Work Text:
Mob has truly grown into a thing of beauty. Reigen used to deny that he enjoyed observing him on the job but now he has embraced it: there is nothing more satisfying than watching him work. An exorcism, particularly a rough one with a violent ghost that puts up a fight, brings out the best in Mob’s animal instincts. His eyes glow the colour of molten amber and his claws come out, gleaming like crescent moons as he swipes and shreds spirits into ribbons. He moves with a powerful punishing grace, a swollen river that crashes, merciless, bruising banks, swallowing ships.
Nowadays Reigen stands back, his hands in his pockets, and watches.
“That’s all of them, Shishou,” Mob says, his voice deep and rumbling. He straightens up, the powerful sinew in his body rippling. He’s almost twenty, long outgrown his plain gakuran. Now he comes to the office in jeans, worn tees, long-sleeved shirts that barely contain his body.
Reigen shifts his weight. “You’re sure?”
Mob looks about the old building, sniffing the air. His ears twitch, the end of his long tail flicks. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Reigen is almost disappointed. Oh well. There’s always tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. “Let’s head back to the office.”
Mob nods, stretching. “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll get some ramen,” Reigen says, looking away.
Mob tilts his head. “Is that my only payment, Shishou?”
Reigen raises an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “I think we can arrange something else, too.”
Mob will not admit it and never asks outright but he loves to be groomed after a job. Reigen has invested in a decent brush for this purpose, which he keeps in the desk drawer. The habit began a few years ago, when Reigen observed that Mob would awkwardly self-groom after an exorcism and offered to help. He doesn’t really know any other half-animal espers so he doesn’t know if this is a universal thing – but he supposes that Mob is part panther and cats are known for cleanliness.
Recently, however, there have been some changes. Back when Mob was a younger teen, he would fuss and fluff up when Reigen brushed behind his ears or at the end of his tail. It was endearing, almost comedic. Now Mob does not fuss or fluff. He sits very still, watching Reigen’s every move with those predator’s eyes.
They get back to the Spirits and Such office and Reigen opens the door, letting them in. Mob pads straight for the armchairs, shrugging off his zip hoodie. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt underneath, tight against his strong torso. Reigen removes his suit jacket and tosses it over his swivel chair, loosening his tie and top button as he pulls out the drawer and removes the brush. It’s a heavy-duty thing with a wooden handle and plenty of strong thick bristles, nothing like the cheap Daiso comb he uses on his own hair in the morning. He pushes the drawer shut again and crosses the office. Mob is draped over the chair, his chin resting on his folded arms, watching, waiting. His ears twitch as Reigen approaches.
“Hurry, up, Shishou,” he says. “We still have to eat dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Reigen grumbles, sitting on the coffee table. “Do I detect a hint of a threat there, Mob?”
Mob’s mouth quirks. “Maybe a little.”
Reigen knocks him on the head with the back of the brush. “Cheeky.”
Mob closes his eyes. “Are you going to brush me or are you just going to talk?"
Reigen exhales, knowing he doesn’t have much choice. He rolls up his sleeves and flips his tie over his shoulder, leaning in. The bristles sink into Mob’s silky black hair, offering little resistance as Reigen begins to slide the brush through. There’s a small knot here and there, which he gently works loose, and Mob barely moves but for the flicker of his tail. Reigen can feel it tapping against his skin, as regular as a heartbeat.
“Feel nice?” Reigen asks.
“Mmm,” Mob replies, the bass in his voice deep, growling.
Reigen swallows, tries not to let it get to him. Mob – Mob , of all people – really gets under his skin these days. He finds himself thinking about these grooming sessions long afterwards, the way Mob totally relaxes, completely trusting of him just as he’s always been; totally at odds with the sheer raw power of his body, which is so new, so alarming. He’s never really thought about it before, just how easily Mob could kill him. It was hard to take him seriously when he was barely more than a kitten. Now, when he looks at the sharp curved gleam of his claws, the flash of his teeth when he talks, it’s hard to forget.
He leans in, moves up to the base of Mob’s scalp, bringing the brush behind his sensitive ears. They’re rounded, nestled into the ebony-black of his hair, soft as velvet. He can hear the rustle of a takoyaki carton half a mile away. Reigen is very gentle with the bristles here, following the curve of his ears and the direction of his silken fur. They twitch once or twice under his touch.
“Sorry,” Reigen says. “Too rough?”
“No, it’s okay.” Mob stretches, his claws fully extending. He looks back at Reigen lazily. “You can keep going.”
Reigen’s fingers fumble on the brush for a moment before he composes himself. He coughs into his fist. “You’re getting way too pushy, Mob,” he grumbles.
“What are you going to do about it, Shishou?”
Reigen snorts. “You’d better be nice to me. I thought you said you were hungry.”
“I am.” Mob yawns, all sharp gleaming teeth.
Reigen rolls his eyes. He knows Mob is only teasing in that droll, deadpan way of his. Of course he would never hurt him.
But he could. If he wanted to.
The room is warm and quiet. Reigen is totally engrossed in his task and Mob is enjoying every second of it; after a while, Reigen realises that the room is not silent at all, punctuated by the deep warm rumble of Mob purring. It sounds like the engine of some deadly machine, oiled to perfection. He flexes his claws on the back of the chair as Reigen brushes his tail, working his way down to the end. It moves like a python beneath his grip, warm solid bone and strong muscle, wrapping around his wrist. Reigen gently untangles it, watching the end froth up like a bottlebrush.
“Sensitive here, too,” he observes, brushing the fur firmly back down.
“Mmm,” Mob agrees. That’s all he says.
Reigen, of course, doesn’t know what it’s like to have a tail – or any animal features, for that matter. Hybrids are uncommon, usually coupled with powers. Even so, Mob is like nothing he’s ever seen before, a rare cut of purest jet. He enjoys grooming him, getting to observe the power of him close-up, their shared moment of quiet after a job. It seems like the least he can do.
However, as always, it cannot last forever. He finishes up the very tip of Mob’s tail and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m done, Mob,” he says. “Do you feel better?”
“Yeah,” Mob says, stretching again, popping his long spine. “Let me do you now.”
“Yes, of c—” Reigen falters, stumbles. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I want to groom you now,” Mob repeats, sitting up. He stares Reigen down, his dark eyes piercing.
“Uh, but… well, Mob, that’s nice of you but I don’t… w-well, have any fur or—”
“You’ve got hair,” Mob says. He stands, his full height towering over Reigen, who slides himself backwards across the coffee table. “I want to, Shishou. Please let me.”
Mob backs Reigen onto the opposite chair and he really has nowhere else to go. Mob’s massive powerful frame totally boxes him in against the blue cushion and there’s no room at all for him to slither away. Talking his way out of it is his only hope.
“Mob, it’s not that I’m not… well, it’s kind of you but you really don’t have to return the favour, I mean, my hair doesn’t look that scruffy, does it? Nothing a splash of water and a comb can’t fix, anyw—"
“I just want to,” Mob interrupts calmly. “I do have different… instincts to you, after all.”
Reigen exhales, looking at the wall. “I suppose you do,” he relents. He feels a bit sulky. Nobody gets the better of Reigen Arataka.
Not everybody is a jacked panther-hybrid esper, with that said.
“Is that a yes?” Mob asks.
“Fine,” Reigen huffs. “But don’t get too carried away.”
He hands Mob the brush. Mob takes it, looks at it for a moment, then lets it drop to the floor. He leans down, so close that Reigen can feel his warmth, smell the musk of youth and sweat on his skin, and begins to groom him with his tongue. Reigen jolts, alarmed, disgusted – but stays his yelp of displeasure, not wanting to offend Mob. Besides, as he endures it, he realises that it’s not like another human literally just licking his hair. Mob’s tongue is rough and dry, exactly like a cat’s, taming his hair like a damp comb. He can hear him purring again as he grooms him, realises that Mob has never asked to do anything like this for him before, never wanted to be so close. For a hybrid, especially one as reserved as Mob, this is a very intimate gesture. Reigen would rather die than reject him and, well… he supposes it’s flattering. He knows Mob wouldn’t groom just anybody.
Mob moves his head downwards, gentle at Reigen’s temple, dipping to just beneath his ear. He’s on skin now, the grizzled sandpaper of his tongue lapping at the sensitive line just beneath Reigen’s jaw. He goes over a little cut from shaving, disturbing it, and Reigen sucks in a sharp breath. He knows it’s drawn blood, Mob lapping it up hungrily. He puts a hand to Mob’s broad strong chest, pushing weakly, but he’s immovable.
“Hey, Mob,” he hisses, “I think you’re done.”
Mob doesn’t reply, his tongue lathing boldly at Reigen’s neck, tasting his skin. It feels good and Reigen slips for a moment, tilting his head back to let him, exposing his throat beneath his unbuttoned collar. Mob takes the invitation, open-mouthed over his throat, razor canines grazing the bob of Reigen’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. The sharpness brings Reigen back to his senses, tempting as it is to just let Mob sink his teeth into him, and he smacks him hard on the shoulder.
“Oi, that’s enough,” he scolds; and Mob relents, pulling back. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Okay, Shishou,” he says, blinking once. His eyes are still on Reigen’s neck. Reigen takes his shirt collar in his fist and closes it, his heart beating hard.
Mob smiles but it’s like no smile Reigen has ever seen on his stoic face before. It’s… not exactly calculating but there’s something there, some forbidden knowledge now peeled, bitten into, juice running down his chin. Next time he won’t be so easy to push off.
“L-let’s get that ramen,” Reigen says, hurriedly buttoning his shirt collar, pulling up the knot of his tie. “Don’t know about you but I’m starving. Let me up.”
Mob does but he’s very slow about it, pulling back the cage of himself to let Reigen get away. Reigen moves quickly back to the desk to get his jacket, his face warm and flushed. He can feel his pulse jumping in his neck, his skin still tingling from the scrape of Mob’s predatory maw. He’s never been afraid of Mob before.
…He’s not afraid of Mob now . He’s almost dismayed to realise this as he pulls his jacket back on, shaking himself into the shape of it, straightening out the lapels. He feels something but it’s not fear.
Well. That’s something he was happier not knowing about himself.
He looks over his shoulder at Mob. This beautiful panther-hybrid is watching his every move, his chin resting on his arms. He doesn’t look like he’s in any hurry.
“Well?” Flustered, Reigen feels irritable with him. “I thought you were hungry? Get ready and let’s go.”
Mob slinks off the chair, stretching once more, filling the room with his presence, his aura. He obediently goes to fetch his hoodie, his footsteps soft and careful. “Yes, Shishou,” he says placidly.
The end of his tail flicks.