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Still Waters

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Steam rises from the tub, fogs the mirror. Shou watches the hot water run silently, unmoving; he's miles away, for anywhere is better than here.

The tub is not even filled halfway when the door creaks open, and Shou is reminded violently that this is happening. He keeps his eyes on the steaming water.

"Don't disappoint me, son," Touichirou says. "Get ready."

Shou hates himself as he drops his shoulders to let the jacket slide off, the puffy material landing in a heap of wrinkles on the floor. He feels so small without it, but tugs off his shirt with shaking hands, bites his trembling bottom lip. He takes a deep breath as his fingers find the button of his pants and hesitates but a moment to sneak a glance at Touichirou behind him.

He's not even looking, standing with his back to the room, facing the door in a cruel mockery of propriety. Somehow, it's worse that way.

Shou takes a moment to gather his strength as he shimmies out of his pants and underwear, stands shrouded in nothing but steam and uncertainty. His cheeks heat up, tears threatening to form in the corners of his eyes but he manages to blink them away.

"I'm ready."

"You know the procedure," His father snaps. "Don't make me walk you through this."

Shou flinches, hands balling into fists, but he unclenches them just as quickly, wriggles his fingers to try and shake the urge to fight back.

Instead he gets in the tub, only halfway filled with water that's just shy of being too hot.

"Sit with your back to me," He hears his father say before he can decide himself. There's the telltale rustle of fabric he's been waiting for, the metallic clink of a belt buckle. Shou hugs his knees close.

The familiar sounds of expensive shoes on marble tiles draw closer, and with a low huff of exertion Touichirou settles on his knees. There's a light creak of bone on bone; he's getting old.

Shou listens closely to every move he cannot see: the rolling up of sleeves, popping of the first shirt button. Touichirou is still dressed but deliberately disheveled, and something tells Shou he won't stop making things worse.

The warm water reaches Shou's bellybutton the same moment large hands touch his bare shoulders. Firm yet gentle, and he flinches despite himself, willing his body to give into the touch. Thumbs find his shoulderblades, trace them up to the nape of his neck and back down again. It's meant to be soothing, Shou knows from experience. He snaps his eyes shut.

Touichirou shifts slightly, and suddenly there's warm breath on the back of Shou's neck that leaves him gasping, raises goosebumps along his arms, his back, the top of his head. Touichirou notices, of course he notices, and he gets closer; Shou does not dare move, lest his restraint might slip.

"Relax," He hears his father say, voice dropped for effect. He's anything but, trying so hard not to lose himself, but his skin just won't stop prickling, his heart won't stop hammering. One hand leaves Shou's shoulders, runs itself through his hair, pressing their bodies ever closer all the while. He can feel cotton on the back of his neck, muscles shifting underneath as those gentle caresses refuse to cease, to give him a moment to collect himself.

Touichirou touches their faces together, cheek to cheek, and Shou shudders violently; there's the slightest bit of stubble catching on his skin, so soft in comparison, left untouched by the burden of age. Another strong arm leaves his shoulders, wraps around his chest instead and pulls him flush against the side of the tub, cold where the water hasn't reached yet.

"You know why we're doing this, right?"

Shou nods his head. "Yeah," He says, his voice so hoarse.

His father squeezes his arms, kisses his cheek, and Shou's bottom lip won't stop trembling, no matter how hard he sinks his teeth into it.

They remain like this long enough for the water to reach Shou's chest. Touichirou kisses his temple, reaches to turn off the tap. He withdraws the rest of his body, and another shudder wrecks the son's form and mind at the intrusive thought of wanting him back, wanting him closer, warmer.

He knows what's coming as he hears the belt being slid free, and Shou struggles to control his breathing. His vision is blurred by the steam, as for but a second he catches sight of his own reflection in the calm water; he doesn't recognize himself.

"Face to the left, Shou."

And Shou turns his body to the left, facing yet another tiled wall. He chances a look even further left, to see or oogle what he knows he'll find there – but he only catches sight of an arm and a leg before he has to accomodate his father inside the tub, finds himself wedged snugly inbetween strong thighs.

Touichirou draws his legs up higher, draws his son closer, who gasps as the first hand immediately goes for his thigh. They're all business, Shou remembers, even as there's another hand petting his hair, a mouth peppering his head with kisses.

He leans back to try and relax, making peace with the thought that he will not get out of this undefiled – but his father has done worse things to better people, so maybe, Shou thinks, he should be counting his blessings.

The other hand wanders from his hair to his yet untouched thigh, spreads them ever so slightly, and Shou bites back what he knows is a moan, what he hates so much about these moments. He tries not to think or feel, but there's something hard touching the small of his back, and all coherent processes come to a halt.

Touichirou keeps rubbing his legs, constant up and down movements slowly working their way higher up his body. Thumbs dig into the crease of his crotch and Shou bucks his hips, grips his father's knees out of pure desperation for something steady. He takes fast, shallow breaths, head resting on strong pecs, but the offending digits move past his erection and up his abdomen instead.

Water spills over the wall of the tub as Touichirou crosses his forearms across that slim chest, pulls Shou up and closer with a frightening force, and when he can finally inhale again, there's a cock sliding up the underside of his own, pressed inbetween his thighs.

They're motionless for a moment longer (Shou counts the strong heartbeats vibrating through his left shoulder), and he's lost in a fantasy of 'what if' that's too sensual to be real or healthy, forgetting for a moment the way they're already bond by blood.

When Touichirou moves next, it's with raw need, squeezing Shou's thighs between his own, digging long fingers into small clavicles.

Strong arms tighten, squeeze the ribcage so very tightly, and Shou suddenly realizes just how fragile bones can be – or windpipes, as one hand shoots up to his neck, wraps itself around it. He can still breathe, taking strained, shuddering breaths to fight back the rising panic, even as his head is pushed back against Touichirou's chest, even as father's fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze tighter, tighter.

Shou's own hands scramble aimlessly, searching for something else to hold onto that won't be too intimate; how much more intimate can they get, he wonders, feeling the head of Touichirou's cock brush past his own as he thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, legs pressed together so tightly it must be painful. Yet Shou grabs a fistful of hair as one hand reaches the back of his father's head, licks his lips when the palm on his throat trembles with restraint.

They move erratically, slippery skin on skin contact driving Shou mad, the friction on his cock too much to bear, light chest hair tickling the back of his neck, and he knows he's going to lose this battle and maybe his mind along with it.

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip again, tastes blood as the fragile skin breaks, and his muscles turn rigid as he comes with unheard noises and an explosion somewhere in the back of his head, so bright and blinding that he cannot stop the tears any longer.

Fingers grip his hair again, pulling him back then shoving him forward, and his young back creaks at the awkward angle, his mind not catching up with the situation until it's too late.

The water burns in Shou's eyes as he blinks, swallows a mouthful and tries to cough, tries to get his body out of this painful position, arms thrashing about as more water goes up his nose, and he tries to fight, tries to breathe still, but his lungs are on fire, his chest feels so hot -

The hand in his hair never loosens but drags him back up with a force, and Shou breaks through the surface with a deep, rattling breath, coughing and choking as he tries to get his lungs working again, that hand now petting his hair, keeping him close.

"Shh," He hears from a million miles away. "Daddy's got you. Be a man, Shou."

He tries to lean back into that familiar strong chest, tries to cherish those sweet words and regain his bearings, but as soon as their skin touches Touichirou gets up, drops of water rolling off his body and landing on the top of Shou's head. They drip down onto his face, onto his lashes and into his eyes where they burn like acid, and Touichirou dries himself off, lays out his rumpled clothes.

Shou watches the same tiled wall he's been staring at for too long, shoulders slumped and useless as nothing comes back into focus, his body and mind limp as the cooling water calms down again, its surface smooth and unmoving. He feels disgusting still sitting in it.

Long fingers clasp his shoulder and Shou moves his head reflexively, sees into his father's eyes (cold as ever), sees the disappointed curve of his mouth. They've never truly kissed, he suddenly realizes.

"Get out and dress yourself," Touichirou says.

Shou's eyes flicker down to his father's chest, hidden behind layers of formal fabric again, and he deliberately slips as he leaves the bathtub just to fist his wet hand into the expensive garment. The resulting slap sends him tumbling, but he regains his balance.

It's when those same hands suddenly wrap him in a damp towel that Shou decides to stop contemplating the juxtaposition of his father's actions; he will never understand it, and his head hurts so much.

Shou notices tiny bits of glass on the floor as he rights his posture, and it's only when his eyes finally don't burn anymore that he realizes the state of havoc the room is in. There's cracks in the floor tiles, towel hangers ripped out of the walls, fine glass shards stomped to dust underneath his father's shoes. It seems he caused an explosion after all.

Touichirou comes up behind him, takes him by the jaw and forces their eyes to connect in the bit of mirror that has been left unshattered. Shou stares at himself, mouth slightly agape, uncomprehending. His father runs his thumbs over those fragile jaw bones, a dangerous caress.

"You look so much like your mother," Touichirou says.

And then he's gone, out the door with an order to clean up the mess they've made, but all Shou hears is ringing as his knees buckle and give way, hitting the ground on all fours as his skull feels on fire and his teeth hurt, hands trembling and cold.

Shou vomits his guts out before he gets any cleaning done.