Chapter Text
Love was assumed. For it was supposed to be the foundation of a home. But neglect was the truth: abandonment for days, months on end, and a child longing for the warmth of a father.
“Nana, when is tou-san coming home?”
“He’ll be here Ferid-sama. He promised didn’t he? —To be home to teach you the art of the sword personally. But it depends. If Ferid-sama will behave and be a good boy and eat his food, sleep early and perform really well in school, tou-san will be home earlier than expected!”
And even when Ferid grew up to a man of 19, he still asks the same thing from his Nana, “Nana, when will tou-san come home?”
—
“Ferid-nii!” Little Shinoa rushes to Ferid and tackles him. Ferid stumbles back as he carries the weight of his little niece.
“Ara.. Shinoa! What brings you here?”
“We came to see Uncle Saitou! Father heard he was home..”
A shudder; a creak of fingers curled to clenched fist. Ferid didn’t know Saitou has come home. He never knows when he does. Fluttering his lashes, and narrowing his eyes, he runs a hand through Shinoa’s thick hair and smiles that smile of his that was both pretentious and bright. Shinoa smiles warmly at him. The child had always adored him; they adored him. But somehow it was always not enough to fill the hole in his chest—the hole that he made.
“You came alone?”
“I came with Mika-kun and Yuu-san! They are with Father, I came rushing here when I saw you.”
Ferid blinks and blushes a bit. He adored his nephews very much and the thought of them always gives him a warm feeling in his heart. He adored Shinoa too. She is after all his only niece.
“Coming here just to meet tou-san, how cute~ you could have just sent your greetings.”
“But we wanted to see you! Yuu-san and Mika-kun wanted Uncle to teach them the sword because they wanted to be a great swordsman like Ferid-nii.”
Ferid couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Cute~”
“Ferid-nii! Ferid nii! I heard you won the annual sword championship again. Yuu-san and Mika-kun were very pleased. Ferid-nii has been winning this thing since 16 right?”
“Oh Shinoa dear~ yes.. but that is because the competitors are always so weak. That’s why tou-san never comes come to see me fight. It bores him.”
“But we always come to see Ferid-nii: me, Yuu-san and Mika-kun! Your sword fighting style is very beautiful and elegant, like a prince.”
Ferid lifts the girl up and pecks on her cheek.
“Aaaah~ you just wanted Ferid-nii to kiss you didn’t you?”
Shinoa blushes, “But it’s the truth! Everyone thinks it’s beautiful to see Ferid-nii fight.”
Ferid rests his head on Shinoa’s shoulder and pats her back.
“Oh is that right?”
“Shinoa!”
Ferid opens his eyes, blinks and raises his head. It was his voice.
“Uncle Saitou!”
Shinoa beams; clamors to rush to Saitou so Ferid puts her down to allow her to. At the sight of Shinoa running to his father, he sees his child self; he remembers how happy it used to make him feel whenever Saitou came home. But now, a lake of emotions has been reduced to an abandoned dry land, cracking stale from the heat. Ferid narrows his eyes. He didn’t know what to do. He is vacillating between going away or coming up to his Father.
While Saitou is talking with Shinoa, Ferid just stares at him as he smiles and pets the little girl as if she were precious. He watches Saitou’s large hands move. He watches his bony fingers run across the back of Shinoa’s head and press wisps of soft, dark hair in between his fingers. It made Ferid swallow a lump in his throat. The sight makes his throat feel dry. He has to say something, anything to quiet down the beating of his heart.
“Yaa.. Tou-san~ it’s been awhile.” Ferid walks closer to his Father; every step took everything in his power. It was tedious. It was always difficult dealing with himself dealing with Saitou.
Saitou raises his head and just smiles at his son. Then, he ignores him and goes back to talking to the child, as if Ferid wasn’t there, as if he didn’t exist at all. Ferid clenches his fists. He tries to make the facial expression in his face neutral. He tried. But he doesn’t know what kind of expression he is making so he excuses himself and walks away instead.
He walks briskly: foliage crackling underneath nervous footsteps. When he was sure Saitou wouldn’t be able to see him, he furrows his brows, blushing, and grasping his chest. He decides to go back to the castle to drink chamomile tea Nana always brings to him to calm himself down.
While he is waiting inside his room, Nana enters, bringing him his tea. Her footsteps wake Ferid up from his reverie, bringing him to the reality that Saitou finally came home to him.
“Nanaa~” Ferid whines childishly.
“Ferid-sama, Saitou-sama summons you,” comes Nana’s response as she hands a teacup to Ferid. Ferid stops being childish and wears a serious face. His eyes are distant, solemn as he gazes at the old woman in front of him—the one who has become a substitute for family.
“Where is he?”
“In his study. Be good darling.”
At this reproach, Ferid smiles: Nana always knows when Ferid was feeling rebellious. When it comes to him, she always knows.
“Of course~ you know I can never…”
“Ferid-sama.” Nana interrupts drawing circles in the cup she is holding, then adds, “This time, Saitou-sama will remain here. For good.”
Staring at her, Ferid knows that she is happy for him. That finally after years of absence in his life, Saitou finally decides to settle and be with him.
Ferid sighs and sips on his tea. Nana doesn’t know Saitou as much as he does. Saitou will leave because he always does.
“I’ll be off then~ thank you Nana.” He hands the cup to Nana, blows her a kiss and struts out of the room.
Nana has always been with Ferid. Given the task to take care of him, Nana has the duty to report about him to Saitou. She always writes Saitou letters about Ferid’s developments, and she always talks about him with affection and love, that sometimes, Saitou finds it very amusing and ridiculous how a slave, a peasant like her can love someone as spoiled and insufferable as Ferid like she could a son.
Ferid knows of this correspondence of course. As he is walking in the empty hallway that will lead him to Saitou’s study, he thinks of Nana. He thinks that she must have said something to Saitou. She must have said something for him to summon him like this. Ferid bites his bottom lip. He doesn’t mind Nana’s interference; it is just that, he is nervous, very nervous.
As his footfalls ring heavy in his ears, and as the shadows play on his face and the enclosure oppress him, he feels bothered and afraid. He bites his index finger forcefully. He wants to chew his fingernails but Saitou will notice it for sure. Nana always tells him his tou-san doesn’t like it when he chews his fingernails, so he gnaws on the length of his finger instead, careful not to tear off the skin.
When he is already standing in front of the looming baroque entrance, he takes his finger out from his mouth with a plop, swallows a lump in his throat and knocks three times. Nana has told him that should tou-san summon him, he should knock three times. He should behave. Even when he is already beyond that age to be rebellious, he has to remind himself of this over and over again.
“Come in,” Says the muffled voice inside. His tou-san’s voice always made Ferid shudder. It always made him feel hot especially when he imagines him whispering to him. He is feeling excited and at the same time fearful at this meeting.
Ferid hesitates, as one would hesitate being confronted with something uncertain. But he has to enter. He has to meet him. Breathing deeply, he enters and wears his usual happy, playful countenance.
“Yoo~ you summoned me tou-san?” Ferid waves; enters slowly: careful not to make his anxiety obvious, careful not to make him know how much he has waited for him, always. But it is still obvious from the way he stretches his mouth to smile an awkward smile; it is obvious from the way his lashes flutter rapidly and his eyes drift away from Saitou’s image, trying not to look at him. It is obvious from the way he struggles with breathing: taking in air greedily; trying to calm his heart down; obvious from the way he takes hesitant, cautious steps as he saunters inside the room; heels clacking against the hard ground like a time bomb.
Tempted, crimson eyes drift across the room, landing on Saitou’s comely figure that was resting head upon the palm of the hand, holding a book. Saitou is wearing his military attire sharply: his hair slick. He is looking so dashing, so handsome; it is making Ferid’s heart flutter as he stares at him, thinking whether he is really there with him or not; thinking whether or not he is real or something imagined. Noticing his gaze, Saitou raises his eyes, puts down his book with a soft thump and gives him a smirk—a smirk that is making Ferid’s palms clammy and his mouth dry.
“Come here,” beckons Saitou as if he can be nothing but warm and gentle. But they both know he isn’t.
Ferid knows that he should prance to him; he knows that he should merrily drop down to his knees and sprawl on the floor where Saitou sat. But he is so stricken at his father’s image that he just gapes at his father for a second.
“What are you waiting for?” Saitou snaps.
Ferid blushes then walks to his father coyly. He stands before him, looking down at him with an expression of anticipation. Saitou smirks. He wraps his hands around Ferid’s delicate waist intimately, curls his fingers, and pulls him down to gaze at his eyes.
“Sit.”
Ferid breathes heavily as he burns from inside out. He slowly goes down on his knees until he completely sprawls on the floor. He leans on Saitou’s knees comfortably: wrapping the back of his father’s legs with his hands. Saitou grins and rests his large hands on top of Ferid’s head. Ferid weakens at the touch; like a dog he whimpers. It has been a long time since he has felt Saitou’s warmth that’s why he didn’t know he needed this intimacy, that’s why rather than act like how he is expected to act—like a dignified prince—he melted like chocolate before Saitou’s charm.
“What good news do you bring?”
Saitou pets him like how he has pet Shinoa earlier that day.
“I heard you won the annual Sword Fighting competition this year. Again.” He slips his fingers underneath a layer of Ferid’s silver tresses out of habit. Slowly, he runs them mechanically through its softness until the elastic band that held Ferid’s hair in place snaps. Ferid’s hair tumbles down softly in wild stream of strands on his shoulders. Saitou slowly tightens his grip on the smooth wisps, running his thumb across its synthetic–like length. He grabs a fist full of hair: fingers creaking from the clasp. Ferid feels the aggression on his scalp from the touch. He opens his mouth indecently. Sweating, feeling chills run down his spine out of sheer excitement of what they could do behind closed doors, his member went rigid. His skin, gooseflesh, as his downy hair stands on ends at Saitou’s electrifying touch.
tou-san.. tou-san… uhh…
He has always fantasized about Saitou grabbing his hair, pulling it as he fucks him from behind. He palms the length of Saitou’ leg and ghosts his quivering mouth against the cloth of his father’s trousers, fighting off the feeling of disgust and lust merging at the pit of his stomach. Like food he didn’t like but he was forced to eat, he scrunched his face. This was the closest thing he could get to it.
“This is the third year you’ve won.” Saitou coldly combs Ferid’s hair playfully using both of his hands, raking a hand, then another. The tips of his indifferent fingers run across Ferid’s scalp, massaging it thoroughly. He makes circles with his both of his thumbs and run them down Ferid’s nape: the right thumb first, and then the left. He repeated this multiple times. Raking the wide pads of his thumb slowly, sensuously, it was making the other shudder. Ferid stifles a moan and heaves. Hard. He clenches his clasped fingers on the back of Saitou’s legs with force and purrs softly against Saitou’s leg like a cat, fingers throbbing from the desire to touch himself.
Ferid bites his bottom lip forcefully and tries terribly hard to hide how hot he has become from his father’s touch. He flutters his lashes and swallows a lump in his throat. He is torn between rubbing his face against Saitou’s knees or withdrawing. He is torn between touching himself and clenching his hands instead. He is torn between saying leave or fuck me, fuck me, oh just fuck me.
“I heard from your Nana you are first in your class. You topped your exams again. I only hear good things from Nana about you.”
Saitou runs his fingers through Ferid’s hair again. Out of boredom, he plays with a lock—twirling it around his index finger. He looks down at his son’s sprawled form with amusement in his eyes. He loves being in control. He loves having power over people like this. The rush is always exquisite. It is incomparable.
“You’ve been a good boy Ferid.”
Good boy. Those words almost made Ferid moan loudly, so he has to cover his mouth and bite his tongue. Saitou smiles devilishly down at him as he feels Ferid’s clasped hands on his legs tighten.
“What do you want as a reward?”
Ferid curls his toes and moves his left leg to hide his erection. He doesn’t want to raise his head, but the word reward excites him, and so he cranes his neck to look at his father with eyes full of want. He wants to say anything. He wants to say, love me; fuck me; do anything you wish to me. But he knows his tou-san didn’t like unbecoming things. That’s why he has to hold himself back.
Saitou chuckles at the expression his son is making. He runs a finger at the plane of Ferid's face to compensate for the thing Ferid wants but he cannot give.
“You’ve become so beautiful while I was away. They always bombard me with news of how awesome you are; how worthy to become my successor. How beautiful. Don’t you think a man being called beautiful is unbecoming? You are not a woman Ferid.”
Ferid’s mouth quivers. Saitou sighs and runs his thumb slowly across Ferid’s bottom lip. Ferid tastes blood. Ferid tastes the salt in his father’s thumb and feels the rough surface of his skin. The force Saitou uses is anything but gentle. Yet, Ferid feels an intense tightening in his crotch.
“But remember this is not enough.” Saitou’s voice drops an octave lower to emphasize his seriousness. He withdraws coldly, making Ferid miss him even when he is with him. The pang of his father’s leaving reels and clicks inside his mind, like a film and settles on fading footsteps and Saitou’s back walking away from him. He is used to this coldness, this neglect; but he can never be fine with it.
Saitou stands up and paces the room; arms behind his back.
“The council will be devastated when they know you are not really my child. You must prove yourself worthy, time and time again.”
Ferid stands up wobbly, as though his legs were useless. He covers his erection by turning around. Saitou looks back at him with a smile playing on his mouth—eyebrows furrowed with a hint of gentleness in the way he gazed upon Ferid’s back.
“But with your charm and intellect, you could play them on the palm of your hand. That’s fine. If there isn’t anything else, you are dismissed Ferid.”
Ferid clicks his tongue. Whenever Saitou summons him like this, it always ends with a harsh dismissal, as if Ferid was merely a soldier reporting to a general. And because of how cold and infuriating Saitou is whenever he does this—touching him gently and coldly withdrawing like it’s nothing—Ferid becomes limp in an instant. He breathes out his anxiety and the hate that he feels inside of his chest. Pretending to be cheerful, he turns to his father, smiling brightly as if nothing ever happened; as if this was just an innocent meeting of Father and Son. For Saitou it probably is, but for Ferid, it never was. And it will never be.
“Thank you tou-san for thinking about me~ I will remember everything you said. Bye bye~”
A clatter of rushed footsteps fill the air. Before Ferid could go out, Saitou catches up to him. He presses the half-opened door, closing it with a click. Surprised, Ferid is forced to wheel around like a cornered animal.
Saitou stares intently into his eyes, contemplating whether or not he should give Ferid at least something to treasure,
“I missed you,” He tilts his head as he would to kiss a lover, leans in and kisses him on the forehead. With a coldness that was colder than his earlier dismissal, he goes out of the room, leaving a flustered and shocked Ferid behind.