Ryosuke looks good on his knees, this is a fact. And along with the slurpy sounds that fill the gym supply room they are locked into, Yuto isn’t sure how he has managed to keep it together for so long.
As it is, one of his hands rests on Ryosuke’s shoulder, while the other one alternatively fists in Ryosuke’s hair or traces his cheekbones, guiding and encouraging. Four months might not be so long of a time to know somebody, but it has been enough for Yuto to learn that Ryosuke doesn’t like to be pressured, so he keeps his touch light, even if Ryosuke is a tease and is driving Yuto mad with need as he watches his own cock slowly disappearing past those plump lips once and again, and again.
"Come up here," Yuto finally instructs, pushing back Ryosuke as gently as he manages.
Ryosuke stands up, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead, pink cheeks, labored breath, bruised lips swollen and red -but Yuto knows better than to kiss them. So, he kisses Ryosuke's skin instead, hunches a little to lick at the salty wetness at the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, just over a fading hickey Yuto himself put there the week before, ghosts his teeth over the bruised spot and softly chuckles when Ryosuke gasps.
“More…” Ryosuke’s voice is all air and heat, and Yuto can’t resist, doesn’t even want to. He just bites down, viciously rekindling the mark, the only trace of ownership he has over Ryosuke, and relishing in the deep moan that Ryosuke can’t contain. “Please…” Ryosuke gasps against Yuto’s temple, the fabric of his gym shorts rubbing against Yuto’s exposed erection almost painfully as Ryosuke tilts his hips provocatively. “Inside… I want to feel you inside me. Please… please hurry…”
Time is in short supply, as usual, so Yuto loses none of it and turns Ryosuke, bends him over one of the low cabinets full of gymnastic implements, and drags Ryosuke’s shorts and underwear down in one swift movement.
Ryosuke's thighs are a work of art. Thick and toned from soccer practice, but meaty enough so Yuto can grab them and feel the pliant skin shifting at his touch, so he can squeeze them as he forces Ryosuke's legs further apart.
They don’t have lube, but Yuto all but stole an oily enough ointment from the nurse’s office a couple of weeks ago, and it suffices for the amount of preparation Ryosuke allows him.
“Hurry…” And it’s incredible how dominant Ryosuke can be, even with his legs wide spread and almost in tiptoes so Yuto can take him more easily, even with his chest pressed against the flat surface of the furniture, his white T-shirt still on; but one look from those brown eyes, hot with lust, and Yuto is gone.
He’s only worked two fingers inside Ryosuke, but this was bound to happen. Ryosuke likes it rough, and even if Yuto wants nothing but to take care of him, he is only seventeen years old, and the way Ryosuke half pants and half whines is too much for him to resist.
Yuto still takes his time as he enters him, inch by inch, mindless of the way Ryosuke squirms underneath him, trying to get him to do it quicker. Yuto just takes hold of Ryosuke’s hips, stills them and keeps easing his way in, slow and steady, until he bottoms out.
“Yes…” Ryosuke hisses, clenching around Yuto, forcing him to move.
Ryosuke’s knuckles turn white from the force he uses for grabbing onto the ledge of the cabinet when Yuto begins ramming into him, his back arching beautifully as he bites his lower lip to try to muffle his moans, sweat already dripping down Ryosuke’s neck, pooling at the small of his back, and all his heat engulfing Yuto, surrounding him, dragging him head first and unavoidably into ecstasy.
“Harder… fuck me harder...” Ryosuke demands, begs. And Yuto complies, because he can do nothing else.
One of Yuto’s hands sneaks around Ryosuke’s hip to jerk Ryosuke brisk and fast, while he digs the fingers of the other one into Ryosuke’s skin with so much strength it will probably bruise, and Ryosuke all but wails as he clamps down so hard around Yuto it almost hurts.
“So tight… so good… I… I can’t…” Yuto murmurs into Ryosuke’s skin, almost lost, pushing harder and harder against the added resistance inside Ryosuke.
“Bite me, please…” Hurt me is what Yuto hears, loud and clear, and Ryosuke is almost sobbing with want, so Yuto does as he is told, too far gone to question anything as he sinks his teeth at the base of Ryosuke’s neck. Yuto can hear Ryosuke clawing at the wood top of the cabinet, panting, moaning, seconds before he feels the wetness all over his hand and the tightness inside becomes unbearable.
Yuto barely manages to pull out in time for coming over one of Ryosuke’s buttocks after a couple of rough strokes. And maybe he is so out of breath he’s getting light headed, but the sight of his come over Ryosuke’s skin is totally enticing, possession making his blood simmer and boil, making his stomach churn with all the things he isn’t supposed to feel, everything he can’t have.
He wraps his arms around Ryosuke’s waist, buries his face in his hair, inhaling deeply, burning Ryosuke’s smell into his memory for days to come, and wonders why he keeps doing this, why he agrees to this arrangement that leaves him feeling empty and a bit used every time Ryosuke walks away after they’re done.
He has been attracted to Ryosuke since the first time he saw him, the day he transferred to Yuto’s school. Same year, same class, and that obnoxious tendency to call him ‘Nakajima-kun´. Serious most of the time, a little sad looking and lost in thoughts, and beautiful. Oh gods, so beautiful.
Yuto just hadn’t stood a chance at all.
Four months ago
Another year and yet another school. All over again. And Ryosuke knows they all wonder why he doesn't just drop out.
It isn't like he hasn't thought about it, isn’t like he doesn’t want it sometimes… but what then? Soccer is the only thing he really cares about, and he isn’t even that good at it; he is never good enough.
He sees him then, tall, dark, not so mysterious; ‘class representative’ written all over with the way all the girls are swooning around him. He has an old Polaroid camera hanging from a strap around his neck and his smile is like a sun going nova, crystal clear laughter like a million chimes.
And then he notices Ryosuke.
“Yamada-kun, right?” The boy asks him, polite smile and soft voice. “I am Nakajima Yuto, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, Nakajima-kun.” Ryosuke says, smiling for the first time that day.
They go home on the same train after school, and try as he might, Ryosuke can’t do as Nakajima says and call him just by his name.
“Then I’ll call you Yama-chan, so we’re even,” Nakajima decides, two stops before Ryosuke’s one, and then just laughs himself breathless when Ryosuke lifts an eyebrow and stares at him with a mix of incredulity and aggravation.
“No,” Ryosuke says, firmly, but it’s no use and the nickname sticks.
There are wet wipes on Yuto’s gym bag, along with some other things that would make him die of embarrassment if someone were to find them -condoms, although Ryosuke seldom lets him use them; a couple of feet of the softest rope he could find; a navy blue silk scarf he hopes his mother won’t miss, dark enough to be a blindfold.
They make short work of cleaning themselves and change into their regular uniforms, and Ryosuke avoids Yuto’s eyes all the time, as usual. The longer this goes, the deeper it hurts.
It’s not the first time he wants to ask why, to know the reason behind Ryosuke’s behavior. To ask why Ryosuke lets him fuck him but not kiss him or love him.
“Yama-chan...” Yuto begins to say, but his throat constricts and all sound dies, trapped. They’ve been through this, in some way or another, and he knows by now he won’t get anything out of it, except maybe getting both of them pissed off and not talking for a week, again. And Yuto might not have what he wants, but at least he’s got something. It should be enough, shouldn’t it?
“It’s getting late,” is all Ryosuke says as he grabs for his own gym bag and heads toward the exit door, facing away from Yuto.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words escape from Yuto’s mouth before he can do anything to stop them, and Ryosuke halts in his steps. “You know how I feel about you. And for a while this was…” Feelings overlap and distort in Yuto’s chest, filling him with things he wants to say but not with enough coherence to say them, it’s annoying, it’s frustrating, but he can’t stop. “I thought I could deal with this but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
There is silence, solid and loud silence, so heavy that Yuto can actually hear the tick tock of the hands of his wristwatch and his beating heart; feel the way Ryosuke is holding his breath, even if he doesn’t turn to face him.
“It’s getting late,” Ryosuke says again as he opens the door and exits the room, but his tone is different, and Yuto can’t figure if it sounds numb or annoyed.
Three months and a half ago
Ryosuke is in trouble. Again.
It’s always like this everywhere he goes. He isn’t particularly good at studying and his grades have never been great. Another source of disappointment for everyone, he guesses. He is also not particularly good at following the rules, or to answer to authority, for that matter.
So, he’s only been in this school for a bit more than two weeks and the Principal has already made his acquaintance.
He just isn’t good for observing uniform regulations that make him look dull, or that prohibit him from wearing his favorite cardigan or from styling his hair. He has little enough to work with as it is, he is too short, his cheeks are too round and his lips too red, in his opinion, so why should he play against himself even more just because of some stupid school regulations?
This time they caught him wearing some hair products he shouldn’t have, according to them, and as a result he is washing his hair in one of the school bathroom sinks, under the vigilant eyes of the Vice Principal.
The water is cold, and the weather hasn’t changed into full warmth yet, and this is a punishment as much as it is an enforcement of the rules, Ryosuke knows it.
“Happy?” Ryosuke asks, defiant as hell, and the Vice Principal stares sternly at him.
“We took a risk accepting you here, Yamada-kun. And this isn’t the worse school you could attend. I hope you understand this.” The voice of the man is cold and a bit arrogant, it makes Ryosuke’s blood boil with rage.
But he bites his tongue. He’s been doing okay with the soccer team, even if he can’t really connect with the other kids. They work together anyhow, it’s more than he’s had in a really long time. And also there’s…
The Vice Principal exits the bathroom and Ryosuke waits a heartbeat or two before slamming his fist on the door of one of the stalls in frustration.
Water drips from his hair and into his shirt, making him wet and cold in addition to resentful, so when the bathroom door opens, he turns in its direction, ready to fight whoever has come through it.
But it’s Yuto, with a towel slung across his shoulder and an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“If you lecture me about this, I swear…” Ryosuke begins to say, but Yuto cuts him off by throwing the towel at his head.
“It’s cold.” Ryosuke hears Yuto say, calm, collected, Yuto, and it’s enough to cool him down a little. “Don’t catch a cold.”
And then Yuto is gone, along with all of Ryosuke’s remaining defiance.
They take the train home, and it’s as uncomfortable and awkward as it never was, not even the first day, when they didn’t know each other.
None of them speaks, and Yuto tries to not even look in Ryosuke’s direction. His resolution is weak for now, but with each passing moment he convinces himself even more than this is the right thing to do.
The trip seems to stretch into forever, and all Yuto wants is to be at home, curled up in his bed, away from everything.
Ryosuke’s stop comes not a minute too soon, and Yuto wants to be a decent guy and say goodbye for the day, maybe forever, but then he feels Ryosuke’s hand closing around his wrist and Ryosuke pulling at him with a force that has nothing to do with his height or his build; irresistible.
“Come home with me,” Ryosuke all but pleads. And it’s the worse idea in history, but the train is already signaling the closing of its doors, and Yuto steps forward, follows Ryosuke’s lead away from home and safety, leaving part of his sanity behind.
Three months ago
Yuto loves the photography club. That’s a fact Ryosuke discovered almost the same day he met Yuto. There is an antique Polaroid instant camera hanging from his neck at every hour of every single day, ready to capture the moment.
Cherry plum blossoms, sunsets, flowers, babies laughing, babies crying, the sky lit in fire at sunrise, some inane girl’s gap toothed smile, and Ryosuke.
It should be annoying, the way he seems to have become the favorite recurrent subject of Yuto’s hobby, the way he is never safe and he could be cat napping at the school rooftop or eating lunch, and suddenly there’s a click and a weird humming sound and Yuto’s laughter as the picture materializes in the film.
He wonders what does Yuto do with all of those; he never sees them at the classroom bulletin board, as many other of Yuto’s photos, and there has to be lots of them. But every time he asks, Yuto gets a little flustered and looks at him with confused, heated eyes, and Ryosuke just has to stop pressing the issue, because he knows better than Yuto what is going on, and it terrifies him.
There is a young girl at Ryosuke’s house, sitting at the low Japanese style dinner table, deeply focused in her homework. She raises her head when she hears their muted footsteps over the tatami, and the resemblance is enough that Yuto knows she is Ryosuke’s younger sister even before she speaks.
“Welcome home, oniichan,” she greets cheerfully, and the answering smile Ryosuke throws at her could melt the poles. It wreaks havoc inside Yuto, but he breathes deep, strives to control his emotions.
“I’m home, Misaki-chan,” Ryosuke seems to remember that Yuto is by his side, because his expression returns to guarded caution in a heartbeat. “This is Nakajima Yuto, a classmate.”
Yuto nods on cue. “Nice to meet you,” he says, manners kicking in automatically.
“Nice to meet you too, Nakajima-kun,” Misaki says, and Yuto is grateful of the smile that transforms her face into something unique, because the form of address reminds him of things he doesn’t want to remember right now. “Neesan made dinner if you want to eat,” Misaki adds, and Ryosuke looks questioningly in Yuto’s direction.
“I’m not hungry,” Yuto hurries to say. He couldn’t get food past the knot in his throat anyway.
“We’ll be at my room,” Ryosuke tells his sister, who nods and goes back to her homework.
Yuto follows Ryosuke up the stairs, into a tiny hallway, through the first door to the left, and into Ryosuke’s room.
It doesn’t have much in it, just a single bed, a shelf, a dresser and three lamps. No pictures, no posters on the white walls, like a hotel room.
“You can shower first,” Ryosuke says, managing to hand him a towel without looking at him at all.
“Yama-chan, I don’t think…” Yuto begins to say, but he doesn’t quite know how to continue, doesn’t know what he wants to tell Ryosuke. “I don’t think staying the night is the best idea,” he finally forces out.
“I won’t jump you if that’s what you’re worried about.” Ryosuke’s jaw looks tense, like he is clenching his teeth, and there is a vein pulsing on his neck that Yuto has only seen when Ryosuke is extremely frustrated or pissed off.
“That’s not what I meant,” Yuto throws back, and now he, too, is pissed off or frustrated, or both. “Why won’t you talk to me, for fuck’s sake?! We used to talk, we used to be friends!”
“And then you fucked it up!” Ryosuke’s retort is heartbreaking, and Yuto feels all the air rush out of his lungs.
“I don’t have to put up with this...” Yuto attempts to grab his bag, to run away, but once again Ryosuke stops him.
“I need tonight, Yuto.” It’s the first time that Ryosuke has been able to drop the honorific at all, and maybe that is why Yuto stops, listen. “Please. Just tonight.”
Maybe Yuto is weak, maybe his feelings for the other boy are stronger than he thought, but he takes the towel and heads to the bathroom, and he doesn’t say a word.
Two months ago
“I like you.” Yuto blurts out.
Ryosuke just blinks.
It’s as clichéd as it gets, because they are in the school rooftop at the end of the lunch break, and maybe shoujo manga and romance is more Ryosuke’s thing -even if he does hide it from the world- but it’s not like Yuto has planned this anyway, it doesn’t look like that at least.
Ryosuke has been dreading this moment for some time now, and his heart hammers in his chest, panic or something else, Ryosuke doesn’t even want to know.
“Yuto-kun...” Ryosuke whispers, his voice trembling.
“I… I know it’s weird, okay? And I’m sorry I told you, I didn’t plan to,” Yuto stutters, looking pointedly at his shoelaces.
“Don’t do this.” Ryosuke’s voice is desperate, his body is tense, he is about to snap.
“I can’t change what I feel, Yama-chan.” Yuto looks sad, and Ryosuke feels his pain inside, along with all the sharp bits of everything that hurts him. “I am sorry… we can just forget about this if you want to…”
Ryosuke doesn’t say a thing, he just grabs his lunchbox and runs away, away from school and from Yuto’s broken eyes; away from his wildly beating heart and the guilt of all the things he desires and that are not meant to be.
Ryosuke goes into the shower after Yuto is done, and they don’t exchange one word.
Yuto doesn’t know exactly what he is doing here and he is confused as hell as he changes into the clothes Ryosuke left for him folded on his bed. Loose pajama pants that Yuto is sure that belong to Ryosuke’s older sister and a clean and ironed T-shirt that manages to smell a bit like Ryosuke anyhow. Maybe it’s the room, Yuto thinks, ascetic and bare as it is, it still has something that reminds him of the older boy, a lingering presence that he just can’t stand in this moment.
The night is warm when he steps outside into the balcony, it does little for cooling him down, but at least the air smells of not-Ryosuke, and it’s sad and a little pathetic, but that’s enough for Yuto for the time being.
As it is, the air smells of smoke, and he turns his head to see a young girl, just a bit older than him, sitting on the handrail, a lit cigarette in her hand.
“You are in for a long wait, my friend. Ryosuke always takes forever in the shower,” she drawls, lazy and low. “I’m Chihiro, by the way. Ryosuke’s older sister. Nice to meet you~”
“Nakajima Yuto, nice to meet you,” Yuto says, in automatic mode, barely above a whisper. “And aren’t you a bit too young for that?” he blurts out then, pointing at her hand with his head.
Chihiro looks pointedly at him before taking a long, deep drag. “Aren’t you a bit too young to be fucking my brother?” She asks idly, then blows out the smoke in Yuto’s general direction; which is just fine, because Yuto can pretend that the deep blush that crawls all over his face is the result of his coughing and not anything else.
“I’m sorry,” Yuto all but babbles, dragging his eyes down in embarrassment. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay.” Chihiro's tone gets softer, and she puts down the cigarette before patting down a spot beside her at the handrail. “I know I am poisoning myself and that it’s illegal and all that crap. Thanks for caring anyway.”
“You are welcome, I guess,” Yuto says as he hops up and sits beside her obediently.
“And it’s okay that you are fucking my brother, too,” Chihiro adds, not particularly looking in Yuto’s direction, which doesn’t prevent Yuto from almost falling down anyway. “You seem like a decent guy, it’s most than Ryosuke’s had in… ever, actually.”
Yuto just looks at his dangling feet and says nothing.
“Oh shit, don't tell me you broke up with him! You did, didn’t you?” Chihiro looks in his direction with something akin to panic, grabs his shoulder with a hand that is cold in spite of the early summer night and that reeks of nicotine. Under the pale light of the moon and the street lamps, her resemblance with her brother is a little unsettling.
“I can’t break up with him if we were never dating to begin with…”
“Fuck… hey… Yuto, right?” Chihiro looks at him, determination set in her eyes. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
And Yuto breathes out a smile in spite of himself. “What?”
“He is my little brother, and I love him to pieces, but he needs to be kicked in the ass from time to time… metaphorically, in this case.” Chihiro seems to enjoy Yuto’s discomfort, so he doesn’t even try to hide it. “But... he’s been better all this time. He’s changed… seems almost happy. Or as happy as he lets himself be.” The tone of her voice gets progressively lower as she continues and her hand is no longer on Yuto’s shoulder but grabbing the handrail forcefully. “This family has been pretty much a mess since dad died. Mom had to take on two jobs to support us, because there were three of us and she had all these… expectations…”
“I didn’t know… I’m sorry,” Yuto murmurs, at loss of words.
“It’s not your fault, it isn’t anyone’s fault, really. But Ryosuke… he took it pretty bad. Worse than the rest of us.” Chihiro absentmindedly reaches for the pack of cigarettes in her back pocket and lights one. Yuto says nothing. “I guess I could have given him more attention, maybe he needed it… but Misaki was so little, even if she was just a year younger than him, and mom was never around and… maybe it is my fault, after all…”
Yuto hears the pipes shifting, the sound of the water splashing stopping, and he really doesn’t know what to say so he just flops down from the handrail. “I should…” He begins to say, nodding in Ryosuke’s bedroom direction.
“Yeah... you should,” Chihiro says, her voice a bit forlorn. “Don’t let him push you away, kid. No matter what he says, he does care about you if he brought you here. He’s never done that before.”
Two months ago - Night
Convincing Yuto’s brother to let him in, even if it’s past ten at night and Yuto has been locked up in his room for the last few hours, is not the hardest part at all.
The hardest part is looking at Yuto, in his pajamas and ready to go to bed, and bite his tongue, to not say anything that could make this worse, to see the effects of rejection on Yuto’s eyes and not give into his primal urge of kissing him senseless and make everything go away.
But Yuto doesn’t understand, he can’t understand. He’s only known Ryosuke for a couple of months and can’t see the darkness inside him, the very core of what could harm him, destroy him.
So he just gets close to Yuto, feeling a shiver run all down his spine when he hugs him and holds onto him, when he burrows his head on Yuto’s neck and Yuto gasps, confused at first and then a bit turned on, when Ryosuke starts kissing his heated skin, nibbling at it.
“I don’t understand,” whispers Yuto, his voice low, so low, his heated tone pooling between Ryosuke’s legs like liquid fire, making him react, making a mess out of his mind.
“Don’t speak,” hisses Ryosuke, unable to control his actions, unable to deny himself this. “Don’t think.”
Ryosuke gets Yuto to sit on the bed, then gets on his knees so quickly it hurts; and it’s so, so good to feel Yuto thickening in his mouth as he bobs his head relentlessly, the need to taste him so strong it’s almost compelling.
They talked about this, a while ago, the first time Ryosuke stayed over. The lights were off and Ryosuke was laying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as they talked. It was his very first clue, the stirring jealousy he felt when Yuto told him about a girl that had sucked him off, the shocking need he felt to do it himself, to do it better, to be the only thing Yuto remembered.
And exhilaration runs through his veins as he watches the way Yuto bites on his fisted hand to muffle his moans, the way he struggles to keep his hips still to not fuck Ryosuke’s mouth, the way Yuto can’t help but whine when Ryosuke lets him slip from his mouth.
“I want you to fuck me now,” Ryosuke says, his voice so scratchy and raw he can barely recognize it as his own.
“Yama-chan?” Yuto’s voice is also rough, lust tinting it, making it velvety, sultry. “Are you sure? I don’t have… anything, really.” Yuto sounds a little embarrassed and it’s so damned endearing Ryosuke could explode.
“I’m clean,” Ryosuke says, matter-of-fact, standing up and removing his clothes. “I got tested before transferring schools.”
It strokes Ryosuke’s ego, the way Yuto stares and swallows when he sees him naked before him, the darkness in Yuto’s eyes, the plain desire in them.
“Okay,” it’s all Yuto manages to say before Ryosuke straddles him.
Yuto’s cock is slick with saliva from Ryosuke’s previous endeavors, and it feels good when it rubs against his. It’s been so long, so damn long. And that empty feeling is back inside Ryosuke, pulsating, begging to be filled.
So he drags one of his hands up, touches Yuto’s face, delicately traces his jaw and his lower lip.
“Open up,” Ryosuke orders softly, and pushes two of his fingers into Yuto’s mouth when he complies. “Make them wet.”
Yuto follows Ryosuke’s instructions, his tongue playing lewdly with Ryosuke’s fingers, coating them, making them slick, while Yuto’s own hands grab onto Ryosuke’s hips, his short blunt nails digging deliciously on Ryosuke’s skin.
Soon it’s too much, and Ryosuke drags his hand away from Yuto’s mouth, searching for his entrance to open himself up. It’s not enough wetness, and he knows it, but he wants to feel this, feel it raw now, even tomorrow, so he shoves his two fingers inside at once, hurriedly, making the most of the little amount of preparation he is willing to undergo.
Yuto, for his part, indulges himself by kissing Ryosuke’s neck, his jaw, the sensitive skin behind his ear, and Ryosuke has a hard time keeping his moans at a low volume, especially when Yuto bites on the lobe of his ear a little too hard and Ryosuke has to stab his fingers inside himself more briskly, quicker; and it’s not enough, it’s never enough.
The sensation is rising fast all over Ryosuke’s body, and he doesn’t want to finish like this, he wants to feel Yuto, feel him deep inside. So he stops fingering himself, rises on his knees a bit, and searches for Yuto’s cock to guide it to his rim and slowly sit on it; he feels the ever increasing burn of Yuto’s length entering him, revels in the teetering grip Yuto has over the movement of his hips as he rocks them, penetrating Ryosuke slowly, maddeningly slowly, until he fills him completely, and Ryosuke could purr at the feeling.
One of Yuto’s hands fly to Ryosuke’s hair, as if he needed to hold onto something, anything, and the way his erratic fingers pull on Ryosuke’s hair hurts just the right way, making Ryosuke sigh with pleasure.
He begins riding Yuto the instant he feels he can take it. It’s rough, and too dry, and if he could care about something he’d worry about hurting Yuto, but right now he can’t think about anything else, just Yuto inside him, and all the ways the pain makes his blood sing.
“Touch me,” Ryosuke begs, and Yuto wraps his long, strong fingers around him, begins pumping gently, but Ryosuke wants none of it. “More, I need more…” He is whimpering, and he doesn't care.
And Yuto gets along with it, jerks off Ryosuke harder, harsher, pushing him relentlessly toward completion.
“Ryosuke… Ryosuke…” Yuto babbles against Ryosuke’s temple, almost out of breath.
Hearing his name like that is almost enough for making Ryosuke come; he is so close, so damn close, he can almost taste it, the iron in his mouth and every nerve ending just sizzling with sensation. But he can’t, he needs more.
“Pull my hair, please… please…” Ryosuke begs, all shame forgotten or stored for afterwards, when his whole being isn’t burning at the very edge of release.
And maybe Yuto is too enthralled to do anything other than obey, but the next instant Ryosuke feels an exquisite pressure as Yuto threads his fingers on his hair purposely, pulling it, tipping Ryosuke over the edge.
He feels when Yuto rolls him over, slipping out of him to finish himself off, hears the strangled grunt when Yuto comes over his own stomach, and it echoes all over him, making his skin tingle again.
Ryosuke is panting, his hair is damp, there is come on his hand and over his abs, and his body is sore and sticky with sweat, but that’s not the reason why he stops Yuto when he tries to kiss him.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” Ryosuke says, still out of breath, and he glues his eyes to a spot on the wall so he doesn’t have to see the hurt in Yuto’s eyes. “We need to take this out of our systems. That’s what we are doing, okay?”
And he doesn’t know why, but it does sting when he sees from the corner of his eye that Yuto looks away from him and mumbles, “Okay”.
“Do you have a futon for me to sleep onto?” Yuto asks, because he has to break the silence somehow.
“Really?” Sarcasm doesn’t become Ryosuke, and Yuto cringes a little inwardly at the display. “You are that worried about sharing a goddamned bed? Do you think I’m that desperate for your dick?”
“Can you cut the fuck out of it?!” Yuto yells, and he is irked enough he doesn’t mind Ryosuke’s sisters listening, none of them. “I am sick of you and the way you try to degrade what I fucking feel. I’m in love with you, you idiot! I am so in love with you that I thought any way I had you was enough, but I can’t do that anymore, I just can’t! I want more...”
“I let you fuck me! What else do you want?!”
“I just want you! I want you! Not just your body! I want to take care of you and protect you!”
“You can’t protect me from myself! Don’t you understand?” Ryosuke’s eyes search for Yuto’s feverishly, desperation plain in the way Ryosuke shakes. “And I can’t protect you from myself either.”
“I don’t need to be protected from you…” Yuto mumbles, understanding dawning slowly over him.
“You’ve seen what I am, the things I do,” Ryosuke hisses, self deprecation and guilt visibly consuming him. “And I’ve seen you… you hate it. I can’t change this, Yuto, I’ve tried before. It’s no use... and you’ll end up hating me…”
Yuto doesn’t listen anymore, can’t listen anymore, it’s just too much, it has been too much; too much time wasted, too many things misunderstood. So he just lunges forward, takes hold of Ryosuke’s forearms to pin them over Ryosuke’s head against the wall, and kisses him.
It’s a harsh kiss, pent up frustration and hurt bleeding into and fueling it, making it hot and dirty in a heartbeat.
“Don’t take decisions for me,” Yuto pants against Ryosuke’s lips when he comes up for air, his fingers digging ruthlessly into Ryosuke’s skin, making Ryosuke gasp. “And do you really think you can force me to do something I don’t want to do?” He hisses, dragging his lips along Ryosuke’s jaw, up his neck and to his ear, making Ryosuke shiver when Yuto speaks again. “I can cope with things, Ryosuke, I can even handle you being an emo primadonna and shutting everybody out, including me, for a while; but don’t delude yourself into thinking you can push me to do anything I really don’t want to do.”
As if proving a point, Yuto presses Ryosuke harder against the wall, higher, making Ryosuke stand on tiptoes as uncomfortably as he can manage, one of his legs moving forward to separate Ryosuke’s thighs, and Yuto smiles darkly at the awakening hardness between them, because now he understands. He crushes his mouth to Ryosuke’s again, and squeezes his body even closer, letting Ryosuke feel exactly how much he likes him like this.
Ryosuke’s hair smells of mint shampoo, and his skin smells of regular soap, he tastes like fruity toothpaste, and Yuto thinks he will never be able to stop kissing him. His tongue chases Ryosuke's, traces Ryosuke's lips before grazing them roughly with his teeth. And only when Ryosuke moans raggedly into his mouth, Yuto notices the way he is unconsciously rubbing his upper thigh against Ryosuke’s crotch.
“Strip,” Yuto commands, taking a step back and contemplating the mess that is Ryosuke; sweat making his skin shine, his lips redder than normal, his breath heavy and his cock tenting his pajama pants. “Strip, then go to the bed.”
Ryosuke does as he is told, and Yuto watches mesmerized the way Ryosuke’s muscles flex and shift as he bares himself in front of him.
Yuto swallows hard, desire tugging between his legs wildly, making him crave desperately for friction, heat, anything. But he forces himself to walk toward the place where he left his bag, to retrieve the ointment he’ll need and the tie of his folded school uniform.
Ryosuke is already on the bed, on his hands and knees, and is such an enticing view that Yuto can't help but take advantage of it.
"Put your hands on the headboard." Yuto had no idea that his voice could sound like that, so husky and deep, and Ryosuke shivers visibly again as he grabs the bars.
Yuto binds Ryosuke's wrists to the headboard with his tie, his hands are shaking but he manages to make the knots tight enough to suffice. Ryosuke will pull on them, he knows this from experience.
And then Yuto goes around, gets out of his sleeping garments, and stands staring at Ryosuke’s round, firm ass. He has heard Ryosuke complaining about his body often enough, and he still can’t understand it, why Ryosuke just seems to hate everything about himself, because Yuto thinks he is just perfect.
He squeezes one of Ryosuke’s buttocks, feeling a weird shudder run down his spine at the way Ryosuke gasps, then holds his breath. Ryosuke’s got it wrong, Yuto doesn’t hate this; it just overwhelms him a little, ever since the first time. This sense of power, the way he can make Ryosuke squirm and beg, the way he can give him delight, pleasure, rapture.
And he improvises a bit, lifts his hand and brings it down swiftly, briskly slapping Ryosuke’s flesh, making Ryosuke grunt and Yuto’s skin burn in turn.
“This,” Yuto whispers, as his hand hits Ryosuke’s bottom again, “is for trying to push me away.” Yuto’s both hands come to rest over the now pinkish skin, long fingers softly squishing it, kneading Ryosuke open. “And this is so you never, ever, do it again.” Yuto warns him, a second before diving down to lick at the puckered skin of Ryosuke’s rim.
“Yuto…” Ryosuke whimpers, his hips rocking wildly in what looks like a scrambled attempt to get closer to Yuto’s mouth and as far away as possible from it, the fabric of the tie digging angrily on his wrist as he yanks on his binds to no avail.
Yuto continues his endeavors slowly, lapping thoroughly, feeling a new surge of power go through him when he lowers his hand and barely grazes Ryosuke’s cock, and he can feel the way it twitches when he tentatively pushes the tip of his tongue inside Ryosuke’s hole.
He reaches blindly for the ointment, then smears a liberal quantity of it on his index finger, which he proceeds to slowly push inside Ryosuke.
“Hurry,” Ryosuke begs, his voice flat and tense.
“No,” Yuto answers categorically, rising on his knees to maneuver more comfortably and spank Ryosuke’s ass again. “Today we do it my way.”
Yuto takes his time preparing Ryosuke, first one, then two fingers slowly getting in and out of him, lubing him up in spite of his needy and airy whines. This position makes it impossible for Ryosuke to bite down into anything to muffle his sounds, so Yuto gets to hear him try to stay silent, gets to savor the gasps and hisses and the occasional low moans against the inner side of his upper arm, and he gets to feel Ryosuke’s legs quiver with each resounding slap of his hand.
“Yuto, please… please…” And Ryosuke is sobbing, literally, a tear running down his cheek, his cock an angry shade of red and leaking at the tip. “I need you. I want to come so much… I want to come while you fuck me, please…”
There’s only so much that Yuto can resist, really.
The surprise is visible in Ryosuke’s face when Yuto stands up and reaches for his wrists, untying them, more so when Yuto turns him around to lay him on his back.
“I want to see you,” Yuto explains to Ryosuke’s big, questioning eyes. And Ryosuke nods, a vulnerable tenderness in him that tugs at Yuto’s heart and almost makes him choke with emotion. So he kisses Ryosuke, a delicate brush of lips that it’s almost out of place, but if possible makes Yuto’s pulse beat faster, all the blood in his veins singing and dancing.
Ryosuke wraps his legs around Yuto’s waist, and Yuto coats his shaft with their made up lube, guides the tip of his erection to Ryosuke’s entrance and pushes in. It feels really different from the other times; the heat is the same, and so is the almost unbearable tightness that screams at him to move already, that compels him to seek friction and release. But it feels slicker too, and it’s easier for Yuto to rock his way in, to bury himself deeply in Ryosuke’s body.
He counts to ten, he counts to one hundred, panting into Ryosuke’s hair; when he is finally sure that he will be able to move without embarrassing himself, he opens his eyes, props himself up on his elbows and searches Ryosuke’s features for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pulls out, then rams in again.
And Ryosuke has to feel it too, the way this is better, the way it’s easier to slide in, and change the angle, and try, and probe, until a silent scream contorts Ryosuke’s face and he holds onto Yuto’s arms desperately, nails digging into Yuto’s shoulders -and maybe Ryosuke is onto something, because it feels damn good- but more importantly, Yuto knows he’s found the spot he was looking for. So he holds Ryosuke there and snaps his hips more vigorously, fucks Ryosuke harder.
“Yuto… I ngght… Yuto!!” Ryosuke’s eyes are glazed over, his mumbling words incoherent, but Yuto understands.
“Touch yourself,” he orders Ryosuke, watching in wonder as Ryosuke detaches one of his hands from Yuto’s shoulder and drags it down to wrap his fingers around his cock and jerk himself fast and rough.
Yuto manages to shift his body without losing neither the vicious rhythm he has going nor the angle. With his weight resting on his left arm, he moves his right one up, threads his fingers through Ryosuke’s hair, the closest to his scalp that he can reach.
“You can come now,” Yuto hisses, then pulls Ryosuke’s hair as hard as he can. And Ryosuke follows his command, clamping down impossibly around Yuto’s length while Yuto stares hypnotized at the way Ryosuke’s brow furrows and his mouth opens, the way everything seems to explode out when Ryosuke spills over his own hand with a sharp strangled gasp; the way he relaxes afterwards, panting his way into full consciousness. And Yuto is glad he got to see it this time.
Yuto’s hips come gradually to a halt while he watches the aftershocks rattle Ryosuke’s frame. He waits until the older boy opens his eyes, lazy gaze upon Yuto and a gorgeous, tired smile on his lips that’d make Yuto’s heart flutter if he wasn’t so lost in his own need.
Ryosuke just sighs when Yuto tries to break loose from his strong limbs, crossing his ankles powerfully over Yuto’s tailbone, locking him in.
“It’s okay,” Ryosuke slurs, his drawling voice as enticing as everything else in him. “Go ahead.”
Yuto doesn’t lose time in arguments, urgency clouding everything but Ryosuke’s heat all around him. He disentangles his fingers from Ryosuke’s sweat soaked hair to grab his hip, keeping him still for him to slam into with a brisk and selfish pace, taking his pleasure harshly from Ryosuke’s body and basking in the sweetness of Ryosuke’s groans and broken syllables of encouragement.
“Ryosuke, I’m close,” Yuto warns, but Ryosuke’s legs don’t release their hold on him.
Ryosuke caresses Yuto’s face, brushes a rebel lock of wet hair out of Yuto’s forehead with his fingers, and then gets his mouth closer to Yuto’s ear. “Come inside me,” he mutters.
It’s enough, it’s too much, and Yuto stumbles down in ecstasy, his toes curling as he releases buried deep into Ryosuke’s warmth, surrounded by Ryosuke’s muscles that keep stimulating him long after he is done, milking him dry.
It takes him a while to start thinking coherently again; he is drained, physically and emotionally, and this might very much be the most intense experience in his very short sexual life. Even so, he forces himself to move, to roll off and pull out of Ryosuke’s body, his movements a little clumsy, his mind a little drunk with the feeling of total possession that washes over him when he looks at Ryosuke and sees all his marks, different in form and nature, scattered over Ryosuke’s body.
He manages to snap out of it quickly though, and he reaches for the wet wipes that are still in his bag. He cleans Ryosuke gently, makes a caress out of it, and for once Ryosuke doesn’t fight it but lets Yuto take care of him.
“Don’t dress,” Yuto asks, later, when they are still naked and cuddling in Ryosuke’s bed, halting Ryosuke who was reaching out for his pajamas.
It’s the first time that Yuto gets to feel Ryosuke’s skin completely against his, that he can let his hands roam and explore it, and this feels better than sex, this closeness in which he can drink in Ryosuke with all of his senses.
Ryosuke is really warm, and Yuto clings to him even if it’s summer and he is not really cold, but he doesn’t want to ever let him go.
Present - The morning after
Ryosuke’s room is hot when Yuto wakes up in the morning. He is alone and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why, to remember, after the first minutes of cold panic, that today isn’t a school day and that there’s no rush for him to be anywhere else.
Eventually he puts on clothes and makes his way down the stairs, lured by the smell of food and the sound of something cooking on the kitchen below.
Chihiro is sitting at the low table where Misaki was doing her homework last night, there’s a mug in her hands and the smell of black coffee reaches Yuto’s nose when he is several feet away from her.
“Good morning~” she chirps, patting the place beside her, and Yuto rushes to sit there.
He can see Ryosuke from this position, bangs pulled up in a palm tree over his forehead and a worn down pink apron over his clothes. He has his back to Yuto and he is successfully handling the food cooking on the stove.
“You must have gotten back together if he’s making breakfast,” Chihiro whispers excitedly. “The last time he cooked was when Misaki turned fifteen, and it was only because she begged him to… and she is his weakness.” She touches her index finger to her thumb in an ‘okay’ sign and mouths, “Way to go!” in Yuto’s direction.
“Chihiro, stop it...” Ryosuke’s voice sounds grumpy, but Yuto thinks it might be a brother and sister thing, because it lacks sting.
“Whatever you say, lover boy,” she mockingly says, as she gets up. “I’ll go wake Misaki up, she was studying until late last night. With her headphones on,” she adds, and winks at a beet red Yuto. “It’ll take about half an hour and I’ll make lots of noise as I come down!”
Then Chihiro is gone, and Yuto wants to bang his head on the table, but Ryosuke chooses that instant to come closer.
“She enjoys trolling me,” Ryosuke explains as he puts the omelets and the natto beans on the table, beside a bowl of pickled plums that was already there. He moves the steaming rice maker closer and opens the lid, filling two bowls with rice. “I guess I just gave her a new way to do so.”
“Thank you… for breakfast…” Somehow everything is harder now that there is light around them.
“This is so awkward…” Ryosuke chuckles as he sits down and grabs his chopsticks.
“Do we... talk…?” Yuto asks, staring intently at his rice.
“No!” Ryosuke’s tone it’s so outraged that Yuto almost giggles. “It’s just… I’m not the type that talks. And I just… I don’t like the whole holding hands and going on dates thing either, and maybe you...”
Yuto snorts. “I know that, all that. I know what you like,” he says. And Ryosuke blushes. “And you don’t have to be anything else. I don’t want the stupid image that you have of what you think I want, Ryosuke. I want you. I like you.”
“Even if…?” Ryosuke’s voice sounds doubtful, and Yuto bets he is also staring at the table in fascination, just like him.
“Maybe because of it,” Yuto whispers, feeling his ears burn. There is silence, and this is the worst breakfast conversation ever, because Yuto’s stomach feels too tight for food even if everything looks really delicious.
“I like you,” Ryosuke suddenly blurts out, and they finally look up, both of them.
“Then we can make it work,” Yuto says, hope blossoming in his chest and making him feel light headed.
“Okay.” Ryosuke says with a smile as shiny and warm as the summer morning outside. And it’s the beginning of something good.
Chihiro still trolls them when she comes back downstairs with a thankfully oblivious Misaki in tow, even if they are just eating and their hands are barely touching, but Yuto is sure he can cope with this on a regular basis. Ryosuke might not believe it, but he’s well worth it.