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Galaxy Brain

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Galaxy Brain


“What?” Reigen sighs, putting down the phone.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mob says blandly.

Reigen rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to. I can see you sulking from here.”

Mob bristles a little. “I’m not sulking.”

“What do you call that face, then?” Reigen says dismissively, opening his laptop.

“I don’t know,” Mob replies. “Shock, maybe.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of looking shocked, Mob.” Reigen glances at him over the laptop, lowering his glasses. “There’s a client coming in ten minutes. Will you make some tea?”

Mob obliges but literally does not move to do it, sitting with his arms folded on the couch across the office. He bangs the things around with his powers, watching Reigen the whole time. He’s doing a steadfast job of ignoring him. He doesn’t even bother to say things like ‘You’re too old to be throwing a tantrum about that’ anymore. Mob knows this is because he is too old for such things, really. He turned thirty a few months ago, the last of his twenties slipping through his fingers. He’s been working full-time with Reigen since graduating university and the business has gone from strength to strength over the last decade. They’ve been able to move into a nicer, roomier apartment with a bed big enough for both of them, although they haven’t moved offices. They could and Reigen idly suggests from time to time that they should but he never does anything about it. Mob is glad – this old place holds so many memories for him, after all. He likes coming here every day. It’s just the two of them now, Serizawa and Tome long gone, moved to other cities. Dimple still drops in – literally – from time to time but by and large it’s just them, exactly as it used to be all those years ago. Mob mostly likes it this way, too.

Today, however, he is annoyed. Reigen Arataka – his mentor, his business partner, his lover – is undeniably acting like a greedy jackass, an affliction that tragically tends to overcome him from time to time. On Thursdays they always make it a habit to close up earlier than normal, get dinner somewhere new and have the evening to themselves, maybe fooling around in the arcade or going for a walk. Inevitably they’ll end up unclothed in each other’s arms the moment they get home but it’s nice to put aside the time just for them. The success of the business has led to their schedule getting more and more full and sometimes they’re out half the night on jobs. Mob is a simple man at his core: he lives for “date night”.

Reigen, at almost forty-four years of age, flat-out refuses to call it “date night”. He enjoys it too, however, Mob knows he does. That’s why it’s sincerely, frustratingly, incredibly annoying that Reigen has just taken a job for seven-thirty this evening. Mob doesn’t even feel like explaining himself, really. Reigen should know better.

Mob gets up, shrugging off his suit jacket, and crosses to the desk. His powers are still idling with the tea, pouring leaves into the pot, bringing the water to the boil. At his age, his finesse is pretty precise, he can leave his powers running on autopilot, more or less, while he concentrates on something else. The something else in question is the current log book, which he takes from the stack on Reigen’s desk. Reigen, still typing, pauses long enough to pass him a pen.

“Stick that job in there for me, would you?” He puts the pen next to the book when Mob doesn’t take it. “Thanks, Mob.”

Mob is beginning to fume enough to feel his hair rising off his forehead. He stamps his temper back down and keeps his cool, opening the book, ignoring the pen. He tugs the knot of his tie loose as he flips through it, hunting for the week they’re on. The book extends weeks in advance, full of bookings, beggings for solutions to all manner of problems. Not much has changed: many are supernatural, of course, but many more are people with poor posture and paranoia. Ritsu, who has a respectable city job, often says that he doesn’t know how Mob still has the patience to be in this line of work. To Mob, however, it simply seems natural; exorcising spirits comes as easily as breathing to him, as does following Reigen. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s protected him, besides. Reigen needs him – that’s why he has him over a barrel. He knows perfectly well that Mob won’t refuse to come tonight, no matter how pissed off he is.

Mob finds the page he’s looking for. Reigen is very neat and meticulous about their work schedule, each week drawn out in a precise grid, every job noted down with the client name, place, time, course option, etc., with a space for notes underneath. Mob looks past today to tomorrow, feeling another spike of annoyance.

“We’re free tomorrow evening,” he says. “You’ve got a massage at 10am and we have a haunted barn at 2pm. That’s it.”

“Really?” Reigen glances over. “Ah, you’re right. I must have mixed it up with Saturday. You know our weekends are always busy.”

“Right,” Mob says, “but tomorrow isn’t.”

“It’s too late now, Mob. I said we’d take the job.”

“It’s not too late,” Mob argues. “Call the client back and say we’ll do it tomorrow.”

Reigen snorts, going back to his work. “Absolutely not. It’s unprofessional. It’ll look like I made a mistake.”

“You did make a mistake.”

“There’s no reason to make it an issue for the customer. He seemed very grateful that we’d be able to deal with it tonight. Don’t be so selfish.”

I’m being selfish?” Mob closes the book without writing the job in. “You’re being greedy.”

“We’ll have our quality time tomorrow night instead,” Reigen reasons. “Since we are, as you pointed out, free.”

“For now,” Mob says. “You’ll probably fill that up, too.”

“You want me to turn away people who need our help?” Reigen snorts. “You’re being ridiculous. I appreciate that you’re a lot more honest with your feelings nowadays, Mob, but this is a bit too far.”

“It’s not fair,” Mob says, a last resort, knowing he can’t win. Nobody out-argues Reigen Arataka.

“Mob, please.” Reigen massages his temples. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Mob huffs away and drops himself back onto the couch. The tea is done, brewing in the pot, and it smells sweet and soothing. It’s late afternoon and the office is kind of stuffy; the building is old, clammy in the summer, punishing in the winter. Mob has graduated from a gakuran to the same brand of cheap suit that Reigen wears and he confesses that they are not the most comfortable. His shirt feels kind of clingy, sticking to his back. Reigen hasn’t cracked yet, still fully-dressed. Mob is so peeved with him that he finds even this irritating, looking at the door instead. Their client will be here any minute – what should have been the last one of the day. Mob’s been looking forward to their evening together since this morning. He wanted to try that new Korean BBQ place and go on the UFO catcher. These days he isn’t above using his powers to get the prize he wants if he doesn’t have any luck the honest way – and Reigen certainly isn’t above encouraging him. Sometimes they’ll clean out the entire machine and give the prizes to the hopeful school students hanging around watching them. He begins to feel sulky again, knowing they won’t be doing any of that tonight. They’ll get back late, tired, and crash out to be ready to do it all over again in the morning. He laments the theft of their lazy lovely Thursday night together and can’t even bring himself to look at the thief, the orchestrator of the crime.

The bell over the door jingles, signalling the arrival of their client: a nervous-looking woman, middle-aged, carrying a hessian shopping bag. There’s definitely a spirit on her shoulder, unpleasant rather than malevolent, Mob can see it a mile off. He could exorcise it from where he’s sitting, spare them all the hassle, but he can’t be bothered. Let Reigen deal with it. He seems to want to work hard today, after all.

Reigen gets up and comes around the desk to greet their client. Mob watches him from the couch, barely bothering to sit up. He wishes that Reigen wasn’t so infuriatingly good-looking; the way customers kind of double-take and go all gooey when they see him really ticks Mob off, to be honest. Reigen has aged very well, better-looking than ever with his blonde hair going a sort of soft platinum and the kind of lines around his mouth and eyes that make him look measured and intelligent and the glasses he started wearing full-time at thirty-seven suit him stupidly well and maybe Mob is a little bit biased but he kind of can’t get over how incredible he looks. Just watching him now, leading the customer to the desk, offering her a seat, makes Mob glad he’s sitting down.

He’s so mad about tonight. Utterly inconsolable.

“Mob.” Reigen says his name, making him jump.

“Yeah?” He straightens up.

“Tea?” Reigen gestures to the customer. “For Hanada-san.”

“Sorry.” Mob gets up and goes to the counter, pouring out the tea. He divides it into three cups, putting two on a tray and bringing them to the desk.

“Thank you,” Reigen says graciously, taking them. “This is my business partner, Kageyama Shigeo. He may be assisting me later. I’ll begin with the consultation.”

Hanada nods, taking the tea. She smiles sweetly up at Mob, who feels bad. He looks towards Reigen, who makes a small, barely-perceptible signal at him. They have a sign-language, ways of communicating without speaking; Reigen is asking him if she’s haunted or not.

Mob decides here and now to fuck with him. He shakes his head, then exorcises the spirit on his way back to the couch. It’s so weak that he doesn’t even have to lift his hand.

Hanada inhales deeply, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Goodness, I feel better already,” she says.

“Of course,” Reigen agrees. “Our tea is the finest blend, imbued with spiritual properties to cleanse you from within.”

“Remarkable,” Hanada says, looking down at her cup. “I didn’t even drink any yet.”

Reigen nods sagely. “That’s how potent it is.”

Mob settles back onto the couch to watch. Reigen is a gifted bullshitter, naturally quick and very inventive, and honestly Mob sometimes enjoys watching him at work. He is, however, about to push him to his limit.

Reigen begins with his rehearsed spiel about the impact of negativity upon the body, how this contributes to the creation of impure spaces that malevolent forces can adhere themselves to. This is not entirely false, to be fair, but it is embellished, given his own spin. Mob has heard it so many times that he could recite backwards, zoning out. He starts to unravel his powers instead, feeling them out, getting control over the barest of tremors. He sends it over the floor, moving across the old carpet like a caterpillar carefully crawling along, goes behind the desk, up the stem of Reigen’s office chair. Reigen gives the smallest of pauses between words, almost like he notices something amiss, and Mob holds back, lets him settle again.

“So you see, Hanada-san,” he goes on earnestly, “the fact is that your suspicion that your neighbours have been gossiping about you is no doubt the root of this feeling.”

“Just paranoia?” Hanada says doubtfully. “It really does feel like someone is squeezing my shoulder – although, truth be told, since I sat down, the feeling is quite gone…”

“That’s the tea,” Reigen reiterates, though he’s starting to seem doubtful. He glances briefly at Mob, who stares right back at him without expression. Reigen coughs. “Well, anyway, what I’m saying is that the negative feeling has given this spirit the invitation needed to perch on your shoulder most unwelcomely.”

“I’m so glad you believe me,” Hanada says. “My husband says I’m crazy.”

“Not everyone has the gift of being able to communicate with the spirit world,” Reigen replies gravely. “Not everyone can believe in it. That’s why our line of work is so important.”

He goes on a bit longer, the same old shit about chanelling energies, about being full of psychic power, and Mob thinks yeah, you’re gonna be without even blinking. He lets his power slide over his lower half, sinking beneath the cheap fabric of his trousers, settling in the split-hair gap between suit and skin. It crackles like static electricity, Mob can feel the resistance, sees Reigen shift ever so slightly in his seat. He’s aware of it, perhaps only subconsciously, and Mob uses his powers like his hands, pulling over his flesh, oozing into the dips and creases of him. Reigen is still talking, his face unchanged, though Mob sees his fingers twitch ever so slightly as his powers find his entrance and begin to tease. Mob has done this with his powers plenty of times before, preparing him so he doesn’t have to take his hands off him, but this is a little different. He’s not trying to make room for himself – just kind of feeling, nagging. He feels Reigen tense up, straighten in his seat.

“Um… I’m sorry, I lost my train of thought,” Reigen says to Hanada, linking his hands together.

“You were talking about spiritual cleansing,” Hanada replies.

“Right, right,” Reigen says. He’s completely blank-faced but Mob sees the very corner of his mouth twitch. “Well, that’s something we cover in… in, um…”

“Course A,” Mob says helpfully from the couch.

“Exactly.” Reigen bangs his hand on the desk, startling Hanada. “Oh, my apologies, Hanada-san, I’m… hmm, a little jumpy today, nasty case last night, please forgive me…”

Mob tilts his head with interest. Reigen looks right at him, his brown eyes piercing through his glasses. “How are you feeling, Mob?” he asks. “Your powers in check?”

“They feel okay to me,” Mob replies.

“I see.” Reigen drums his fingers on the desk. “They’re not… ah, a little hard for you to control today?”

“They’re fine,” Mob repeats. “You’re just twitchy.”

“Fine, fine.” Reigen exhales, turning back to Hanada. Mob admires his will, he has to give him that: “twitchy” is a word, certainly, Reigen tense and trembling under the force of his powers. He’s stroking at his entrance quite firmly now, beginning to ease his way in, and all Reigen does is suck in a breath, lean back in his seat.

“I’ll talk you through all three options,” he says a little breathily. He opens the desk drawer and pulls out one of the leaflets that detail the offers and prices. He puts it on the desk with a bit too much force, his hand splaying over it, using his other elbow to prop himself up.

“Course A, Course A,” he mumbles to himself, maybe trying to keep himself on track. Hanada is beginning to look a little concerned, leaning across the desk.

“Reigen-san, are you alright?” she asks.

“Perfectly fine, never better.” Reigen heaves himself upright again, gives her a winning smile.

“Your face is a bit flushed,” she says.

“Yes, I think I might be coming down with something,” Reigen says, flapping his hand at her. “Let’s get this done first, send you on your way.” He tugs at his tie. “It’s hot in here, though, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it’s slightly warm,” Hanada agrees uneasily.

“I’ll open a window,” Mob says, getting up. He feels like he needs to move around; watching Reigen is starting to get to him.

“Good idea, Mob,” Reigen agrees, pulling his knot down, undoing his top button. “Could you also… uh, let’s see, check… check for spirits around here?” He gestures wildly around the desk. “Pretty sure I can… uh, sense something–”

“So exorcise it,” Mob says, though he does come over and feign inspecting the area. “There’s nothing here.”

“Is that so?” Reigen says, looking directly up at him. Mob is pretty sure he knows but he doesn’t blink. He’s got a pretty good poker face himself.

“I apologise,” Hanada says. “Perhaps it’s the spirit I brought in with me!”

“Perhaps,” Reigen says. He inhales through his nose and Mob sees him cross one leg over the other. “We’d… better exorcise it quickly.”

Mob doesn’t intend to torment him for much longer but he’s going to take him right to the brink first. He eases off, just enough to let him relax, regain his composure. He visibly sees Reigen’s shoulders slant downwards as he pushes the flyer towards Hanada.

“Now, as I was saying, Course A is the cheapest, quickest option but I think it’s the best course of action regarding your problem. A spiritual cleansing massage will ease all the negative energy out of your muscles, loosening the hold the spirit has on your body. Sometimes this is enough to dispel the spirit completely. If not, a quick exorcism will take care of the job.”

“Well, alright,” Hanada says, squinting at Reigen. “If you’re sure you’re feeling up to it.”

“Absolutely,” Reigen says. “Shall we go and get started?”

He begins to get up, possibly trying to shake off the residue of Mob’s powers, and Mob rallies for the last offensive. He pushes his power deep inside him and Reigen seizes up, his back arching, his mouth opening in a stifled gasp.

“Reigen-san, are you…?” Hanada gets up, too.

“F-fine,” Reigen hisses. “I-I’m fine…” He puts a hand to his spine. “I just… h-hurt my back, is all, got up t-too quickly…”

Mob is begrudgingly impressed. He leans back against the bookshelf, folding his arms, watches Reigen ease himself back into his seat. He’s breathing pretty hard through his nose, fighting to keep his face neutral. Mob can tell by the clench of his jaw that his teeth are gritted.

“On… on second thought, we’ll just… we’ll…” Reigen fumbles in the drawer again, takes out a diagram of the muscle structure of the human body. “Let me just… t-talk you through the massage…”

He’s stalling. Mob admires his resolve, how difficult it is to shatter him. He’ll usually go to pieces much quicker than this when they’re alone. It can’t be easy, Mob’s powers pulsing inside him, pushing against the shape of him, taking him to breaking point. Mob can feel the resistance of his body, that familiar tight heat that makes him crazy. His own skin is prickling, his nerve endings alight at every sound, every squirm. He wishes they were alone, that Reigen didn’t have to pretend, that he could push him down on the desk and have him all to himself.

Reigen gets a pen and starts to explain to Hanada the various muscle structures, the long Latin names, the link and purpose of each. His voice is wobbly, his breathing hard, and he can’t keep still for very long, shifting in his chair, jiggling one leg restlessly. Mob wants to press up behind him and mouth kisses up the back of his neck, feel him unravel in his arms.

“A-and this,” Reigen mumbles, pressing his palm to his forehead. He taps crazily on the diagram, pointing out the long triangular muscle at the shoulder blade. “This is… t-the, uh, the… shit, what’s it…?”

“Trapezius,” Mob supplies helpfully. Even he knows this stuff by now.

“Right, yes, yes, thank you, Mob,” Reigen says, gripping the pen tighter. He bows his head suddenly, taking in a sharp breath, and Mob wonders if he’s pushed him too far, if he’s about to come.

Hanada looks kind of alarmed.

“Reigen-san, you clearly aren’t well,” she says. “Are you in pain?”

Reigen doesn’t even reply to this. He simply makes a funny little high-pitched noise and quivers. Mob sees his fists clench, his knees press together, his feet come off the floor. He’s close as hell.

“M-Mob,” he hisses, not lifting his head, “can you… pl-please, can you just… Mob…!”

Mob stops. He lets the pressure inside him ease off, watches his body slump against the desk. He’s still teetering, no doubt – the damage is done – but the immediate danger has receded.

“Of course,” Mob says. He comes towards Hanada, who seems a bit overwhelmed by his size. He’s very tall, with a broad chest and wide shoulders, and he doesn’t want to intimidate her. He quickly moves behind her, placing a hand on her previously-exorcised shoulder. “Please relax, Hanada-san.”

Hanada cranes to see him. “What about the massage?”

“I don’t think Reigen is up to it,” Mob says. “He’s not very well, to be honest. I’ll just do it this way.”

He runs the faintest trickle of his power through her, just enough for her to feel the soft electric rush. She starts.

“Oh!” She touches her shoulder when Mob takes his hand away. “That feels much better!”

“The massage would have been best,” Mob replies, “but as you can see…”

“No, no, this has worked wonders,” Hanada says happily. She gets up. “Thank you, young man. Please tell me how much I owe you. Which course was it?”

“Course A,” Reigen mumbles from the desk. He’s still getting his breath.

“I can take care of that for you,” Mob says. He usually leaves the money up to Reigen but he decides to give him a breather. He needs to get this woman out of here as quickly as possible.

He settles up with her and sends her on her way. She thanks him profusely on her way out – it seems like she’s forgotten Reigen even exists. That’s fine by Mob, who absolutely hasn’t. He closes the door behind her and locks it.

“I-I’m going to kill you,” Reigen growls from the desk.

Mob turns towards him. He’s still slumped across the desk but he’s lifted his head enough for Mob to see the murderous glare on his gorgeous flushed face.

Mob’s own expression doesn’t even twitch. “Are you?”

Reigen manages to heave himself upright in his seat. “How could you make me l-look so… unprofessional?”

“She didn’t notice,” Mob says. “You have an impressive poker face.” He pauses. “Shishou.”

Reigen’s fists clench on the arms of the chair. “D-don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“C-call me that.”

“Why not?” Mob approaches the desk. “It makes you embarrassed?”

“You’re m-much too old to be calling me that!” Reigen snaps. “Stay there! Don’t come any closer.”

Mob stops. He summons his powers and uses them to shove the desk aside, clearing the path between he and Reigen. Reigen shrinks in his seat like he’s been stripped naked.

“Mob!” he says crossly. “Enough of this!”

“Yeah,” Mob replies. “I agree.”

He wraps his powers around the chair and pulls it across the floor towards him, slamming his hands down on the arms when it reaches him. He towers over Reigen, who nonetheless is not intimidated. He simply glares up at him, his face flushed and sulky, the lines at his mouth pronounced as he pouts. Mob wants to devour him, dragging his eyes down his body. His suit hangs kind of baggy on him, suffocating his shape, but there’s no hiding the bulge below his belt, straining against the zip. Mob’s a little overstimulated down there himself so he knows Reigen can’t be very comfortable.

“You’re lucky I have some restraint,” Reigen says, knowing he’s looking.

“More like you’re lucky,” Mob replies, meeting his eyes again.

“No, I do mean you,” Reigen corrects. “You’re the one who would have been going home to get me clean clothes.” He smirks. “Hoping I’d have to call the client to cancel after all? You’ll have to do better than that, Mob.”

Mob frowns. “I wasn’t even thinking of that.”

“Huh. Just being a horny brat, then?” Reigen rolls his eyes. “Figures.”

“Shut up,” says Mob, who suddenly feels quite annoyed and embarrassed. It’s not fair that Reigen has somehow managed to turn the tables on him.

“Make me,” Reigen replies. He props his cheek on his fist. “We’re alone now. Going to finish what you started?”

Mob gives a growl low in his throat, a possessive rumble of his deep voice, and leans forward to capture his mouth. He kisses him hard, putting his hands in his soft silvery hair, gripping his scalp. Reigen is receptive to him now, standing when Mob pulls on him, letting him crush him close. Mob breaks the kiss and drags his mouth over his jaw and down his throat, his powers pulling loose his pink tie, popping his buttons one by one. He can feel Reigen’s hardness against his thigh, grinding for the faintest of friction. He’s hard himself, his own suit slacks hot and uncomfortable. Reigen’s hand goes down his body, slips between his legs, palms his bulge. Mob gasps against his throat, his knees getting weak.

“Thought so,” Reigen whispers close to his ear. His hand is firm, cupping, pressing, and Mob squirms against his expert fingers, breathless. He’s going to lose control of this situation if he doesn’t act fast.

He undoes Reigen’s suit jacket and pushes it off his shoulders, lets it drop. Reigen has to take his hand away to completely shrug it off and Mob seizes his wrists, stopping him from groping him again. His cock is twitching crazily and seeing the hardness beneath Reigen’s belt isn’t helping. He uses his powers to take his tie off totally and undo his buttons to his buckle, leaning in again to trail his seeking mouth down his chest, chasing over his pale skin. Reigen has put on a little weight as he’s got older, his waist thicker, his belly softer. Mob worships him, taking one nipple at a time into his mouth, teasing them to hardness with his teeth, nipping down the centre of him as he sinks to his knees, over his plush flesh to push his tongue into his navel, to kiss gently at the downy hair pointing straight downwards, beneath the bulging lock of his belt buckle. He pauses to look up at him. The redness has come back to his face, his glasses slipping on his nose. He bites his bottom lip, pushes them back up, and Mob is so hungry for him he could die. He barely has to nudge his powers to undo his belt, slip his button through, pull down his zip. He can smell the musky scent of arousal, recognises the blue-and-white striped boxers as his own. A jolt goes through him, beginning at his brain and ending at his cock. He releases Reigen’s wrists, takes his hips, mouths wetly over the swelling. He can taste him through the cotton, the salty tang familiar. His own prick throbs in his pants, neglected.

“F-fuck…” He feels Reigen’s hand on his head, his fingers twisting in his hair. It hurts but he kind of likes it. He grazes his teeth over his hardness, lathes his tongue along him, sucking until the thin cotton is soaked. Reigen bucks into his mouth, his legs shaking, and Mob can feel him sinking, trying to sit down. He stops him, his hands slipping under his ass, holding him up.

“Mob…” Reigen groans. “I-I can’t… I’m gonna…”

“Tch.” Mob withdraws, wipes his mouth. “Now who’s got no restraint, old man?”

Reigen tugs at his hair. “Horny brat,” he mumbles again, breathing hard.

“Yeah.” Mob rises once more to his full height, towering over him. Reigen is forced to let him go, his hand dropping, and Mob lowers his grasp to his thighs and lifts him easily, bodily. Reigen puts his arms around his neck as he carries him one-two-three strides to the nearest wall. The desk is here too, exactly where it ended after being shoved aside, things askew all over the surface. Mob pushes Reigen’s back between in the space between it and the massage room door, hitching him up, holding him under the curve of his ass. Their damp bulges tease and rub and Reigen clings tight around his neck, quivering.

“Arataka,” Mob whispers in his ear, completely deadpan. “I’m going to fuck you.”

Reigen nods, his hair damp and sticky against Mob’s neck. “Fine,” he mumbles. “H… hurry up about it.”

Mob allows himself a rare smile. “Yes, Shishou.”

Reigen gives a ragged groan, squeezes Mob’s hips with his thighs. The friction between them is unbearable anjd Mob shuts his eyes for a second, the pleasure sizzling through him. He waits for it to pass, sucking in air through his nose. Reigen is going to undo him before he has a chance to get inside him at this rate. The smug know-it-all is right: he has to hurry it up.

They don’t have any lube in the office, Reigen refuses, but there’s plenty of massage oil in pretty much every drawer and cupboard. Mob rummages with his powers, enjoying a long kiss with teeth and tongue as he does so. Reigen can be pretty lazy when it comes to sex, he lets Mob do most of the work, but he’s a great kisser, brilliant with his mouth. He leaves Mob breathless, always has. Mob is a little dazed when they part, nuzzling into his slick neck, breathing in the sharp scent of his cologne. The smell of it takes him back, makes him feel safe.

“You okay?” Reigen whispers. His fingers rub soft little circles on the back of Mob’s neck.

“Yes,” Mob moans against his jaw. He gives one long hard push of his hips, grinding their bulges together, enjoying the tantalising tingle and Reigen’s hiss. Then he loosens his grip and lets him down, Reigen’s legs trembling as they take his weight. Mob puts out a hand and lets the jar of oil his powers unearthed smack into his palm like a baseball.

“I’m using this,” he says, watching Reigen’s dark eyes go between the oil and him, his face, his chest, the swelling at his crotch.

“Fine,” he says faintly. “But first, let me…”

He reaches out, presses his large hands to Mob’s chest, his palms warm and cupping against the cotton of his shirt. Mob takes in a breath and holds it, his heart thumping as Reigen trails patterns over him, moves up to his throat, carefully unknots his black tie and pulls it loose from his collar. Then his deft fingers slip his buttons through, one-by-one, with much more deliberate care than can be done with psychic powers. Reigen is, after all, so very good with his hands. He parts his shirt, tugging it loose from his belt, and presses his hands to him again, pushing up over Mob’s broad bare chest. Mob sucks in a breath and holds it, his flesh going to goosebumps beneath his tender touch. Reigen traces the shape of his abdominal muscles, refined after years of training, trails upwards with his nails to his pectorals, admires them with his usual appreciation. He uses his thumbs like he’s giving a massage, moves them in firm circles over the taut curves of him, his brow creased in concentration. Mob barely dares to breathe, his cock throbbing madly in his suit slacks. He’s so turned on, his hair starting to rise at the roots, his powers tingling under his skin, that he has to really concentrate to keep himself grounded. He focuses on the feel of Reigen’s fingers, the pop and crush of pressure over his heaving skin, closing his eyes as those amazing hands spread over his collarbone, his neck, his shoulders, curling over the curves of them, peeling his shirt all the way off. Mob shrugs, shakes, lets it drop to the ground; exhales sharply through his nose as Reigen strokes firmly over the strong muscles in his arms, enjoys the feel of them as Mob flexes reflexively, suddenly feeling shy.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” Reigen sighs, squeezing his upper arms, groping them greedily. “My big handsome boy.”

“Stop,” Mob mumbles, his face getting hot.

“Heh, am I embarrassing you?” Reigen says. One of his hands drops, palms between his legs once more, firm and full of friction. “Bit too late for that, Mob.”

Mob shudders under his touch, rutting into it, but Reigen lets him for only a moment before taking his hand away.

“Don’t get distracted,” he chides. He taps his nails on the jar, slack in Mob’s grip. “You’ve got a job to do, remember? Big talk, after all.”

“S-sorry,” Mob gasps, getting a hold of himself. He nearly came there and then, truth be told.

“You’re the same as ever,” Reigen teases. He leans up to kiss him at the corner of his mouth. “Focus.”

Mob nods crazily, turning his head to capture his mouth. Reigen allows him, kisses back, and Mob loses himself in it, wrapping an arm around his slender shoulders. He feels Reigen’s hands skate downwards over his chest and belly to his belt, expertly undo it, no fumbling, no fuss. He doesn’t need powers for this kind of thing, he has poise that Mob will never possess no matter how much he grows. He undoes his button and his zip, slips his hand inside for a moment.

“No, no,” Mob begs, panting against Reigen’s hair. “Pl-please, I’ll… I-I’m…!”

“Sshh, it’s okay.” Reigen takes the hint, takes his hand back. “That wouldn’t be much good – not when you promised to fuck me.”

Mob gives a strangled whine, feeling Reigen take the jar from his hand. He actually pushes him away, utterly overstimulated.

“Wait,” he pants, bowing his head. “Just… please g-give me a moment.”

“Take as long as you need,” Reigen says, popping the lid on the jar. He inspects the innards. “This is old.”

“Is it… no good?” Mob asks. He has to look away when he sees Reigen dip two fingers in and slick his thumb over them. The blood is pulsing in his cock, maddening.

“Should be fine,” Reigen replies. Mob envies his composure even when so aroused himself. He’s much better at holding himself together. No wonder it took him so long to crack in front of Hanada.

“You want me to do it?” he asks softly. “Mob?”

“D-do what?”

Reigen rolls his eyes behind his glasses, holds up the jar. “What do you think?”

Mob gives a low strangled whine. He can’t speak. He simply gives a frantic nod, his face blazing. He doesn’t know why he feels so embarrassed, he’s been screwing Reigen for over a decade, but somehow today just seems kind of… tantalising and new and over-exposed. He feels like he’s seventeen again, fumbling nervously around Reigen, the mere thought of him making him aroused in awkward places, his powers flaring at the subtlest brush of their hands. At forty-four, Reigen still makes him feel this way, giddy and gooey inside. This isn’t like Tsubomi, pure and precious and pubescent. He’s never loved anyone the way he came to love Reigen Arataka.

Reigen reaches out with his oily fingers, draws a faint line down Mob’s belly to the elastic of his boxers. Mob sucks in when he hooks inside and stretches it out, holding his breath. Reigen holds it for a few seconds before letting it snap back against his skin.

“Ouch!” Mob complains even though it only stings a little.

“Heh.” Reigen puts both thumbs inside his waistband and rolls it down. “Just checking you’re awake.”

Mob is trembling as he takes down his underwear, pushing both these and his slacks down to his knees. Now he is totally exposed, the cold air of the office hitting his hot throbbing cock. It sends a shudder down his spine – the coolness, the sound Reigen makes when he sees it.

“It’s… nothing you haven’t seen before,” Mob mutters, his face burning. Their eyes meet for a moment and Reigen’s are so wide and hungry that Mob can’t hold his gaze.

“I know,” Reigen agrees, adjusting his glasses, “but… forgive me for staring. It’s just… you got so big here, too.”

Mob looks up at the ceiling, feeling like a dissected frog. He wants to call Reigen a pervy old man but he hasn’t got the heart to – not when he’s just as voracious. He stares fixedly at a damp spot just above them, a yellowish stain in the plaster, and thinks it looks a bit like Dimple. It’s a good distraction, he can see Reigen oiling up his fingers in his peripheral, and he almost doesn’t want him to touch him. He’s certain he’ll come the moment he does.

“Mob, you’re all tense,” Reigen says softly. “Relax.”

“Sorry,” Mob murmurs yet again.

“Come here.”

Reigen puts a hand to his waist, guides him to the left. Mob stumbles the few paces he wants from him, resting his ass against the edge of the desk. It takes a little of the weight off his shaky legs; he puts his hands on the edge and grips hard as Reigen finishes slicking his hands with oil. He does this with the same casual motion as when he’s about to give a massage. Mob doesn’t know if this makes him feel better or worse.

“Ready?” Reigen leans in against him, their chests sticking, presses his teeth to the lobe of his ear, just hard enough to make him quiver.

“Y-yeah,” Mob pants. He puts a hand on the small of Reigen’s back, holding him against him, as the older man pulls his oiled hand down his body once more, enjoying his firm muscles, dipping into his navel, teasing into his soft arrow of hair before finally, finally closing his fingers around his cock. Mob groans, his spine curving, his hair standing on end. It feels so good and Reigen knows just what he likes. He holds him tightly, just hard enough that it feels amazing without being painful, and he moves slowly and gently, slicking him up from root to tip. Mob rocks his hips with the motion, his legs shaky, his belly warm and bubbling, never letting him get too far away, chasing the feel of his hand.

“Don’t get too carried away,” Reigen chides, his voice playful. He loosens his grip, swirls his thumb over the very tip, and Mob grips his shirt hard, twisting it, trembling.

“I-I… please, I’m…!” He mouths over Reigen’s hair, barely able to think straight. He’s right at the edge, he can’t hold on much longer.

“Hmm.” Reigen takes him in hand again. “I’m an old geezer, Mob – I haven’t got much stamina. What about you? Got it in you to come twice?”

Mob can’t answer him, can’t even think too hard about what he’s asking. Reigen squeezes him.

“Mob.”

“Sh-Shishou,” Mob coughs out, the old name coming to him without thought, “please, please…!”

“Fine,” Reigen sighs. Mob feels the vibration of his laugh against his neck. “But I’ll hold you to it. You promised me, after all.”

Mob’s only reply is to put both strong arms around him, crushing him close, He clings to him tightly as he feels him up the pace, his hand hot and tight and slippery around his cock; and then he feels his other hand, also oiled, cup his balls, roll them in his palm, gentle maddening pressure, before slithering past, pushing at his perineum, teasing at his entrance, moving in little circles at the muscle like he does when he’s going to fuck him into oblivion—

Mob comes so hard that his vision goes white for a moment, the pleasure wracking his whole body like a tidal wave. The desk shudders underneath him, the walls tremor, the lights flicker. He holds Reigen tightly to him, clinging to him like a life-raft until it passes – but even when it does, his senses coming back to him, sinking like sediment, panting hard against Reigen’s neck, his powers are awake. He can feel his hair completely on end, waving like seaweed in a strong current, and his skin tingling with the electric heat of it. This doesn’t happen often during sex, usually he can keep better control of them, but right now he hasn’t got the energy or the willpower to reign them in. Luckily Reigen is used to his nonsense by now and isn’t remotely phased. He loosens himself from Mob’s grip, leaning back to look at his hand. It’s covered in white, dripping from his fingers. He sucks them clean, lathing his tongue over them one by one. Mob is exhausted but he feels his cock twitch again as he watches him.

“Pass me a tissue, Mob,” Reigen says casually. “And watch those powers of yours. I don’t want to pay for a broken window.”

Mob reaches out and grabs the box of tissues from the desk manually, pulling one out. He hands it to Reigen, who wipes the excess off his palm, rubs away the oil. He balls it up and tosses it into the bin.

“Alright,” he says briskly. “Your turn.” He lowers his glasses to look at Mob’s half-limp cock over them. “If you’re up to it.”

“I-I will be,” Mob pants. He can’t help but feel that this has all backfired on him, that Reigen has – as usual – gotten the best of him. Still, he’s not exactly complaining. It’s not everyday that Reigen will allow him to fuck him in his precious office.

Mob pushes himself up from the desk. He towers over Reigen, who is looking far too smug for his liking; reaching to his face, he takes his glasses by the bridge and carefully removes them.

“Be gentle with those,” Reigen scolds, but his voice is teasing.

“I will,” Mob replies, taking care to fold them and put them safely aside. “But I can’t promise to do the same with you.” 

“Oi, you can’t be rough with me, either,” Reigen says. “I’m old, I bruise easily.”

“You’re forty-four,’ Mob replies bluntly. “You can take it.”

He puts his hands on Reigen’s waist, presses his fingers into his soft skin, grips what are beginning to grow into love-handles. Mob doesn’t mind this, he’s always found Reigen kind of hard to hang on to, there’s very little of him in comparison. Reigen stands on the bathroom scale some mornings and whines and Mob loves to come up behind him and grab him, grope him, try to talk him into going running with him if he’s that hung up on it. Given that he opts to lie in bed and stare at him while Mob is getting ready to go out for a run, he guesses it’s not that much of a problem to him. He’s certainly not complaining now, arching his back into his touch. Mob sucks kisses over his throat, his collarbone, his shoulders, his shirt slipping off. He uses teeth, leaves marks – none high enough that they’ll be seen above his collar, Reigen would string him up, but he’ll know they’re there, safe beneath his suit. He listens to the noises he makes, the gravelly groans of his name, and they go straight to his cock, reviving it. He loves the sound of his voice so much, even when he’s spouting a bunch of bullshit to customers. He could come to his voice alone, perhaps, if pushed.

Reigen wraps his arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to his ear once more. “Mob,” he whispers raggedly, “h-haven’t you… kept me hanging long enough…?”

“Yeah,” Mob huffs in agreement, squeezing him extra-hard. “Yeah, I-I have.”

He takes up the jar from the desk with his powers, leaves it floating next to him as he screws off the lid, scoops out a perfect orb of amber-coloured oil.

“I’m using them,” he says. He assumes Reigen realises he means his powers, which are still going haywire.

“Hm.” Reigen runs a hand through his swaying hair. “I gathered.”

Mob kisses him. He never tires of this, of the taste of him, the feel of his tongue; that Reigen never seems bothered by his powers, is never afraid of him. Mob tugs on his underwear – his underwear, in fact – and slips them down, taking his suit trousers with them. He unlaces his shoes, lifts him up under his thighs, lets everything drop so he’s wearing only his socks and his shirt, hanging open and off his shoulders. They’re still kissing as Mob pushes him against the wall once more and they’re back where they began. He lets his powers seep over him, feels the muscles in his legs flex and tighten, every nerve ending in both their bodies alight. He’s pressed up close to him, feels his erection hot and hard against his belly. He’s fully-aroused again himself, his slick cock trembling against the curve of Reigen’s ass, waiting. He brings the globe of oil to him, drips it over his thighs as it slips beneath, pushes it up against his entrance. He gets much less resistance than before, Reigen ready for him, starving for him. Mob opens him easily, oozing the oil deep inside him, stretching him as much as he can. Reigen clings hard around his neck, panting, gasping, and Mob toys with him, fucks him with his powers just a little, expanding them and then easing off, not too much but enough to make him crazy. He feels his short blunt nails, neatly cut and taken care of, dig into his shoulder blades, claw up his spine.

“Mob,” he moans, “Mob…!”

Now he is the one coming undone quickly. Mob crushes his powers, feels him sag in his arms, his chest bucking against his own. Mob shifts slightly, his prick slipping against his primed entrance.

“Ready?” he asks.

Reigen doesn’t answer, his forehead pressed wetly to Mob’s shoulder. Mob shakes him a little, nips at his ear just as he did earlier.

“Arataka,” he rumbles.

“I-I’m alive,” Reigen sighs. “J-just do it, Mob, pl-please…!”

He rarely hears that pleading voice from Reigen, who is very good at getting what he wants. How can he deny him a moment longer? He pushes inside him, sliding easily right to the hilt, well-oiled. He fills him completely and the familiar hot aching tightness of him makes him see stars, sizzling at the back of his brain. Reigen moans something like a garbled attempt at his name, somewhere between Mob and Shigeo, as he scrabbles and clings at him. He feels so incredible, his inner muscles contracting around him, holding him so much tighter than his hand. Mob grips him hard under the meat of his thighs, begins to thrust into him, draws his hips back, snaps forward again. He’s done with restraint, with teasing, easing. He just wants to fuck him until he’s breathless, until he can’t see or hear or taste anything, until their bones break and their skin bruises and oozes away and they can melt into one. His powers envelop them both, bubbling in the blood, and Reigen’s hair is on end too, flickering like a white-hot flame. Mob forgets himself, bites hard on his neck and sucks, leaves a mark where everyone can see. Reigen will kill him later but he doesn’t care. He wants everybody to know that he belongs only to him.

Reigen is little more than a tangle of bones and soft slippery skin in his arms. He doesn’t resist him at all, letting Mob plunge deep into the dense heat of him, as far as he possibly can. He feels so incredible and he’s so giving, he lets Mob take what he needs from him. He’s lazy but he’s not selfish – the opposite, in fact, putting Mob’s desires before his own. Mob wants him to feel good, too. He’s been hanging for a while, after all. He concentrates his powers, wraps them around Reigen’s neglected weeping prick, makes them prickle and constrict. He hears him give a low gasping moan, rising up from deep within him, and he arches his neck, his head lolling back against the wall. His dark eyes are wide, on the verge of rolling back, and Mob wonders if he’s about to pass out. He jostles him a little, presses open-mouthed kisses up his neck.

“Arataka,” he rasps against his skin.

“Mmm,” is Reigen’s intelligent reply. He tightens his hold around Mob’s neck, wraps his legs around his hips. He’s shaking like he’s freezing to death even though his skin is blazing hot. Mob holds him closer, tighter, knows he’s about to break. He feels him rock forward again, bury his sweaty face in the crook of his jaw, his teeth grazing the sharp line of bone.

“M-Mob,” he gasps, “I-I can’t…!”

Mob squeezes him once more with his powers, debates stopping him – but no, he’s had his fun, he can’t be that cruel. He relinquishes and Reigen comes against his stomach, squirming crazily, moaning his name right in his ear. Mob feels the warm splatter against his quivering skin, the ooze of it downwards, pooling into his navel. It makes his cock throb all the harder even as he pounds into him, not pausing for breath. Reigen’s legs loosen and slip but Mob keeps hold of his thighs, doesn’t let him fall. He’s like a limp rag, damp and panting, barely conscious.

“D-don’t give out… o-on me yet,” Mob growls, slamming into him with renewed vigour. He’s getting so close himself, his belly knotted with a hot tingling excitement, his cock pulsing, his balls tight.

“A-Ara… t-taka…”

“Mmm.” Reigen rests his head on his heaving shoulder. “Y-you can… call me ‘Shishou’… if you want.”

There’s still a certain trace of smugness in his breathless voice that would heartily annoy Mob had his words not gone straight to his dick. He can’t deny there’s a certain delicious sordidness in using that old name. At times like this, Arataka – too loving, too intimate – just will not do.

“Shishou,” he whispers in his ear, feeling him shiver. “Shishou, shishou, shishou…!”

It’s too much. He bucks his hips once, twice, and comes inside Reigen. It’s more intense than before, his knees giving out so that he has to brace them both against the wall, riding out the shockwaves of his power that pulse through him and then Reigen in turn. The windows rattle and the ceiling shakes, plaster dust coming down on them; the light sizzles, the desk clatters, the teacups shatter. Mob hangs onto him like an anchor, the pleasure coursing through him, gasping shishou over and over until his mouth is dry, his tongue aches. When he comes back to his senses at long last, everything is hot and wet, he can feel it inside Reigen, and he hasn’t got the strength to stand up a moment longer. He lets Reigen slide down the wall, comes with him to his knees, heaves for breath against him for a moment. Reigen lets his arms drop from around his neck, leaning his head back. He looks completely wrung out, the bruises coming up on his pale skin like marks on soft fruit.

“Y-you’re heavy,” he complains, pushing Mob away.

“Sorry,” Mob whispers. He puts a shaky hand against the wall and pushes off, easing his soft prick out of Reigen’s body. He collapses backwards, sprawls on his back, staring at the ceiling. The stain is still there and his belly is cold, slick with oil and sweat and ejaculate. He wonders how long it will take for Reigen to come back to his senses and begin scolding him for making a mess and reckless use of his powers and blah blah blah. He closes his eyes. He’s pretty good at ignoring him these days, honestly – case in point.

The phone rings. After the battering the desk has taken today, Mob is amazed it’s still connected. It’s piercing and he wills whoever it is to take the hint and ring off; he doesn’t expect Reigen to somehow get himself up and answer it, the manicured veneer in his voice perfectly intact.

“Good afternoon, Spirits and Such. Reigen Arataka, Number One Psychic of the Twenty-First Century, speaking. How may I assist you?”

Mob turns his head to look at him. He’s amazed and impressed at his incredible composure not five minutes after being fucked into jelly. He sees him lean against the desk, still in just his open shirt and slipping socks, his professional phone manner a stark contrast to his dishevelled appearance. He’s sweaty and bruised and his platinum hair is wild and there’s come dripping down the insides of his thighs. Mob watches him reach for his glasses and put them back on one-handed, rake his hair back off his face, and thinks he looks incredible. He’d fuck him all over again right now if only he had the energy.

“That’s no problem at all. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Reigen hangs up and nudges Mob with his foot. “Oi, get up. That job you were so mad about has been moved up.”

“Wh-what?” Mob lifts his head. “To when?”

“ASAP.” Reigen fishes his underwear off the floor and pulls them back on. “Ideally I’d like to shower first but it will have to wait.”

Mob props himself up in alarm. “We… we can’t go out on a job looking like this!”

“We’ll have to make do. I’ve got wipes and a comb somewhere. This sounds like the real deal, Mob. Poltergeist is my guess – sounds like a nasty one. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

Hearing this makes Mob stir. “O-okay.” He sits up, begins scrambling for his wrinkled clothes. He can’t put himself back together as quickly as Reigen can, feeling flustered. He drums his fingers on his knees as he waits for the wipes.

“You should feel glad about this,” Reigen says, tossing them to him.

“Why?” Mob asks, catching the pack with his powers. His hands are still shaky as he takes one and hurriedly begins to clean himself off.

“The job being moved up means we’ll be done on time,” Reigen says. He’s combing his hair in the black mirror of his laptop screen, pausing to meet Mob’s eyes. He smirks. “Looks like our weekly ritual will be unaffected after all.”

Mob looks down, scrubbing at his skin. He feels excited and embarrassed all at once, knowing Reigen is teasing.

“Date night,” he says stubbornly.

“If you must call it that.”

“You think you can go again so soon?” Mob asks. “Surely you want an early night after that, Shishou.”

Reigen smiles maddeningly at him, propping his cheek on knuckles. “Why don’t you try me, Mob?” he replies.