Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13454469.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_Ritsu/Suzuki_Shou
  Character:
      Kageyama_Ritsu, Suzuki_Shou, mention_of_Serizawa_Katsuya
  Additional Tags:
      Ritsu-centric_introspection, Unrequited_Love, Sexual_Content, Lack_of
      Communication, Angst, Friends_With_Benefits
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-22 Words: 2500
****** The Penny Drops ******
by allthingsunrelated
Summary
     And Ritsu hates himself.
Notes
     I've been wanting to write something like this for a while, which is
     basically most of my ideals crammed into a short fic. I had planned
     for it to be longer but it didn't hold water. Thank you to my lovely
     lovely beta! And thank those of you who read this and like it!
     I'm sorry Ritsu has to suffer.
“Mmm,” Suzuki unlatches from Ritsu’s neck with a wet sound. “Wassa matter?”
“Nothing,” Ritsu says, tilting his head to the side as Suzuki licks and bites
his way down to his clavicle. It usually goes like this: Suzuki gives a
generous lick for every bite. A harder bite will be nursed with merciful
sucking. Several bites in unison with no consolation of repentance means Ritsu
best slap a hand over Suzuki’s mouth before he draws blood.
“Okay,” Suzuki snorts, his fingers dancing down Ritsu’s shoulders to play with
his chest. It’s not as developed as Suzuki’s, who’s put on a little muscle over
the course of a semester, joining and eventually abandoning various after-
school sport clubs. That, in collaboration with the upkeep of his father’s
estate and whatever Suzuki’s done to the living room wall, or what used to be a
wall, has helped define the scope of Suzuki’s body. It’s nice to look at, so
Ritsu does.
“Whats up?” Suzuki asks again, “If you’re not feeling it, we can do this some
other time, ya know.”
“No, I want to. I was just... thinking.” It’s technically not a lie, but the
truth that Ritsu was preoccupied with the lean lines of Suzuki’s body is
something Ritsu has never admitted over the course of their upgraded
friendship. It makes his face feel uncomfortably warm, thinking about the
intimacy involved.
“You sure? You seem kinda ‘off’. We can watch a movie downstairs, or
something.” Suzuki asks, massaging Ritsu’s thighs.
“This is fine, plus your house is kinda creepy,” Ritsu murmurs.
He thinks about the cobwebs scouring the high vaulted ceilings, barren rooms
with creaking floorboards and the isolating emptiness. The most lived-in area
is the dining room, with homework, mock college exams and worn books with bent
spines piled at the head of the large, dusty table.
“Hah!” Suzuki shouts, “Does it scare you? I think it’s haunted. Maybe we should
set up cameras to catch some paranormal activity~!”
“Oh, shut up,” Ritsu says, grabbing a handful of Suzuki’s wispy hair and
pulling his face back down to his chest. Suzuki goes back to kissing every inch
of skin he can cover with his lips, willingly and without commentary. Ritsu
cards his fingers through Suzuki’s hair which, though not as short as it used
to be, has grown out just enough to be a nuisance to the both of them.
Ritsu fidgets under the attention, gentle manipulation and genuine fascination
of Suzuki’s touch. No matter how many times they fall into this routine,
Ritsu’s never prepared for the shameless way Suzuki scrutinizes every inch of
his body. It turns Ritsu’s skin to gooseflesh and makes his guts twist.
“Ritsu— I’ll bite you if you don’t hold still, I swear,” Suzuki warns, nose
smushed against Ritsu’s pectoral and breath hot on his skin. Ritsu has no use
for his nipples aside from the purely cosmetic, but he would still like to keep
them, so he obliges and distracts himself by glancing around the room.
There’s a lamp next to the bed with a green glass shade and a brass switch like
from old american detective movies casting grainy shadows. The bed is larger
than Ritsu’s, with a plush downy duvet and a brushed metal headboard that Ritsu
once found out makes a very alarming sound when it bounces against the wall.
It’s perhaps the first time Ritsu’s been at Suzuki’s house during the day, and
the natural light shows a different hue to the paint that he had not been able
to see before. It almost doesn't look like  the same room Ritsu was in the last
time he visited.
“Hey Suzuki,” Ritsu says, feeling oddly giddy and light-headed. “Was it hard to
patch over the hole from that time?”
“That time?” Suzuki pulls away and licks his lips, excess spit gleaming wet on
his chin. “You sound like your brother. Be more specific.”
“Not the time you were showing me the suplex, the ti—”
“Oh!” Suzuki interrupts. “When I forgot Serizawa was coming by.”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“I can’t even tell where you spackled over it,” Ritsu says, clearing his throat
as Suzuki’s fingers trace a circle around his navel.
“No, I meant I didn’t fix it. This is a different room,” Suzuki laughs.
“Oh.” Ritsu feels a little obtuse for not reaching that conclusion himself
since he’s supposed to be best friends with Suzuki Shou and if Ritsu can’t
predict his friend’s spontaneity then who can? “Why did you change rooms?”
“I was tired of it,” Suzuki sighs, shifting to lay over Ritsu’s legs and look
him in the face expectantly.
If Ritsu were to decipher Suzuki’s expression and translate it into words, it
wouldn’t be safe to read in public. Just the way Suzuki arches one eyebrow is
enough to kick up the sediment in Ritsu’s blood and send it plummeting other
places. Ritsu’s heart skips a beat, which is new, and mildly troublesome.
Ritsu’s pulled out of his own thoughts by Suzuki dipping his index fingers
below the waistband of his boxer-briefs.
“How do you want to cum?” Suzuki says, picking himself off Ritsu’s legs and
relocating himself onto his lap.
Ritsu stares blankly, an accurate reflection of his mind scrambling for some
traction to make a decision, like loose marbles scattering on an uneven floor.
“You can do it here,” Suzuki points to his mouth, slightly opened. “Or… “
Ritsu’s shaking hands grab meekly at Suzuki’s hips. “Where are the condoms?”
“We ran out, but I ain’t worried about it. S’not like we’re fucking anybody
else.”
Excitement surges through Ritsu at the proposition of unprotected sex. Aside
from being reckless, it’s the epitome of closeness between them that no one
else is privilege to. He struggles to keep the thrill off his face and under
control as Suzuki makes quick work stripping off their underwear and digging
for necessary supplies between his mattress and boxspring.
Ritsu knew the idea of sex would be something he might like, a chemical climb
and crash through senseless, primal repetition. What Ritsu didn’t know is he
would actually be engaging in sex. He’s never purposely conspired against the
wishes of his parents or pressures of society that have preached accountability
and the melancholic delight of abstaining to ensure he made it through upper
secondary school and into a university.
Ritsu would like to think it was his choice, to derail himself from his studies
and plunge into the complexities of another human being. In all actuality,
there is nothing complex about it. It was entirely too easy once those terrible
blue eyes made the decision for him, willing Ritsu out of his clothes and into
his bed. It was always Suzuki’s bright ideas that fucked Ritsu up the most, and
ever since his pitches sound better and better to Ritsu’s ears.
Suzuki squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto his palm, aggressively coating
Ritsu’s cock from root to tip, and arousal flares in the pit of Ritsu’s
stomach. He can tell Suzuki is impatient, guiding Ritsu into him, slick as silk
but not completely yielding. Ritsu is aching and full of blood; every nerve is
tender, alive and buzzing from the pressure engulfing him. 
There’s little sensation in the world that can compare to how Suzuki feels.
Ritsu wonders if he feels the same way when their positions are traded. Every
muscle in his body is tense and eager to move; Ritsu’s breath hitches, heart
thundering and blood rushing in his ears so loudly he can barely pick up
Suzuki’s moan amongst the cacophony.
Suzuki doesn’t make noises like they do in adult videos. No part of Suzuki is
submissive or shy. Suzuki is focused on the challenge, observing Ritsu closely
with lidded eyes, possessive of every involuntary throb and twitch and
stuttering thrust Ritsu makes under him. Giving Ritsu control and then taking
it away, provoking him to frustration. Retribution is Ritsu rolling his hips
and diving deeper, slotting every inch of himself into Suzuki until he wilts
onto Ritsu’s torso.
Ritsu’s hands travel from the curve of Suzuki’s back over the ridges of his
ribs, stopping to splay over his chest, bright with blood and slick with sweat.
His hands move by impulse alone, indecisive, groping and petting and anxious.
Suzuki’s face is close; normally pallid cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are
unfocused, yawning pupils drinking Ritsu in. Abruptly, Ritsu has an
inexplicable urge to kiss Suzuki, some feeling so elusive it must have crawled
out of his subconscious. Something they’ve never done. The opportunity passes
when Suzuki straightens up and combs his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
Suzuki keeps pace, each breath punched out of his lungs, not growing faster but
heavier; reverent, trembling arms steadied on Ritsu’s knees. Ritsu touches his
dick, swiftly and with rhythm and the breathless sound Suzuki makes fills
Ritsu’s chest with adoration that viciously cannibalizes him from the inside-
out. Ritsu realizes when Suzuki gasps his name that Ritsu is in love. It’s
sticky on Ritsu’s abdomen and burns right through him like gunpowder.
Suzuki has always been strange, a little excessive ebbing on the side of
impulsive. Clawing Ritsu up from day one, over and over before there was ever a
chance to heal or separate blissful emotion from the blood-slick desire. It
came like an onslaught of waves, dragging Ritsu under, and only now does he
wonder when he drowned.
As Ritsu rutches around in the blankets searching for his underwear, he
surmises that his emotions towards Suzuki are exclusive. It’s inappropriate.
They never discussed this probability on the assumption that it would never
happen, and Ritsu has managed to fuck it up. He fucked it up and now he’s in
love. He’s in love and his heart feels like it will explode and his ribs will
turn into shrapnel and puncture his lungs.
Dread fills his insides and Ritsu questions every motive he’s had for being
around Suzuki in the past year. He wonders if he can correct himself, how he
can overcompensate for it. Amputate what’s snared now, while the knife is hot.
It’s better if Suzuki doesn’t know, even if Ritsu wants to scream until his
throat is raw and kiss Suzuki until his lips are bruised.
Suzuki offers him an easy smile, still flushed and dripping and Ritsu hates
himself.
 
They wash up in the bathroom. Suzuki insists Ritsu shower first, since he’s the
guest.
Ritsu adjusts the bath faucets carefully to get the water temperature just
right. He switches the showerhead on, but it’s still a bit too cold so he steps
out of its trajectory and peeks around the privacy glass at Suzuki, playing
with his hair in front of the vanity. Ritsu’s heart swells and it’s irritating.
“Do you think it’s getting too long again?” Suzuki asks, looking at Ritsu in
the mirror’s reflection.
“Does it matter what I think?”
Suzuki swivels his head to meet Ritsu’s eyes. “If I said ‘no’ would it make you
happy?”
Suzuki’s answer isn’t as rewarding as Ritsu thought it would be. He stands
under the spray, water quickly soaking his hair and beading on his skin. The
soap he scrubs with smells strongly of sandalwood and Ritsu hates how familiar
the scent is.
After some short time, the privacy glass slides back and Suzuki steps in
without a word. Ritsu flattens himself against the tile to let Suzuki slip by
him. Immediately Suzuki readjusts the water temperature to as hot as possible
and basks in it. Ritsu watches absently, wringing the excess water from his
hair.
“You know, Ritsu,” Suzuki says, lathering the soap between his hands. “If you
don’t wanna do this type of thing anymore, just tell me.”
“What exactly are we doing?” Ritsu blurts, angry with himself.
“What are we doing?” Suzuki parrots in disbelief, turning to face Ritsu, his
skin already flushing bright pink from the scalding water. “I know what I’m
doing— what are you doing?”
Ritsu drops his gaze to Suzuki’s feet and thinks I don’t know. I don’t know, I
want to destroy myself, I want you to hate me, because it’s easier that way.
The truth sticks in Ritsu’s throat.
“I’m doing what’s expected of me,” Ritsu says, words well-rehearsed, civil and
completely empty. “I’m here because you called me. You asked me to come, so I
came.”
“You make it sound like you don’t wanna be here,” Suzuki says, wrinkling his
nose like he can taste Ritsu’s acrid dishonesty. “Why’re you speaking all
polite suddenly? It pisses me off.”
“I do enjoy our time together,” I like you. I love you, I love you, I love
you,“Thank you for being so accommodating, Suzuki-kun.”
Suzuki’s eyes flash wide, sharp and transparent like broken glass. Ritsu feels
Suzuki’s stare cut into him deeply and all the agonizing red blood rushing out
is recycled into pure fondness. It bubbles up in Ritsu’s lungs so thickly he
cannot breathe.
“What in the fuck—” Suzuki growls, and steps forward, hair dark with the water
streaming down his face. “Are you having a crisis or something? Not that I
could help or anythin’ since you’re content to keep it to yourself!”
Ritsu becomes aware of how close Suzuki is, unabashedly naked and incensed.
Ritsu forgets Suzuki can be like this. He fights the magnetic pull towards
Suzuki, desperately trying to stay in focus, but with the heat from the steam
fogging up his brain and Suzuki’s mouth only inches away, Ritsu’s only defense
is to close his eyes. He wishes Suzuki would coerce him, take his misery out of
him by force.
“I’m not a telepath, Ritsu,” Suzuki says firmly before withdrawing back to the
showerhead, body obscured in the haze of vapor.
Ritsu leans against the cool tile, feeling shame and heartache for the
rejection he can’t incite. Suzuki’s not a god, he has weaknesses, faults and
flaws. Ritsu want to wrap himself in it, meld every disgusting part of himself
to Suzuki so maybe Ritsu can either become a stronger person, or a wretched
monster. Everything was fine and now it’s not, and Ritsu feels, and he feels
and it’s vivid pain behind his eyes one second and an ache in his chest the
next.
“I’m awful,” Ritsu whispers, mostly to himself. “It happened so fast, I don’t
know what to do.”
“You won’t get easy answers being vague,” Suzuki says, sounding slightly
annoyed as he shampoos his hair, “But don’t sell yourself short. You’re the
most capable person I know, and I know you’ll work past whatever you have goin’
on.”
Ritsu nods, combing his dark, damp bangs out of his face.
“I’ll be around whenever you want to talk ‘bout it. I’m still your friend,
right?”
Ritsu nods.
“I can live with that.” Suzuki says.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell it to yourself.”
“I’m… sorry.”
“Good,” Suzuki says, his voice a softer tone Ritsu doesn't deserve, “Now, are
you gonna wallow in self pity, or are you gonna wash my back?”
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