Chapter Text
It was a cold December afternoon, the icy wind rattling the windows, one of the few sounds in the house. Every footstep or movement echoed through the hallways and rooms. Megumi was afraid to make a noise, even though he knew no one was home.
Since his mother's death a few years ago, the atmosphere had always been tense during that last month of the year. Living with his father was strange. During the dark, silent nights, when he was out at work, Megumi thought that without his mother, he was just a burden and an obligation to Toji. He knew he was the product of teenage hormones, born during an unstable time in his parents' lives. After his birth, that instability only worsened. Although his dad rarely mentioned his grandparents, he knew he wasn't accepted. Not because of who he was, but because of who his father was.
Winter break. He hated winter break. He hated being away from his friends. He missed Nobara and Yuuji, even though in person they seemed to make his life miserable. Discreetly, as if someone were listening to his wishes, he thought he also wanted to experience spending the Christmas holidays with his family, to experience those family arguments, the large portions of food, the gifts...
And then he would stop thinking, his mind blank and an emptiness taking over his body. He had to stop and not think about it; it was useless and painful. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as the darkness swallowed every memory and longing.
He hugged himself, perhaps trying to comfort himself. He ran his fingers along his arms until he reached his shoulders, caressing the cold, soft skin until he reached his face. He imagined himself looking in a mirror, paying attention to his features, to those green eyes that Toji told him were just like his mother's. How he whispered in his ear how beautiful he was for being so similar to her, that it was a blessing.
His blessing. His blessing kept him sane even as the pain of his wounds and grief mingled with the bitterness of alcohol.
His breath caught for a moment, his hands sliding down his chest, noticing those small lumps of fat he longed to be rid of. They were a reminder of how uncomfortable and disgusting he felt in his own skin. He slipped his trembling hands beneath his shirt, caressing until he reached his breasts. He squeezed gently, his fingertips touching his nipples, hardened by the cold, just as he remembered his father doing once while he slept. He remembered his warm touch, the texture of his hands, calloused from the hard work he was forced to do to support them, the care he took not to wake him. He handled him with such love.
He paid no attention to the tears streaming down his cheeks, a result of the profound loneliness that was slowly consuming him. He turned toward his bed, lying down with his knees drawn up to his chest, trying to conserve heat. It was difficult to find memories that could comfort him, even when someone appeared in his thoughts.
Megumi knew it wasn't normal to have these thoughts and feelings toward her father, but what if they were mutual? What if they were the only thing that pulled him out of his deep sadness and loneliness? They had their disagreements over differing opinions, especially when he came home tired from work and sat on the sofa watching television while drinking.
He hated that some nights he would call him to sit beside him, knowing that Megumi didn't like any of his programs, or perhaps he didn't care. Megumi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure whether to stay or leave, risking that he would soon call him over for another beer. His body tensed, alert, knowing how unstable his father could be.
Around midnight, he would always pat his thighs and stare at him for a few seconds, as if trying to burn his face into his memory. Then he would look away and say in a tired voice, "Go to sleep, brat, you have school tomorrow." Megumi would just sigh and get up to go upstairs. Those were their occasional interactions.
Other nights, while he slept, a figure would stand beside the bed in the darkness, watching his sleeping body with a mixture of fondness and caution. Or he would sit on the bed and extend his arm until his fingers touched his black hair, smirking as he admired his genetics in the texture of his hair, stroking strand by strand.
And in a very deep place in his memory, he vaguely recalled the feeling of rough hands beneath his pajamas, caressing his arms, his back, gently tracing the shape of his muscles, his breasts and slowly moving down to his legs. As if admiring something divine, a treasure.
The gust of wind against his bedroom window jolted him from his reverie, and he pinched himself for dwelling on such thoughts. He tried to forget, to deceive himself into thinking it had only been a dream, that it had never happened, that it was a figment of his sick imagination.
He felt so tired; he thought he could sleep for two days straight without waking, or perhaps even longer. He relaxed against his sheets, closing his eyes and letting sleep carry away all those impure thoughts.
Before drifting off, he wished he could be beside him, holding him close.
During his deep sleep, he didn't hear the sound of keys outside the front door, the lock turning, and the door slamming shut. Toji sighed and put his hands to his face, visibly tired. He dropped the keys on the coffee table, sat down on the sofa, and leaned his head back until his gaze settled on the ceiling, his eyes half-closed.
Hearing only the rattling of the windows in the wind, he realized Megumi wasn't awake. He got up to look in the refrigerator for something to drink. This time he wanted something stronger than just a beer. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering where he'd left that bottle of whiskey.
After finding it, he decided not to pour himself a glass, simply returning to the sofa and turning on the television, bottle in hand.
His gaze fell on the youngest son of the current program, wondering why they were showing such a show at a time when few people would watch it. He studied his features, catching a glimpse of Megumi and his green eyes.
He groaned and turned off the television, a headache throbbing. He had to stop. He rubbed his temples, but finally got up and headed upstairs, stopping in front of his son's half-open bedroom door.
Guilt. That's what he felt as he opened the door, careful not to squeak it, and stood before the bed, his breath catching as he admired Megumi's sleeping figure in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
He lay down beside him, inhaling his sweet, distinctive scent that revived memories of when his wife was pregnant with him, that swollen belly and that wide smile that, despite being aware of the difficult times to come, remained. Those warm lips against his, the promises of things getting better, that laugh as she said that their future daughter or son was a blessing.
Blessing.
When he came back to reality, he realized he was touching something soft. His hand was on his son's belly, making small circles with his thumb. He paused for a moment, but continued after noticing that Megumi was sleeping peacefully.
He closed his eyes and let himself go. He felt a pang of pain in his chest; so many years had passed, and he still couldn't forget her. He drew their bodies closer and buried his face in his neck, listening to his heartbeat.
He can still picture those lonely nights, coming home from work and finding her already asleep. He would lie down beside her, listening to her slow breathing as he lovingly caressed her body.
He slipped his hands beneath her nightgown, eager to touch her skin. He traced a path first to her chest, then over her belly, which was beginning to show signs of pregnancy, pausing at her breasts, massaging them and imagining how they would swell with breastfeeding.
Playfully, he then moved down to touch the elastic of her underwear, and making sure not to wake her, he caressed her labia gently, stimulating her with gentle movements as he kissed her neck.
Megumi let out a soft moan, which he tried to stifle by biting his lower lip. Sleepily, he tried to understand what was happening, but was surprised by a wave of pleasure coursing through his lower body. His breath caught in short gasps.
He felt the wetness between his legs, the rough fingers between his labia, tempting him to hump against them. He restrained himself, trying to maintain the illusion that he was still asleep. Megumi didn't want Toji to stop, not when the coldness from his body was finally leaving.
No one had ever touched him like that. He vaguely remembered how, while kissing a boy, the boy had tried to slip his hand under his pants, but he had stopped him, unsure that if he would go any further, they would realize that his body didn't belong to a man biologically.
But with his daddy, he couldn't care less; he had known his body since he was born. He remembered how Toji had frowned when Megumi confessed that he didn't identify as a girl, that he wanted to live differently, that he didn't want to grow up as a woman. He hadn't understood at the time, but he sighed and shrugged indifferently. "It's your life, do what you want." He didn't bring it up again; he just accepted it.
"My baby girl."
His body froze at that whisper, but he gasped as soon as he felt a familiar pressure on his clitoris. He shifted his legs slightly, giving better access to those experienced fingers.
"My blessing."
He whimpered slightly, his mind blurry, unsure what to focus on. Toji stopped rubbing, and before Megumi could say anything, he felt a finger slip inside him easily. "Dad-"
He shushed him and introduced another finger, now making scissoring movements, as if he didn't hear him. Megumi tried to stifle his moans. He was so sensitive.
His eyes widened as he felt a spark of pleasure the moment his dad touched a sweet spot inside him. He squirmed, but Toji's grip was stronger. His toes curled.
When he touched himself, he didn't know where or how to do it; it was embarrassing, as if he wasn't used to his own body. He couldn't grasp that he could feel so much pleasure, especially when something told him they were just getting started.
Was this really the first time this had happened?