Summary: For every annoying Teenager there is a parent with infinite patience and revengeful tendencies.

Fuck old people.

There, he said it: fuck old people. And you know what? He means it. He means it because, if it weren't for old people and their inability to keep their eyes open while watching a fucking penguin documentary —no hate to penguins. Penguins are fucking cool—, then this godforsaken practice wouldn't exist.

Yeah, because he doesn't give a shit what people say. "Oh, it's good to recharge your battery for a productive day" "It helps people with irregular schedules get the rest they need" …

Bullshit.

Napping is for the week. And old people.

Like his dad.

He is not pretty sure how old he is because, thanks to being a giant fire-breathing lizard covered in blood red scales, wrinkles are not something very noticeable. In fact, he doesn't know if Belloc even has wrinkles, but he sure as hell is not gonna try to find out. It's bad enough having to tolerate the beast's existence, so getting into "personal space" territory is off the table. It's not even in the room, it's out of the fucking window.

So yeah, he doesn't really know how old he is, but he doesn't need to. Thanks to his Sherlock Holmes abilities, and a little bit of google's help, he has found out an approximation of his father's age: very old.

Very old level: grunting when getting up.

Very old level: sneezing obnoxiously loud.

Very, very old level: taking a nap after lunch.

And that is the reason he is in this situation. He has been deceived, lied to and betrayed, tricked into a sense of false safety and BAM: treason.

The scaly fang-filled smile pressing against his back was proof of that.

Fuck old people.

(…)

The soft grass tickles the sole of his feet when he sits down, crossed legged, in the center of the clearing. He can feel a gentle breeze running through the giant trees surrounding him, and the sun, high up in the sky, hitting him with all the heat a summer afternoon at 1pm can muster. Which is a lot.

He sights, and lays his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee. He feels a sticky spot on his cheek and immediately rubs it, trying to get rid of the, probably, dry liquid still staining his face. Cleaning your face without a mirror is harder than what it may seem, especially if you're cleaning blood.

Duncan shivers. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to eating raw meat, especially when he doesn't know what type of meat he is eating, but he supposes that, as long as it tastes good, and he doesn't have to kill it, he is fine with it. Speaking about killing it…

A gust of warm wind ruffles his hair and he frowns, turning around to look at the major culprit of his current predicament.

A mountain of deep red scales and white horns lays behind him. Its breathing is steady, powerful, and loud. A red tail, almost as long as the red mass laying on the soft grass, curls around him, not quite touching him, but staying close, as if to mark the little space he had to move between the resting limb and the scaly mountain at his back.

He had won the bet with Kenny and Isabel: Belloc does nap.

Fucking overgrown lizard.

Well, he was part lizard too, but that was not the point.

The point was that, if he had to spend another minute sitting here, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do, he would rip his hair off until he ended up as bald as his physics teacher. And he did not like that man at all.

So in order to protect the wellbeing of his mental health, he started to plot. For the third time in a row.

First he needed to analyze the situation:

After arriving at Kaiju territory for his father's weekend on Friday night, Belloc, unlike every other Saturday, had decided to take him out of the nest. The chill spring breezes had changed to boiling hot afternoons, and the kaiju decided it was a suitable time to take him out to eat. He would usually spend his days at Belloc's lair in the hoard chamber, in a nest Belloc had built many years ago, when he got old enough to come spend a few days with him instead of just talking on the phone —having divorced parents was hard enough, but when your father was a giant fire breathing monster, it was a little bit worse—. There, surrounded by torches that lit and warmed up the room, he had plenty of things to do: play chess, read books, learn to play a violin the king had gifted him on his tenth birthday… you know, interesting stuff.

But today, Belloc had said the temperatures were high enough for him to go out to some esplanades without suffering the unforgivable desert cold, and had decided to take him out to eat in a secluded area where no kaiju would bother them.

At eleven in the morning they arrived, and Belloc proceeded to drop him in the middle of the clearing, telling him he was allowed to play as long as he didn't get close to the looming trees forming a giant circle around them. After a long minute and a half of yelling that he wasn't a kid and that he didn't play —please, what did that overweight lizard think he was? Eight? He was fifteen, almost sixteen, a little bit of respect, will ya?—, Belloc left to hunt something to feed him.

It had been the longest fifteen minutes of his life. What did his father expect him to do? He was in the middle of nowhere! There was only grass, and grass and more grass around him. Even if he did play —which he didn't, because he wasn't a kid anymore, duh—, there was nothing around him to play with.

Well, there was, but he had been told not to get close to them: the trees. He was not gonna lie, because he was many things, but a liar was not one of them: he did get close to them. Only a little, just a tiny bit. But you couldn't blame him! Waiting was just so boring, and climbing has always been one of his favorite hobbies, so it had been too tempting to not get a look at the huge trees —even bigger than Belloc!—. A shame that the fifteen minutes that it took his father to hunt ended right then and there, because when he was halfway up one of the moss covered trunks, huge clawed fingers plucked him off of his improvised jungle gym.

He would never admit how he had screeched, high pitched and not very adult like, when his father's face appeared right in front of him, with his signature expression of Do you really want to do this right now?, which he hated with everything he had, just to be unceremoniously dropped back in the center of the clearing, where the body of a really big thing layed, very much dead.

It looked like a cow, if he had to compare it with something, just six times its size, with rough skin and with really pointy teeth. They weren't of much use, apparently, because the car size bite on its hide showed that Belloc hadn't needed much to break the spine, and the bleeding holes and almost severed head were proof of that.

Belloc had then situated himself behind him, and proceeded to take an enormous bite off of the not-cow's belly, spilling the guts on the ground and breaking the rib cage, exposing the insides that Duncan was supposed to eat. If it weren't so good, he would be tempted to gag, but he was long past that phase, now just being glad that the kaiju did almost all the work for him.

Do you know how tiring it is to open a dead animal that's six times your size? It takes forever! And, also, it leaves you completely covered in many fluids that are really hard to clean. So if his father was willing to save him the hassle, he was not going to complain.

It took them less than an hour to leave a carcass of really big bones, Belloc having eaten most of it —because, in case you haven't noticed, Duncan's stomach is probably smaller than one of Belloc's scales—.

And that's where everything went downhill.

He should have known what was happening when the old kaiju, after licking the blood off of his snout and threatening to do the same for him —luckily, he had been fast to wipe the red liquid off with the grass and his dark pants, that proved to do a good enough job that Belloc decided to forgive him—, proceeded to lay down on his side and curl his tail around him, clearly stating that he was not to go beyond the long, scaly limb.

He should have known what was going to happen when that bastard laid his big ass head on the soft ground, and let out a content grunt.

Nap time.

Killing him would have been more merciful.

"Are you kidding me?" His complaint went ignored, and out of spite he kicked the tail in front of him. "You said we would train after lunch!" Don't get him wrong, it's not that he wants to spend the next two to three hours listening to his father lecture him on the best way to rip someone's head off, but napping? Napping?

Fuck no, he has seen his father nap before and that shit is going to last from one to two hours. Boredom will kill him before the thirty minute mark. This is serious shit we're dealing with here. There are lives at stake, especially his.

Unbothered by his very fair complaining, Belloc only curled his tail closer to him, forcing him to back off until his back was pressed against the kaiju's stomach in order to avoid being trapped in the unforgiving coils. He's not sure if every kaiju with a tail has the same mobility, but this father has pretty much full control over his tail, which is pretty useful to catch him whenever he tries to get away from training or just try to explore some place that will surely get him killed.

"Although your eagerness to train pleases me greatly…" With sarcasm dripping from his every word, Belloc's tail curled around his waist and he was dragged over to where his father's head layed, until he was pressed against his rough cheek. He tried to get away, but Belloc let out a rumbling purr and started to rub his cheek and nose against his side and head, ignoring his desperate efforts to push away the giant snout nuzzling him —if his father smelled even the smallest trace of their lunch's blood on him, there would be no saving him—. "… I never said when your lessons would be after lunch." Belloc pretended to stretch himself, accidentally tightening his grip on the boy, eliciting a comic yelp from him and getting a dirty glare in his direction.

"This is bullshit, what am I supposed to do now, then?" Still trying to free himself from his father's unrelenting grip, Belloc lazily opened one eye to look at him with an amused snort.

"Use your imagination" Letting his tail fall limp around him, Belloc nudged him back towards his stomach, where his shadow would protect him from the intense midday sun.

"So can I…?"

"No going to the trees."

Fuck you. He was not stupid enough to say it out loud.

So now, here he was, not even twenty minutes later, on the verge of an existential crisis because his ADHD did not like to sit still for more than three seconds with nothing to focus on. This has to be considered torture.

Now that the situation was analyzed, it was time for step two: recognize his main obstacle. This one was easy, though: it was his fathers tail. Good, now the third step: do something.

This one was not so easy, mainly because his father had some weird spider senses that could feel him moving even when he wasn't touching him, and Duncan had learned his lesson the hard way. What a surprise.

The first time he tried to get over the resting limb, with the obvious intention to not go to the trees —because he was a very obedient son, thank you very much—, Belloc had only had to reach with his hand and pick him up, bringing him back to square one with an amused look. The fucker, instead of letting go, tried to herd him towards his chest while caressing his back and head with his thumb, mindful of the mortal claws, and told him to try and rest.

Duncan chose to politely ask him to fuck off and squirmed until the kaiju relaxed his hold enough for him to pry the fingers open and escape his grasp. Belloc made a vague attempt to grab him again, but he was fast enough to go back to his previous place by the beast's stomach. That seemed to be enough prove that he was going to behave, because the king closed his eyes and relaxed again.

But he had been tricked by his master mind, because fuck naps, and fuck dads.

That leaves space for attempt of freedom number two. This time, instead of trying to go over it, he decided to try and go under it. Thanks to his father's cat-like behavior, his tail was resting on top of one of his legs, that were laying one besides the other completely stretched. That meant there was a little space between the ground and the tail that was big enough for him to go under, and it being so far from his father's head, it would be harder for him to hear the sound of his freedom, right? Right?

Well, today it was the day of: fuck Duncan's rights. Just as he was getting closer to the base of the tail he heard movement from behind him, and just as he was about to turn to see what it was, he felt a warm puff of air grace his back and himself being lifted off the ground by what felt like docens of stakes pressing against his stomach and back.

With a startled screech he kicked his legs and tried to reach the ground with his hands, but Belloc simply jostled him a little until he felt his tiny body safely tucked between his teeth, tongue carefully caressing him, making sure he wasn't making too much pressure and hurting the boy.

Oh, how he hated being carried like that. It always made him feel extremely small and weak, and worst of all, he always ended up smelling like smoke. It was the fucking worst.

Fortunately, Belloc put him down the moment he was, again, lying comfortably on the ground, and went back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Duncan knew that the next time he was caught, his father wouldn't be so lenient.

Fuck. He was running out of ideas, and he was honestly getting so bored that napping was starting to look like a viable option, but Duncan was a teenager. And teenagers are not known for being rational beings that admit when they're wrong.

He would get his freedom, no matter the cost.

(…)

Honestly, Belloc should have known. He should have known that his fifteen year old, very hyperactive, son would not do well with being forced to sit still, and to be honest, he knew. He knew but had decided to take his chances and now here he was, fighting with his no-bigger-than-his-finger child that had taken it upon himself to make sure that both of them suffered through this.

The bitting and scratching directed to his tail told him that much. Had the boy been bigger, or maybe older, the biting would have had some effect, but with his still developing fangs and tiny claws, it felt almost as if a gamoradon was trying to pry the dirt sitting between his scales. Opening one eye, with an amused look, he sees his boy biting and pouncing on his tail, and he wants to be annoyed, because he is not as young as he used to be —although he will never say it out loud—, and a nap here and there under the sun does wonders to his strained body, but with the sight before him its hard. It's not everyday that the boy initiates physical touch of any kind, especially in such a playful and innocent manner, so he is not stupid enough to spoil it.

Instead, Belloc decides to give the whelp what he is asking for: attention.

Careful not to make any noise, he creeps behind Duncan, the teen too busy attacking his tail to notice him, and nudges him with enough force to make him roll off his tail and land on his backside on the ground. It's like a button is switched on, because Duncan turns around to face him with a very threatening and not at all adorable growl and pounces, this time on his face.

The fifteen year old uses his claws to cling to his scales and bites his nose, playfully growling and trying to beat him into submission. His boy means business. Belloc guesses that it would be rude not to answer with the same intensity, so he growls back, although keeping it lower and non-threatening, and proceeds to nip at the boy's feet.

Duncan immediately yelps and jumps to the ground, trying to put distance and reconsider his strategy, but Belloc is the king for a reason, so he attacks again, viciously, and pins the boy to the ground with his snout just to start nibbling on his sides, where he knows his son is most sensitive. The laughter arrives not too long after, as well as the kicking and pleading for mercy.

Because he is feeling generous, Belloc decides to let him a few moments to regain his composure, and instead readjusts himself so he is propped up on his elbows, nap time pushed to the back of his mind for the moment. He isn't blind; he's seen the reddish stains in the boy's face from eating lunch, but he was planning on waiting until getting back to the nest to bathe him properly. Now, though, with the child's obsession with interrupting his resting time, he feels he has a right to be petty.

Once Duncan's laughter has died and his breathing is not erratic anymore, Belloc sneaks his hand behind him and picks him up before he can try to attack his tail again. The boy groans and starts to nibble on his fingers, carried away by his apparent need to teach his father a lesson on how not to cross your neurodivergent child, and doesn't notice how he is being strategically placed between the kaijus enormous paws, where it will be impossible to get away. He has fallen in his trap.

Belloc has to stop himself from laughing when he sees the realization on his whelps eyes, finally noticing his mistake at letting his guard down, when he licks the boy's cheek. He proceeds to ignore his incensed screaming and protesting, and continues with the, in his opinion, well deserved grooming. They have gone through the bathing process many times throughout the years, so Belloc is practically immune to all the screaming and kicking.

"Dad, stop!" Duncan tries to push his chin away, but the moment he licks his hands the boy is pulling them away and trying to wipe the spit off in his hand. "Ugh, this is disgusting!" He screams again when Belloc pins him down with his thumb and licks his chest, forcing him to lay back and allow him access to his neck, where there is a bit of dried blood staining his scales.

"The more you struggle, the longer it will take me." With a devilish smile the kaiju forces the boy to lay on his belly, starting now with his back and head before pausing and nuzzling him. "And what kind of father would I be if I let my child walk around in such an unkempt state?"

"A nice one!" Duncan kicks, trying to aim for his father's chin, but the king just smiles and nips at his legs.

"I'm afraid I disagree."

Duncan goes through all five stages of grief in the span of five minutes, especially when he has to clean his face and hair, and just to be petty, Belloc takes his time with the excuse that the dry blood is being exceptionally difficult this time.

Lucky for him, Duncan puts so much energy into trying to escape that he manages to tire himself, and it's then when Belloc knows he has won this match. And all of them, to be honest. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel smug about it.

Finally the torture is over, and Belloc allows the boy to smack his nose a couple of times as revenge for making him go through this horrible and grueling experience, along with calling him a terrible, horrible, really bad dad. But apparently his boy is feeling generous, and allows him to cradle him in his hands, pressing him against his lips, where his purring is so intense that it feels like an earthquake against his skin.

Duncan makes himself comfortable, with an angry frown on his face, and refuses to look at him out of defiance, but that's fine, because it doesn't take him more than two minutes to fall asleep and hug one of his fingers looking for warmth, even if it's close to a hundred degrees right now.

He will make it up to him later. For now, though, it's nap time.

Author's Note:

Did I forget to upload the rest of the one-shots like I said I would? Absolutely.

Am I gonna put them all up in the next week or so as compensation? Yes, definitely.

Also, am I the only one that finds it very not intuitive the process of publishing in this site? Like, I struggle so much just to remember how to upload stuff :')