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“Ojisan,” Megumi whispers, his voice so quiet that he barely hears it himself. “Can I—please, I have to—”
“No,” Naoya says curtly, tightening his grip around Megumi’s waist. Megumi squirms in his uncle’s lap, inhaling sharply as Naoya’s forearm puts pressure on his bladder. “Be quiet, Megumi-chan. The meeting isn’t over.”
“But I have to—”
Naoya silences him with a look, Megumi’s words dying in his mouth. He knows that the meeting isn’t over yet, that there are important leaders from other clans at the week long summit and Naoya will have to attend many more meetings in the coming days, but he can’t help it. It’s not his fault that Naoya forced him to drink such a big glass of water right before the meeting started, and now he has to pee so bad that it’s starting to make his stomach cramp.
Just hold it, he tells himself. Hold it, hold it, hold it—
He bites the inside of his cheek, clamping his thighs together. He has to hold it, he has to. He can’t embarrass himself or Naoya, not in front of all these people. He’s too old to wet himself.
Naoya’s lips brush the shell of his ear, cool against Megumi’s feverish skin. “Keep squirming, see what happens,” he says, his voice low. He shifts Megumi’s weight, jostling his insides and sloshing the contents of his overfull bladder, and Megumi braces his hands against the edge of the table so as to not cry out in pain. “Hands to yourself, brat.”
Megumi grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, but he can’t let go. He’s too full and any sudden movement might shatter his self control, breaking the dam inside him—and he doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen if he keeps squirming.
Naoya loosens his grip just a little bit, and Megumi feels his uncle’s much larger hand rest against his lower abdomen. Two of Naoya’s fingers press right under his bloated stomach, turning the pressure inside him to an unbearable level, and Megumi’s breath stutters in his chest as something warm and wet trickles out of him.
“Ojisan, please,” Megumi begs, digging his nails into the wood. No, no, this can’t be happening, he can hold it, he has to hold it. “Pleasepleaseplease—”
Naoya shushes him and Megumi whimpers. Hot tears prick at his eyes, threatening to fall as his eyes pop open. People are starting to look at them, raised eyebrows and murmurs of concern that Naoya pays no attention to. Megumi is mortified, so beyond uncomfortable and about to burst, why won’t Naoya just let him go to the bathroom?
“I can’t, I can’t,” Megumi says, finally letting go of the table to unceremoniously shove his hands between his legs. His stomach cramps again and tears freely streak down his face, a sob bubbling up in the back of his throat. “Ojisan, I’m—”
Megumi breaks down as he wets himself, a dark spot soaking the front of his kimono and seeping into Naoya’s lap. Naoya makes a sound of disgust, throwing down the pen in his other hand and grabbing Megumi around the waist again. He excuses both of them, piss puddling around the zabuton as he stands, Megumi covering his face with his hands as Naoya hauls him out of the room.
“I told you to hold it.”
“S-sorry.” Megumi hiccups, afraid of peeking through his fingers as Naoya carries him back to their quarters. His uncle’s temper is more volatile than even Toji’s and he’s undoubtedly mad at Megumi, embarrassed that his new charge couldn’t behave himself—and after everything that Naoya did to bring him along.
It’s too much.
He hears the fusuma open and close, and then they’re alone. Megumi sniffles as Naoya manhandles him to the bathroom, something hot and hard digging into one of Megumi’s thighs just before Naoya sets him on the sink countertop.
“Strip,” Naoya orders. “We’re getting in the shower.”
Megumi nods robotically and slowly unties his obi, burning with shame. Naoya watches far too intently for Megumi’s comfort, golden eyes bright as they track Megumi’s every move, like he’s somehow doing it wrong and needs to be scolded for it. Megumi sheds his clothes and averts his eyes as Naoya’s gaze rakes over him, making him feel hot and weird in a way he doesn’t really like.
“Look at me,” Naoya says, and Megumi doesn’t want to, but he does because it’s Naoya and he has to, he’s supposed to listen to everything that Naoya tells him—that’s what Toji said before they left. Naoya gestures to his front, at the mess Megumi made of Naoya’s clothes, and Megumi’s lower lip wobbles. He didn’t mean to. “Look at the disgusting mess you made.”
Megumi stays quiet as his eyes drift over the giant wet spot on Naoya’s hakama, embarrassed. It is disgusting, isn’t it? “I—I won’t do it again.”
Naoya arches an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe him. “I thought you said you were ready—”
“I am, I am!” Megumi straightens up his spine, blinking away his tears. He needs a teacher and Naoya is the strongest sorcerer in the clan next to Naobito, he can’t afford to offend him. “I’ll do better, ojisan.”
Naoya stares at him for what seems like forever, then shrugs. “Alright,” he says. “But I expect you to be able to control yourself, Megumi-chan. Especially that tiny prick of yours.”
Megumi’s resolve wavers, uncertain what that is. “My…what?”
“You really don’t know anything, do you?” Naoya cocks his head, taking him in. It’s less intense than the way he was glaring before, but it still makes Megumi feel—tingly, almost, his face and ears growing hot. Naoya suddenly reaches out and grabs Megumi’s little cock, holding it between long pianist fingers. “This is a prick—dick, cock, whatever.”
“Oh,” Megumi mumbles. His stomach flutters, heat pooling in his groin as Naoya lightly tugs on his cock. “Okay…”
He’s not sure what Naoya is doing, but it’s starting to feel kinda good; weird but good, really good, and then—
Megumi shoves Naoya’s hand away, anxiety spiking in his chest. His cock is swollen and hard out of nowhere, the tip flushed a bright pink, and there’s a small, wet bead forming at the slit. Naoya said he had to control himself, especially there, and Megumi doesn’t know why it looks like that. Is something wrong with him?
“Sorry, I—I don’t know what—”
Naoya grabs Megumi’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him. Megumi stares at his uncle’s long lashes, the slope of his nose, the defined cut of his jaw; anywhere but his eyes, though Naoya seems to be looking at Megumi’s mouth for some reason. A thumb brushes over Megumi’s lips, pulling the bottom away from his teeth, the pad of Naoya’s thumb grazing over his gums. “You should consider yourself lucky, Megumi-chan,” Naoya says, the lilt of his voice as smooth as silk. “If you ruined otousan’s clothes like this, he’d piss in your mouth and beat the shit out of you.”
Megumi isn’t sure what he’s saying, but he doesn’t like the way it sounds. He doesn’t want to get beaten; he’s seen it happen to Toji before, even helped to tend Toji’s wounds when he can’t do it on his own. “Are you…?”
“No.” Naoya’s smile is sharp, cutting, and Megumi instinctively flinches away from it. “Not right now, anyway. I have something else in mind.”
Naoya holds Megumi’s head in place as he reaches for his hakama, fabric rustling in the quiet as he loosens the ties with one hand. Megumi’s eyes widen when something hot and hard and big presses between his legs, right up against his swollen cock. Is that…what he thinks it is…?
“Ojisan…?” Megumi swallows. His uncle’s cock feels much bigger than his own, and the weight of it resting against him is a little overwhelming. “Are we still gonna shower?”
“Why?” Naoya smirks, his blunt cockhead rubbing over Megumi’s stomach. It feels—sticky. Wet. Something smears over his skin as Naoya rubs himself on him. “Tired of being a filthy little boy, soaked in your own piss?”
Megumi scowls, trying to keep a fresh wave of angry tears from filling his eyes. Does Naoya have to keep pointing it out? “Yeah,” he says, albeit begrudgingly. He’s not a filthy little boy, but the stench of urine around them indicates otherwise.
“Well, I’m not done just yet,” Naoya says, much to Megumi’s disappointment. “And I think you owe me, since you embarrassed us like that.”
Megumi sullenly nods, as much as he can with Naoya holding his jaw so tightly. That makes sense.
“Have you ever kissed anyone, Megumi-chan?”
Megumi shakes his head, unsure why he’s asking. Sometimes, if he’s very lucky, Toji will kiss his hair or maybe his cheek; otherwise he’s only seen kissing in movies and on TV, and it’s not something he’s really thought about that much. Certainly not in relation to himself, anyway, so he’s surprised when Naoya leans in and presses their lips together, kissing him lightly.
Megumi’s head swims and his little cock throbs, a quiet moan slipping out before Naoya has a chance to pull away. Everything after that happens so fast; Naoya shoves him backwards, flat on his back, pinning him by the throat, fist around his cock as he moves his hand rapidly up and down. Megumi chokes, pushing at Naoya’s hand on his neck, but Naoya is an immovable force and Megumi is just too small to fight him off. He’s completely helpless as Naoya’s breathing grows labored, his hand moving faster, and then something hot and wet splashes all over Megumi’s torso.
Naoya finally stops, his chest heaving as he leans over Megumi. “Get in the shower,” he says, his voice rough. He steals another kiss from Megumi’s lips, this one more insistent than the first; he bullies his way into Megumi’s mouth, sweeping their tongues together, only satisfied when Megumi slaps at his wrist because he can’t breathe anymore.
He gulps in air once Naoya pulls away, finally able to sit up. There’s something all over his chest and stomach, some of it spilling down his front and in between his legs. Megumi’s cock has thankfully gone soft, relief washing over him when he hops off the countertop and follows Naoya into the shower.
He’s not sure what just happened, but he doesn’t think he wants to do it again.
-
Toji ruffles Megumi’s hair when they return to the Zen’in estate, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a small smile. “How was the summit?”
“Good,” Megumi says, because that’s what Naoya instructed him to say. He taught Megumi a lot of other things, too; things that Megumi isn’t sure he likes, but he’s not allowed to say no to. “I learned a lot.”
Toji’s hand stills briefly in his hair, then falls away. “Did you?” he says, his tone more distant than before. He looks at the garden across the veranda, and doesn’t look at Megumi. “What did you learn about?”
Megumi twists his hands in his lap, absent-mindedly forming the shapes Naoya taught him. He’ll be able to summon powerful shikigami from the shadows when his technique fully manifests and he performs the exorcism rites, though Naoya says that will still take time. He already has his wolf dogs, but there’s no use in summoning them—he knows that Toji can’t see them. “Stuff,” he says listlessly, because how does he tell Toji about what happened?
“Stuff,” Toji repeats. Megumi shrugs. “Technique stuff, or…?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Mostly…?”
Yeah, mostly—except for all the times that Naoya wanted something else, like for Megumi to take off all his clothes and let Naoya rub his cock on him. He even made Megumi put it in his mouth a couple of times, suckling the slit at the tip until it gushed over his tongue. Usually it was in the privacy of their own quarters, but a few times it was out in the open; multiple people definitely saw them, but not one of them said anything.
Toji’s gaze is somewhere faraway when Megumi glances at him. “You should be grateful,” Toji says softly, “that it’s just Naoya, and not Naobito.”
Naoya says that a lot too, though Megumi doesn’t understand why. He rarely interacts with Naobito, and if he does, Naoya is always with him.
“You’ll be…” Toji starts, then stops. He takes a steadying breath. “Safer with him.”
Megumi frowns, but doesn’t argue. Toji doesn’t have any political standing in the clan and can’t protect Megumi like Naoya can; Megumi knows that now. His father’s status and Naoya’s power over both of them was made very clear to him during his time at the summit of all three big clans.
He just can’t figure out why no one wants to protect him from Naoya.
It’s like they don’t even see it, blind to everything but Naoya’s boundless strength and wily charm. Sure, he’s the embodiment of Zen’in perfection and Naobito’s favored son; people fall over themselves to cater to his whims, but what about Megumi?
Why doesn't anyone care about him?
-
“Do you know what sex is, Megumi-chan?” Naoya traces the edge of Megumi’s jawline with his fingertip, letting his nail scrape against pale skin as he follows the column of his neck. Megumi shivers from more than the cold, already stripped down to nothing as he sits in Naoya’s lap. “Typically, it’s the job of the clan head to teach you, but…” He pauses as Megumi grimaces at the mention of the clan head, raising an intrigued eyebrow. “What?”
“Papa…” Megumi starts, then hesitates. Toji said to stay the fuck away from Naobito at all costs, and if he can’t do that, to stick as close to Naoya’s side as humanly possible; but Toji’s opinion means nothing to someone like Naoya, and even mentioning him could be seen as disrespectful. “…Nevermind.”
“Say it,” Naoya says, pinching Megumi’s thigh and grinning when Megumi hisses and swats at his hand. “Spit it out, brat.”
“He doesn’t want me to learn from ōoji-san,” Megumi says, rubbing the pink splotch blooming on his skin where Naoya pinched him. Sometimes there’s no telling what Naoya’s reaction to something will be and Megumi braces himself for a slap to the face, but it never comes. Instead, Naoya seems extremely pleased when he adds, “He says it’s safer to stay with you.”
Naoya rests one hand on Megumi’s other thigh, petting the inside with his thumb. His touch raises goosebumps over Megumi’s skin, his palm hot as an iron as it slides higher, until his fingertips bump against Megumi’s cock. “That’s right, Megumi-chan,” he murmurs. “I’ll protect you.”
Megumi nods along as Naoya tilts his jaw up with his free hand, accepting the kiss his uncle gives him. Kissing Naoya isn’t so bad on its own; it’s all the other stuff that Megumi isn’t sure about, things that make him feel dizzy and kinda good, up until it starts to hurt.
The hand on his thigh makes it hard to think about anything else but the good part, though.
“O-oh,” Megumi says, gasping softly against Naoya’s mouth. His hips jerk forward as the pleasant feeling in his lower belly starts to build, chasing the feeling of Naoya’s fingers slipping under his balls, his thumb rubbing up and down Megumi’s sensitive shaft. He finally notices Naoya’s cock as it swells directly beneath him, poking him more insistently as Megumi rocks his hips back and forth, their kiss deepening when Megumi whines against his uncle’s lips. He already knows that once Naoya takes it out, that it won’t feel good anymore; Naoya will make him put it in his mouth, or maybe play with it in his hands, but he won’t want to touch Megumi anymore and it feels so good, too good…
Megumi squirms away with a loud gasp, falling out of Naoya’s lap and into the futon sheets with a soft thud. It feels like he has to pee, like he might accidentally make a mess all over Naoya again if he lets his uncle keep touching him; and he can’t do that, he can’t. “No, stop,” he says, gulping down air as he tries to put space between them. Naoya said he has to control himself and Megumi doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why he’s so disgusting. “I—”
Naoya looks more amused than angry, uncoiling like a serpent as he reaches out to grab Megumi by the ankle. He yanks and Megumi yelps, his stiff cock bouncing as he’s dragged across the mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” Naoya sneers, placing one hand beside Megumi’s head as he looms over him. “I didn’t say you were excused.”
“Ojisan, please,” Megumi begs. He quickly covers himself, tears of shame welling up in his eyes. He’s not supposed to deny Naoya anything, but surely he’ll understand—he has to understand, right? “Don’t…”
To his dismay, Naoya laughs. “‘Ojisan, please’,” he mimics, his eyes glinting with malice. “‘Don’t’… don’t what, huh? Don’t make you come? That’s cute.”
Megumi’s brows knit together in confusion, his heartbeat slowing down from its anxious jackhammer. “Make me…what?”
Naoya’s pupils expand, swallowing up some of the intense gold of his irises. “Orgasm,” he explains, though Megumi doesn’t know what that word means. “You’ve never had one, have you?”
Megumi doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know what Naoya is saying. He blinks away his tears, swallowing the lump forming in the back of his throat. He’s not supposed to cry or wet himself; he’s supposed to be strong, like how Naoya is strong. He’s a Zen’in, and Naoya has told him many times to start acting like it.
With a short laugh under his breath, Naoya lets go of Megumi’s ankle and sheds his own clothing. Megumi’s seen him naked before, knows how his muscles move and ripple under unmarred, flawless skin, but it feels very different when he’s in his uncle’s bed—more intimate, somehow, even though he’s showered and bathed with Naoya multiple times already. “Maybe I’ll give you one sometime, if I’m feeling generous,” Naoya says, withdrawing a small packet from one of his pockets and dropping the garment on the floor. He rips open the plastic and drips something wet onto his fingers, smearing it around. “Spread your legs.”
Megumi looks at him doubtfully, glancing between Naoya’s wet fingers and the smug look on his face. He’s already tested Naoya’s patience today and isn’t sure how much more tolerant he’ll be of Megumi’s defiance, so he shyly does as he’s told and lets his legs fall open. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” Naoya says, leaning over him again. Megumi stares at Naoya’s bare chest as he feels a hand brush against the junction of his thigh, biting his lip when wet fingers prod at the space just below his balls, slipping lower, lower—
Megumi flinches, snapping his legs shut. He knows he’s not supposed to deny Naoya anything, but why is he trying to touch him there?
He resists the urge to close his legs again as Naoya grabs his shins and forces them apart, pushing his thighs up against his chest, his blunt nails digging in. “I. Own. You,” he says, and Megumi shivers. Naoya’s voice is low and dark, his words crawling over Megumi’s skin as he leans so close that their noses brush. “I can do whatever I want to you.”
Megumi swallows hard and nods. It stings when Naoya finally lets go, but it stings even more when he roughly shoves two fingers into Megumi’s hole.
“Too much,” Megumi protests, fists clenched tightly in the sheets as he’s stretched wide open. An unwitting cry slips out as Naoya starts to work in earnest, his vision going wavy as his body struggles to adjust. “Ojisan, it hurts—!”
“Shut up,” Naoya says, and Megumi looks up at him tearfully. Naoya’s attention is intently focused between Megumi’s legs, heavily lidded eyes watching the way his tiny hole clenches and flutters around the fingers inside him—enraptured, almost. Like he’s enjoying it. “Be grateful I’m even bothering to prep you.”
Megumi lets his head fall back and softly groans. What is he being prepared for? He’s a little afraid to ask when it already feels like so much, and even more apprehensive that Naoya considers this some kind of favor.
He finds out soon enough; the relief that comes when Naoya’s fingers leave him is incredibly fleeting, replaced by an icy fear as Naoya rubs the head of his cock over his rim instead. “What’re you…” Megumi whispers, his eyes widening. He can't be doing what Megumi thinks he's doing, can he? It's not going to fit. “What are you doing?”
“Taking what’s mine,” Naoya says, and Megumi cries out when thick heat slides inside him, stretching him so much wider than he could have possibly imagined. It steals his breath away, his guts shoved out of the way to make room for Naoya, until there is only Naoya; his silvery voice in Megumi’s ear, the heady scent of his skin and sweat, the cage formed around him by Naoya's larger body. “Don’t worry,” his uncle croons. “You’ll learn to like it, eventually.”
He doubts that, but anxiety keeps him frozen in place when Naoya kisses him again; sweetly at first, then more feverishly. He can’t breathe with Naoya’s tongue in his mouth, their shared space hot and heavy, his smaller body crushed beneath Naoya’s weight on top of him—and then Naoya starts to move.
Megumi sees stars, his vision whiting out as Naoya’s cock retreats, then violently slams back into him. He lets go of the sheets and clings to Naoya instead, his teeth clenched and his eyes squeezed shut as Naoya invades his most personal space again and again. He just wants it to be over—when is it going to be over?
“Stop making that face.” Naoya grabs Megumi’s jaw, snapping him out of it. His uncle’s face is slightly flushed, his cheeks pink and his pupils blown. “You’re startin’ to piss me off.”
Megumi sniffles. “S-sorry…”
Naoya shoves his face away and scoffs, his cock lewdly slipping from Megumi’s hole. Megumi is struck by how empty he feels when it's gone, and he’s not sure which is worse; having Naoya inside him, or clenching around nothing while the cold air hits him in places it shouldn’t.
He’s flipped on his stomach before he can decide, hips hiked into the air. “I’m in a good mood, so don't ruin it,” Naoya mutters, his broad chest pressing against Megumi’s back. Megumi pitifully groans as he’s penetrated from behind, Naoya’s cock somehow reaching even deeper than before.
If this is Naoya in a good mood, he doesn’t want to know what a bad mood looks like.
A strong arm around his waist keeps him held upright as Naoya resumes his pace, the clap of their skin and the painful slap of Naoya’s balls against his own ringing in Megumi’s ears. Naoya’s breathing picks up and his muscles tense, the same way it does when he makes Megumi put his cock in his mouth—and then his hips stutter, a strange warmth flooding Megumi’s insides as he finally slows down and stops.
It’s quiet in the aftermath, except for the sounds of Naoya’s breathing evening out and Megumi’s thundering heartbeat. Maybe Naoya will excuse him now that he’s done, and then Megumi can crawl into Toji’s bed for whatever small semblance of comfort his father can offer. Megumi takes care of Toji’s injuries; he’ll take care of Megumi too, right?
Wetness drips down his balls and the insides of his thighs when Naoya’s cock abruptly slips out, and panic seizes Megumi by the throat that he might have accidentally wet himself again; it doesn’t really look or smell like urine, white and sort of milky—the same stuff that Naoya spilled onto his chest at the summit, he realizes with relief. So he didn't wet himself, it was something Naoya did, but he has no doubt that Naoya will blame it on him somehow.
“Clean yourself up.” Naoya collapses on his back, some of his blond hair stuck to the sweat dotting his temples. He waves Megumi away. “You’re making a mess in my bed.”
Megumi gathers his clothes and hastily redresses. It hurts to move and his legs wobble when he stands, even more of that stuff gushing out of him, an intense shame coloring his cheeks when it pools around his feet. He can’t avoid Naoya seeing it, but instead of hitting him or rebuking him, his uncle only chuckles.
“Don’t let otousan see you,” he says airily, and Megumi halts. “You won’t like it if he finds you like this.”
“Why?” Megumi stupidly asks. He’s been warned about Naobito numerous times, but he still doesn’t know why he’s supposed to steer clear of the clan head. What could possibly make him worse than Naoya?
Naoya smirks, then crooks his finger. Megumi obeys, dutifully approaching the bed and letting Naoya kiss him one last time before he leaves. “Because he loves to ruin little boys,” he murmurs. “Just ask Toji-kun.”
Naoya lets him go after that, but Megumi already knows he can’t ask Toji anything; even the mention of Naobito’s name puts him on edge, and Megumi can’t do that to him. His father has already suffered enough.
But he has the terrible sense that his own is just beginning.