Wrong Kind of Hentai

Rating: PG Genre:
Yaoi, humor
Pairing/Characters: Ryoma, Nanjiroh & family

This is a continuation of a fic called "Possibilities" that I wrote for a LiveJournal community. Unfortunately there's too much smut in it for FFnet.
(You can find the original in my LJ or on same user name)

Basically, this is what happens the day after Ryoma and Fuji have a very interesting tryst...

The whole family knew that Echizen Najiroh was a hentai. His collection of ecchi full of scantily clad young girls was impressive. But since he was strictly 'all look and no touch', his wife tolerated it. And his niece and son followed suit, ignoring the creepy chuckles that sometimes emerged from the 'man of the house' while reading his 'newspaper'.

What wasn't so tolerable was Nanjiroh's unnatural obsession with his young son's love life. For his 13th birthday, Ryoma received a "Buxom Babes of the World" calendar from his father. Strange magazines began to show up in his room along with his "Pro Tennis Weekly". Odd pictures were tucked into his schoolbooks.

Ryoma still turned red whenever someone mentioned the time when he stood up to read before his class and a shunga (erotic print) fell out of his classical Japanese literature textbook.

Even his mail was scrutinized. Every letter or note he received was taken to be a love letter from some admiring young girl. Then Ryoma was declared to be 'just like his old man' by his father..

So Nanjiroh was delighted when Ryoma started 'staying out late for practice' or 'studying overnight at a friend's house'. He started following his son, only to be disappointed when Ryoma actually was practicing tennis or visiting a schoolmate's house.

Still Ryoma sometimes returned home in a crumpled uniform, lethargic, refusing to play a game of tennis with his father. He'd retreat up to his room, only reappearing at dinner time. When Nanjiroh pointed this out to his wife, he was told not to be silly.

The day after Ryoma returned from 'lessons with a sempai' looking particularily sloe-eyed, Nanjiroh decided to take action. While Ryoma was still at school, and his wife and niece were out shopping, Nanjiroh searched his son's room. With his naturally sneaky mind, he easily found Ryoma's hiding spot beneath one of the tatami's on the floor.

"Mada, mada, da ne,", Nanjiroh muttered happily. In the hole were a few childish treasures… a cat's toy, an old tennis ball, half a roll of blue grip tape, and a roll of undeveloped film!. "Eureka!", he crowed. Grinning ear to ear, he tucked the film in the sleeve of his robe, and trotted downstairs.

There must a one-hour-photo place nearby

---

Echizen Nanjiroh missed the strange look the counter girl gave him when he picked up the photos. He raced his bike home, hopeful that there would be shots of his son's girlfriend, or pictures from Ryoma's recent visit to the beach. Candid shots of young girls in swimsuits were almost as good as his magazines. Back at his home/temple, he took his new package to his favorite resting spot on top of the hill beneath the big temple bell. With a happy sigh he lay back to look at the photos. Time to see what his shounen had been up to.

The first few photos were disappointingly normal, if well done, snapshots of the Seigaku tennis team. "Good form," Nanjiroh muttered at one picture. "Needs to tighten up his stance," at another. But he wasn't looking to become the team's new trainer. Then shots of Ryoma at practice appeared. "So the girlfriend took these," he muttered unhappily. Still, there might be shots of them together. There had to be some reason that Ryoma had hid the film.

Then came pictures of Ryoma taking off his shirt, then another of him stepping into the shower with his back to the photographer. Then one of Ryoma stepping OUT of the shower, naked and annoyed, reaching for the camera. "Ehh, so the girlfriend has a kink," Nanjiroh smirked. Probably an older woman. Eagerly he flipped to the next shot.

"Oh-HO!" This photograph was clearly taken by another person. The shot was blurry and out of focus, but Nanjiroh could make out the short, sweat-soaked light-brown hair, the tightly closed eyes, the slightly parted lips, and the flushed cheeks on the face of the model. Clearly something very interesting had just happened. "Boy is just like his old man," Nanjiroh chortled happily, turning to the next picture.

This one was a taken from further back and even fuzzier than the last. Nanjiroh pulled the photo to his nose in an effort to make out the details. The same model slumped in a chair, head thrown back, arms tied to a chair with some sort of blue rope. His pale skin artfully contrasting with opened black uniform…. Wait a minute, HIS?

"NANI? " Nanjiroh bolted upright.

Nanjiroh's head smacked the old temple bell with a soft bong. He swore though the pain and examined the photograph with watery eyes. Yes, that was definitely a BOY strapped to the chair. One that had obviously just had a very good time.

Shakily he fumbled to look at the last photograph. Same boy, same chair, more of that blue stuff was now twisted around his head and neck, criss-crossing his chest, and wrapped around his… Nanjiroh discovered he that could still blush.

He forced himself to re-examine the picture, trying ignoring the rise in his own pants. Echizen Nanjiroh didn't swing that way, he told himself sternly. Although his son obviously played for a different team.

In the photo the boy had lost his trousers and the blue (ribbon, maybe?) had twisted its way down his right leg to his toes. "What IS that stuff," Nanjiroh wondered aloud. Then he remembered the grip tape in Ryoma's stash. He winced and squeezed his knees together.

'The boy has obviously outstripped the father in terms of hentai-ness,' Nanjiroh thought shakily as he tottered back down the hill.

---

"I'm home." Ryoma kicked off his shoes then picked up a meowing Karupin with his right hand and his tennis racquet with his left. 'Maybe I'll challenge the old man to a match after I change', he thought as he reached the door to his room.

"OYAJI!" The thunderous shout was followed by the furious pounding of feet. Ryoma burst into the living room wielding his racquet like a katana. "What did you do with my stuff, you dirty old man!"

Nanjiroh grabbed his own racquet as he sprung to his feet. It was useless to deny the tangle of blue tape on the floor and the most incriminating photographs in his hand. "Who're you calling dirty, eh shounen?" he cried, waving the photos in his son's face.

"You developed them!" Ryoma's screech blended with that of Karupin's. He dropped the wiggling Himalaya and made a grab for the photos. The offended cat streaked for the door almost knocking Nanjiroh off his feet as struggled to hold the pictures over his head with one hand and fend off his outraged son with the other. "Give me those. They're MINE!"

"Oh no, you don't," yelled Nanjiroh, using his greater height to keep the photos out of Ryoma's reach. "Is this what I taught you?"

"The only thing you taught me was tennis," growled Ryoma as he gripped his racquet with both hands preparing to backhand his father into the next century.

"What is going on in here?" the voice froze both men in their tracks. "We could hear the shouting from the street." Ryoma's mother and cousin entered the room and laid the bags on a table. The photos slipped out of Nanjiroh's weakened grasp and drifted to the floor.

Ryoma's cousin Nanako picked one up, glancing at it curiously. She squeaked and dropped it. Turning beet red she fled the room with a trembling, "Sumimasen". Ryoma felt his own face flush.

"Just look what your son's been up to!" Nanjiroh declared, grabbing the fallen pictures and thrusting them into the hands of Ryoma's bemused mother.

Ryoma turned even redder as he hunched up his shoulders, waiting for the axe to fall.

The room filled with a tense silence as Ryoma's mother examined the pictures. In the quiet, Karupin re-emerged and began playing with the tangle of blue tape. Without comment his mother looked from purring cat on the floor, to Ryoma, then back to the pictures. She blushed slightly.

Ryoma's shoulders inched even higher as this heart thundered in his ears. Vaguely he wondered if teenagers could suffer heart attacks.

Finally she sighed, and said softly. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about anyone calling me Obaasan"

"Nani? " asked his father incredulously. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Well, it's really none of our business," came the calm reply. "As long as Ryoma's happy. You are happy, aren't you Ryoma?" His mother asked as she handed the pictures to Ryoma.

"H-hai," Ryoma stuttered. Although this wasn't the way he'd thought to come out to his mother, it was much easier than he'd hoped it would be. He didn't really care what the old man thought. He relaxed and felt his lips begin to curl up into a familiar smirk.

His perfectly brilliant mother continued... "And this is no worse than some of the hijinkx that you used to get up to, is it Nanjiroh? I've had several talks with Ryuuzaki-sensei, you know," she finished pointedly.

Nanjiroh re-discovered blushing. "Well, maybe he'll grow out it. I did," he grumbled.

'Not likely', thought Ryoma. But he only held out his hand to his father and demanded, "The rest of them."

"There are more?" asked his mother faintly.

"Just regular photos," Ryoma assured her hastily. Nanjiroh didn't bother to contradict his son. If those three photographs hadn't bothered his wife, nothing would. Morosely, he reached into the pocket of his robe and gave his son the package of pictures. "And the negatives." He reached in again and handed over a second packet.

Ryoma didn't even bother to hide his victorious smile as he picked up his entangled cat. "Che Karupin. It's going to take some time to get you out of this." He mock scolded as he went up stairs.

Nanjiroh tried to get in the last word, "Well, at least the brat was on top."

"Mada, mada, ouou " floated down the reply. (Not always)

---

Postscript: It runs in the family

While cleaning, Nanako found the package of duplicate prints that Najiroh had conveniently 'forgotten' to give to Ryoma. She kept them.

Author's notes: Please excuse the mock-Japanese. I'm working from a dictionary here.
As always, comments & criticism greatly appreciated.