Chapter Text
‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him’. That is the mantra that anyone who knew Theseus ‘Tommy’ Mycroft came to live by, it was that or go mad with grief and shame. Everyone from his friends to his damn father agreed.
Because it’s not like they could stop feeling, emotions didn’t care for logic nor morality, they simply were and you had to deal with it. It just so happened that Theseus was by far the most attractive person… possibly ever? At least, that was the general consensus.
Golden hair that shimmered as if made of miniscule strands of the metal, eyes so blue they reflected the sky, pale skin unmarred by anything but a few freckles, a natural pout that made his pleading face deadly- Phil groans at the mere memory.
It’s so hard not to give Tommy anything that he wants. The only thing that helps him do so is a sick pleasure in having Tommy pleading and wanting, eyes teary and cheeks flushed with frustration. It’s the closest Phil will ever get to seeing Tommy flushed for any other reason.
A reason like… he muffles a moan into his pillow, dragging his fist slowly up the cock. A reason like Phil’s doing now. A reason he’s thought and thought about for… several years now. Ever since Tommy hit puberty, really. Ever since he started being less a child and closer and closer to an adult.
Phil isn’t sure when these feelings developed, these cruel, wanting things that left him aching. All he knows is that one day, Tommy had climbed out of the pool, water running down his skin, and Phil had found himself harder than he’d ever been.
His mouth had watered, hands going clammy, and he’d wanted. He wants it now. Face pushed into his pillow, propped up on his knees, teasing himself closer to orgasm. He doesn’t deserve it.
Filthy, disgusting perverts like himself don’t deserve a sweet thing like Tommy, never mind that the seventeen-year-old is his son. Actually, that makes it worse.
Biting fabric, Phil muffles a wanton sound. Because Tommy is his son and that makes it worse so it wraps around to being better. Pleasure and need sting up his spine, tingling over his skin.
Slipping his other hand lower, he kucking against his folds, barely dipping a fingernail inside his hot core. He knows he’s tight, untouched since the day his wife died. He knows he feels like velvet and sin.
He hopes Tommy would like that. He needs Tommy to like that, to like him. He wants Tommy to like him just as much as Phil loves Tommy. Even if it’s not the same love, so long as he never leaves, that will be enough.
An image floats to the forefront of Phil’s imagination, causing his hips to stutter into his fist. It’s him, on his knees, a collar around his neck. A chain leads from it to Tommy’s hand.
‘You fucking slut, you’re not good for anything but sex. Is that what you are? My little sex slave?’ A ghost of Tommy’s voice rings in his ears, words Phil’s never heard him say but would absolutely explode if they ever came to be.
“ Yes,” Phil whines, slipping his finger to the first knuckle, “ yes. I’m yours. Yours, only yours.” Even such a little intrusion burns so nicely, stretching him out. How much would Phil be stretched by Tommy’s dick? Would it even fit?
Phil’s never seen Tommy’s dick before, only glimpses of it through damp boxers after Tommy takes a shower. It looks big, he hopes it would tear him in two, breed him so full. He tightens his grip on the base of his cock, unwilling to cum just yet.
“ Please, I need it. Breed me, master. Master, please, make me yours,” Phil muffles into his pillow, mumbling nonsense around fabric and spit. He tries to stuff more into himself, slipping to the second knuckle, but he’s always been tiny down there. It’s always been far more trouble than it’s worth.
Now it’s all he wants, how sad. Phil keens. His thighs ache from the position, knees slipping open further as he tries and fails to force himself open. It hurts, it’s perfect, it’s not Tommy’s dick, it’s not nearly enough.
“ Tommy~” Phil whines, far louder than he meant to, his cunt spasming around his fingers. Sobbing, he falls apart. Thick white cum spills from his cock, squirting around his fingers. His thighs are soaking, his sheets ruined, and his skin slick with sweat.
Falling into his mess, Phil pants, trying to regain his breath. Even as he does, as he recovers, his eyes stray to the image he’d pulled up on his phone, a picture of his three boys. Tommy is front and center, soaked from having been shoved in the pool.
Red cheeks, clothes sticking to him like a second skin… Phil whimpers, shifting in his mess. A throb runs through him despite having cum already. He’s not satisfied.
Turning off his phone, he knows he never will be. Phil’s fantasies are just that, fantasy, never to be brought into reality. Silly as it is, that reminder is nearly enough to drive him into tears.
Phil doesn’t deserve Tommy, not after all he’s done.
…
‘Dad needs to be my willing sex slave’
The words, once a ridiculous joke to match a ridiculous book cover, suddenly seem a lot less stupid. In fact, they seem damning. Terrible, criminal things written out in shitty, spotty, blue ballpoint pen against lined paper.
With nearly two decades of practice, Tommy sneaks back from the door to his dad’s room, cracked open just enough to let him see and hear inside. Enough to have witnessed… He blushes a vibrant red, all of that.
Fuck, that was actually kind of hot. Not that Tommy didn’t already think his dad was hot. Phil is a certified DILF, that’s not up for debate, but- well- all attraction was kind of killed by the ‘abusive, neglectful parent’ thing Phil had going on.
Until now, where it’s revealed that the entire reason Phil had been such a shitty dad is because he was overcompensating for illicit, incestual feelings for Tommy. Yeah, because that makes sense.
No it doesn’t. Tommy slips back into his room, quietly locking the door behind him. No it fucking doesn’t. That doesn’t make any sense at all.
Letting himself fall to the ground, Tommy plucks back up the notebook, angling it to read better in the moonlight, exactly how he’d been doing before the creaking had started. Creaking that Tommy had, logically, understood what meant. Creaking that Tommy had never heard coming from his Dad’s room before despite that.
Because if Phil was getting any action from the hot moms and flirting baristas, it certainly wasn’t at their house. Until now. Until Tommy had Phil so desperate for him in all of eight chicken scratch words that he had to get it out at night or- or die, or something.
Tommy flips back to the book’s cover. It reads the exact same stupid title as before ‘ Want It- Need It ’ in the same faded bubble letters. The dust jacket has done its job, meaning the damn thing was dusty as hell.
It makes sense because Tommy apparently found a book that could warp reality hidden under his damn floorboards. Little white lettering covers the inside of the sleeve, hooked around the shitty cardboard cover of the wirebound notebook. Words that he hadn’t believed a word of before that.
‘ Sometimes, people know what they want but they don’t know what they need. But I bet you know, you know exactly what they need. By writing someone’s name in this book, you can make sure they know it too.’
‘Simply write a few lines and the world will shift to compensate. Don’t worry about getting caught, this book knows that’s not something you need. Sadly, this book can’t change the current status quo, so you’ll have to take steps to act on their needs. They need your guidance! So use this book well.’
Changing what people need based on what Tommy thinks they need? Yeah, no one’s gonna believe that. He just wanted to write a stupid joke about his stupid father but no, it’s real. Which means he could do… what?
Apparently, the damn thing doesn’t subscribe to the idea of the butterfly effect. Nothing Tommy writes is going to change the bruises on his wrists or the flaking paint on his walls, all he can do is fuck with people mentally so that they’ll act differently in the future. Well, once he prods them to.
What does that even mean? Tommy taking steps to act on ‘their needs’? Best guess, it means that if Tommy had announced his presence while Phil was masturbating, Tommy would have been free to make his Dad his sex slave.
Or at least start the process or something. Tommy doubts things would go zero to a hundred like that. Phil would probably be held back anyway by society’s morality and his own anxieties or some shit like that. Tommy could probably seduce Phil though. That sounds more plausible.
…Does he want to seduce his dad? Phil’s hot, don’t get him wrong, but he’s also an asshole. Everyone Tommy knows his mean as hell to him, actually. Why doesn’t he just let Phil rot in these new- new for Tommy at least- emotions.
Yeah, he’ll do that. Not at all because Tommy is reeling from the implications of all this and kinda wants to throw up. Nope, not at all.
He eyes the blank pages of the book with trepidation, over a hundred of the thinly lined things, double sided, with the only writing being his own chicken scratch.
Maybe he could experiment some other way? Now that he knows it works? Tommy could leave his dad alone, maybe try Wilbur or Techno instead? The twins aren’t half as physically abusive, more neglectful really, so there’s less danger if Tommy messes up somehow.
And he doesn’t have to go quite so… intense with the new needs. He’ll just play nice? Yeah, play nice with them. Maybe he could write something involving his friends, Tubbo and Ranboo? Though their friendship is a bit one-sided…
Possibilities spin through his head and Tommy knows he needs to start small. If he doesn’t, he’ll probably explode- not literally but you get what he means.
What’s a good ‘starting small’ need? Could he give Tubbo a crush on him? Make Ranboo less shy? Make Techno his sugar daddy? Tommy snorts. Actually, wait, that would be hilarious. Techno as Tommy’s sugar daddy.
Between Techno and Wilbur, Techno is by far the less receptive one. Wilbur will at least say good morning and yell at Tommy when he wants to be left alone. Techno always favored more constant silences and slamming doors.
Imagining Techno willingly choosing to be around him makes Tommy bite back somewhat hysterical giggles. Yeah, he’ll do that. Maybe he’ll have Techno pick him up from school and then ask to go to the mall? Wring him for all he’s worth?
Techno certainly has the money. Tommy’s not sure where Techno gets it from, probably competitions and streaming judging by what he’s eavesdropped on. He can afford to spend a few dollars on the needy.
‘Techno Mycroft needs to pick me up from school tomorrow’
‘Techno Mycroft needs to be my sugar daddy, buying me whatever I want’
Go world-altering chicken scratch go! Buy Tommy that Nintendo switch and animal crossing game he’s been eying. Steal from the Technoblades and give to the Tommys. He snorts.
Putting the book back where he found it, Tommy rolls into bed, though his nerves don’t let him fall immediately asleep. If Techno picks him up from school in that shiny, cherry red camaro tomorrow, he’ll ask about the mall.
But only if he does that. To be honest, Tommy’s still kind of doubting it.