Chapter Text
Monday
“I found a treat.” Mineta says.
They’re in the changing rooms after their last gym period, sweaty and tired and Shouto just wants to go home.
Well, maybe not home specifically, but somewhere where he can lay his head down for a few hours and rest. His father doesn’t come back until late these days. He’s thankful for the small reprieves it allows him.
“Your definition of 'treat' is usually fucked.” Kaminari says, but he’s already the first one hunched over Mineta’s shoulder, trying to get a closer look at the phone clutched in his hands. Shouto’s sure that whatever is on that screen, he doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t even want to know it exists.
But they’re boys, and he knows the social etiquette of these kinds of situations, and understands further that if he turns away from this, it’ll just be another way for them to look at him as different. Shouto’s tired of being different, of being the odd one out. He just wants things to be easy, sometimes.
So when even Izuku wanders over, red-faced but curious, Shouto finds that he has no choice other than to join their secretive little circle.
There’s a girl on the screen, dark hair, darker eyes. She’s naked save for a few strips of lace that cover her most intimate parts. Not like it matters, with how see-through the flimsy material is. She’s pretty, nondescript and relatable – or rather, attainable.
None of this though, is what draws Shouto’s gaze.
His eyes are trained on the thick, corded arms, connecting to a body that’s just off-screen, hands wrapped around her neck tight enough to look painful, if her expression is anything to go by. But there’s something else there, something heated and desperate that Shouto doesn’t associate with the idea of having hands around your neck.
Mineta presses play, and the sound of choking immediately fills the room.
“Dude...” Kaminari breathes, and Shouto twitches away from the ghastly video. He’s immediately seen enough.
Despite being turned away, he can still hear every noise blaring out of the tiny speaker. Cut off moans and half-formed pleas saturate the air. Mineta looks unreasonably smug, as if he’s just presented them with the rarest of treasures.
Shouto cannot remember the last time he felt so uncomfortable.
“This is a bit much.” Izuku says, sounding just as uneasy as Shouto feels. It’s nice to know he’s not the only sane one in the room.
“It is a little hot, though.” Kaminari says, like Mineta needs the encouragement.
Shouto feels queasy, his exhaustion finally deciding to rear its ugly head, demanding he go home now, before he faints.
“Are you alright?” Izuku pipes up, and it takes Shouto a moment to realize he’s the one being addressed. The tinny, wet noises of the girl being suffocated have stopped. Shouto feels lightheaded. He really, really just wants to get home.
“I find unnecessary acts of violence...” Shouto trails off, averting his gaze from the group of them as he shoves the rest of his clothes into his gym bag. “Unsavory.” He finishes curtly, ignoring the curious look Izuku gives him and promptly seeking out the exit.
He makes it home in a bit of a daze, unable to rid his mind of the wretched sound of that woman trying desperately to suck air into her lungs.
Thursday
Shouto thinks about the video all week.
The sound of that nameless girl’s cries haunts him. Her breathy pleas, the way she’d looked. Blissed out like nothing had ever felt better. As if the simple touch of hands around her neck was enough to free her from all her worldly concerns. He didn’t know anybody could look like that, in such a position.
He’s never thought of pain like that, ever. Pain has always been something bad and labeled as something that should be avoided at all costs. Especially the kind that could potentially kill you. The kind that cuts off your breathing and staunches the supply of oxygen to your brain.
It should repulse him, he knows this, but all it does it set his blood racing – something foreign and uncomfortable twisting in his gut. He doesn’t like violence, loathes brutality.
So why does his stomach flutter as he thinks about big, strong hands wrapped around his own throat? Why is he curious of all things, about how it’d feel to have someone pin him down in something other than anger, for once?
Shouto feels himself heat, pulls at his collar as he struggles to stay focused on his homework. It’s hard when the only thing scrolling through his mind is a particularly vivid set of images that make him feel nauseas at best.
He isn’t avoiding his father per-say, but he’s chosen to be conspicuously absent from any room he found Enji in. It’s not like he spreads out much, between the training room, and his study. But the odd time Shouto finds him in the living room, or the courtyard, he makes a point to quickly find himself elsewhere.
The house is quieter now, with Natsuo out and Fuyumi finally moved in with her girlfriend. If there was somewhere Shouto could retreat, he’d leave too. He doesn’t fault them for wanting an escape from this oppressive household.
There are too many memories here. Too much hurt and agony, so densely packed in that the house reeks of it. Thinking about it all too long gives Shouto a headache.
He dreams of inheriting it all one day, and razing it to the ground.
He wonders if his fire will be strong enough.
Friday
Enji’s home early. Shouto doesn’t know what he expected. After all, it is Friday. And no matter how lenient (read: busy) his father is, he’s always taken the time out of his schedule to beat Shouto into the ground to usher in the weekend.
Shouto hates Fridays.
He doesn’t want to spar. He doesn’t want to be near anything resembling pain, but his father would never allow him to take a break. Besides, what excuse does he have?
Sorry Sir, I saw a video in school this week and it made me uncomfortable. All I can think about is someone choking me. Possibly you. I’m scared of how I’ll react.
Shouto would laugh, if he wasn’t so crippled with anxiety.
He wonders maybe, if he’s quiet enough, he’ll be able to creep around the house avoiding the training room and his father.
Things with Enji are rarely so easy.
He’s cornered the moment he’s through his bedroom door, his father a looming, irritated presence behind him.
“Shouto. You’re late.”
“I was with my friends.”
“It’s Friday.” Enji says, like that explains everything. Like two words should be enough to let Shouto know that he’s disappointed him somehow. Shouto’s already testy, he’s been on edge all week. He can’t stop the insolent little shrug of his shoulders, eyes glinting as his father’s face twitches at the casual gesture.
“Lost track of time.” Shouto mumbles. Enji hates it when he talks like this, like he can’t even be bothered to fully move his lips. Shouto doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that he’s frustrated and egging his father on unnecessarily. Maybe this spar won’t be such a bad idea after all, if he’s feeling this damn combative.
Besides, what are the chances of that happening, anyway?
“Get changed. I have some new exercises to work you through.” Enji says, instead of reprimanding him like Shouto was sure he would. He turns and leaves, taking some of the heat with him, and Shouto’s shoulders slump.
He’s going to get his ass handed to him, and he knows he should be more upset than he is. Instead, there’s a tiny part of him looking forward to it. He really doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He’s worried if he gives voice to that thought, it’ll ruin him.
He drops his bag, quickly stepping out of his uniform and into a ratty pair of shorts and an equally abused tank top, scorched around the hem. No use ruining any of his Yuuei gear when fighting against Enij’s level of firepower.
He drags his feet the whole way to the training room, Enji already standing at the far end, arms crossed and face stern. Shouto feels nervous and twitchy. Wants to run, wants to get his ass kicked, wants...
It’s hard to parse through the torrent of emotions all scrabbling for purchase in his head.
He’d thought he really hadn’t wanted this, but the moment he’s in the room, he can feel a sharp pang of anticipation shoot through him. God, he’s so fucked up.
His father moves towards him, all hard lines and disapproving aura.
“You’ve been avoiding training all week.”
“It’s not mandatory.” Shouto grouses.
“No, I’d just hoped it’d foster some personal motivation. It’s... disappointing.”
The word smarts, as it always does.
“No matter. We still have Fridays.” Enji continues, clearly done with his attitude. “Now come at me.” He says, crooking his fingers in a come-hither fashion.
Shouto dithers for a moment, and he sees the storm on his father’s face go darker.
“As you wish.” Enji says, flames on his body burning bright with intent. “Allow me to come to you.”
That’s all the warning Shouto gets before a jet of flame shoots at him. Shouto dodges, noting that it disperses behind him just before it hits the wall. His father’s fire control has always been impressive, and it’s clear he’s not yet angry enough to be making any mistakes.
He’s allowed no time to think, and between one blink and the next, Enji is in front of him. A fist flies at him, and Shouto just barely steps back in time, the hit brushing his shoulder, but only just. He throws his weight back, tries to absorb the shock and use the momentum to propel him further away from this big, burning man, but he doesn’t get far enough.
He feints left, tries to catch his father with a few hastily constructed shards of ice to give himself some time to recuperate, some space, but they’re melted away immediately. It’s all Shouto can do to dodge the next burning pillar that flies at him, rolling painfully on the mat as he scrambles to get to the far corner.
And fuck, if Enji isn’t a little serious today. Shouto smells the acrid scent of burning hair, and he can just barely see the singed edges of his bangs. He’s apparently too focused on his hair of all things, because when the next blow comes, he’s unable to move quickly enough.
The blow connects soundly with his torso, force of it slamming him into the wall as his stomach heaves and he retches. Nothing comes out, thank god, but the blow is enough to have him doubling over and curling into a ball, trying to force his vision to refocus.
“You’re defending.” Enji comments, looking down at his slumped form disdainfully. “And poorly, at that.” He says, nudging at Shouto’s shoulder with his foot. Shouto swats at his father’s boot, knocking it away with a tiny burst of ice.
“That’s generally what you do, when you’re being attacked.” Shouto gasps out, one arm curled protectively around his middle. He’ll feel be feeling that one for the next week, for sure.
“A proper retaliation strategy combines both a strong offense and defense.” Enji instructs.
“You keep hitting me.” Shouto whines, tone going petulant with pain.
“And you keep stepping further back. This isn’t like you. You’re more direct than this, more aggressive. You’ve never been a runner, Shouto.” Enji says, analyzing him in a way that’s downright frightening. His body jerks at the observation, an instinctive part of him wanting to turn tail and run right now.
“What are you running from?” Enji asks.
“Nothing.” Shouto can’t meet his searching gaze.
“What are you protecting?”
“Nothing.”
Enji looks down at him, assessing and judgmental and Shouto is all at once done with this.
“Weakness does not suit you.” Enji adds, and Shouto feels a vein in his forehead twitch.
“Fuck you.” Shouto spits, finally looking up at his father – no, not his father. Endeavor. There’s no sign of the man who’d sometimes allow Shouto the barest of comforts. This is the Flame Hero in his purest form, bubbling over with rage and pain.
“Excuse me?” Enji breathes, almost incredulously. Shouto watches his eyebrows climb higher than he’s ever seen.
“I said,” Shouto takes a deep breath and steels himself. “Fuck. You.”
Shouto isn’t sure what connects with his jaw first – his father’s fist, or his flames, but the blow sends him flying back regardless. His back thuds against the wall, and he’s down again, body shivering weakly as he spits blood onto the floor beneath him. He can feel his cheek burning, and just barely has the presence of mind to let a protective layer of ice coat it.
“I’ve had more than enough of your attitude today, boy.” Enji threatens, stalking towards him. “If it’s punishment you desire, I will happily oblige.”
Shouto doesn’t know what else to do, so he tries to run. He moves to dart around Enji, only for the man to catch him around the waist and slam him back into the ground, aggravated growl echoing in the empty room. Shouto jams both his hands in his father’s face, ice collecting on the tips of his fingers as he tries desperately to twist out of his father’s hold.
“Keep still!” Enji snarls, hand clamping around the weak, exposed flesh of his neck and effectively pinning him. Shouto freezes, entire body going rigid with tension as he realizes exactly the position he’d managed to foolishly get into.
He knows he should calm down, just breathe and figure a way out of this, but that’s easier said than done when he feels every nerve ending in his body stand at attention. His father’s hand is a burning cage around his neck, and Shouto knows the moment’s gone on too long for his reaction to have been nothing of consequence.
“Let me go.” Shouto demands sounding too frantic for his own good. He feels heat pool low in his belly and begins kicking around in a blind panic.
He needs out of this situation now. Right now.
His struggling only seems to spur his father on, the weight on top of him settling more comfortably, hand gripping tighter at his neck to halt his thrashing. Shouto feels his cock twitch, and it’s the thing that finally gets him to stop moving.
There’s fear in his eyes now, genuine and raw, and his mind desperately tries to help him devise a way out of this.
“You will tell me what’s gotten into you if I have to force it out of you myself.” Enji threatens, resting the whole weight of him on Shouto’s thighs.
“Nothing. Nothing’s gotten into me.” Shouto pleads, closing his eyes like that will hide his terror. “I’m just tired.” He fibs, desperate for anything that will free him from this horrible situation.
“You’ve always been a miserable liar.” Enji says. Shouto swallows, feels the way his Adam’s apple bobs against his father’s palm and hates himself.
“Get off of me!” He says, resuming his pathetic thrashing.
“I did not teach you to –”Enji cuts off, and Shouto can’t look at him. He can’t. He knows what’s coming. “Are you...” Enji starts again, and Shouto can’t help the way he bucks up as a hand descends on his groin, groping at him clinically through his shorts.
“You’re hard.” Enji says, like he can’t believe it. Shouto’s apparently been all surprises today - First his ballsy insult, now this.
There’s a moment he hopes that maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’d just been knocked unconscious at some point and his brain is helpfully exploring a concept he’d much rather leave to rot in the recesses of his own psyche.
But the weight on top of him is too real, the grip around his neck too hot, and Shouto knows this is a humiliation he will never live down.
“Just let go.” Shouto tries again, voice tiny and trembling. “Father, please.” Shouto begs. He’s never been more embarrassed in his life. He wants to get away, find somewhere small and safe to hide until he’s ready to show his face again. He wants to be somewhere where Enji isn’t pinning him down and doesn’t have the broad span of his hands teaching Shouto that he’s more disgusting than even he himself had been aware.
“Who taught you this?” He asks, as if Shouto is choosing to react like this. If he had any choice in the matter at all, he’d gladly choose to be dead.
As it stands he’s painfully hard, shaking like a leaf, and the disgust in his father’s voice is so thick Shouto’s surprised Enji isn’t choking on it. He wishes he would.
“Let go!” Shouto yells, writhing in his father’s grip. Enji’s hand holds steady, the weight of him pressing down sturdier than before.
“I will not have any sons of my engaging in such perverted behavior with the public. You’re going to be a hero, Shouto. Is this really what you want people thinking of you?” Enji punctuates the statement by grinding the heel of his palm against Shouto’s dick, other hand bearing down against his windpipe. Any response he has is effectively cut off with his air supply, and Shouto claws helplessly at the arm slowly squeezing the life out of him.
Somehow, he feels himself grow harder.
“Where.” Enji tries again, every word coinciding with the flex of his fingers. “Did. You. Learn. This?” His grip eases up just enough for Shouto to pull in a loud gasp, coughing wetly at the way his breath grates against his throat.
He shakes his head frantically, as much as he is able. He has no words, has nothing except the overwhelming need to be away. Enji holds him for a beat longer, staring down at him as he battles against the grip holding him in place.
“Keep your secrets for now.” Enji says coldly, finally releasing him and standing. Shouto doesn’t hesitate as he leaps for the door, gagging as he tries to breathe too deep too fast. “Just remember, everything is revealed to me eventually. There is nothing about yourself that you can hide from me, Shouto.” Enji calls after him.
Shouto’s already dashing blindly for the washroom, unable to even begin digesting the vague threat that follows him. It doesn’t matter right now, anyway. All he knows that if he doesn’t make it in time, he’s going to make a mess in the hallway.
He bursts into the bathroom half-crazed, diving towards the toilet just as his stomach gives its first, mighty heave. Shouto clutches at the porcelain rim like a lifeline, but nothing comes out. For once, he’s thankful that he’d been too caught up in his thoughts to eat lunch today.
Fridays are always heavier training days, and most weeks Shouto skips his meal anyway so it won’t all pour out onto the tatami mats.
Nothing much comes out save for a little bile, but the sickness in him still claws at his throat, desperate to find an exit from his wretched body. He dry heaves into the bowl long after his stomach has expelled anything of substance.
Saturday
Shouto wishes it wasn’t the weekend. He wishes he could at least escape for half the day and not have to wake up bright and early and face his father. He considers skipping breakfast, but knows nothing good will come of it. Enji will just track him down and pull him to the table kicking and screaming. It wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, he’s not sure if he’s ready for a confrontation in his own bedroom.
So he trots downstairs, inhaling the scent of tea and eggs he knows he’ll barely be able to stomach. He wonders where the cook disappears to, during these quiet hours. Wonders if they question the scorch marks littered too liberally against every wall. If they ever wonder why two men, one grown, one half, cannot find it in them to feed themselves.
Shouto misses his sister more fiercely than ever. Wishes he could go running to Fuyumi and wail about what had happened yesterday. He thinks about calling her, briefly, but the thought evaporates as he imagines her curled up around the love of her life – happy and safe and not here. Shouto doesn’t want to involve her in his messes, anymore. He hasn’t been a child in years.
“Good morning, father.” Shouto says, because not talking will be worse, and Shouto really can’t deal with that right now. Enji looks up from the paper he’s reading, eyeing him critically. He probably looks like shit – barely slept – but he tries to hold his head high regardless.
There’s still a faint part of him that hopes Enji will just let it go, let this thing he’s awakened in Shouto shrivel and die.
“Have you decided to come clean?” His father says instead, and Shouto promptly feels his hope wither.
“There’s nothing to come clean about.” Shouto replies, taking a seat at the other end of the table and trying to project confidence into his voice. Enji sighs, sets down his morning reading material and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“People don’t just –” He pauses, tries again. “What are they teaching you at that school?” He asks, eyes narrowing as Shouto reaches for the teapot between them.
“Hero stuff, mostly. I mean, it is a Hero school. You went there, remember?” Shouto pours himself a cup of fragrant black tea. “You’re not getting that old, are you?” He snips, pretending he can’t feel the temperature in the room rise markedly.
“That attitude is what gets you hurt, boy.” His father says, voice too loud for this to end in anything other than a fight. “I will not have my own son taking such an insolent –” His incoming tirade is thankfully cut off by the sound of his cell phone going off.
Both of their eyes dart to it, and Shouto has never willed for his father to pick anything up more in his entire life. Enji glares at it before heaving a sigh and snatching the thing off the table like it’s done something to personally offend him.
Must be work.
Shouto listens to his father grumble a few things into the phone line, only ever able to compose himself for his job. Shouto doesn’t understand how Enji can go from yelling at him one second, to speaking calmly with his assistants the next. It’s hurtful, always has been. As if his family doesn’t deserve the same self-control and respect strangers receive.
“I’m leaving now.” Enji says, after hanging up. His gaze sharpens when he catches Shouto staring at him again, and he slips his phone into his pocket and walks over to where Shouto is busy mixing too much sugar into his cup.
“We’re not finished, understand?” He says, resting a threatening hand on Shouto’s head before finally exiting the kitchen.
Shouto lets out a long breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, spoon clattering against the rim of his mug as his hand shakes.
Shouto doesn’t understand, not really. He doesn’t know what that threat means, now. How his father plans to handle all this is beyond him. Why won’t Enji just let this go? Why won’t he let anything go?
Shouto thinks that is he had any of these answers, he’d understand this man just a little bit more.
Sunday
Enji doesn’t come home until the next day. Shouto isn’t sure if he’s happy or not. On one hand, he doesn’t have to deal with him, but on the other, his fear and uncertainty have time to build on each other until Shouto feels like he’s going out of his mind.
He texts Fuyumi and Izuku about stupid things, anything to get his mind off what’s been going on.
He doesn’t know what his father is planning on doing, only knows that there’s a long way to go before this sees any sort of resolution. All he knows is that he’s had enough time to twist his thoughts into a mess he can’t even properly think through. He’s not even sure what he wants the resolution to be.
Shouto’s caught in the living room when his father comes marching in, still decked out in his hero suit minus the flames coming through the mesh. He looks... pissed off and exhausted. Never a good combination, especially for Shouto.
“Welcome home.” Shouto says as carefully as possible, thumbing out of his messaging app and lowering his phone. He’d been in the middle of sending Izuku something inconsequential, and wishes he had an extra second to at least say he’d be right back. He slowly gets up off his seat on the couch, eyes darting nervously to the main exit his father has blocked off.
“I was just about to run the bath.” Shouto says, wishing his father would just say something already. “If you want, you can go ahead first.” He offers, extending an olive branch like that will erase the past few days they’ve shared together.
His father stares at him almost blankly for a moment before his expression clouds over with something Shouto wants to believe isn’t hate. It’s hard, though, when he’s seen that look directed at him so many times. When he knows exactly what kind of pain comes from it.
“Who are you messaging?” Enji asks, and Shouto can’t stop the way he startles at the sound of his voice. It’s been well over a day since he’s heard it, and the undercurrent of anger he’s able to pick up on does nothing to calm his already shot nerves.
“What?”
“Is it one of those perverts?”
Shouto doesn’t understand what triggered this, only that his father is pissed and Shouto’s the only one in the house he’s got to target. And he’s very clearly not anywhere close to being finished with Shouto’s new absolute favorite topic of conversation.
“I don’t know what you’re –”
“The ones filling your head with all these sick ideas while I’m out saving people.” Enji bites out, advancing towards him. Shouto shrinks away from him, shaking his head and taking a few steps back. This only seems to agitate his father further, and he barely has time to think as Enji seals his arm in an iron grip.
“Tell me. What nasty things are you writing, boy? Who are you begging to lay their hands on you?” Enji growls at him. Shouto feels indignation lick up his spine, a spark blazing in him even when he knows that he’s in danger, that he should back down.
“You’re delusional.” Shouto says, as he feels his father’s gloved hand grind the bones in his forearm together.
“And you’ve forgotten your place.”
Shouto tries not to begin shaking at the words, but he’s been so strung out all day he’s got no real hope of controlling his body. He sees his father’s gaze drop lower, to the space right above his clavicle, and a sick little part of him wishes...
“Why don’t you teach me, then?”
Shouto doesn’t know why those words just came out of his mouth, or even if they truly did. All he knows is that one second his father is in front of him, and the next the back of his head thuds painfully against the floor as he feels Enji’s shadow cover him.
“Is this what you want?” Enji asks, running leather clad fingers against his jaw. “Is this why you continue to disrespect me under my own roof?” He continues, one hand resting lightly against his jugular. Shouto feels excitement course through his whole body, trembling as he licks his lips and shoots Enji his most impertinent look.
“I don’t want anything.” He says, just as a hand finally closes around his throat. Shouto feels his whole body go limp, like he can finally relax. He doesn’t think about what that means or what that says about himself.
The feeling of leather on his skin is almost too much, and when another gloved hand joins the first, Shouto really can’t be blamed for the sound that leaves his mouth. He’s hard almost instantly, body reacting of its own accord.
“Clearly.” Enji says, looking down at him disdainfully. Shouto’s already forgotten their stream of conversation. He forgets everything, unable to focus on anything other than the feel of leather snuffing the life out of him.
He tries to breathe, but this time his father’s grip is tight and punishing, allowing him nothing. The noise in his head grows louder, all thoughts melting from his brain as his mouth gapes, desperate for air. His struggling grows steadily weaker, and before he knows it, there’s nothing but pitch black peace.
When Shouto comes back online, he’s lying in his own bed. He doesn’t remember how he got here – only recalls the look of unknown emotion in Enji’s eyes as everything went soft and inky.
Monday
Shouto examines the bruise around his neck in the mirror and doesn’t know what he’s going to do. He can’t go to class like this, can’t even leave the house like this. His father has always been careless with the marks he makes, always leaving Shouto to cover up the nicks and scratches lest people get too curious.
But this is different.
This one feels like a beacon, a brand showing everyone how dirty and disgusting he is. He wonders if Enji made it for just such a purpose. Shouto wouldn’t put it past him to do something so flagrantly disrespectful.
He hasn’t seen a hair of his father since the incident last night. If Shouto had a choice, he’d hopefully never see him again. He knows that his father would never display such childish weakness by avoiding him, but then again, they usually take breakfast together but Enji had been out of the house before Shouto had even rolled out of bed.
He wonders.
Well, his father isn’t home anyway, and it’s not like there’s anyone else to stop him from skipping like a little kid. He knows, logically, that if he really needs to leave, he can slip on a turtleneck and call it a day. But there’s a weariness in him that goes deeper than just a lack of sleep, a kind of bone-deep exhaustion that makes him want to curl up in bed for the next month.
He just doesn’t understand why Enji had done that. Sure, he may have taunted him, goaded him into it. But he didn’t think his father would... indulge him.
Enji could have just as easily as knocked him unconscious, but he’d instead chosen to give Shouto exactly what he’d been pushing for.
The humiliation creeps back into his thoughts, dark and insidious. He tears his gaze away from the marks: a direct reflection of his shame.
He hadn’t asked. He’d never outright ask.
And from his father, of all people.
Shouto shudders, stomach lurching at the mixture of self-loathing and desire. It makes him want to throw up again.
He tries to shake the feeling out of himself, turning away from the mirror before he has to look at himself any longer. The sick feeling in his stomach doesn’t fade, but Shouto will accept it as a punishment of sorts, for his own unsavory desires.
Tuesday
Shouto sucks it up.
He can’t skip class two days in a row, and he realizes rather belatedly that there is a temporary solution to his problem. Well, maybe not a solution, but at least a very good Band-Aid he can stick on and pretend that his life isn’t so fucked up.
Shouto arrives at school earlier than he ever has before, seeing no more than a handful of teachers already there themselves. He shows up to the infirmary looking weary and suspicious, but Recovery Girl simply sighs and ushers him in.
“Oh come in, you little idiot.” She says, like she’s already done with him. It’d be funny, if his anxiety didn’t make him feel like he’s shaking apart at the seams.
He’s dressed in his school slacks and a turtleneck, something he’d just wear all day if their uniforms would allow for it. Instead, he’s reduced to this, grovelling for an old woman to lick his wounds for him. Asking for help has never been a specialty of his.
“I need you to fix this.” Shouto says, pulling down his collar to reveal the mess of colors looped around his neck, all reds and purples like singed plum.
She purses her lips but doesn’t comment on his rudeness, just hops off her stool and gestures him over to one of the infirmary beds.
“Off with your shirt.” She orders, and Shouto winces. “If you feel comfortable.” She adds.
“It’s fine.” He says, pulling his blazer off and then the high-necked sweater. He’s more embarrassed at the marks around his neck than he is about the mess on his stomach, but Recovery Girl seems equally displeased at both of them.
“Nasty little things, aren’t they?” She’s squinting at the welts around his neck. “Not quite a burn, not quite a bruise.” She says, reaching out to touch the necklace of heat and pain.
Shouto doesn’t dignify that with a response. She’s not stupid, and neither is he. They both know what those marks are, and exactly who had made them.
“Training got out of hand.” Shouto says, yet another lie he’ll slot into his collection. It seems to be all he’s been doing for the past few days. What’s one or two more?
It’s clear by the look on her face that she doesn’t believe him for a moment. She doesn’t push, though, just lifts his hand to her mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. Shouto feels his whole body grow warm and tingly, and then all at once, he’s absolutely spent. He wishes he’d been able to do this after school, instead.
“That should do it. You can rest here until first period, if you want.” She says, offhanded like she knows Shouto won’t take her up on it.
“It’s fine.” Shouto says, clipped as he pulls his button up out of his bag and begins to do it up. His hands tremble, whether from nerves or exhaustion, he’s not sure. She looks like she wants to ask, but Shouto’s expression must shut down anything she’s thinking about saying.
“Make sure you eat a big lunch.” She says, instead of pressing him for more information. “And don’t think you can’t come back.” She adds, and Shouto has never been more thankful that at least one person is just willing to let something go, and maybe even help him again.
He pulls his blazer on in silence, wondering what she thinks, what she’s assuming. Probably that his father is an abusive dick – not like she’d be wrong. What she doesn’t know is that Shouto had practically gone asking for it, had maybe, terrifyingly enjoyed it.
The nausea creeps up his throat and he grabs his bag, suddenly desperate to be out of this room. Away from this woman who knows too much and not enough.
He pushes out of the infirmary without a backward glance, and to his ongoing bad luck, runs straight into a surprised, flushed Izuku.
“Todoroki!” He exclaims, silly little smile immediately on his face at the sight of Shouto. “Uh, everything okay?” He asks, looking past Shouto and looking at the door he just came out of. His smile dims, concern slowly etching its way onto his features.
“I’m fine.” Shouto says, pushing past him. He can’t deal with Izuku’s nosiness right now, not ever, really. He’s a good friend, an easy friend. Shouto tired of getting people caught up in the tangle of his life.
“Okay, uhm, see you in class!” He calls after him, and Shouto knows he’s being rude, but his thoughts are too messy to even begin to muster up the energy it would take to seem normal. He just wants to enjoy his last few minutes alone before he has to plaster on a slightly disinterested face for the rest of the day.
Izuku shoots glances back at him for the rest of the morning. Shouto tries to pretend like he doesn’t notice, but Izuku’s impossible to ignore on a good day – let alone when he’s got it in his head that there’s something wrong.
He strikes up a text conversation about going to see the new All Might movie coming out this weekend in between their classes. Shouto breathes a sigh of relief when Izuku quits staring at him and focuses on messaging him back, instead.
Thursday
The week passes in an awkward stalemate.
They take breakfast together, Shouto greets his father every morning, and they don’t talk about the fact that Enji held him down and choked him until he blacked out. They don’t talk about the fact that Shouto hadn’t fought it. They especially don’t talk about where Shouto had woken up.
He doesn’t know why it makes him a little angry, the fact that Enji refuses to address this thing between them, but it does. It frustrates him enough that he stays out far too late after school and skips dinner both days.
He’s just creeping in on Thursday night, taking a detour through the kitchen in search of leftovers, when he feels a presence behind him. Shouto knows that aura with a level of accuracy that’s unmatched. He opens one of the cabinets instead of turning to face him.
“Tomorrow, you’ll come home on time.” Enji says. Shouto pauses reaching for a box of cereal on the top shelf to twist back and look at his father.
“Oh, are we talking now?” He says, like he’s not the one who’s stayed out past curfew two days in a row. But then again, Enji could have messaged him, could have attempted to hold a conversation with him this morning. Shouto refuses to take all the blame for this. What’s he supposed to do, when the only other person you live with refuses to acknowledge your existence when you need it the most?
“I’d hoped that giving you room would eliminate this nasty attitude you’ve picked up.” Enji says, thunderous look twisting his features. “Clearly, you’re more poisoned than I thought.”
“Fuck you.” Shouto spits at him for the second time that week.
“I think, that perhaps your filthy little body would enjoy that a bit too much.” Enji snaps.
Shouto feels shame burn through him hotter than his father’s Hellflame. It sits heavy and cloying in his mouth, and finds that for once, he has no clever retort to shoot back at this man. Enji steps towards him and Shouto looks away, back to searching through the cabinets.
“Whatever.” It’s childish, he knows, but his face is red and he feels humiliated, wonders if maybe his father is right.
He tries to ignore the sound of Enji getting closer, slow steps that give him enough time to move, find an escape. Instead, he stands there, quivering like a frightened animal as he feels his father’s hands settle on his waist.
“I know you, Shouto. Every part of you. Even...” He pauses, and Shouto looks back to see Enji’s face go tight with revulsion. “Even your perversions.” He finishes, meeting his stare. Shouto can’t keep it up for long, turns back to face the wall as a hand slides up his chest and loops around his neck.
He hates the breath he lets out, like he’s relieved Enji is finally touching him that way he wants. It’s still impossible to force down the disgust that he feels, but for now, his desire overrides it, if only just.
“Who does this for you, Shouto? Who dares to put their hands on my property?” Enji asks, the vice grip on Shouto’s neck only increasing in pressure. It’s not enough to cut off his air supply, not yet, but the promise of it has anticipation singing through his veins.
He glares at the wall, the rebellious streak in him fever bright at the idea of being owned. He hates it, feeling like a thing and not a person. But then, when has Enji ever deigned to make him feel as though he is anything other than a tool fit for use?
“None of your business.” Shouto spits, the lie tasting heady and powerful on his tongue. He twists back and watches, eyes rapt as his father’s face contorts in rage before quickly smoothing out to something colder, something worse.
“If you’re determined to display such proclivities, then allow me to make sure you seek out no one else.” He says with a degree of finality that Shouto doesn’t understand. “I own you, Shouto.”
The threat does the complete opposite of what it should, and Shouto feels his entire body come to life at the promise of a repeat. He’s felt like he’s been in a fog all week, listless and aching for something his pride would never let him ask for. Something he doesn’t know if he even wants to ask for.
He’s not prepared for the hand that palms at his front, rough angry touches that are there and gone before, oh – oh.
“What’re you doing?” Shouto asks as fingers undo the button of his pants. He doesn’t have to ask, not really, but he feels something small and panicked bubble up in his throat. “Father, stop.” Because he can’t just stand there and take this. His father’s always handled him possessively and without caution – but this is something else. This has intent.
“Why? So you can go seeking this elsewhere?” Enji askes, unzipping him slowly enough that Shouto feels tears spring to his eyes. “I told you before. I will not have any blood of mine presenting themselves in such a lewd manner to the public eye.”
His father’s hand is in his pants, and Shouto jerks, struggles, only there’s a wall of muscle at his back, a counter digging into his stomach, and no way to escape the noise he himself makes as Enji gets a good grasp around him.
“You can’t do this.” Shouto says. “Please, you can’t.” Because this is too much. This is pushing a whole different level of control. Shouto feels sick. Wants to believe some of the energy roiling in his gut isn’t anticipation.
“I will do with my property what I see fit.” Enji snarls, and Shouto feels a hot coil of want unfurl in his belly.
“Your body seems used to this.” Enji says, detached like he’s simply observing this happen, like he’s not the one making Shouto react like this. He’s already half hard, breaths already coming in shallow little pants, and touching himself has never felt this close to nirvana.
Enji’s grip on his neck tightens and Shouto’s eyes flutter at the sensation. He fucks into the hand gripped tight around his cock as he feels the temperature around them rise. It’s always too hot when they’re together, like they’re unable to stop themselves from stoking each other’s fires.
Shouto could drown in this heat. A part of him thinks that he wants to. A larger part of him recoils at all of it, and he’s powerless to stop the tears that overflow and flow free down his face.
“Let... go.” Shouto begs, one last effort to stop this from becoming his greatest shame. It doesn’t last long, he’s young and desperate and no one’s ever touched him like this, ever pressed him down and forced pleasure from him. The hold on his neck is almost secondary at this point, and Shouto shakes apart in his father’s hands as he comes into the curve of his palm.
Enji strokes him through it, hand around his neck tightening just enough to cut off his noises before releasing him.
Shouto slumps against the counter, dragging in ragged breaths and struggling to stay standing. He doesn’t miss the way Enji wipes his other hand off against Shouto’s shirt.
“Maybe now you’ll stop whoring yourself out.” Enji says, and Shouto bites down his tongue to stop from letting out something that feels too close to a sob.
He can’t think about what just happened, what he’d just let his own father do to him. He’s worried that if he’s forced to examine it for even one second, he’ll break. Shouto’s good at holding it together, not reassembling something that’s already been shattered.
He hears the click of his father’s heels as he exits the kitchen, and only then does he zip himself up and strike out towards his room. If he just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, he’ll be fine.
Friday
Shouto skips breakfast the next day and has absolutely zero plans of ‘coming home on time.’
He wakes up, packs a few extra clothes into his bag, and leaves before the sun even rises all the way. He knows it’s weak, but he thinks that if he tries to face his father now, he’ll probably take a knife to his own throat and end it.
He doesn’t want to go home, like, ever again, and maybe there’s an option available to him. He knows who he’s going to ask before he even gets to school, drafting up a text on the train over.
Shouto: Good morning Midoriya.
Shouto: Things are difficult at home right now. Can I crash with you this weekend?
The responses flood in immediately. It’s so like Izuku to take forever to respond to everything else, unless it’s some sort of cry for help.
Izuku: Are you okay?
Izuku: Of course you can stay with us!
Izuku: Where are you now?
Izuku: Do you need my mom to come get you?
He cracks a smile at his screen. It feels like forever since a genuine happy expression has worked its way onto his face.
Shouto: I’m fine. On my way to school now. It’s okay. I’ll see you when you get here.
Izuku: I’ll come early!! I’ll be there in twenty! Don’t do anything stupid.
When he arrives, he only has to wait ten more minutes before Izuku comes running through the front gates. He’s flushed and sweating so hard that Shouto thinks he must have run the whole way. Despite his laboured breathes, he’s patting Shouto down before he can even get out a greeting.
“God, I was so worried. I thought – okay, who cares what I thought. Are you okay? What happened? Do I need to call the police – is – is it your dad? Did he do something?”
Shouto forgets that Izuku lacks any and all sense of tack and boundaries. It’d be kind of endearing, if the line of questioning didn’t make Shouto violently uncomfortable.
“I’m okay, Midoriya.” He says, gently pushing the other boy outside his personal space. Physically, he guesses he’s fine. “We just got into a bad argument. I thought it might help if I gave him some space to cool down. I... I didn’t know who else to message.” He admits.
He’s confused at the way Izuku’s face lights up, like Shouto had just offered to hang the moon in the sky for him, instead of just offering him scraps of information.
“Of course. I’m so glad you messaged me. Anything – I mean, anytime! It’s kind of quiet in the house with just me and Mom anyway. She’d love to have you. You’re always welcome.” Izuku gushes, and Shouto tries not to think too hard about the fact that Izuku’s blush only gets deeper.
“Thank you. I... appreciate your kindness and hospitality.”
“Don’t sweat it!” Izuku says, and Shouto knows he’s being genuine. Izuku’s got such a pure hero streak, he can’t image he’d ever be upset at someone reaching out to him for help. Not if there was anything at all he could do.
“I uhm, I kinda ran here and I’m a bit sweaty so I might shower before class. If you wait around, we can go see if the cafeteria’s open and grab some breakfast.” He says, as Shouto blinks at him. “I mean, only if you want to! I can totally leave you alone until after class, too!”
Shouto feels himself smile again and shrugs.
“I don’t mind.” He says quietly. As much as he just wants to shut himself off and go somewhere where he can be alone, he knows it’ll be good to spend some time around his friend. After all, Izuku’s clearly excited to spend time with him, and Shouto suddenly feels guilty that he’s been so successful at isolating himself the past week. Texting is great and all, but it’s no substitute for actual human connection.
He’s clearly been spending too much time around his father.
He texts his father after class that he’ll be staying at the Midoriya household for a few days. Enji reads his message, but there’s no response. Shouto doesn’t want one. He just wants to make sure the number two hero doesn’t think he’s been kidnapped and storm into some innocent woman’s home demanding his son be returned.
The day passes in a blur. Izuku chatters about nonsense the whole walk home. Shouto is grateful for his friend. Mrs. Midoriya is kind. She insists he call her Inko, but Shouto’s been raised too strictly to even try. There’s very little worse than disrespecting your elders in his own house, and some habits really do die hard.
Their home is small, but it’s warm and cozy and everything their too-large estate isn’t. It’s been a while since Shouto’s had a meal made with such love and care, and he tries not to think of his mother. Tries not to remember the warmth of her arms, or the way she’d cooed his name when he grabbed for her.
Being here hurts, but it’s still better than being there, with him.
He lets Izuku show him around the neighborhood, show him all his All Might merchandise, and show him his and Katsuki’s old haunts from when they were kids.
It’s nice to take his mind off the complicated mess that is his own life.
Izuku’s life is so simple. His mom loves him, he trains hard, he strives to be the best he can be and help everyone he possibly can.
It’s all Shouto can do to bask in his warm glow without hating himself too violently.
Izuku only tries to pry once, the very same night he arrives, when they’re lying in the dark pressed up against each other.
“Is it –” He starts, after the lights are out and enough time has passed that they should both be asleep. The irregular sound of their breathing is enough to tell them both the other is away. “Is it your dad?” He whispers, because Izuku never knows when to let anything go. “I mean, I know it’s your dad but –” He cuts off again, like he’s not sure where he’s going with this.
“Is it serious? Do you – I mean, I’ll do whatever I can to help, if you need me to. I just need to know it’s not bad. I – I don’t want you getting hurt.”
He’s so earnest that for a moment, Shouto wishes he’d never chosen to involve him at all. Izuku is too good for him, too good to be tainted by any of this. Shouto rolls over and pokes him in the back of the head.
“It’s not serious, i-di-ot.” He says, listening in relief as he feels some of the tension drain out of Izuku’s body. “We just had a fight. I mouthed off. Some things got thrown around. You know, the usual.”
“I don’t know” Izuku says, but there’s a smile in his voice and Shouto feels his heartbeat slow. “I just worry about you. Your dad’s kind of intimidating.” He admits.
Tell me about it, Shouto thinks wryly.
“I just want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I won’t judge and I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I know, hero. That’s why I texted you.”
He feels Izuku huff out a laugh next to him and Shouto thinks that for now, this is enough.
Monday
He doesn’t want to go home after school, but he can’t hide at the Midoriya household forever, as much as he wants to. Izuku keeps shooting him these furtive little looks throughout the day. For once, Shouto doesn’t find himself annoyed with them.
He knows that Izuku’s not just nosey. He genuinely cares for his friends, and if Shouto didn’t properly consider them friends before this, he surely can’t deny it now. They’ve shared meals and a bed. Spent the weekend chatting, seeing a movie, forging a bond. He owes it to Izuku to at least think of them as close.
When the final bell goes off, Izuku hangs back to talk to him.
“Y-You don’t have to go home if you’re still scared.” He says, after he’s waved goodbye to the rest of his group. Shouto wonders when he’d become so detached from everyone aside from his painfully small circle of his father, his sister, and Izuku. He wonders if this is a sign there may be something wrong with him, that he’s unable to manage having any more than three people in his life at any given time.
“I’m not scared.” Shouto argues, wondering if his emotions had always been so damn visible, or if Izuku is just learning to read him.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that I just – I mean, like, just don’t feel like you can’t stay with us as long as you need. Honest, mom really doesn’t care. I – I uhm, I like having you over.” He says, and Shouto watches in fascination as his cheeks pink and he averts his gaze.
Oh.
Well, shit, that puts a few things into perspective.
“I’m fine, Izuku.” He says, trying the name on his tongue for the first time. Predictably, the other boy just turns a darker shade of red, staring at his shoes as his hands twist in his shirt. He wonders if he looks similar when he’s fidgeting in front of his own father.
“Okay! No problem! I – uh, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Izuku squeaks, grabbing all his stuff and dashing for the door. Shouto thinks that’s a problem for another time. Hopefully it isn’t anything serious. He likes Izuku, and most of all, he likes that he has a safe haven to go that isn’t his own home. He doesn’t want to lose that, not yet.
He thinks about Izuku the whole way home, but the closer he gets to the estate, the more thoughts of his father begin to crowd out everything else.
He wonders what his father had done the past few days, if he’d thought about Shouto at all, if he’d been angry. He imagines Enji stomping around the house, leaving scorched footprints against the tatami mats in his rage.
There’s no use thinking about it, he knows. He just has to walk in and face whatever he’s got coming to him. After all, he’d skipped their Friday sparring session, and he knows that one will not go unpunished.
When he walks in, the first thing Shouto realizes is that that he’d genuinely missed the scent of the place.
It’s all old wood and singed bamboo, and it smells like home despite how uninviting it’s always been. He thinks of the pictures hanging on Izuku’s walls, the crayon scribbles on top of the table and the height notches on the archway leading into the kitchen. All marks of a lived in home, a loved home.
Shouto looks around the estate, sees black burn marks wherever he turns. The only evidence that anyone had had a life here, and that life had not been kind.
Shouto doesn’t know why he doesn’t go straight to his room, but he finds himself in the living room, seeking his own destruction. His father sneers at him when he sees him, and he realizes that while he’s spent a weekend relaxing, his father has been sitting here stewing.
“Couldn’t stay away for long, could you Shouto?” Enji taunts, and it takes everything in him not to run out the door he’d just come through.
“Is it that boy? Izuku Midoriya? Is he the one you go to for comfort?” Enji presses, and Shouto knows his father is just trying to get a rise out of him, he knows this. But all the knowledge in the world doesn’t stop it from working, and Shouto feels the air around them grow humid. “Is he the one who taught you how to moan like that?”
“Don’t talk about him!” Shouto snaps, because Izuku doesn’t deserve that. Shouto’s the filthy one, the one with desires so perverse he wouldn’t dream of sharing them with anyone except the horrible figure standing in front of him.
“You’re fond of him.” Enji says, voice two degrees colder than before he’d decided to open his stupid mouth.
“He’s my friend.”
“Who would house you at the drop of a hat, it seems.” Enji muses.
Shouto wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to hurt. Instead he stands there and says nothing as his father shakes his head.
“It’s not like that.” He whispers eventually, as his father stands and makes to move past him. “Only you’re like that.” He adds, hoping that the words will do something, anything.
“Do not put this on me, Shouto. It is your body you need to examine closely, not my actions.” Enji says, ducking out of the room and leaving Shouto standing by himself, fists clenched and fighting back tears.
He thinks of the fact that it’s just them, alone in this too big house slowly drowning in their own animosity. He just wants to feel that burn again, the one that whites out his thoughts and reduces him to a creature that doesn’t have to think.
Shouto will take the pain, over the heartache.
Tuesday
He comes home from school the next day a little later than usual. He’s tired, and he wants to rest, and not for the first time Shouto wishes he didn’t have to pass his father’s study on the way to his room. If he’s lucky, Enji will be somewhere else, hopefully the main room where he’s taken to spending most of his time.
Shouto is rarely so lucky.
Not only is his father in his study, he’s also drunk. Shouto can smell it in the air before he even passes the door, nose wrinkling at the scent of it. He’s clearly been at it for a few hours, now, and he knows this does not bode well for him.
Enji is a wildcard on his best days. When he’s liquored up... Shouto doesn't like to focus on those memories too much. There’s too much screaming, too much pain.
“You don’t greet your father anymore?” Enji slurs, as Shouto tries his hardest to sneak past the room. He doesn’t know why he’d bothered. Enji’s always had a radar for his presence. He doesn’t think there’s ever been a time in his life when he’d been able to slip away from his father undetected.
“You’re clearly occupied.” Shouto says, stopping in front of the open door instead of making a break for it like he really wants to. He looks pointedly at the half-empty decanter on the desk before he can stop himself.
Enji’s expression goes tight.
“Excuse me?
“Sorry.” He says, clearing his throat. “You’re clearly occupied sir.” Shouto amends, feeling his palms go sweaty. He wants to know when he’d gotten so brazen, when the fear coursing through him had started to feel so much like excitement.
“Come here.” Enji demands, and Shouto is helpless to stop himself from moving deeper into the room, the too-sweet smell of brandy saturating the air.
“I have homework.” Shouto says, even as he steps up to Enji’s desk and then, feeling emboldened, around it and right into his father’s space. It’s not often he gets to look down on the number two hero, himself. “What do you want?”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, head a mess of conflicting impulses, telling him to run – to get closer. Enji reaches up, hand curling against the nape of his neck to pull him lower. Shouto allows it, interest beating out fear.
“Checking you for marks.” Enji says, with a level of honesty Shouto hadn’t expected. He blames the drink. His father is only ever candid when he’s like this, not that he ever has anything kind to admit to. His whole body tingles as Enji runs his hand around the length of his neck, squeezing and prodding for smudges of color that aren’t there.
He can’t help the way his body reacts, cock swelling at the attention his neck is getting. It’s not the same as when he’s got both thumbs pressed down against his windpipe, but it’s enough to get a rise out of him. He doesn’t realize, at first, that his father’s other hand is drifting lower, not until the one searching his neck for evidence of others slides down his chest and then, lower still.
“What are you doing?” Shouto whispers, like if he says too much it’ll shatter the moment. He’s shaking so hard it’s a wonder he’s still standing.
“Quiet.” Enji says, voice low but firm. Shouto’s mouth shuts with a click, and he stays silent as his father undoes his pants. There’s a hand on him, and Shouto shuts his eyes. He can’t watch. Not as Enji slides his hands into his boxers and tugs his cock free. Shouto would rather die than admit he’s been thinking about his father’s hands on him all weekend.
“F – fuuuuck.” Shouto breathes, as a rough palm circles the base of his dick and pumps him. There’s a hand on his ass, holding him in place when his body begins sinking lower of its own accord. It’s too much, not enough, and it feels like his father’s hands are everywhere – holding him up, stroking him, caressing every inch of exposed skin.
Enji touches him like he can’t keep his hands off him, like he needs this just as much as Shouto. It sends shivers running up his spine, and he paws at his father’s shoulders as he’s very suddenly enveloped in silky wet heat. He moans, too loud and unhinged, hips snapping forward in his inexperience.
It does nothing, Enji’s mouth an endless furnace that sucks him deeper, all the way down, and the head of Shouto’s cock nudges against the back of his throat.
Shouto doesn’t know if it’s the heat from his father, or the liquor, but he feels like his cock is on fire, and he knows he can’t possibly last like this.
Enji draws back once, burning tongue laving at his slit, and Shouto comes with more force that he thought himself able. His legs buckle but Enji does not hold him up. Instead, he lets Shouto slide out of his mouth and fall to his knees in front of him, sweaty and panting and shivering with the aftershocks. His hands rest limply on his father’s thighs as he tries to collect himself.
There’s a touch at his chin, drawing his gaze up, and Shouto’s vision swims as he feels lips descend upon his own. Enji’s tongue is insistent against his skin and Shouto’s lips part without hesitation.
He tastes like fire and spice, his own bitterness mixing in perfectly. It should taste horrible, but Shouto just opens his mouth wider, lets his father’s tongue quest deeper and Shouto will go to hell knowing the intoxicating taste of his own flesh and blood.
The kiss is sloppy and wet and Shouto doesn’t know if it’s drool or cum that drips down his chin, but if had hadn’t just climaxed, he knows he’d be straining in his pants at the depravity of it. As it stands, his cock lets out a weak, interested twitch as Enji devours him. Shouto’s never been kissed like this before. Never been kissed at all, but he knows that normal people don’t kiss like this.
It feels like Enji is trying to crawl inside him, tear him apart, and Shouto’s never felt more owned in his life. He’s dizzy with the sensation of it, post-climax haze and kiss drunk on the taste of himself. Of his father. Of their sin.
Enji draws away with a wet slurp, lapping at the mess on his chin and releasing his face. They stare at each other for too long, and then Enji is out of his chair, shoving him back roughly enough to knock Shouto on his ass.
His father makes a face, like he’s going to be sick, and he’s out the door before Shouto can gather himself enough to call out for him.
He feels the wetness around his cock grow cool and dry, and he knows that there’s no going back from this.