“Kitaro? Kitaro! Where are you?” Mizuki sounds frantic, though Kitaro doesn’t understand why. He’s only been gone for a few hours, at most.
“Right here.” Kitaro pokes his head out from under the slide, expression blank as ever, and Mizuki looks just as he sounds, suit disheveled and worry written all over his face. He must have came straight from work.
“Oh— Kitaro…! Where have you been?” As soon as Kitaro steps out, he’s lifted up and pulled into Mizuki’s chest. His hugs are always so warm, though this one feels different than usual. Kitaro’s held so tight that he can barely breathe, and Mizuki only lets up once he realizes his own strength. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
”I’ve been here.” Kitaro absentmindedly plays with the end of Mizuki’s tie. He’s not teething anymore, but he still gets the weird urge to chew on it. “We were playing hide and seek.”
“We?” Mizuki looks around, and when he doesn’t find anyone, he looks back to Kitaro, confused. “...Were you playing with yokai?”
“No.” Kitaro shakes his head. “I was with the other kids.”
“I see…” Mizuki’s frown is audible. “Listen, Kitaro. I don’t want you to be out this late unless I’m with you, understand?”
That’s fine with him. The neighborhood kids are loud and mean. They call him weird and ugly, as if he doesn’t already know. They make fun of his eye and hair and crooked back. They call Kitaro’s dad scary, and say he must be a criminal with all the scars he has, and that makes him the most mad. The only reason he bothered with them was because Mizuki looked so happy watching him play. It made him wonder if Mizuki preferred him out of the house. He half-expected to be out here all night in the cold— maybe Mizuki would be better off if he wasn’t around, and he wouldn’t bother to go look for him, his absence a blessing. Kitaro could easily go to live with the rest of the yokai, if he had to, but what would be the point if Mizuki wasn’t there?
“Did you…” Kitaro stops for a moment, considers if the question is even worth asking. He can’t meet Mizuki’s eyes, and he chews on his bottom lip like it’s gum until the words pour out of him, vomiting up all the deep, deep fears of being left alone. “Did you miss me?”
“Miss you?” Mizuki stares at Kitaro like he’s the only thing in the world. His eyes scrunch up as he smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Kitaro’s ever seen. He wants to see this face for the rest of his life, immortalize it, keep it for himself. “Of course, I missed you. I always do, Kitaro. I love you so much.”
Even so young, Kitaro knows the way his heart pounds against his chest is anything but normal. He doesn’t say anything else, just grunts and buries his face into Mizuki’s shoulder to hide his blush, and Mizuki carries him home under the moonlight, rubbing his back the entire way.
“Kitaro! Don’t you look so handsome?” Mizuki kneels, smoothing the wrinkles along the shoulder of Kitaro’s school uniform and flicking off imaginary dust. “Are you excited for your first day?”
The compliment makes him giddy, and he can’t hide the apathy on his face, but Mizuki offers him a smile so warm, bright, and loving that Kitaro feels the urge to squint, as if he’s staring directly at the sun.
“I know it’s scary,” though Kitaro is hardly frightened, more annoyed than anything, “but you’ll have a good time, I know it. If anything happens, you let me know right away, okay?”
Something will happen. It always does, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Mizuki that. He worries enough already.
“...Okay.” Kitaro must not sound convincing, because Mizuki’s smile falters for a moment, the wrinkles around his eyes softening.
“Hmm.” Mizuki hums, playfully scrunching up his face in thought. “How about this then, when I get home from work, we’ll go get that cake you really like. The one with the jam on top? How does that sound?”
Kitaro wishes Mizuki wouldn’t treat him like a kid, but Kitaro makes a grunt of approval anyway, always a slave to sweets. He’s content enough now to step out to catch up with his classmates, but Mizuki presses down on Kitaro’s shoulders to keep his feet planted, and Kitaro’s heart nearly stops as chapped lips meet his forehead.
“Sorry, sorry, I know you’re too old for this sort of thing, but…” Mizuki chuckles as he moves to stand, though not without ruffling Kitaro’s hair, “Papa will be missing you, is all.”
Heat starts at his cheeks, crawls to his ears, then to the back of his neck, and he points his head to the ground, mumbling a hurried goodbye before rushing out. He hears Mizuki shouting after him to have a good day, but all Kitaro can think about is how Mizuki just kissed him.
“Kitaro? What happened to you?” Mizuki drops a bag of vegetables to meet Kitaro at the front of their home. He leans down and carefully tilts Kitaro’s head up, then left to right, to see if there are any other injuries. Mizuki’s calloused thumb brushes over red-purple skin. The bruise on his cheek hurts, but Mizuki’s touch soothes the dull ache. Kitaro leans into it, almost thankful that he got punched so that he could enjoy the pampering.
He almost forgets to answer Mizuki’s question, too distracted by how close they are. “Nothing.”
Mizuki gives him a knowing, yet unamused look. “It’s not nothing. Did someone hurt you? Who was it?”
Kitaro doesn’t want to say. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. He just wants to stay here forever. Mizuki strokes the tender flesh so gently, and Kitaro is so close he can smell the aftershave on him. The gap between them is so short that if Kitaro just took a step closer, their lips would touch.
Used to Kitaro’s stubbornness, Mizuki sighs, knowing this a battle he can’t win. “...I won’t force you to tell me, but I worry about you, Kitaro. I think you know that.” He pauses, picking his words carefully. “We’re a different kind of family. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but some people won’t be kind about it.”
”In fact.” Mizuki tugs at his tie, undoes the loose knot, and pulls it through until it’s unwound in his hands. He wraps the fabric around his clenched fist, then offers it up to Kitaro. “Why don’t I teach you some things about self-defense?”
Kitaro nods, takes Mizuki’s hand into his own, and tries very, very hard not to stare at Mizuki’s bare collarbone.
“Kitar— oh— oh.”
Kitaro’s fist stops at the base of his cock, and cold sweat rolls down the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected Mizuki to be home yet; he was sure that he had another hour, at least.
Kitaro looks away, unsure of what else to do. It’s too late to hide himself, and it’d be stupid to deny it. With eyebrows knitted and skin hot with embarrassment, he says the only thing that comes to mind. “...Sorry.”
“No, it’s…” Mizuki pauses, shields his eyes with his palm, equally uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you some privacy. We’ll talk after you’re done.”
The shoji slides shut, and Kitaro is left with his hand still on his dick.
Getting caught should kill his erection, but he’s still as hard as a rock. Puberty was a terrifying thing. His mind was blank before, weakly working his cock with no material, stroking just to make the tension he’s had since morning go away, but…
Mizuki saw him. He’s seen Kitaro naked countless times, but things are different now. They hadn’t bathed together in years, much to his disappointment. It makes Kitaro almost regret getting older, no longer young enough to get away with having Mizuki wash his back or getting to sneak glances at Mizuki’s naked body. Kitaro was a teenager now, and he’d been waking up with hard-ons almost every day. This was inevitable, but it didn’t stop it from being any less mortifying.
He almost wished Mizuki hadn’t left. Then he wouldn’t be left with such an awkward boner. He’s almost certain Mizuki had been through this before, hands between his legs and pants around his ankles, face flushed and back arched as he nearly reached his peak, so he should be more sympathetic than mad when they talk.
It was meant to be a passing thought, but the image of Mizuki touching himself lingered in his mind.
Kitaro licked his lips, slowly starting up a new rhythm.
Did Mizuki even have time to jerk off anymore? Between work and home, he didn’t have much time to himself. The walls were probably too thin to get away with it when Kitaro was sleeping, too. He must be pent up. The man probably hasn’t had sex in years.
Mizuki never said it out loud, but Kitaro wasn't an idiot. Politely declining mixer invitations, always avoiding the topic of marriage, never batting an eye at the sexy women in commercials... Mizuki was definitely into guys, but Kitaro wondered if he had ever been with one. Had he ever been kissed? Held? Sucked cock? Oh, that… that made his dick twitch. Was he good at sucking guys off? He humored the idea of Mizuki being inexperienced, kittenish licks and batting eyelashes, but it wasn’t exactly doing it for him. He wasn’t a maiden, and… if his suspicions were right, he’s been with his dad before, at the very least, especially with the way he talked about him, all nostalgic and fond. The thought made him jealous beyond belief, but it gave him good material to work with, especially if Kitaro, apparently, looked so much like him.
He kept wondering. Did his dad make Mizuki get on his knees? Did he put his tip to his lips, have Mizuki take him slowly into his mouth, push and push until he reached the back of his throat? Did Mizuki like it, having his mouth fucked and ruined? Fuck. What a slut, taking his dad all the way to the hilt, having him stay there to welcome the size of it. He bet he didn’t even have a gag reflex. He’d swallow every last drop, sticking out his tongue to show off. He’s beautiful like this, spit-slicked lips and half-lidded eyes, wanting more, and Kitaro can’t–
His moans are louder than he means to, the fantasy ruining his rationale. His precum makes the slide of his fist easier, faster, and it doesn’t take much else for him to finish. Cum drops onto the futon, and he knows Mizuki will have him wash it after they talk.
While Mizuki talked of the birds and the bees, about love and consent and safety, Kitaro hoped Mizuki could smell the dry cum on his fingers.
“Kitaro.” Mizuki has that stern tone again, the one that always pisses him off. He crosses his arms and blocks the way to his room, like he couldn’t just push him over if he wanted. “Look, I know you’re old enough to take care of yourself, but you should let me know where you’re going beforehand when you come home this late. It’s past midnight! You don’t even call.”
He knows Mizuki is only concerned. It’s natural, as a father, the way Mizuki always sees himself, but he doesn’t want that. He’s never wanted that. It makes his skin crawl, the way Mizuki sees him as a boy, as his son, and not something more. He wishes things were different, that they could’ve met some other way, but the thought of Mizuki not being there to raise him made his heart hurt. His kindness was how he felt in love in the first place. He wouldn’t want to give that up to anyone else.
It doesn’t stop him from lashing out, though. “What does it matter? You aren’t my father,” he raises his head, meets Mizuki’s gaze with a hard, unwavering glare. Mizuki has never looked so hurt before, and he wishes he could just kiss his frown away, make it all better. “So don’t talk to me like you are.”
“Kitaro–” Mizuki reaches out, but he doesn’t know where to put his hand, just weakly hovers it over his shoulder instead, even though he wants nothing more than to feel Mizuki’s rough fingertips on his cheek, like he always used to do.
“Stop it!” He shouts, his fist meeting the old house walls with a loud thud. It makes Mizuki flinch, still jittery around loud, sudden noises, just one of the many consequences of war. It’s wrong to use it against him, but he doesn’t know how else to make him listen. “That’s not my name! It’s Getakichi! Ge-ta-ki-chi! Why– why can’t you do something so simple for me? Huh? I’m trying to be normal for your sake!”
“I didn’t– I just–” Mizuki’s back hits the wall, and he realizes how small Mizuki is now. He’s so used to looking up to see his father’s face after all these years, but he looms over him now, the shadow of his broad shoulders darkening his father’s torn expression. He’s pitiful like this, so meek and cowardly, and Getakichi realizes then and there that he really is a monster. Getakichi clicks his tongue, annoyed, and when Mizuki flinches again, he’s sickened to find he doesn’t feel bad about it. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to change for me. If I– if I had known how to raise you better, then I would have. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing you could have done,” Getakichi mumbles, pushing himself away from Mizuki. “I’ve never considered you family.”
Getakichi can hear Mizuki’s heart break as he closes the shoji behind him.
Mizuki hasn’t spoken to him since then. It’s painful. It’s eating him alive. It’s literally killing him. Mizuki must think that distance is what he wants, but he couldn’t be any more wrong. Getakichi’s rejection isn’t out of hate, it’s love. It’s always been love. Love so strong that Mizuki can’t comprehend it. He wants to keep Mizuki locked away, alive and happy forever, to live out the domestic future he’s always wanted. He has to do something about it; he can’t live like this anymore.
“Ah, Getakichi.” Finally— he hasn’t even been watching TV, but it gives him a good excuse to sit right in the middle of their home. Mizuki can’t avoid him this way. Getakichi looks up much faster than he intends to, with a stare so intense it makes Mizuki furrow his brows. “You wanted to see that movie together, didn’t you? I took the day off so we could.”
Getakichi had forgotten about that completely, but he’s thankful for the opportunity. He puffs up his cheeks, shaking his head, making a show of it. “No. Not anymore.”
“...Right.” Mizuki doesn’t sound surprised, just disappointed.
“But, um—” He hates how he stutters, but Mizuki always has that effect on him, turns him into a blushing, crushing schoolgirl. “I still want to spend the day with you. If that’s okay.”
Mizuki brightens up instantly, and Getakichi can’t help but smile back. Mizuki just can’t stand to be away from him. “Of course, it’s okay. What would you like to do?”
Getakichi slides over and pats the space next to him. His heart jumps at how fast Mizuki takes the spot beside him, so eager to please.
This is his chance to make things right. Getakichi scoots closer, leans against him, and he breathes in the scent of his shampoo. He’s used the same brand for over a decade. Even sitting, Getakichi has a few inches on him. He’s grateful for their height difference, it’ll make this easier. His arm sneaks behind Mizuki, settles on his waist, like a possessive lover.
Mizuki stiffens, more confused than resistant. “Ki— Getakichi? What are you doing?”
He puts his full weight on Mizuki, and Mizuki collapses under him. He presses his lips to Mizuki’s own, and it’s so euphoric that he almost doesn’t notice how Mizuki gasps.
Mizuki doesn’t have the strength to push him off, boney yet bruising fingers digging into his shoulders, and Mizuki doesn’t try to. Not yet, not when there’s trust left in him, the poor fool. He still thinks this is a prank of some kind, something meant to get under his skin. He offers forced, nervous chuckles as tribute when they part, hoping to satiate whatever strange, twisted part of Getakichi enjoys seeing him so frightened, shaking like a leaf, and it’s only when lips press against his jugular that he realizes the danger he’s in.
“No, this isn’t funny. Stop it,” Mizuki fights back now, but Getakichi pins his hands above his head, and his legs are trapped under Getakichi's hips. “Kitaro, stop. You’re— you’re scaring me.”
It’s wrong the way Mizuki’s begging goes straight to his dick. He chases the hunger he’s neglected for years, boxed and hidden away, his dirty little secret. He’s too far gone now. What can be salvaged from this besides love, unrelenting and all consuming?
Mizuki must feel his arousal, because he tenses up, looks down in horror at their bodies slotted against one another.
“I’m big,” Getakichi mumbles against the curve of his throat, grinding down, hard, uncoordinated and needy, like an untrained dog, to prove his point. “Was my dad big, too?”
Mizuki doesn’t speak, just lets out the most miserable, pitiful whine, and Getakichi can't help himself. He turns Mizuki over onto his back, kisses down his jaw to his neck. Mizuki fights underneath, gets a good jab of his shoulder into Getakichi's chest that makes him recoil. He doesn't waste any time trying to get away, but Getakichi is faster and stronger.
“Don't run,” Getakichi warns, pulling Mizuki back by his hips. “I don't want to hurt you.”
The thinly veiled threat makes Mizuki behave, though he's trembling as Getakichi unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down to his knees. He cups the front of Mizuki's briefs, clicks his tongue when he finds that he's still soft. Getakichi makes quick work to fix that.
“No, nnno, no, please,” Mizuki begs, pleads, cries. He twists and turns underneath him, but it's not long until he's hard in Getakichi's fist. It only takes a few quick pumps before he’s stiff and leaking, so sensitive. “Kitaro, stop, please, I—”
”Ssshh. I want this to be good for you.“ Getakichi kisses the tip of his ear, slips his tongue between the small slit. He lets go of Mizuki’s cock, moves to the back instead, experimentally rubbing a dry finger against his hole.
“Wait! Wait, wait, please, Ki—” Mizuki swallows, hard. “Getakichi. Let me— let me prepare myself.”
“Mm.” Getakichi considers it, weighs the pros and cons, as he pulls his hand out of his underwear. On one hand, he really wants to do it himself, but on the other hand, it’d be super hot to see Mizuki do it himself. A compromise comes to mind. ”Can I watch?“
“I— Nnh. Yes. You can, just... please.” Mizuki watches Getakichi carefully, but as long as he’s good, he has nothing to be scared of. “I just... need you to get something for me, please. It's in my bedroom.”
“Okay. We'll go together. I wanted to do it on a bed, anyway.”
Getakichi pulls himself off, though he keeps his hand wrapped around Mizuki's wrist, just in case. It’d be a pain to go all this way only for Mizuki to try to escape, not that there was anywhere he could go.
Mizuki moves up in time with Getakichi. He reaches down to pull up his pants, tries to keep some of his dignity. Getakichi's frown deepens, and he tightens his grip in disapproval. Mizuki winces and instinctively stops, a sob and whispered apology escaping his throat as he just kicks his pants off onto the floor to make the walk easier. It's a welcome sight, seeing Mizuki's dress shirt hang above his briefs, and Getakichi pulls Mizuki into a loose hug, his other hand grabbing the meat of his ass. His suits were always too baggy to show it, but he had a beautiful body. Maybe it was for the best that only he knew that. Who knows what would happen if some bad man wanted Mizuki, too. Mizuki gasps at his touch, and it takes all of Getakichi to forget his promise and take Mizuki right there, like he originally planned.
“You don't have to be so shy,” he teases, kissing the top of his head. “But it's cute.”
“Mmn,” Mizuki shakes his head. He’s so shy that he can’t look at him.. ”Let's— just go. I...“ He trails off, whatever he meant to say dying in his throat.
Getakichi nods, and he lets Mizuki lead the way. The trek to Mizuki's bedroom is slow, though Getakichi doesn't mind, not with the view in front of him. Hickeys glowing on Mizuki's sweaty neck, the slight sway of his hips, blush staining the tip of his ears.
Getakichi only lets go when they make it to the bedroom. Mizuki rubs the ring-shaped bruise already forming on his wrist and hesitantly turns around to find Getakichi already sitting down on the floor, waiting expectantly. To his surprise, Mizuki doesn't try to run. He must know better now, or, hopefully, he wants this just as bad. Mizuki moves to the other side of the room to dig through a small dresser, pulling out a small tube of what must be lube. It looks well used, and Getakichi can't help but excitedly rub his knees at the thought of Mizuki fucking himself on his fingers every night. He must be quiet when he does it.
Mizuki moves to lay on the tatami mat, and he cautiously spreads his legs, avoiding Getakichi's stare. Undoing the cap, he coats his fingers with lube, then sets it aside. Getakichi crawls forward to get a better view, mouth falling open as he watches Mizuki start with two fingers, like he’s a professional.
He studies how Mizuki works himself open. It's simple pushing and pulling at first, then Mizuki curls his fingers, reaches deep inside himself until his legs start to shake. He never knew that Mizuki had such a slutty side, and it makes his dick throb. Mizuki is in his own world now, chasing after pleasure like he's alone. That won't do, so Getakichi straddles him again, makes his presence known. He leans down to lick into Mizuki's mouth and hold up his legs. Mizuki finally kisses back, slowly, then desperately, and they share moans through the kiss. This is dangerous– Getakichi can feel his dick about to burst at the slick sound of Mizuki hurriedly fingering himself.
”Mizuki,“ Getakichi begs, sucks on his bottom lip as an offering. ”Are you done? I need it— Can I? Can I?”
Mizuki looks lost, dazed, and he limply nods and moans as he slowly eases his fingers out. Getakichi curiously brushes his thumb against his hole, and Mizuki doesn’t object this time. He feels how loose and wet it is, and all his sensibilities are gone now. He hooks Mizuki's legs around his waist and holds his cock carefully, angling the tip to meet Mizuki's hole. With a low groan, he pushes forward, and he loses his breath at how tight Mizuki still is. It's like a vice, and he almost blows his load just getting the head in.
He steels himself, easing himself forward, trying not to embarrass himself. It’s his first time, and he’s, admittedly, a little nervous. He doesn't expect gentle hands to lay flat against his back, lips pressing lightly against his shoulder, butterfly kisses.
“Mm...” Mizuki hums, purrs, even. “You can move. It feels good.”
His heart swells in his chest, makes his body feel light and warm. Like a gentleman, he does as he's told, pushing and pushing until he's completely buried inside. It's overwhelming; he's never felt anything like this, and he's on the brink of losing himself. A hand cups his cheek, and Mizuki's smile is loving, gentle, devoted. Getakichi kisses the pad of his thumb, and Mizuki giggles, mumbles something he can’t make out. Who let him be this cute?
“Still good?”
“Mhm.” Mizuki wraps his arms around Getakichi's neck, arches his throat to show off how much Getakichi's already marked him. ”Still good. You... always make me feel good.“
Getakichi takes that as his cue to continue, and he doesn’t hold back, years of want and need behind every thrust. He wants to carve himself inside, leave an ache that only he can fill. The slide is easy and intoxicating, and he fucks into him like an animal. He bites like one, too, sinking his canines into whatever he can reach. He laps at the wounds he leaves behind, warm, delicious copper on his tongue.
Mizuki must like it rough; he takes it like he's meant for it. Eyes rolled back, spit running down the side of his mouth, and moans spilling out of him. He's beautiful like this, a mess of his own making, better than anything Getakichi imagined. Getakichi adjusts himself ever so slightly, manages to go even deeper, and Mizuki screams like a pricey hooker.
”I'm— I'm cumming, ah!“ Mizuki moans so sweetly into his ear, and god, what a fucking beautiful whore he is, cumming completely untouched. Mizuki arches his back, chest meeting chest. Nails drag down Getakichi's shoulder blades, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Gegero, ah, a-aah, please!”
Getakichi can’t hear clearly anymore, too caught up in the lust, the love, the pleasure. Spilling inside, he meets Mizuki's mouth again, kissing him in full until he feels Mizuki's lips freeze. Mizuki's limbs turn rigid. Getakichi can feel the mood change in an instant, and the hands that embraced him before are frantically pushing him off and away.
He didn’t understand. They were having a really good time. Mizuki was more than into it. He wanted this, encouraged it! Sure, Getakichi might’ve been a little aggressive at first, but Mizuki just needed a little push to get him going. Why else would he kiss him, beg him for more?
Then it hits him, full force, like a bullet between the eyes. Gegero. Gegero? Who was that? Mizuki never mentioned anyone like that. No, he would’ve remembered, otherwise. He would’ve made them disappear, or worse. It wasn’t as if Mizuki had friends, either, so it certainly couldn’t be a lover. Getakichi was the only man, only person, in Mizuki’s life, so it had to be someone Getakichi had never known. From Mizuki’s childhood? The war? Something else entirely? Before Getakichi can ask, Mizuki breaks his thoughts with a dry heave.
”Kitaro,“ Mizuki's voice is hoarse, raw, and broken. He sits up and presses his legs together. He reaches for a discarded blanket and covers himself up with it, as if Getakichi wasn’t supposed to see him like this. ”Go to your room. Please.“
”Um.“ This isn't how he wanted things to end. They made it look so romantic in movies– the aftermath. It wasn't ever this awkward, or this painful. They were supposed to kiss more, maybe even go for another round. Mizuki would scold him for getting the tatami dirty, but he'd convince Mizuki to fall asleep in his arms. Getakichi rubs his knees, keeping his eye to the floor. ”Mizuki, I wanted to–“
“Please. Just… go.”
When Getakichi looks up, he barely recognizes the man in front of him. Silent tears run down his cheeks. The lovemarks look more like bruises now, ugly spots of yellow and purple from his neck to his thighs. The worst part is that Mizuki is looking past him, trying to find something that isn't there.
”...Okay.” Getakichi gathers his clothes, taking his time, waiting for Mizuki to change his mind. He makes it to the shoji, lingering there, still waiting, waiting. “I love you.“
Mizuki doesn't say it back.