“Does it feel strange to be drinking with your fathers?” Mizuki asks, alcohol already tinting his cheeks; a dusty pink, like the sakura petals on his way home from work.
“No,” Kitaro says. He means it, and the intensity of it makes Mizuki raise his eyebrows. Kitaro clears his throat, mumbling the rest. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“Oh? Really?” Mizuki tilts his head, showing off the curve of his neck. Mouthwatering, tantalizing, like a fresh kill to a wolf. “I was sure the ceremony would be more exciting.”
“That’s just you, Mizuki,” his father teases with a lazy wave of his hand. Despite drinking the most out of the three, he looks completely unphased. “Anyone his age is just going to be embarrassed, especially with how many pictures you took.”
“Ah, well…” Mizuki doesn’t deny it. He circles the drink in his hand, his smile warm and bashful. “I couldn’t help it. Kitaro looked so handsome in his hakama.”
Kitaro flinches in his seat, and he stares down at the table. Handsome. Mizuki called him handsome. He’s thankful his hair is long enough to hide his face, flushed from embarrassment. He feels a calloused hand on his cheek, parting some of the strands. Careful fingers brush away the rest of his bangs, and Kitaro can’t help the blush coloring the rest of his pale face, full body heat, sweat beading at his forehead. His mouth parts when their eyes meet, dark red on light blue, and he sputters like a fish out of water at the touch, his words failing him.
“Oh, Kitaro... If you had too much to drink, you could have said so,” Mizuki assures, caressing his cheek, and it’s clear now more than ever that Mizuki is completely clueless on what he does to him. “You should rest. You’ve had a long day.”
“Um–” Kitaro grabs Mizuki’s wrist, pulls his hand off his face, even if he would love nothing more than to have it there forever, be pet and coddled for the rest of his life. “Mizuki, I… um…” He stutters again, eye darting in every direction, unable to find a place to settle, until he eventually lets go, much too nervous to confess this soon. “I’m… okay. Thank you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, his father watches him with pity. His father purses his lips, unimpressed, and he sets his cup down to correct Kitaro’s stumblings, as usual. “Kitaro, there’s actually one last gift I have for you.”
“Another gift?” Mizuki asks, completely unaware. He sets his drink down as well, turning his head to look for what might be hidden away. “Now you’ve got me curious.”
“Of course! Kitaro has grown up into such a fine young man. He deserves only the best.” His father smiles as leans over in his seat, hands clasping down on Mizuki’s shoulders. “So the last gift for the occasion is you, Mizuki!”
“Me?” Mizuki laughs, and it’s cute how unrestrained Mizuki is with enough alcohol in his system. “Don’t be silly. I’m no gift.”
“Yes, yes, it’s you, alright.” His father chuckles with him, and Mizuki doesn’t initially notice his father’s hands pushing his yukata down enough to reveal his bare torso. Kitaro’s eye nearly bulges out over the swell of his chest, the flush that’s traveled down to his clavicle. It’s enough for a lake of spit to collect under his tongue.
“Ah, hey–” Mizuki catches his father’s wrist, though his grip is weak, loose, and his arm falls right back to his lap, gravity winning over his declining strength. “Stop that. There’s nothing funny about an old guy’s chest.”
“Funny?” His father hums, then shakes his head. “You’re right. It isn’t funny. Now, sit still. I need to get this off you.”
“Knock it off,” Mizuki is angrier, but when he tries to lift his arm to stop him again, he finds that they’re completely limp at his sides, dead weight against his body. “What– what’s going on? Something’s… something’s wrong. I can’t move.”
His father has a good relationship with the yokai here, and they’re always willing to spare their drink, whenever he asks. It’s stronger on the human tongue, and Kitaro is thankful for it; it’ll make this much easier.
“Mizuki…” Kitaro finally speaks, and Mizuki’s face brightens up, looking to him as his savior. He’s so cute that Kitaro can hardly stand it, but Kitaro isn’t here to help him out of this. “Mizuki, I–”
“Kitaro, tell your father to stop with his weird jokes–” Mizuki interrupts, and the hope in his eyes dies at the desperate longing written on Kitaro’s face.
“Ssshh,” his father clasps a hand over Mizuki’s mouth and pulls him onto his lap. Mizuki is so stunned that he doesn’t even try to speak against his palm, but he still continues to struggle, useless wiggling on top of his father’s legs. “Let him finish. He’s been waiting for this.” His father nods towards his son, encouraging him to continue.
“...When I was a kid, Dad promised that when I was old enough, we could get married…” Kitaro squirms in his seat, excitement bubbling under his skin. “I’ve always liked you… I’ve been wanting this for so long. We could’ve married earlier, but I wanted you to be comfortable with it. I thought now was the perfect time.” He has a lot more courage now, and he scoots forward, close enough that Kitaro can smell the sake lingering on Mizuki’s skin. “I asked Dad for his blessing when I turned twenty, and he said yes– that I was perfect for you. I believe that, too.”
His father moves his hand to let Mizuki speak, and he stares at Kitaro like he’s gone completely mad. “...What?”
“I’ve– I’ve been saving my first time for you!” Kitaro practically shouts, and he can’t stop himself from talking. “I’ve always imagined it with you. I want this more than anything. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I promise I’ll make you happy. I’ll get a job, I’ll protect you, and we’ll have a family together.”
“Well, Mizuki?” His father prompts, seemingly satisfied with Kitaro’s speech. “You’ll have to answer him properly.”
“This is…” Mizuki shakes his head. “I don’t… I can’t–”
“Please, Mizuki.” Kitaro begs, crocodile tears in the corner of his eye, because he knows Mizuki can’t resist him when he cries. “I love you. Please, please.”
It must be the alcohol, or the absurdity of the situation, or the pitiful look on Kitaro’s face that makes Mizuki reluctantly nod, and Kitaro doesn’t waste any time taking what’s rightfully his. He hesitantly presses his lips to Mizuki’s, basking in the softness of his lips, wet and shiny from drinking. He pulls away only to pepper kiss after kiss, and when Kitaro tilts his head and parts his lips, his heart jolts when he feels Mizuki cautiously follow his lead. Kitaro’s self control vanishes, and his tongue shoots forward, traces over teeth and flesh before plunging down Mizuki’s throat. Mizuki chokes and struggles, but his father holds him down to let Kitaro have his fill.
“You need to be careful with him, Kitaro,” his father advises, speaking as if Mizuki isn’t even there. “Mizuki likes to kiss, but he likes this much more.”
His father’s tongue circles around Mizuki’s ear, and a wet, choked moan escapes his throat. Kitaro retracts his tongue and watches with bated breath as Mizuki melts. When his father lifts his tongue off, Kitaro is there to replace it, licking the slit in his ear with less experience, but much more enthusiasm. The tip of his tongue trails down to lick the inner shell, and Mizuki’s dick throbs against Kitaro’s knee. Kitaro notices, and he slips underneath the hem of his yukata to feel the bulge against his briefs.
“Let’s get this off of you, Mizuki,” his father coos, patting his cheek. It’s simple enough lifting Mizuki up and laying him against the floor, as light as he is, and Mizuki moves as if to push himself up, but he can’t, even if he wanted to. Mizuki pants in attempt to catch his breath, tongue hanging out of his mouth, sprawled against the tatami, and it’s so hot that Kitaro nearly cums right there.
Two pairs of hands gently usher his clothes off, and Mizuki’s head is coaxed to lay against his father’s bare thigh.
“You’re even prettier than I imagined…” Kitaro whispers, mostly to himself. “Mizuki, you have a mole right here–” His finger circles around the brown birthmark right above his navel. “Did you know that?”
“Nnhh. No, no–” Kitaro can’t tell if he’s answering his question or still trying to resist, but it doesn’t really matter.
“Hmm, Kitaro,” his father interjects, much to Kitaro’s annoyance. “You don’t mind if I take Mizuki’s mouth, do you?”
“It’s… fine.” Kitaro relents, even if he really would prefer it just be the two of them. He supposes he owes his father this for approving of their relationship.
“You’re so generous! Just what I expect from my son.” His father shifts his fundoshi out of the way, and the tip of his cock presses against Mizuki’s lips. “Come on, Mizuki. Yes, good, just like that…”
Mizuki tentatively takes the fat head of his father’s cock into his mouth, swallows around it. His father helps him with the rest of the way, pushing his hips until his pubes meet Mizuki’s nose. Mizuki doesn’t even blink at the size of it, even though Kitaro can see it bulging in Mizuki’s throat. Mizuki just furrows his brows and keeps his eyes downcast. His father eases his cock in and out, gently, tenderly. He brings the flat rim of his cup to his lips, sipping until it’s empty. He sighs contently as he uses Mizuki as a treasured fleshlight.
Not wanting to be outdone by his father, Kitaro takes action, and brings himself level to Mizuki’s ass. He pushes Mizuki’s legs up and out of the way, and his father is kind enough to hold Mizuki’s knees down to his chest, keeping him spread open. Mizuki allows it, too caught up in the motions of sucking his father off.
Mizuki chokes around it when Kitaro’s tongue laps against his thigh. The flat of it licks up to meet his hole, and Kitaro gives it great attention, long, languid licks to coax him to relax. Open-mouthed kisses and thorough tonguing have Mizuki squirming and moaning, muffled by his father’s cock. Kitaro is thankful their spit is so thick and sticky, it makes easing his tongue inside much easier, and Mizuki’s legs tremble as Kitaro delves deeper and deeper.
“Make sure to use your fingers, too, Kitaro. You wouldn’t want to hurt him,” his father advises, smiling down at Mizuki’s tear-stricken face. “Though, he likes to hurt, sometimes. Don’t you, Mizuki?”
To prove his point, his father pinches Mizuki’s nose between his fingers, cuts off his air all at once. It isn’t long until the asphyxiation catches up with him, and Mizuki chokes, gurgles, tries to pull himself off, but his father’s hand keeps his head still. Tears spill fully, now, as his face turns red to blue, and just as Mizuki’s eyes roll back, his father lets him breathe, and Mizuki accepts his mercy with heavy breaths.
Mizuki isn’t allowed a break, as Kitaro’s fingers join to breach him open just as he’s allowed to breathe. What starts as curious, singular prodding turns into ruthless, hungry exploration. His tongue drags right over the small bump that has Mizuki thrashing around, while his fingers stretch him out. It must feel good, because Mizuki cums onto his stomach, white mixing with the sweat already glistening his skin.
Kitaro pulls away then, though not without a bite to his inner thigh to mark his claim. Mizuki squeaks at the pain, and Kitaro lovingly licks up the blood left behind. When he sits up, his heart nearly stops at Mizuki, blissful and limp. Glossy eyes, rosy cheeks, lips slick with spit and cum. His father must have finished already, and, thankfully, he’s kind enough to let Kitaro have this moment, tucking himself back into his clothes. His father strokes Mizuki’s hair, then Kitaro’s, and he gives his son a knowing smile before making himself presentable and leaving the room for the two of them.
Kitaro swallows as he undresses himself; his dick finally granted some relief from the tight confines of his pants. His clothes are tossed aside, piled on top of Mizuki’s yukata, and Kitaro pulls Mizuki’s legs to wrap around his waist.
His heart pounds against his chest. He’s dreamed of this for years. “Mizuki…”
“...Hm?” Mizuki grunts, blinking back to the present.
“Oh, um.” Kitaro didn’t expect him to still be conscious. “Nothing.”
“It’s alright,” Mizuki insists, so caring, even now. “You can tell me.”
“I’m just a little nervous, I think,” Kitaro confesses. He hopes this conversation ends soon; he isn’t sure how much anxiety his dick can handle before it goes soft in fear. “I meant it when I said this was my first time.”
“I figured.” Kitaro isn’t really sure how to take that. Though, It’s cute when Mizuki laughs at his frown, so he supposes all is forgiven. “I just don’t really understand why you want to do this with your father.”
Mizuki still doesn’t get it. Mizuki thinks this is a strange whim of his, a fetish to be indulged, or a way to say goodbye to his virginity. He doesn’t understand that Kitaro’s love runs deep, but Kitaro has all the time in the world to correct him.
“It’s not with my father,” Kitaro leans down to kiss Mizuki’s scarred eyelid, lips trailing down until he meets his lips. “It’s with you.”
“Is there really a difference?” Mizuki sighs, tone more exhausted than scolding. “You yokai have a strange idea of gifts.”
“You’re–” Kitaro stops and kisses him again, deep and needy, because his dad said Mizuki likes it. “You’re the best gift I could ever have.”
His dad was right, since Mizuki doesn’t even argue anymore, just shakes his head. “Alright, alright. I get it. Just don’t expect this to happen again.” Kitaro expects to do this and more for the rest of his life, but he won’t tell Mizuki that now. He’ll figure it out, in time.
Kitaro nods, and with one desperate thrust, he buries all of himself completely inside. Mizuki must not expect it, because he shrieks with an arch of his back. The alcohol must be wearing off, too, because he finds the strength to push against Kitaro’s shoulders. “Wait, wait, wait–!”
“But you said I could, Mizuki...” Kitaro grips Mizuki’s hips, moaning at the tight heat of Mizuki’s well worked hole. He already feels himself getting addicted to it, could imagine staying connected like this forever. Slowly, he pulls his hips back, watching the way his cock eases out of him, wet with precum and spit. Kitaro kisses Mizuki through another hard push, and he catches all of Mizuki’s moans and protests in his mouth.
Eventually, Mizuki caves in. He has the grand realization that Kitaro won’t stop, and he wraps his arms around Kitaro’s neck, pulling him closer. Kitaro fucks like a man starved, greedy and grueling. He knows Mizuki can handle it; he’s handled everything else, his father included. Hips meet hips, hands meet hands, lips meet lips. Their bodies overlap, become one, and Kitaro thinks this was well worth the twenty year wait.
When Mizuki wakes up, he feels a very naked Kitaro spooning him, his hands resting on his stomach. His body aches– he’s reminded of how brutal Kitaro’s teething phase was, with all the stings from the bites that litter his entire body.
The room smells like sex and sake and cigarettes. The cigarette isn’t his own, though he wishes it was. He follows the trail of smoke and finds Gegero nonchalantly collecting their clothes.
“Oh– hello.” Gegero blinks at him, then smiles. “Good morning. Don’t mind me. I was going to wash these for you.”
Who knew it would take Mizuki fucking their son to get Gegero to finally do laundry. “You could’ve warned me, you know.”
“Sure,” Gegero says, noncommittal. “But what would be the fun in that? Plus, it wasn’t as if you would have agreed. Humans get so hung up about, hm… what’s the word. Well, you know, family relations.”
Kitaro has always been attached to him, but he hadn’t realized it was to this degree. Were there signs he had missed? Could he have prevented this? Or was this inevitable– fated the moment he got wrapped up into this strange, strange family.
“It’ll be good for you.” Gegero gathers their clothes into his arms, shuffling to the other end of the room, a pep to his step. “He loves you more than anyone.”
“I know.” Mizuki looks over his shoulder to glimpse at Kitaro. Kitaro’s eye is squeezed shut, too tight to be natural. He’s listening, and Mizuki doesn’t have it in him to deny him, not when Mizuki believes he’s just at fault. “...I love him, too.”
Kitaro’s lips curl into a smile, and he nuzzles closer, nose pressed against Mizuki’s shoulder.
Mizuki was caught right in their trap. He knew he couldn’t leave even if he tried, so he wouldn’t.