
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7644481.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      モブサイコ100_|_Mob_Psycho_100
  Relationship:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo/Reigen_Arataka
  Character:
      Kageyama_"Mob"_Shigeo, Reigen_Arataka
  Additional Tags:
      Watersports, what_a_great_way_to_start_off_some_tags_right, public
      bathroom_sex, Underage_Drinking, Anal_Sex, reigens_secret_technique
      carrying_lube_in_his_work_clothes, Omorashi
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-01 Words: 4681
****** Pipeworks ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     A celebratory round for a job well done.
Notes
     i hope you all realize how very not seriously i take writing porn and
     also before anyone says anything i want to say that if you think that
     reigen hangs out at places that are anything other than super ultra
     mega sleazy you are sorely mistaken
     ALSO, SHOUTOUT TO MY BETA READER, GABI! THANKS A BUNCH!
See the end of the work for more notes
At an age when most middle school boys were studying, lifting skirts, or
playing video games, Mob was... here, doing this. More specifically, he was
sitting next to his drunk twenty-something-year-old mentor in a dimly lit ramen
house not too far from Talk About Spirits Agency, an inebriated arm draped
around his shoulders and the smell of booze singeing his nostrils. The other
inhabitants of the restaurant were very, very loud--a given for a Saturday
night, which is why he tends to refuse these kinds of offers--but Reigen, as
always, threw together a convincing argument.
“A celebratory dinner, Mob! We were fantastic tonight. You’re really--really
improving.” Reigen raises his foamy beer with an eager jerk of his hand,
splattering its froth all over the table. “Really.”
Mob checks his watch; it’s 6:34, which means they’ve only been here for twenty
minutes and Reigen is already plastered. They’d ordered their food right
before, so now it was just a matter of biding the time while they wait. “Thank
you, Master.”
“No, no--Mob,” Reigen readjusts his hands so they clamp onto either of Mob’s
shoulders, twisting him around awkwardly in the booth. “I mean it. In fact, I
think this calls for a--what do you call it? Celebratory drink. For you. And
me.”
“Isn’t this a celebratory dinner?”
“And drink. Think of it as a double celebration. We’re that good, Mob. You need
a little confidence boost.”
His breath smells like beer and--and there’s something about it that makes Mob
very curious. He’s never been enticed by alcohol before, but since it’s Reigen-
-and he likes Reigen--he figures it’s alright.
“Okay.”
“There ya go, Mob. I’ll just,” he awkwardly scoots out of the seat, nearly
falling over as he exits the booth. He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence,
and Mob watches as he stumbles to the bar to order some more rounds. He
absentmindedly twirls some napkins in the air while he waits.
In a matter of minutes his mentor returns, holding two icy glasses of alcohol
and wearing a facial expression that conveys a message of slight discomfort.
Foam bubbles over the top and oozes down the sides of his fingers, and Mob
automatically reaches out for assistance, channeling his powers to take hold of
the glasses. Reigen makes a startled noise as they effortlessly float out of
his hands and down onto recently-summoned coasters. It takes him a few seconds
to piece together what just happened.
“Oh! Mob. Don’t use your powers so suddenly like that, you could really scare
somebody.”
“Sorry, Master.”
“It’s okay. As a great man once said...with great power comes great
responsibility.”
Mob has no idea what Reigen is talking about, so he just responds with, “Okay.”
Now they’re back together in their two-person booth, Reigen leaning on Mob as
he gesticulates with his new drink, a deluge falling onto the poor table in
front of them while he chatters away. Mob stares at the amber liquid placed
strategically an arm’s length away from his mentor, wary of the other patrons’
gazes. He wants to, but it’s...beer? Uh.
Reigen senses his hesitancy, somehow. “Ah, Mob...sorry for that, I got a little
ahead of myself. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, I can take
it.”
Mob shifts his head to blink at him. “It’s really okay. I don’t think Master
could handle another drink, anyhow.”
Despite the poorly hidden indignation on his face, Reigen quietly sips at his
beer for a moment, thinking. Mob turns to his own drink and cradles it in his
palm, the wet and cold side (never a good combination, in his opinion) of the
glass sticking to his skin. He slowly lifts it to his lips, and-- eugh.
The face he made must have been more exaggerated than he thought, because
Reigen sprays booze all over the table as he falls into a fit of hysterics. He
coughs roughly before turning to Mob, dyspneic and pounding on his chest hard
enough to rattle their glasses. “You--you should’ve seen it! Are you sure you
don’t--gack--you sure you don’t want me to take it?”
Mob feels his chest inflate a little at the insinuation that he’s too young to
take a beer, however true that may be and however awful it may taste. He’s...
he wants to. He wants to show Reigen he can do this.
“No, I’m sure.” Reigen apparently doesn’t pick up the slight pique in his tone
because he just returns back to his glass with a good-natured hum.
“Whatever you say, Mob.”
There’s a silence. Not an awkward one, merely one of those times where the
conversation lulls. Reigen looks content, intoxicating himself while staring
into space and drumming his fingers on the table in an irregular rhythm. Mob
never knows what to say in these situations--has never been good at it--so he
lets his mind wander. People in the booth next to them are having a
relationship argument, a waiter just bustled past with a platter of drinks
clanking together, and Mob just realized his feet are a couple inches off the
ground so he can swing them a little, which makes him feel better. He takes
another sip of his beer and finds it no more tolerable than before, but he
refrains from grimacing this time around. The taste is really...bitter. He
doesn’t like it at all, but maybe if he just...
“Mob, what’re you--is that sugar?”
Three packets of sugar float above Mob’s drink, each slowly opening to let its
contents slither their way into his beer. The rills converge a few inches above
the top of his glass and then drop, a straightforward point right into the
alcohol. The instant the sugar touches it it starts to crackle and fizz,
quickly overflowing and streaming down to the table.
“Oh, no...” Mob takes the napkins from earlier to clean up the spillage while
Reigen slaps the table and laughs. He can feel his face heating up as he picks
up his still-wet beer with benapkined hands and takes a tentative drink to
avoid commenting on his recent stunt. It’s sweeter, that’s for sure. A little
more tasty. He can drink this.
“Ah... with time, Mob, you’ll come to appreciate beer’s subtle twangs,” Reigen
says. His arm is once again looped around Mob’s shoulder with a comforting
heaviness that he can relate to being under multiple blankets at once, except
this was more touchy-feely and more warm in a body-heat type of way.
After a bit in this silence their food arrives, two bowls of ramen carried on a
platter by a rather attractive waitress with a rather ugly smile. Mob thanks
her, then starts to blow on his noodles. Reigen begins to eat. The quiet
interim continues, interrupted occasionally by slurping noises from the older
male. Mob finds peace in this as he, too, starts to dig in.
He forces himself to take gulps of his beer between every few bites of ramen to
rid of it sooner, but he comes to realize that it isn't as bad as he initially
thought. Still terrible, just not as bad. It makes him more confident that he
can finish the drink, and he smiles.
Reigen, in the corner of his eye, has just finished his second beer and looks
like he's about to pass out from how red his face is. That might also be from
the heat of his food-- Mob isn't sure. It's getting a little harder to think
clearly. Heatstroke? Maybe you can get heatstroke indoors; it’s pretty hot in
here.
Soon, Mob reaches the bottom of his glass, placing it back down on the table
with a thud. Reigen slaps his back congenially, laughing a little louder than
necessary. "Well, I'll be damned, Mob! I'm impressed! Lemme order another
round, I'll go--I'll be right back. "
Before Mob can voice his objections, Reigen clumsily exits the booth and once
again traverses the table-strewn room toward the bar. Mob feels kinda--what's
the word? Ritsu would probably know it, it’s like...
Oh. Ritsu.
If Ritsu ever finds out about this he'll never let Mob within a twenty-foot
radius of Reigen again, which wouldn't be good. So as much as he doesn't like
lying to his brother, he's going to have to come up with something to tell him
about tonight. The job ran late because the spirit was tough? No, Ritsu
wouldn’t believe it. Will he still be drunk by the time he gets home? He isn’t
really sure how alcohol works. Maybe Reigen has an idea...?
Mob is snapped out of his thoughts by a dip in the seat next to him and a warm
and sweaty hand placed on his shoulder. Another beer is placed in front of him,
hissing and fizzing like the one before it. Mob wastes no time reaching toward
the little packet holder on the side of the table and grabbing several sugars,
tearing them open with the grace of an amputated grasshopper. He tilts their
contents into his beverage, watching the liquid hizzle and spit as the granules
dissolve. Reigen also watches curiously as he drinks more from his own.
The rest of the night is a blur. More drinks are ordered, Mob can remember
laughing a lot more than usual, which is a little frightening but...it feels
very liberating. He starts to use his powers to do silly tricks with his and
Reigen's drinks. He folds a napkin into an origami something, unties Reigen's
shoes and then reties them much more ineffectively. Reigen tells him a lot of
stories and Mob doesn’t really have anything to compare them to but he laughs
along anyway. It hits him, eventually, that he's havingfun.
---
Much later in the night, his glances at the time long forgotten, Mob realizes
that his bladder is incessantly urging for release. He pushes Reigen's shoulder
and leans in to say, "Master, I. I have to use the restroom."
Reigen takes a moment to calm down from a laughing fit before wiping away a
tear and saying, “Gotcha,” to affirm that he heard the boy, then scooches out
of the seat to let Mob through. Mob subsequently follows, and he’s thrown for a
loop as he attempts to stand up. The world seems to tilt on its axis, wobbly in
a way he’s very much not used to--even with his psychic endeavors--and it’s not
until Reigen is steadying him with uncoordinated arms that he registers that he
nearly stumbled over. Reigen leans in close with an unusually serious face,
expression juxtaposed to his previous one of drunken ease.
"Shit, Mob, are you okay?" His breath is warm and it smells like beer. Mob nods
in response. "Okay, we're--shit. Let's get you to the bathroom."
And so they hobble along the tables, nobody batting an eye at the intoxicated
middle-schooler. Had he a sober mind, Mob would mentally take note to talk to
his master about the places he hangs out in his free-time, but it’s compromised
enough as it is with the mundane task of making it to the toilet before his
bladder blows.Taking footsteps is a battle that he never thought he’d have to
fight, but at least Reigen is a little steadier. He finds himself leaning into
his touch and trusting that his feet were cooperating correctly enough to get
him where he needs to go.
Soon enough Reigen shoulders the restroom door open and Mob is greeted with the
tell-tale stench of public toilets and industrial air freshener. Reigen comes
to a stop, leaning Mob against the sink. He bends down to try and look him in
the eye. “Do you...do you want help into the stall? I can help you. If you
want. I don’t mind, Mob, I mean, if you--if you need the help of good ol’
Master Reigen, I’m here...” He drunkenly prattles on, and it takes a couple
seconds for Mob to actually register the question that’s being asked of him.
“Oh...well, well, I ‘unno, I think I can-” here he cuts off to make an effort
to stand upright, which naturally fails as his sense of balance struggles for a
grip on reality. He reaches his hand back to catch the rim of the sink counter,
face flushing more than it probably was before from embarrassment. “Um.”
Reigen chuckles a bit louder than necessary. “Okay, Mob, hold on to me, I’ll
getcha there.” And he does. It’s three steps away from where they started, and
Reigen successfully closes the latch behind them with Mob tucked away under his
left arm. “Alright, we did it. Congrats. Do you want me to watch while you do
your business or--or, actually, that’s kind of gross. You do you, Mob, I’ll
just be...here.”
Taking a piss has never been as challenging as it is at this very moment. Mob’s
leaning his back against Reigen’s so he doesn’t fall into either of the stall
walls, and the rise and fall of his master’s diaphragm is making it even more
difficult to unhook his fly. He fumbles with the button for a bit,
unintentionally letting out a whine for his poor, overflowing bladder. He
doesn’t catch Reigen’s flinch behind him at the noise, too focused on letting
his wang loose from the constricting prison of his pants. He gives up when he
can feel his thumbs begin to ache from pressing so hard.
“Master, can--can you--can you help me with this, I’m sorry, I can’t get my
pants undone and I--” His rambling is abruptly stopped after a firm hand spins
him around (making his bladder jerk violently, reminding him once again how
badly he needs to pee), a finger being placed to his lips to shush him.
“Don’t worry Mob, I’ve got this completely--completely--covered. Get ready for
my secret technique,” --a hand is shoved into his suit pocket, quickly
resurfacing with a miniature pair of scissors-- “Crotch-Releasing Shear Snip!”
And then his fly button clatters to the floor, making the only noise in the
room as it rolls into one of the adjacent stalls.
There’s silence--no one else in the bathroom, just the two of them breathing
the other’s air with red-tinted faces. Mob’s pants fall down and--oh, he has an
erection. Mob purposely avoids looking Reigen in the eye because they’re close.
He likes being this close and he’s not sure how he feels about it. There’s
probably something against this in society’s standards because he’s never been
one to understand them, really, but he knows one thing, and that’s the fact
that he really wants to lean, touch their lips together, and stick his tongue
in Reigen’s mouth.
And so he does.
Reigen immediately stiffens beneath his lips, seemingly undecided on what to
do, but he must be so drunk he doesn’t care anymore because he slowly leans in
and reciprocates the tongue-touch. The sensation makes a shock go through Mob’s
spine, giddy and energetic, and he can hear the toilet paper rolls spinning
rapidly in their holders. He breaks away with a gasp, grabbing Reigen’s lapels
to pull him in again but accidentally stumbling over his pants and falling
backwards onto the toilet seat. Reigen falls on him with the amount of grace
one can expect from a drunk man, then steadies himself to hover above Mob while
standing. They’re both panting, and Mob can feel his bladder shrieking, but
suddenly that seems like a much less important issue now.
“Mob, ‘re you-- you sure? We can do this, but we don’t have to, I mean you’re a
kid and all, those wedding vows are only gonna be true once, you don’t want to
make a mistake now,” Reigen says breathlessly, smoothing his hands on Mob’s
gakuran shirt and trying (but failing) to avoid looking at the erection
blatantly showing through his briefs.
“‘M sure. Master, let’s--let’s, please. Please,” he begs.
That’s apparently all Reigen needed to go back in, connecting their mouths once
more with the dominance of an experienced man and the fumbling hands of someone
holding back a lot of restraint. Mob’s not sure how he feels about that. He
kisses back, their spit mixing and forming drooly cords every time he comes
back up for air. He rolls his eyes downward, sees Reigen’s own boner disrupting
the cloth of his business pants, and squeezes them shut tight, trying to ignore
the feeling it ignites in his chest. He hears a clattering noise and he and
Reigen break apart, both startled by the sudden undoing of the older male’s
pants and the wispy glow surrounding them, which means...
Oh, it was Mob that did that.
Reigen grins at him unabashedly, coming back in for more mouth-to-mouth action.
He’s still gentle, but he becomes much more bold with his hands. They rub his
back, they rub his thighs. Mob’s dick tingles from the sensation and he moans
into his master’s mouth.
“Fffuuuuck, Mob,” Reigen pants between sessions, hands finally settling in the
crooks of his pelvis. His thumbs massage the tender skin just beneath his
underwear and, god, if Mob didn’t have to piss before he really has to piss
now. In fact, he--
“M-master, I really hhh...have to go,” he moans, breaking apart again to squirm
in the toilet seat-- which is really starting to hurt his ass, actually. Before
he can do anything else his bladder finally gives in, soaking his briefs and
leaking all over the plastic beneath him. He lets out a breathless sob,
embarrassed in more ways he knew he could be. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I
forgot, I was just...”
He squeezes his eyes shut, feels his chest heave with anxiety and brings his
arms to cover his face. There’s a crepitation that fills the room and Reigen is
saying something--something that’s getting more and more urgent with each
repetition--but Mob can’t hear him because of the wind in his ears and the
tremors shaking and cracking the porcelain tiles below their feet and the
slamming of things in the background.
And then he feels hands back at his hips, slowly pulling the damp briefs down
to hang around his ankles. Mob stops, tears caught in his eyes and something
stuck in the back his throat. He slowly brings his arms down to peek at Reigen,
who’s giving him a shaky grin “You’re really emotional when you’re drunk, Mob.”
And Mob can’t help it--he laughs. A feeling from deep in his gut comes bubbling
out of his mouth in the form of giggles and he’s so...so drunk right now if you
had asked him earlier how he’d be spending his night he’d probably had said
something like “Ghosts,” because that’s what they did earlier, but now they’re
here and Mob can’t help the thoughts racing at a hundred miles per hour as he
smiles up at his master and his master smiles back. He’s so happy. He wraps his
hands around Reigen’s neck and clumsily pulls him in for more tongue, ignoring
the wetness of his thighs and the reek of urine on him as the older male
returns his hands to their previous positions. Which reminds Mob that his dick
is out in the open. Which startles him with the fact he doesn’t really care,
because he’s making out with Reigen Arataka in a bathroom stall and Reigen is
just as needy as he is right now, and Mob breaks apart from their kisses every
now and again to giggle loudly at the thought.
And then Mob decides to be bold and lets his hands saunter down to Reigen’s
boxers. Reigen freezes for a second at the touch, then grins against him and
continues. Mob hazily interprets it as a green light, yanks his trousers down
and grabs hold. Reigen instantly lets out a groan, and the vibration of his
mouth on Mob’s makes his own dick jerk. His drunk hands are all but elephantine
as he starts to aimlessly jerk his master off (his experience as a teenage boy
finally paying off), precum sticky on his fingers as he brings them up to his
mouth for cleaning. Reigen’s eyes linger on his mouth. Mob smiles, barely
manages to curl his fingers around the side of Reigen’s head with all the
alcohol pounding through his skull, and pulls him in for another sloppy kiss,
letting their drool spill out and cover his shirt as he pulls apart again and
focuses on the task at hand; there’s only so much a drunken fourteen-year-old
can do at once, after all.
“Fuck, Mob, fuck, hold on, fuck,” Reigen says, placing his large hand over the
smaller one on his penis. “Let me, let me get something.”
He, after a moment, fishes out a small bottle of something from the inside
pocket of his business jacket, which he then shrugs off onto the floor. Some of
the substance inside is gooped out into the palm of his hand, which he then
uses to coat his index finger before crouching down on his knees to get level
with Mob’s crotch. “Gotta be blunt here, Mob. I’m--I’m going to stick this up
your ass and it’s going to hurt a little. A part of life. It’ll feel good
though, promise. That okay?”
At this point there wasn’t much of an option, and his dick is quivering and
he’s dug his hands into the fabric of Reigen’s shirt so he nods his head yes
and shuts his eyes. Something cold and slick prods his entrance and Mob lets
out a little whine as it pushes in, uncomfortable at the way the intrusion
feels inside him, and he hardly registers the noise of something in the other
stalls clattering around paroxysmally. “Master...”
“Shhh, Mob. Relax, okay? It’ll make this easier.” His voice is breathy and
abnormally eager and Mob nods in anticipation, willing himself to calm down.
The noises stop. The finger slowly creeps in and out, allowing Mob to become
accustomed to the size of it. Another finger is added, and then another, and it
starts feeling good. Fantastic, even. Mob starts moaning at the sensation; he
wants more.
Reigen is either a telepath or really good at reading Mob’s carnal desires,
because soon he has his dick coated and he gently flips Mob over, positioning
him so he’s up on his feet and bent over the toilet bowl. His vision is
swimming, and luckily Reigen is holding him up at the hips because he’s feeling
so woozy he’d probably collapse right then and there. Reigen leans down to
breathe into his ear, “You ready, Mob?”
Mob nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. His face is so hot, he really
wants to reach his hand down and touch himself because he’s so hard, and Reigen
pushes in and it’s awkward at first but then--then he hits something and it’s
like a whole new world has been opened up right inside him and he grips the
filthy toilet seat and moans, Reigen’s name and disjointed words that probably
don’t mean anything strung together because he can barely think straight and
now he’s getting drool all over the seat. Reigen is pushing up his gakuran and
kissing his back and--and--there’s a cacophony of noise coming from around the
stall but he can barely hear it over his own noises and Reigen’s rough gasps
and suddenly--suddenly there’s a hand on his dick, large and needy and tender
and he really can’t help it, it feels so good, he’s going to--
A large BANG discharges right from behind them the moment Mob orgasms and,
suddenly, they’re being rained on, droplets of water sprinkling their bodies as
Reigen slows to a stop. He comes immediately after, groaning as he digs his
nails into Mob’s thighs. They both remain in their previous positions, gasping
for air and barely perceiving the new dampness on their sweaty bodies, until
Reigen pulls out and a trail of semen follows.
“Oh, oh my god, Mob. Mob, that was--” Reigen doesn’t finish his sentence but
instead turns Mob’s head to messily kiss him on the mouth, getting saliva all
over his face in the best way possible. “I’ll--I’m gonna let go your hips now,
okay?”
Mob can barely understand but he nods anyway, feebly hanging onto the toilet
bowl for support as he tries to take note of his surroundings. He’s getting
drenched, but the roof isn’t broken so he’s very confused on that aspect and
doesn’t feel like thinking about it anymore. It smells like piss, and his soggy
underwear is clinging to his ankles. It’s starting to make him itchy. A cluster
of muffled shouting voices can be heard, probably trying to get into the
bathroom--maybe the door is blocked by something? He can hear the rustle of
Reigen’s clothes as he shimmies them back on and he takes a second to wonder if
he should get dressed, too. Mmm, yeah. Yeah, he should.
Standing up straight takes a monumental amount of effort and he has has to lean
against the stall wall and close his eyes as his vision swims. He swallows,
building up the strength to bend down and get his wet and smelly clothes when
Reigen taps his arm and leads him back to sit on the toilet. Mob doesn’t want
to meet his eyes, but he lets a silly smile take over his face as Reigen slides
his damp pants up his legs and hips, briefs obviously deemed too unsalvageable
to wear back home.
Home.
It hits him like a sack of bricks, and he awkwardly fumbles for his phone to
check the time. 9:42, right there in bold digital numbers. Oh no.
“M-mmaster, it’s so, late and I think Ritsu’s gonna be mad and, and my parents,
I, Master, I’m-” A deep kiss cuts him off and he closes his eyes, wrapping his
arms around Reigen’s neck and burying his face into the crook of his shoulder.
“I’ll just-I’ll say we had some minor inconveniences and we had to stay up in
Kamyou to finish the job tomorrow...” he pauses, a look of serious
contemplation on his face. “It...it’s Saturday, right?”
Mob grins into his shoulder and lets out an honest, genuine laugh, enjoying the
way the fabric of Reigen’s jacket feels against his cheek. He squeezes tighter,
and Reigen wraps his arms back, then carefully picks off Mob’s iron grip on
him. “I don’t--I don’t think you’re gonna be able to walk, Mob, you’re--” a
sharp snort, “--you’re so drunk. I’m not gonna let you walk. Come on.” He turns
around and kneels on the floor, arms spread out to the side in the universal
sign of a Piggyback Ride Offer and Mob takes it. It’s dizzying as he lifts up
off the floor, and when Reigen strides forward to open the stall he feels--oh.
Huh.
The bathroom is a mess. The entire entourage of sinks has been ripped from the
wall and flung across the room (thus the recent showers; the pipes are still
hurling water from their stationary positions), but the one drawing his eyes is
stuck right in front of the door--the source of the shouts he heard before.
Tiles are cracked everywhere, some of the stall doors are hanging precariously
on their hinges (probably from being slammed open and shut repeatedly). The
mirrors are shattered and a myriad of glass covers the floor. Huh. He can’t
process the fact that he did this, but Reigen apparently can. Had Mob not been
on his back he probably would have doubled over from laughing.
Finally catching his breath, he twists his head around to say, “Holy shit, Mob!
I’m not paying for this. Can you bust a open new wall so we can get out of
here?”
And Mob drunkenly complies.
End Notes
     HI HI HI HI HI THE MOB ANIME IS OUT HOW EXCITING IS THAT!!!!!!!!!!
     what better way to kick it off than watersport-ridden public bathroom
     sex amirite
     some notes:
     1. kamyou is a completely made up town
     2. "Reigen pulls out and a landslide of semen follows" is a line i
     actually wrote at one point
     3. totally ripped off the beginning from T.C. Boyle's Water Music
     4. ONCE AGAIN I'D LIKE TO THANK GABI FOR GIVING ME FEEDBACK ON THIS
     FIC IT MEANT A LOT TO ME!!
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