."
"Suzuki-kun won't become like him," Mob says flatly, closing his eyes. "Neither
will Hanazawa-kun. Neither will Ritsu. But I saw that power devour him,
Shishou, and at the time I admit I wondered how he could let it happen... but
now I think I understand."
"Well, I don't understand," Reigen says. "Explain it to me."
Mob opens his eyes again, turning to him. He looks hurt.
"Shishou," he says quietly, sounding betrayed, "I know what you're trying to
do."
"Fine." Reigen sits up properly. "Then I'll say it if you won't. Will you
listen?"
Mob looks at him a moment longer, his dark eyes unblinking beneath that
straight curtain of fine jet-black hair. It's so obvious: he wishes to be
struck blind, deaf and dumb all at once. He wants a way out.
"You think you're turning into a monster," Reigen says. He doesn't mince his
words, he doesn't let Mob look away. "Don't you?"
Mob takes in a long breath. He looks like he's squaring up a little bit –
puberty and training, he's going to be bigger than Reigen soon – but then it
goes out of him again like a pricked balloon and he seems to crumple.
"I am," he says. His voice is like a shard of glass, tiny and jagged and
bloody. He looks down at his hands again. "Shishou, you don't follow, you don't
see what I do out here–"
"But I know what you think," Reigen says, "and what you think is 'I must not
hurt others'." He breathes out. He can still taste the smoke, his back teeth
bitter. "Unless you're telling me that you don't think that way any longer.
Then I might believe you."
"Maybe one day I won't think any more," Mob says. "...Sometimes I don't."
"Those are special circumstances, only when you are pushed to your limit."
Reigen points accusingly at him. "You're avoiding the question."
Mob puts his head in his hands. "I'm afraid to answer it."
A long pause. Reigen studies him for a while, the gloss of his hair, the
paleness of his trembling hands. He isn't crying. It's worse than that.
This actually isn't the first time they have had this conversation, although
this is perhaps the bluntest it's ever been. Any fool with half a brain can see
that he's becoming more and more powerful as he grows older; and this seems
normal enough to Reigen, especially in someone as naturally-gifted as Mob.
Still, he admits he has considered this himself: what, exactly, will happen to
Mob if the power becomes too great for him to handle? How much psychic energy
can his body hold? A lot, he knows from experience, but how much... is too
much?
He asks about school. He asks about Tsubomi. He asks if people are being
unkind. He knows the answers to them all. Mob does have friends – he will never
be popular but people like him because he is gentle and kind. His brother
adores him, he has an apparent admirer in Teruki Hanazawa–
But he is isolated, more so than he has ever been, despite all of his hard work
to make friends, to change, to bloom. There is a wall between Shigeo Kageyama
and reality because he is not normal. Who knows? Maybe he is turning into a
monster. Is a good heart enough to overcome such terrible power? It's normal.
It's fine. Nothing will happen to you.Reigen is so adept at fraud that half the
time he even fools himself. He believes his own lies easily.
...But does Mob?
(He admits that he is afraid of the answer, too.)
He stretches past Mob and switches off the radio, then settles back once more.
It feels like a hearse.
"Mob," he says. "Come here." He sees Mob slowly lift his head and then adds
hastily; "But only if you want, I mean, it's fine, I'm not–"
"Shishou." Mob interrupts him, his voice a whisper as he slides off the seat
and sinks, settling on top of him. Mob is too shy to initiate anything but,
once he has been invited, he is quite determined. Reigen shifts a bit,
uncomfortable; Mob is sitting right on his belly and he's heavier than he used
to be and the energy feels like it's beginning to burn a hole right through
him. This is a mistake, he already knows this isn't the right thing to do – but
it's the only thing he can think of, when Mob is like this it's the only thing
he really responds to because he wants so badly to be normal and he's not, he's
not, he's a beast brimming with power and he's in love with a liar fourteen
years his senior. Better Teruki Hanazawa, surely, they're the same age, they're
both espers, they can fuck upside-down halfway up the wall if they want – but
Mob doesn't want him, not like that, he'll go on the date because he's too nice
to refuse but he wants Reigen even though he could kill him and almost has.
Still. Still. He hasn't killed him yet. That's why this might not be the right
thing to do but it's not entirely wrong, either. It's something. Mob makes him
feel so helpless sometimes.
He pushes himself up on his elbows, as much as he can with Mob's weight pinning
him, breathless with the crackle of overflowing energy. Mob isn't giving so
much as sloughing off, letting it pool thickly like scarlet velvet over Reigen
instead.
You can't stay on top of me. You'll have to get off. You're going to crush
me.Reigen needs to say this but he opens his mouth and Mob pays him no heed.
This is what he gets for talking all the damn time, he supposes. His urgency is
overlooked as Mob kisses him. It feels like drowning. Mob is not a good kisser,
he's clumsy and damp like a landed fish and he forgets to breathe. Reigen
himself is admittedly no expert but Mob is a truly hopeless case. He pulls back
a little, presses their foreheads together. Mob's hair is like silk against his
sticky skin.
"Slow down," he whispers. "Breathe. I'm not going anywhere."
Mob nods, exhales deeply. He's coming undone already. He puts his hands to
Reigen's shoulders and presses forward again; and now he is cautious, barely
there, his tongue like a kitten's. Reigen doesn't want to be impatient with him
but he lifts one hand and takes Mob's chin and kisses him properly, hard, with
teeth. Mob starts, straightens, kisses back; and his hair lifts and his power
flares and there's a sudden crush of pressure and he slams Reigen to the seat.
The whole car gives a shudder as Reigen lies in a daze for a few moments, the
back of his skull throbbing, stars singing before his eyes, and then Mob swims
overhead.
"Shishou, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"
Reigen nods. He can't speak. Actually he can't breathe, Mob's overwhelming
energy bearing down on him, tingling and nauseous. He struggles but Mob is
immovable; he's so small but he feels like an iron door. Reigen can taste
copper at the back of his throat as he seizes at Mob's thighs and gets a
frantic grip under them, heaving him off. He rolls them over, his breath
blooming quite suddenly in his chest, making him cough; and Mob, taken very
much by surprise, lies like a miserable sardine beneath him, rigid.
"Sorry," Reigen pants, still breathless. "Y-you know I like it ...better like
this."
There are so many good reasons to act as though Mob didn't just almost
suffocate him. Indeed, he does see a little of the tension go out of him at his
words. It's just because I like to have you underneath me. It's not because I
might die.
Reigen kneels back between Mob's legs and begins to unknot his tie.
"Close the windows," he says distantly, slipping the pink silk from beneath his
collar. He has the knot completely undone, beginning to wind it up. Mob obliges
him, the grubby glass sliding up – and then, a moment later, a click of all the
locks.
"I don't think that's necessary." He doesn't want to suggest it makes him
uneasy, that he can't get out quickly if he needs to.
"I like them locked," Mob says quietly. "We're doing something private, aren't
we? Why would we leave the doors open?"
"...Fine." Reigen still doesn't like it but he lets it go, shrugging. He's
doing this, after all. A locked door won't make much difference. He feels
guilty for wanting them open, besides. It screams that he thinks he might need
to run.
He opens the glove compartment and throws his tie in. Mob has never strangled
him but leaving what is essentially a noose hanging around his neck during this
would be beyond stupid. Same goes for the belt – even stupider, it's leather,
absolutely no give in it at all. He begins to unbuckle it, aware of Mob
watching his fingers slide on the gleaming metal. He can read people back-to-
front and inside-out but he can't always read Mob. He has no idea what he's
thinking. The boy has trained himself too well. His face gives away nothing.
His belt comes undone too easily, suddenly it feels like liquid in his palms,
and then he feels the button go, the zip start to descend–
"Stop." Reigen grabs the zip and yanks it back up. "Mob, stop, stop."
"Too fast?" Mob says noncommittally. His gaze settles somewhere past Reigen's
shoulder.
"Just..." Reigen breathes out through his nose. "You don't need to use your
powers."
Mob still doesn't look at him. "I'm sorry, Shishou. I wasn't thinking."
"Well..." Reigen pulls his belt out of the loops and practically throws it into
the glove compartment – well out of harm's way. "Start. Please."
He leans back, rummaging past his discarded strangulation hazards and
assortment of random snacks and the odd bit of paperwork from three years ago
that should probably be filed. The lube always ends up in the bottom-most
corner and he has to stretch to catch hold of the tube, excavating it and
tossing it onto the back seat. He makes sure the glove-box is well and truly
shut before turning back to Mob.
The boy is just lying there, perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling of the
car. His hair is pooled around his head like a halo of oil. He's so white, so
pristine, his gakuran buttoned right up to his throat. He looks like a corpse,
the sort you'd see in the newspaper: tragic, cut down in the prime of life,
murdered by some slavering pervert.
...And here's Reigen leaning over him, between his legs, half-undressed,
sweating like hell, his hand sticky from the tube. He's not a high school girl,
cool and disinterested; he's not Teruki Hanazawa. He looks at Mob's dark
eyelashes. Fuck, fuck. The doors are locked. He can't get out.
"Shigeo."
Mob starts. He always seems slightly alarmed when Reigen uses his actual name.
He doesn't look but his fingers clench and Reigen sucks in a breath through his
teeth as he hears one of the wing mirrors crack.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he says in a low voice. "You
don't owe me anything. We can stop."
Quiet.
"I know," Mob replies. "I don't want to stop." His eyes slide at last towards
Reigen. "I don't think you're forcing yourself on me."
Reigen feels his shoulders sag. "I just... don't want you to regret this."
Which is stupid, he knows, because the damage is long since done. He is the
stupid one – he can't blame Mob, who is young and open and thinks he knows
about love. Perhaps in school he sees those girls, long-legged, lips plump and
pink with gloss, and thinks it doesn't matter anymore that he exists so far out
of orbit. He has the inside of this car to call his own.
Reigen is the one who should know better. He is gentle with Mob, he never
leaves a mark on him, no-one would ever know – but he's stupid, he's so fucking
stupid. Mob will be the death of him. He looks at him and his heart breaks. He
tears him open every time.
"Shishou, I won't regret it," Mob says softly. "I won't."
And Reigen wants to say 'How can you be so sure?' but he can't make himself do
it because that makes it sound like he wants Mob to regret it and he doesn't,
he doesn't. ...And that besides, this too is a question he doesn't want to hear
the answer to. So he says nothing, dropping his gaze, and now Mob is the one to
sit up, slow and careful like a china doll. God, it's so hot, the old fan
stuttering, barely making a difference, and he wants a shower and fresh air,
silence, another cigarette, anything, nothing, he's never felt so
claustrophobic in all his life–
"Please." Mob puts a hand to the back of his damp neck, his skin tingling,
alive with energy. "Arataka."
Those four syllables push into him like nothing else on this earth. He so
rarely hears his first name as it is but Mob, he has such a way of saying it,
wrapping his tongue around it like he's trying it out, like he's never heard it
before. He wields it like a weapon, sparing, deadly. Reigen is not easily
manipulated but he will do anything Shigeo Kageyama wants.
Mob sinks again and he barely pulls but Reigen comes with him without
resistance. The mad lead the blind, the blind lead the mad. He cannot explain
this, he cannot excuse it, he cannot justify it. He simply wants. They both do.
Mob winds his arms around his neck and they kiss and Mob is still awful but
Reigen doesn't feel as frustrated with him anymore. He can feel him beginning
to grow hard against his leg.
"Mob," he sighs, resting his mouth at his cheek. "Let go, let me..."
Mob takes a shuddering breath and nods his understanding. His arms loosen and
he lies obediently as Reigen takes hold of his collar and begins to unbutton
his gakuran. The second button is loose on its thread. He won't undress him all
the way, he never does, he doesn't think the back of this battered car is
really the place for that – but he knows from personal experience how
uncomfortable those uniforms are. It's better if it's a weekend, really, and
Mob comes in regular clothes. Then he doesn't even have to remember that Mob
owns one. He slips the last buffed button through and opens it up, careful,
like he's dissecting him. Mob isn't nervous about him doing this anymore – he
shattered the windshield the first time – but Reigen sees his ribcage lift
beneath the cotton of his white T-shirt, taking in a breath. Still shy, even in
front of him; or modest, maybe, is a better word. He will never be huge, it's
just not in his build, but he is no longer the scrawny thing he was, his arms
and chest firmer, more defined. Mob's hard work always pays off in the end.
Reigen, on the other hand, has been awkward and janky and sharp all his life.
It's too late for him now.
He takes Mob's jacket off and throws it to join his own, pressing down towards
him. Mob has a barrier up, he can feel it singing off him, but he sinks through
it like the skin on stagnant water, invited, dragged under. At least he's on
top. At least he can breathe. He slips his hand beneath Mob's skull and mouths
his way down his exposed throat, clever tongue lathing wetly over cord and
bone, and Mob whines and grabs and arches his back. He isn't going to last long
tonight, Reigen realizes, and it's going to be a bumpy ride. He laps his way
into the dip of his collarbone, his palm taking the impact as Mob throws his
head back, and then he withdraws before it gets too much. He puts his head on
Mob's heaving chest, feeling his heart pound against his cheek. He doesn't say
anything. Mob's chest hitches beneath him, sudden. He has only just noticed the
swell of energy filling up every inch of the car, the windows beginning to
tremble.
"Sorry, Shishou," he murmurs. He takes a few breaths, composing himself, and
the pressure drops.
"It's alright," Reigen says. "Shall we continue?"
"Yes." Mob swallows thickly. "Please."
"Alright." Reigen is a little bit on edge now but he likes to think he knows
what he's doing when it comes to this. He just has to be careful with him. He
rests a while longer, thinking, breathing Mob in. He smells like soap and ramen
and rubber gym shoes. As he should.
"Shishou?" Mob's hand comes to rest in his hair, his fingers hot. "Are you
okay?"
"I'm fine." Reigen pushes himself up, smiling at him. "Just thinking." He
braces a hand next to Mob's head and stretches over him, grabbing the tube. He
shows it to him. "I need this, don't I?"
Mob blinks once at it, then realizes what it is and goes very red very quickly.
The car gives a little tremor as he averts his eyes.
"Y-yes..."
I'm going to die in this car, Reigen thinks again. He bends down and kisses Mob
on the forehead. "Just relax," he says softly. "And if you want to stop, we
can. Just say."
Mob's fists clench. He nods, his lips pressed tightly together. He still wants
it more than anything. Reigen knows this, he can see it, he understands
perfectly. He still wants it, too, like all hell even though Mob is too young
and too dangerous for him and the back of his throat still tastes like rust.
He takes the tube and slides back down, pulling his palms over the length of
Mob's body, feeling the soft swell of muscle, the hard jut of bone. Mob
squirms, his spine rising, following the descent of his hands until they come
to rest between his legs. He is definitely hard now, uniform pants
unflattering, unforgiving. Reigen is uncomfortable himself so he can only
imagine how Mob feels. He lifts his T-shirt and struggles with the button –
always so wretchedly small, he recalls, no good if you're in a fucking hurry
for one reason or another – and then gently takes down the zip. Mob knows how
this bit goes, lifting his hips so Reigen can get his hands under the waistband
and slide them down. He takes them to his knees, exposing his thighs, pale and
tense. Plain white underwear, typical of Mob. He's nothing special but he's so
beautiful, he exists like anti-matter, swallowing up Reigen's battered smoke-
stained car and everything in it. He deserves more than this. The cicadas
scream and Reigen presses a kiss to his trembling knee. Mob bends his neck, his
hair glossy on the seat. He's so fucking beautiful. Reigen can't take it.
It's so fucking hot, too, and Reigen can't take much more of that, either. He
doesn't want to take his shirt off because he's sweating like a work-horse but
he pulls the top four buttons undone, aware of Mob eyeing the thin v of
gleaming skin. His flesh feels too tight, he feels like he has too many teeth,
like there's too much blood under his fingernails. Any more of this and his
spine is going to crawl out of his body and who could blame it? It's getting
too much, it's–
He takes hold of Mob's underwear and pulls them down, bracing himself. The
pressure in the car spikes and the metal groans, the ceiling bending inwards.
The sound is enough, bringing Mob back to his senses, and he wrestles to
compose himself again. Reigen lifts his head, looking at him. The energy in the
car is still crackling. This is idiotic but stopping won't help now.
"Sorry, Shishou," Mob mumbles again. He tries to close his legs, embarrassed,
but Reigen doesn't let him.
"You don't need to keep apologizing."
"But... your car..."
"It's just a car, Mob. It doesn't matter."
(But this, really, is why he insists on the car when it comes to it. They are
designed to crumple. A room doesn't bear thinking about. Mob would pull
everything down on top of them.)
Reigen pulls himself up level with Mob's face. He rubs at his cheek with his
knuckles, gentle.
"It doesn't matter about the car," he whispers again. "I promise."
Mob gives a tiny nod. "Okay."
"Good." Reigen brushes his ebony hair away from his eyes. "...I'm going to
prepare you, okay?"
Mob's cheeks color again and he closes his eyes. He bites his lip hard.
"Mob. Is that okay?"
"Yes." Mob is breathless. He nods. "Yes."
Reigen hesitates. "Are you sure?"
Another nod, more frantic. Mob opens his eyes again, locking their gazes, black
and burning. "Yes."
It knocks the breath from Reigen. He has no words. He only nods. He will not
ask again.
His fingers slide a little on the tube as he uncaps it. It feels like it's
melting a little bit, unsurprising, chemical strawberry. Mob is pliant now,
very still, breathing deeply, watching Reigen's every move through his
eyelashes. The pressure has dropped. He barely even has a barrier up anymore,
although Reigen can't tell if it's because he's finally relaxing or because
he's burnt himself out. He hopes it's the latter, it'll be safer for both of
them. He slicks his fingers, feeling it ooze under his nails, and palms over
the curve of Mob's backside until he finds his entrance. Mob tenses but just a
little bit, he really is trying, and Reigen pushes inside him with two fingers
because Mob is actually pretty used to this by now, for better or worse.
Indeed, he gives a little grunt of discomfort but that's about it, settling
without much complaint. His cheeks are very pink, squirming on his curling
fingers as Reigen prepares him. It makes him look even younger than he is and
Reigen gets that gritty feeling in his chest again – like it would be better to
just let Mob crush the car and kill them both, quick, painless. What else can
be said about how greedily he watches him writhe, prick erect, gasping his
name. He's so hard himself, straining against gray polyester, cheap fabric that
doesn't breathe. His suits never fit him properly, they hang off him like raw
meat on a nail because his shoulders and hips are so narrow, he's a bag of bone
and blood, nothing fits him at all–
Except Mob. He pulls out his fingers. There's no sense in dragging this out
when he could be inside him. Mob is more than ready. He draws down his zip and
shucks his pants, then his underwear, pushing them to his knees. He's rough
with the lube, slathering it on carelessly, and it smells so sweet it's
sickening, overpowering. He bought it for Mob but the brat doesn't even like
the taste of it, his tongue curling in disgust. He needs takoyaki flavor,
maybe, or milk, the sort that should never exist.
He throws it aside when he's done, not bothering to cap it. He needs to clean
the car out anyway but it can wait, it can all wait. He just wants to be within
Mob and to hell with everything else. He takes his thighs and pulls him close,
finding his entrance. Some nights he asks if Mob is ready but tonight he
doesn't, for the first time in a long time he feels like he's talked enough. He
pushes forward and Mob's body gives, letting him in, taking and taking. It's
easy but Mob groans as he fills him, arching his back, his teeth trembling on
his bottom lip. He gasps when he hits the hilt, completely inside him.
"Are you alright, Mob?" Reigen whispers. He's quivering all over, forcing his
hips to stay still.
"Yes." Mob breathes out. "It's just... a lot..."
"We'll go slow," Reigen promises, although he doesn't want to, he wants to
pound Mob into the seat now that he's here.
Mob gives another breathless nod and Reigen feels him wrap his legs around him,
ankles hooked across his back. He takes Mob's slender hips, holding him firmly,
and begins to move. Mob feels so amazing every time, hot and tight and giving,
and the inside of his body blazes with a phenomena Reigen will never
understand. It's like fucking a star, a universe, a total collapse of power and
light. It makes Reigen's hair lift and his skin prickle and his heart swell in
his chest, bouncing off bone; sometimes he goes blind or deaf or totally mad,
just for a moment. It's another language, taking him apart atom by atom. He
sees something in Shigeo Kageyama that no-one has ever seen. There's nothing
else like him on this earth – and Reigen is so afraid but he wants him, he
wants all of him, he wants to be devoured.
A window cracks, sudden and loud, the split shooting silver straight down.
Reigen jolts, looking at it, but Mob whines and clutches at him and he ignores
it. The boy pulls him down, holding him tightly around his neck, panting in his
ear. He's close already, Reigen can tell, he knew he wouldn't last very long
tonight, he's so overcharged and wound up.
"Wait," he begs breathlessly. "Wait..."
Mob tips his head back with a moan, his fingers grasping at the back of
Reigen's damp shirt. He's losing him, his eyes are starting to roll back in his
head, his hair is beginning to lift and sway–
"Mob!" Reigen grabs his face. "Stay conscious!"
Mob starts, his eyes becoming wide, dilated, and there's a pause before the car
gives an almighty groan and the roof begins to cave inwards, all of the windows
starting to buckle and crack.
"Mob, stop, stop," Reigen pleads, shaking him. "Mob!"
The screech of metal abruptly halts. Mob lets out a breath as the car rocks a
little, bent in the middle. His hair drops, his legs loosen. His body is still
pulsing, Reigen deep within him, not daring to move. He still looks a bit out
of it and Reigen squeezes his cheeks.
"Oi. Mob." His heart is thundering under his ribs.
"I'm awake," Mob says dully. "I'm sorry."
"I told you, it's just a car," Reigen says, too quickly because Mob does this a
lot and scares him shitless every time. He treats it like a joke but it's not.
Cars are designed to crumple, after all.
"This is dangerous," Mob says, looking past his shoulder at the twisted roof.
This probably isn't the first time this has occurred to him – it really
shouldn't be – but it's the first time he's said it out loud.
"Yes," Reigen agrees quietly. "But it's always dangerous. Nothing has changed.
Tonight is no different to any other."
"You could die."
"I could get hit by a bus crossing the road."
Mob shakes his head. "You could die, Shishou," he says again, desperate. "I
could hurt you, I... could kill you–"
And that wouldn't be pretty at all, Mob lying alone, hands and eyes wide open,
covered in blood. Reigen doesn't want to think about it. He won't let go of
Mob's face. He makes him look at him.
"You could," he says, "but you won't. I trust you, Shigeo. I know you won't
hurt me."
Mob seems suddenly exhausted. His face crumples and he starts to cry. The rear-
view mirror shatters, tinkling silver onto the dashboard, and he clutches
miserably around Reigen's shoulders, his whole body shuddering. Reigen settles
his weight on top of him, letting him cling, letting him sob his heart out.
"We'll stop," he whispers. “It's okay. We'll stop."
He'll pull himself out, clean Mob up, they can forget about it and go and get
ramen after all, it's too late for some things but not for that–
Mob's legs lock, stopping him, keeping him inside his body.
"I don't want to stop," he sobs in Reigen's ear. "I want... I-I want it to
stop, just for a moment, just for..."
Reigen nods, holds him tight. There's nothing he can do about it. His miracles
are illusions. Mob isn't like his brother or Hanazawa – he really would be so
much happier without his power. He asks for so little. He deserves so much
better.
"Okay," he says gently. He wipes Mob's face dry. "Okay."
He begins to move again, slow, careful, and Mob's whole body gives, yielding.
He's cried himself out, there's nothing left. It feels like doing a dishcloth.
It's for the best – Reigen feels completely safe for the first time since the
doors locked. Mob lies there and makes nice sounds, his cheeks flushed, his
hair a splash of night, and Reigen fucks him as gently as he can because that's
all Mob really wants. When he's calm, when he's like a burnt-out comet and
they're lying in the crater... It's almost normal then. Mob feels for his hand
and he lets him clutch at it, fingers entwining. He loves him more than
anything in this world but he doesn't say it. It's too much, it's too far, and
he has nothing to offer him.
He does not outlast Mob. It takes him by surprise, bursting through him out of
nowhere, tearing the breath from his body as he rides the high into him. He
takes an unintelligible stab at his name, holding him close, feeling him squirm
madly beneath him. Mob is just as breathless, hanging onto him for dear life,
his face pressed against his damp shirt collar.
"I'm sorry, Mob," Reigen mutters dazedly, breathing out through his nose. He
doesn't usually come before him. "I'll... let me just..."
He disentangles Mob from his neck, letting him drop back to the seat. His T-
shirt is stuck to him, his chest heaving, his legs trembling, his face pink and
pretty. He only needs a little nudge. Reigen rakes his blonde hair back off his
face and it's so sweaty it stays (nice) as he finds the lube again and takes a
smear over his palm. Mob looks like he doesn't care what he does to him at this
point but Reigen remains gentle with him, still inside him as he takes hold of
his cock. Mob starts, his chest bucking, his spine twisting. Reigen is so good
with his hands, he knows what he's doing, he won't leave him hanging. Enough is
enough. He pulls his thumb over the head, his fingers curl and slide with just
enough pressure, and Mob is like jelly, quivering and boneless. His thin hips
rut into Reigen's palm and he knows he's close, so close, he won't last another
minute–
Reigen idly glances out of the window and sees branches. The realization hits
him like a ton of bricks.
"Shit, Mob, the car...!"
Mob arches his back and comes over his hand, whining his name – Arataka, Reigen
hears it clear as day – and then the car shudders violently and drops. God only
knows how many feet Mob had it in the air but they seem to fall for a long time
before hitting the ground with an incredible bang. The back window breaks, the
windshield spiderwebs, Reigen hits his head against the driver's door, knocking
all sense from him. When the black blotches away, he finds himself on top of
Mob, who is unscathed but wide-eyed. Reigen doesn't blame him. He's just as
shocked.
"Are you okay?" He pushes himself up, wiping off his hand. His head feels like
it's been split open.
"Yes," Mob says. He looks directly up at him. "But you're not."
Reigen sucks in a breath. "I'm fine, honestly–"
"You're..." Mob reaches up towards him, touching his forehead. His fingers come
back slick with red. His hand starts to tremble.
"I'm sure it's just a little cut," Reigen says quickly. "Don't worry about it–"
"I hurt you," Mob says. "After... all that–"
"It was an accident." Reigen goes into the glove compartment to hunt for the
wipes. He's business as usual, tidying himself up. He can't show Mob how shaken
he is. The boy bends and twists the car a lot but he's never lifted it off the
ground before. "Here, get cleaned up."
Mob catches the packet with his powers, although Reigen doesn't know if he's
actually consciously using them at this point. He doesn't look at him, dressing
quickly.
"Shishou–"
"Mob, it was an accident. You and I both know you wouldn't do such a thing on
purpose."
"No." Mob looks down. "But... I hurt you, just... just like I hurt Ritsu–"
"That was an accident, too."
Mob doesn't say anything, fiddling with the packet. His hair is sticking up all
over the place. Reigen finds an orange plastic comb in one of the doors and
puts it on Mob's knee, watching it see-saw.
"We both know your powers are dangerous," he says. "There's no point in
pretending they aren't."
Mob looks up at him. It's so obvious he doesn't want to hear it, his heart
can't take it.
"But you're not dangerous." He presses on anyway. "No matter how powerful you
become. It's just a cut, it's just a car. It doesn't matter."
"Or maybe," Mob says softly, watching the comb, "you just don't care if I kill
you."
"That's a bold claim," Reigen says coolly. He leans over and unlocks the door.
"I need some air. Get dressed."
He takes up his jacket and gets out of the car. He only wants it because his
cigarettes are in the pocket, throwing it on even though it's just as stifling
outside. The door swings shut behind him, wheezing on its hinges. He doesn't
look at the car. There's no point. It's a heap of junk anyway. The airbag
didn't even go off.
He walks away from it, giving Mob his space. Sometimes words work wonders and
sometimes they don't. Sometimes he just needs to be left alone. He crunches
over the undergrowth, ducking beneath branches, going deeper and deeper into
the woods, treading Mob's path. He finds the cigarettes but he can't find the
damn lighter, rifling through his pockets in annoyance. He half-expects to trip
over a body, this is where they come, that's the sort of thing you find out
here. God only knows what he looks like, sweaty and unkempt and distracted,
bleeding, searching, grieving. It's okay, it's okay, he left his tie and his
belt in the car, the wreck of a car where he just fucked a sixteen year old who
barely holds in the birth of a universe. He has his priorities right, you see.
He knows what he comes out here for.
He sinks against a tree, pulling himself together. He can't smoke, stuffing
them back inside his jacket, and rubs at his forehead instead. There's a lot of
blood but the wound is superficial. It really is only a little cut after all.
He'll tell Mob, of course, and he'll be relieved. He wants to tell him right
now, wants to pull back his fringe and show him, look, I'm fine, I'm Arataka
Reigen, you can't kill me just like that–
But he stays where he is. Through the trees, he can hear the dull groan of
metal straining, unbending. It sounds like a dying animal. Mob always fixes the
car afterwards, always undoes any damage. Sometimes Reigen teases him that
he'll take it out of his pay if he doesn't but it's a weak joke and Mob never
laughs. Neither does Reigen, really. The whole thing isn't very funny.
There's something moving next to his foot. He glances down, hoping it's not a
snake, ready to boot it to kingdom come if it is. It's a flower, small and
brightly blue, swaying even though there is no wind. It's unlike anything
growing around it, gleaming like a jewel between wilting weeds. He toes it with
his shoe, watching it bend, noting there is more resistance than one would
expect from something so tiny. Mob, he thinks tiredly, letting it straighten.
He casts his eyes aside and sees that there are more of them, all colors,
twinkling in the undergrowth, winding away in a loose trail between the trees.
He'll follow and see something he'll wish he hadn't, probably, and he's had
more than enough of that tonight; but his curiosity gets the better of him and
he does anyway, careful to step over the blooms lighting his path. So many
things end badly this way, in his line of work he should know, but there's no
sense left in him tonight. Besides, maybe Mob will hear him screaming.
But there's nothing to scream about. He pushes through the foliage and comes
upon a huge crater left by Mob, left to fester, now alive and bursting with the
most beautiful garden of overflowing color. It overwhelms every sense, twisting
and spiraling every shade imaginable, green and pink and orange and blue and
deepest red, flowers jostling for space, huge trees with crystal bark hulking
overhead. This is a terrarium of Mob's power, a forest hidden within the
darkest heart of another. Reigen thinks uneasily of the Divine Tree but this...
this is different. This has no intent, it's idle, a cast-off. Mob has done this
with a flick of his fingers. Reigen can feel the blood congealing on his skin
and closes his eyes.
You don't see what I do out here.
"Shishou."
Mob is behind him. Reigen didn't even hear him.
"I fixed the car." The crunch of a twig. "Shishou."
Reigen turns to him. Mob is pristine again, gakuran jacket done up tight,
holding him in. His hair is combed, the flush has gone out of his face, his
eyes are dark and expressionless. There is no tremor in his mouth. You'd never
know.
Reigen, of course, looks like he's been hit by a train. He smiles.
"I knew I could count on you, Mob." He knows Mob is looking past him at the
incredible unintelligible evidence of what he's capable of and makes a show of
tapping his watch. "Come on, it's getting late. Let's get you home. It's a
school night, after all."
"Okay."
Mob waits for him, letting him swing an arm around his shoulder. He walks as
stiffly as he always does, arms at his sides, as they make their way back
towards the car. It occurs to Reigen that Mob could probably heal him if he
tried. He doesn't ask. It's nothing a hot flannel and a band-aid won't fix.
The car looks... well, as good as it did when Reigen bought it, anyway. He puts
the seat up and gets in, Mob sliding into the passenger side. He sits rigidly
with his hands in his lap. Déjà vu.
"Mob." Reigen starts the engine.
There is a tense moment of silence.
"...Yes, Shishou?" Mob looks straight ahead. He doesn't want to be asked about
what Reigen just saw – any of it. Reigen knows that.
"You will go on that date, won't you?" He pulls the car out of its rut –
impact, well, he doesn't expect Mob to fix that, too. "With Hanazawa."
Mob doesn't say anything for a long time. He plays with his second button, his
head down.
"Mob." Reigen won't let him off.
"I will," Mob says sulkily. "I do like Hanazawa-kun. I will."
Reigen breathes out. "Good." The pathway is starting to clear, the trees
becoming more sparse as they begin to leave the forest behind, and everything
feels normal again, reality sliding back into place. There are no maddened
forests here, bleeding all the colors that peeled brains can conjure.
"Because this is what you wanted, isn't it?" he goes on. He feels better, his
mouth filling up by itself. "Back then, when you first joined that club. You
said you felt like you were missing out, that there are things you could only
do now. That's true, you know. You're only young once. Hanazawa is your age. Go
on a silly high school date with him. Go shopping, sing karaoke, get ice cream.
It doesn't matter. You might find it fun."
"Yeah," Mob says. "I said I would, Shishou. You don't have to say it again."
Heh. Reigen hides a grin. He sometimes forgets Mob has a bit of a mouth on him
when he feels like it.
The city pours over them, glaring light getting in through the cracks, bottled
versions of those wild colors, pink and green and red. Mob is turned a little
away from him, still playing with his button, watching the cold square blocks
of buildings go by. They pass Mob's school, closed-up and quiet, windows
gleaming like the black eyes of beetles. Reigen remembers it – it wasn't really
so long ago, after all – the tense hot crush of that life, of that age, how
fleeting it is. He's had his, squandered, gobbled-up. More than anything, he
does not want Mob to regret.
They come to Mob's house. Reigen kills the engine completely but Mob doesn't
move.
"We're here," Reigen says shortly. "You'd better go in. It's late."
Mob nods. "Thank you."
"No problem. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I have club."
"Come as late as you want. If it's as hot as this, we probably won't have much
work anyway. We can get dinner."
The other things are unspoken. Reigen aches just thinking about it.
Mob gives another nod and opens the door, then hesitates. He leans towards him
a little and Reigen is quick to move away – sometimes Mob wants to kiss him
goodbye but he doesn't let him, not out here where there are streetlights and
curtains and tongues. Instead he puts his hand on his head.
"Goodnight, Shigeo," he says gently, running his thumb across his soft hair.
Mob reaches up and takes his wrist, removing his hand. He presses something
into it, cold and hard. It feels like a coin. Reigen's fingers close around it,
instinctive, as Mob pushes himself out of the car and onto the pavement.
"Goodnight, Arataka," he says. His voice is impenetrable. He closes the door
and walks up the path to his house, Reigen watching him in the rear-view mirror
until the front door closes and he's gone. Mob afforded him this, the mirror,
he fixed that as well, flawless, no trace of a crack. A shy, quiet, gentle god,
creator, destroyer. He is unfathomable. Reigen wishes he could give him what he
wants.
He opens his hand. Gleaming in the center of his palm is Mob's second button,
round and gold like a miniature sun. He understands this, at least. High school
is so fucking stupid, it's all pretend, pretentious even, it doesn't mean
anything in the end–
But this, god, it matters so much to Mob. This is the price of it. This is more
precious than gold, than earth, than blood. He puts it in his top pocket and
starts the engine.
The doors are locked. There is no way out.
 
 
 
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