random smut

mob x reigen

The lady down the hall was pregnant. Mob knew this because he’d seen her on evening strolls with her husband, her belly big and taut and round, and occasionally they’d touch it reverently. Reverence, overall, was the term: it was the new word painted onto her husband—it was the new word painted on her. Reverence, pregnancy. Together they were creating something new.

*

Morning. Mob kept losing the keys to the office so he forwent keys altogether and unlocked it with a flick of psychic power. “You’re here early,” his former shishou commented, already at the desk, the blinds drawn behind him. He wasn’t working. He was just reading the newspaper, looking prismatically beautiful.

That was, Mob reasoned, why everything around Reigen, or everything around Reigen that wasn’t Reigen himself (like his clothes) looked so drab. It was simply the comparison against someone incomparable.

“You’re here early,” Mob said.

“That’s what happens when you get old, Mob. You go to sleep early, you get up early, your body starts to hurt early…”

Mob closed the distance. He pushed the paper down so he could look at Reigen properly. “It means I get more time with you,” he said, and realised he’d gotten carried away with just the first part of the statement, so he clarified: “In the morning. Before the others get here.”

Reigen tried to hide his face with the paper again. Mob wasn’t having it. “Did you lock the door?” Reigen said.

“Yes,” Mob lied, locking it. Reigen noticed.

“Mob.”

“We wouldn’t need locks if we lived together,” Mob said, because they’d been talking about this the day before, and the day before the day before, and also the day before the day before that, and Mob was the type of person that didn’t let up.
“We’re not going to— Mob, we’re not going to live together! What would your parents say?”

“They don’t have to know.”

Reigen scowled. “Your brother is so clingy he’d know. It’s a shocker he doesn’t already know, so no.”

“Arataka,” Mob said, which always made Reigen quake, and added, off-handedly, “If I got you pregnant, then we’d have to live together.“

“What?!” Reigen said, still quaking, but perhaps for other reasons now. “What even—Mob—that’s not possible, right? It’s not possible?”

Mob ran a hand into Reigen’s hair, and kissed him, and Reigen slowly went soft and pliant as he always did when kissed.

“I told Serizawa not to come in today,” Mob said, romantically.

He saw the moment the realisation dawned that this was all pre-meditated, “You—“

Mob grabbed him, lifted him up, and put him on the windowsill, so people passing on the street would be able to see his shishou’s back against the glass and Mob’s big hands bracketing his shoulders.

“I know you’ve got a very, very healthy sex drive, Mob,” Reigen was saying, “but these are working hours, and—“

Mob ran his hands down Reigen’s torso, admiring it; it was pliable, narrow, perfect for manhandling. It was Reigen’s torso, which made it a thousand times hotter. With just a thought, he popped every one of Reigen’s buttons, and then, after a moment, did it to his own shirt, too.

Reigen’s words stuttered to a stop.

He looked, somehow, even better against the window like this. At the temples his hair had began greying, but if anything, it was like they’d just caught the light permanently. Mob always thought of Reigen as the colour of his powers. Crystalline.