Collaboration! PoT> The Essence of Valentine's Day NC17 Pt1
Title: The Essence of Valentine's Day
Writer: Everlind
Artist: namae_nashi
Wordcount: 14 563
Pairing: Ohtori/Shishido (Silver Pair)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: You'll need to see a dentist after this.
Summary: The fourteenth of February is Valentine's day. But it is also Ohtori's birthday.
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This story is based on characters and the universe of The Prince of Tennis, no money is being made from it.The works of art belong to namae_nashi, as stated under the art itself.
Author's Notes: This story is a collaboration between everlind and namae_nashi for Ohtori Choutarou's birthday.
*Special:* Number 096 'Valentine's Day' for the Big Table of Doom
The Essence of Valentine's Day
There's a thump and clatter as Shishido shoulders open the door, spilling into the hallway with his arms full. Ohtori is waiting for him, having been alerted by the roar of the engine. He relieves Shishido of his motorcycle helmet and the bag of groceries before he succeeds in breaking a leg, or worse, his neck.
"Thanks," Shishido says, kicking the door closed behind him.
Ohtori peers into the grocery bag. Arches an eyebrow.
"What?" Shishido demands, dropping his rucksack carelessly to the ground. It strains at the seams, which give a worrying creak at the impact.
He digs out a packet of mint gum and then a bag of crisps. "You couldn't have gotten something a bit more… nutritious?"
"There's apples in it," Shishido answers.
"I'm making apples for dinner?" Ohtori bounces back. "I think I can handle that."
Shishido hops on one leg, pulls off a shoe, sends it flying. From somewhere in the living room Pancake lets out a yowl. He frowns. "What happened to the leftovers I- Ah. Fuck. It was Yuushi, wasn't it? Goddammit. Hang on." Producing his mobile phone from the pocket of his jeans, Shishido flips it open and calls up a number. Waits for a moment as the dial tone engages. A static crackle of greeting. Shishido yells: "Stop raiding our fridge, you fucker!" and hangs up.
Ohtori winces. "Take-out?" he ventures.
"Yeah," Shishido agrees. "Kawamura?"
Sushi. Hmm.
"I'll call," Ohtori says, grinning, and receives an answering quirk of lips in return.
***
Later that evening finds them both tucked together on the couch, satiated and lazy from too much good food. Shishido is squeezed between the back of the couch and Ohtori's body, fast asleep. His skin is hot and a little damp where Shishido breathes against his collarbone.
The movie on the TV is far from being Ohtori's genre, but he's too lethargic to stretch out his arm and reach for the remote. Plus the fit of their bodies is just perfect right now, the slightest shift might get Shishido's hipbones to dig into his thigh again, or the hard knots of his knees to grind against his own. Shishido's arm is draped over his midsection, slack and lifeless but for the occasional twitch in his fingers as he dreams.
Well into the movie Shishido huffs and stirs, realizes he's fallen asleep on Ohtori again. "Oh, look elves," he slurs, attempting to feign having paid attention so far.
On screen the gremlins go: "Gizmo… kaka!"
"Uhm," Shishido says.
"Welcome back," Ohtori says, grinning. "It's not Lord of the Rings."
"Gremlins, orcs, elves, same damn difference," Shishido grunts and shifts. His right hipbone pokes into Ohtori's side. "How long was I out?"
"An hour or so," Ohtori tells him and leans up a little to kiss him. Shishido's lips are soft and disoriented, still half-asleep. "Bed?"
Shishido presses into the kiss, nods once.
By the time Shishido has managed to roll off the couch and head for the bathroom to start brushing his teeth, Ohtori is slipping under the sheets, naked. It's become a habit after these years. They have sex nearly every day of the week and both of them are characteristically too lazy to do something as completely pointless as putting their pajamas on again after. Besides, Ohtori likes Shishido completely bare and warm and wonderful against him. So why put them on, for about half an hour tops, to only take them off and ignore them until the day after?
Waste of time.
Shishido footsteps come closer and he appears in the doorway, wearing only boxers. Then he leans against the frame, his fingers restless. Ohtori can see the fingers of his right hand play with the ring on his left, turning it, or slipping it up to the first knuckle.
It's hard to suppress the sudden smirk that threatens to break through.
Finally.
He's been waiting for this.
Too bad for Shishido he can read him so well.
"Saa, Choutarou," Shishido says, his tone obviously forced into casualness.
"Hmm-mm?" Ohtori goes, brimming with glee. No doubt Shishido has stalled so long to ask this, knowing, just knowing what Ohtori's answer was going to be.
"It's like, er, the first week of the month…"
"Is it?" Ohtori asks, making a show of propping himself on an elbow to fluff up his pillow. Shishido continues to lounge against the doorframe. A muscle near his left eye jumps. "Yes?" he prompts.
"And it is February."
"That's what usually comes after January, I suppose," Ohtori points out.
"Oh you- Fuck, alright," Shishido explodes. "Alright, here: what do you want for your birthday? There, happy now? Don't- no don't you dare-"
"Sex," Ohtori yells, loud and clear over Shishido protests and dissolves into laughter.
"Goddamnit, you little-" Shishido howls and leaps on the bed, grabbing a pillow to throttle Ohtori with.
"Payback! Paaaay-ouch-BACK!"
"You're supposed to be the nice one!" Shishido accuses him, straddling his midriff and pummeling Ohtori hard with the pillow.
"I am the nice one!" Ohtori laughs, and struggles up to snatch the other end of the pillow. "But this was too easy, I had to. I had to!"
"You're evil!" Shishido says, yanking, and snarls in frustration as Ohtori hangs on. "I mean, I really didn't know what I wanted, not like it's my fault- Dammit, Choutarou, you gave me a dinosaur. How the hell am I supposed to top that?"
"Sex."
"ARGH! Just tell me-"
"Sex. Sex. Sex. Seee-ouch-eeeex!"
"Evil little-"
"Sex!"
Shishido pulls, hard, and Ohtori hangs on, hard. The pillow explodes with a crack of a rip and a burst of feathers. Like firework they bloom open, until there's feathers everywhere, from which Shishido accidentally inhales some and proceeds with choking on them. Ohtori is rubbing his back, wry, as Shishido catches his breath. Feathers drift down like snow all around them. They're everywhere, piled high on the bed, but also as far as to heap up against the wardrobe.
by Namae_nashi
Eventually Shishido spits out the last feather and glares at him.
Ohtori is sheepish.
"I suppose you could get me a new pillow?" he suggests.
Shishido whacks him over the head. With his hand.
***
"Here's that folder you asked for," Oshitari says.
Ohtori looks at it. "No, it isn't," he answers. "And I didn't ask for one either."
"I know," Oshitari replies and perches his butt against Ohtori desk, casual as you may please. "I just needed an excuse to get out of my office."
Of course.
"Is Ryou going to kill me?" Oshitari asks, vaguely amused and not the least bit repentant. "You made me wait. I was going to starve."
"You had to wait for ten minutes, Oshitari-san," Ohtori points out and saves the document he was working on, before turning fully towards his colleague.
Oshitari shrugs. "It was a case of life and death. I'm too young to die. Think of all the young beautiful ladies who will never get to know the wonder that is me. It would be an outrage."
Chin in his hand, Ohtori just blinks at Oshitari.
"Also, Gakuto can't cook. I was hungry," Oshitari amends, then adds, "sorry."
"What are you here for, Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, anxious to get him out of his office again before their manager decides to make his rounds. What Oshitari does (or rather doesn't) behind his desk is his choice, but Ohtori doesn't want to leave a bad impression. And he was kind of hoping for a promotion, soon. He's been working hard.
"It's Valentine's soon," Oshitari says.
Ohtori just looks at him.
"What are the two of you going to do?"
Ohtori keeps staring.
"I see," Oshitari says. "So, what I wanted to ask is where you got Ryou's ring. I'm thinking of getting Gakuto something similar. Do you mind…?"
"Oh," Ohtori goes, not having expected that, and smiles. "It's just around the corner here, really," he tells him, as he writes down the address. "Here."
"Thank you," Oshitari says, returning the smile, and hops off the desk.
The door closes, discreetly. Ohtori feels like he's missing something, but can't quite put his finger on it. After a minute of dissecting the exchange he dismisses it and re-opens his document.
***
Shishido is in the kitchen, talking on the phone when he comes home.
"Tadaima," he mouths.
"-er-yeah, I gotta go, Yuushi. Bye," he hangs up and allows Ohtori to kiss him.
Their mouths meet, soft and clinging, somewhat longer than a quick peck.
"Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, surprised, when he pulls back.
Turning towards the rice-cooker, away from Ohtori, Shishido answers, "To apologize."
"Wow," Ohtori says, suitably impressed. "That's a first."
"Hm," Shishido hums, noncommittally. "Feed your cat, will you? She's driving me nuts."
Pancake glowers. She's still angry about the shoe from yesterday. Actually she always glowers, or looks as though she is, because of her squashed face. Ohtori knows he should never have agreed to Shishido's bargain (okay, if you want to keep the damn animal, then fine, but I get to give it a name). That's another something he needs to pay Shishido back for.
After dinner Ohtori watches some TV, while Shishido prepares a class for tomorrow, leafing through a textbook as big as Ohtori's wrist is wide and which details only one certain event in history. As always he starts out in his room, then moves to spread his work out over the dinner table and when that surface is covered, moves to sit on the ground. Before long there's a flood of papers all around the couch, along with some stray feathers the both of them keep finding everywhere. Shishido puts sticky notes between the pages, clacks away on his laptop, runs hands absentmindedly through his hair.
Pancake makes it a point to plant her fat fluffy butt on each paper Shishido is about to reach for. Shishido will poke her off it with his pen and she'll move on to the next.
"Choutarou," Shishido speaks up after a while.
"Yes?"
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"Sex," Ohtori answers.
"Yes, ha ha ha, you got me," Shishido grumbles. "Seriously though."
On the TV commercial after commercial is filled with suggestions for Valentine's day; massages, spas, chocolatiers, perfumes, restaurants. The media milks it. Even during the news at eight there's hearts-shaped decoration dangling discreetly at the edges of the set. Ohtori sighs, annoyed. The TV goes out with static zip. He edges closer so he can watch Shishido work, propping his chin on the arm of the couch.
"Make it not be Valentine's day?" Ohtori asks.
Shishido peers up from where he's pawing through some maps. "Nice one. Thanks. And how am I supposed to do that?"
"I got you a dinosaur," Ohtori points out, enjoying this a little too much.
"Bah," Shishido throws a ball of paper at him. "Besides, you had to go and be born on Valentine's day, didn't you? Not the thirteenth, not the fifteenth, nope, right smack dab in-between. Valentine's day. Seriously."
Ohtori throws it back, hits Shishido on the crown of the head. "Not like I had much choice," it comes out sourer than he intends to.
"Girls think it's cute," Shishido soothes him. "Not the end of the world, Choutarou, jeez."
"Sure. Of course. It's not your birthday that concedes with the one day of the year that has hearts and pink and awful love-songs. Remember last year? When my mother-"
A hand slips over his mouth, shushes him. Shishido kisses his forehead. "Yeah, I know. That was pretty lame of her," he murmurs.
Ohtori nods, loops his arms around Shishido and drags him onto the couch. It takes some shifting, limbs knocking and tangling to make room for them both, but Ohtori manages to maneuver himself on top of Shishido, spreading his weight to keep from smothering him. Where his cheek rests on Shishido's chest, there's the steady beat of his heart. With just that to guide him, Ohtori can feel tension he didn't know had him strung up, drain away, until his heart beats the same cadence.
"You don't need to get me anything," Ohtori murmurs, sincere. "Isn't that what you said? No more presents."
Shishido's hand moves from the back of his neck towards his mouth, the pad of his thumb following the curve of Ohtori's lips. He's lying lower than usual to spare Shishido, and he can feel him grow hard and aroused against his solar plexus. Smiling, Ohtori takes the finger between his lips, licks it.
Shishido's breath stutters for a moment, but then he says quite evenly, "Yeah, I did. But only after your birthday, ne? It's not fair that I got to have a party and presents and you nothing. After yours, we're even."
"I don't really want anything," Ohtori replies. "It's a Sunday. I'd rather just sleep in, have sex, stay home, have dinner."
"Your parents will want-"
"I don't." Ohtori says, hard and final. "Not after last year."
Shishido says nothing, just draws his hands in complicated patterns over Ohtori's face, between his shoulder blades.
When Ohtori's anger ebbs, Shishido speaks up, his voice soft, "You usually don't make such a big deal out of it."
"Sorry," he says and hitches himself up higher, to match their hips together. Both of them gasp. "It's only that, well… it's always Valentine's day. Not just my birthday," he tries to explain.
Shishido's eyes are dark and a little hurt.
"Not you," Ohtori tells him quickly. "You're always great with it. It's just the rest of the world. My parents and colleagues and friends. My birthday cards have hearts on them, sometimes."
"I know," Shishido says, and kisses him hard. Hard and deep until Ohtori's lips go soft from arousal, allowing Shishido to curl his tongue warm and wet against his. Hard and sweet until Ohtori forgets anything but the feeling of the person underneath him, who gives him such stability and manages to right all wrongs by just kissing him, until it becomes silly, insignificant, especially compared to the rising tide of the sexual energy between them.
Barely five minutes and Ohtori is on his back, numb with emotion, while Shishido sits on his thighs, unbuckles his belt. He aches with need, his cock painfully hard and trapped at an awkward angle in his pants.
"I'll fix it," Shishido says, tugging the last remains of the clothing down Ohtori's legs.
It isn't until after, when they both try to catch their breath, skin slipping together, that Ohtori realizes that Shishido wasn't talking about his erection.
***
While Shishido doesn't bother to make a secret out of it, but he doesn't outright tell Ohtori what he's planning either. Besides, it would be hard to keep it a secret when he needs to ask Ohtori to take a few days off.
"It's me," Shishido says.
"Hey," Ohtori says, smiling into his tea at the rough familiarity of his partner's voice.
"So, did you get the fifteenth and sixteenth off?" he asks.
"Uh-huh, I'm ahead of schedule anyway," Ohtori answers. And he still had to take up some vacation, mostly accumulated by working over-time.
"Good," Shishido says, sounding faintly relieved.
"You already booked it, didn't you?" Ohtori says, laughing. "What if I couldn't get away?"
"I'd have kidnapped you," Shishido says a little too seriously. "I gotta go, Choutarou. Later!"
He hangs up.
Ohtori stares at the receiver for a moment and wonders if he should start being worried about this.
***
The closer the calendar creeps towards towards the fourteenth, the more obnoxious the whole hype becomes. Hearts pop up everywhere, plastering the windows of any shop imaginable, even those which really don't offer any suitable merchandise for the occasion. The menus of restaurants are replaced with fanciful frivolities, and if not that, change the names of even the most common dish to something involving 'love' or 'passion' or 'piquant' or 'tender'.
The television programmation switches out the action-packed movies to romances and after midnight to tasteful porn, on some channels.
Shishido starts to get riled up about the general idiocy that sweeps over his students; the moon-eyed gazing, the notes being passed around, the endless giggling, the skirts that go from knee-length to barely long enough to cover even their buttocks. In retaliation Ohtori witnesses him come up with cruelly difficult pop-quizzes or assignments that would cause even the most work-hardened student to groan.
People around him start talking about how they plan to spend the day, the gifts they plan on buying for their significant others.
Oshitari revels in it. Plan after plan he comes up with (which, for some reason, he feels the need to explain in great detail to Ohtori), each new one more extravagant than the former. One of them is to buy Gakuto a bouquet of as many roses as the times they've had sex. But seeing as they've even been longer together than Shishido and he, the number is so mind-boggling that Oshitari has to concede he can't possibly afford it. Ohtori mostly can't believe Oshitari counts it. Who does that?
He learns from Kabaji that Atobe has bought a star and named it after his wife.
Bought. a. star.
Seriously.
Hiyoshi is the only one who is rather rational. But then he always has been.
"We're leaving Yasuo at my parents'," he tells Ohtori and Kabaji as they grab a quick bite during lunch together. "We're going hiking, away from all the madness."
"Hiking?" Ohtori exclaims, chopsticks raised half-way to his mouth. "It's freezing cold!"
"You get warm when you walk," Hiyoshi says with a shrug. "We just want to spend a quiet day together."
Ohtori nods. Understandable, after having focussed for more than half a year on your newborn son.
"What about you?" Hiyoshi asks Kabaji.
When Kabaji goes bright, bright red, Hiyoshi and he exchange a grin.
"Now you've get to tell us," Ohtori says, teasing him.
Kabaji has been seeing his girlfriend for just about three weeks. He met her at Atobe's New Year's soiree and they got on from the first. She's a former super-model and absolutely beautiful.
"I wrote her a poem," Kabaji admits after some mild pestering.
"Wow," Hiyoshi says, eyebrows rising.
"That's… kind of sweet, actually," Ohtori tells him, rather touched. For all of Kabaji's lack of them vocally, he actually has a way with words on paper. His writing is simple, but pure and fresh because of it.
Kabaji slurps the broth of his noodles and doesn't say a thing.
When Hiyoshi asks him what he plans to do for his birthday, Ohtori feels a sharp surge of gratitude towards him. Birthday, not Valentine's.
"Honestly? I have no idea," Ohtori admits, feeling his stomach glow warm and surprisingly fluttery. "Ryou's plotting something."
"Oh God," Hiyoshi groans. "Run while you still can."
"His plans aren't all that bad," Ohtori says defensively.
"No, of course not," Hiyoshi says, sarcasm crammed into every single syllable. "There was that thing with the traffic cones-"
"Yes, but-"
"-and that one time with the rice crackers-"
"Sure, that was rather-"
"-not to forget when he locked Jiroh into the girl's bathroom wearing only-"
"Which was entirely-"
"Not to mention the chalk incident-"
"That was mostly Mukahi-senpai-"
"-after which he came up with that glue and popcorn thing-"
"… alright, that was kind of extreme," Ohtori admits, wincing at the mere memory of it.
"Choutarou," Hiyoshi says, exasperated. "He always operates on extremes. There's no middle ground for Shishido."
Ohtori thinks about this, meeting Hiyoshi and Kabaji's silent and frankly worried gazes and realizes that, yes, he should be worried.
Oh shit.
***
As he's toeing off his shoes, Ohtori resolves that he will corner Shishido and wrangle the secret from him, before mayhem happens.
Thing is, Shishido doesn't hear him coming in. He's on the phone in the kitchen and Ohtori intents to sneak up and startle him. Right up until he catches a snippet from the voice on the other side of the connection.
It's his father. He'd know that tone, that attitude, no matter where and when. Even if it is filtered thinly through the receiver of a phone he isn't even holding.
His hearts stops.
Shishido leans hipshot against the counter, expression vacant. "Yes, I understand," he says, as though he's had to say it a hundred times already. "But he needs to take up those days anyway, what better time than his birthday?" That, too, sounds as though it is an argument he's repeated a hundred times.
"Yes, yes, I understand," Shishido says, "but Choutarou is perfectly capable of deciding that for himself."
The nasal natter increases, almost loud that Ohtori can actually understand what his father is nearly yelling at Shishido.
"Of course. I understand," Shishido answers. "But believe me when I say that there's nothing I could do to force him. Your son is perfectly capable of defending himself."
The tone changes, goes low and dangerous.
Shishido starts to frown. "He's turning twenty-four, Choutarou's hardly a child. Besides if he wants to celebrate his birthday with his parents, he's free to do so."
More low jabbering, sharper and sharper as the explanation goes on. From some of the noises that filter through Ohtori knows his father is trying to overwhelm Shishido with expensive sounding lexicon.
"I know it is on Valentine's day-"
The voice of his father starts to thunder from the receiver.
"-I just want to-" Shishido tries, but is drowned out.
Shishido begins, to Ohtori's puzzlement, to rummage in a cupboard. He takes out the bag of crisps he bought last week.
"Yes, I understand," Shishido repeats, but now his voice is flat and empty. The packet is pressed against the phone, but not opened. "Oh, wait, oh hell, I think the signal is going-" he starts to mangle to packet between his hands. "Ohtori-san? Can you hear me?" he exclaims, feigning confusion, "Ohtori-san?" More crumpling. "Can you hear-" and then he hangs up.
Shishido glares at the phone, before tossing it tiredly onto the table with a great sigh.
"Resourceful," Ohtori says, stepping into the kitchen.
Shishido jumps about a mile and bangs his elbow into a cabinet.
"Ow fuck," he groans. Blood wells up where the skin is burst. "Er, I, uh."
Plucking some tissues from a box on the counter, Ohtori presses it against the cut. The white bleeds into red, brighter than the horror movies always make the color out to be.
Shishido is close to him, hair tickling Ohtori's neck. His cheeks are flushed.
"I don't suppose you'll believe me when I say it was a salesman?" he asks, trying to make light of the situation.
Dabbing away some more blood, Ohtori tugs him closer with his free-hand, hugging him. "How long has this been going on?"
Shishido rests against him, pries at his tie. "Now and then. Depends on the situation."
Closing his eyes, Ohtori swallows agains the sudden crop of emotion swelling in his throat. "Ryou."
"Don't," Shishido says, voice gentle but backed up with steel. "I can deal. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter-" Ohtori explodes, irrationally unsettled.
Before he can get any further than that, Shishido crushes their mouths brutally together. It's full of determination and pain and love. "It's worth it," Shishido growls, low, eyes boring into Ohtori's until his knees go weak. "This is worth it."
Ohtori looks at him, frightened for something he can't even begin to comprehend, fear that evaporates when Shishido, still kissing him, eyes wide open, whispers against his lips, "Trust me."
And he always has.
"I do," he answers, because the world ceases to exist, pales to nothing when Shishido looks at him like that.
"I know," Shishido murmurs and kisses him more carefully. "Alright?"
"Alright."
And it is.
***
The cards start to arrive on Friday. Out of five, one of them is Valentine themed. From an aunt, no less. Ohtori tries not to let it bother him, but it stings a little anyway. Why is it so difficult to just get him a normal birthday card? Part of him understands why they all think it 'cute' that he's born on Valentine's, but he's twenty-four (in two day's time) and a man, so isn't it sort of a given that he'd rather not see hearts and angels on his cards? For a second he deliberates 'accidentally' tossing it away with rest of the paper and carton waste. Then he feels guilty for being so ungrateful and he tacks it onto the board with the rest.
Shishido comes home lugging a bag full of chocolate over his shoulder.
"Even though I'm their goddamn teacher," he says, dumping the haul on the table.
"More than last year," Ohtori says, amazed that the girls still haven't taken a hint what with the volley of horrific tests and assignments. Not to mention that Shishido always has been a very stern, and on some occasions, terrifying teacher in the first place.
"At least they're smart enough not to sign it," Shishido mutters as he digs around in a pocket of his sweater. "Here, from my family and Jiroh," he gives him two cards.
Both of them are birthday cards.
Jiroh's says:
Happy Birthday Choutarou ^_^
You should come over sometime next week, Bunta will bake a cake for you! Drool-free, I promise!
I hope you have a nice party!
It's signed with his name, and Marui's.
The other, from Shishido's family says:
Happy 24th Choutarou!
I hope you have a wonderful vacation, just relax and enjoy yourself. Make sure Ryou packs a suit!
Our best wishes and love,
Again, signed with their names.
"Where are we going?" Ohtori asks out loud, starting to smile.
Shishido peeks over his arm. "Aw, hell, way to go and give everything away, okaa-san," he grumbles to himself.
"Do you even still have a suit?" Ohtori says, remembering with a surge of arousal the last time he saw Shishido wear a suit. Actually he mostly remembers taking it off from him, every single article but for his tie. The memory alone is enough to make his blood run like fire. This whole 'trip' is going to turn out to be either a very good thing, or a very bad one.
"Somewhere," Shishido responds, clearly annoyed at having been tattled on. "Same one I wore at Atobe's wedding."
Oh dear. Yes, that'd be the one.
"Ryou, where are we going?" Ohtori asks again, following Shishido into the bedroom.
"Disneyland," Shishido deadpans.
Ohtori rolls his eyes, but doesn't press. "Who'll look after Pancake?"
"Aniki will come to feed her in the mornings, Jiroh in the evenings," Shishido says, as he rummages around for another t-shirt. "Don't worry. I've thought of everything."
"Alright," Ohtori allows and sits down on the bed, folding his legs under him. "So you'll be wearing a suit at one point?"
Shishido is in the progress of pulling off his shirt, the fabric a wad around his head and shoulders when he starts to laugh. It's rather comical, the way he stands there with his torso bared, arms helpless above his head, laughing. Then he nearly walks into the bed, so Ohtori gets up to free him. When he lets it drop to the ground, Shishido is grinning, shaking his head a little. Arms sling low around Ohtori's waist, pull him closer.
"Trust you to focus on that," Shishido chuckles, warm and low against his chest. "Do you remember-"
Ohtori claps a hand over his mouth. Against his palm, Shishido's lips quirk into a smug curve.
Of course he remembers. He doesn't think he's ever gone as berserk from pent-up want and sheer frustration as he had then. It had been terrible. Shishido's teasing, no, tormenting, when he realized what kind of effect the suit had on Ohtori, and really mind-blowing after, when he finally got to shove Shishido up against a wall. It had been rough, hard, leaving them both with bruises. Shishido had been so damned pleased with himself for making Ohtori snap like that. In public, no less. On Atobe's wedding party. Because they hadn't even made it home.
His cheeks start to burn, embarrassed, even though nobody ever found out. "You're not going to-"
Shishido smirks, rather evilly. "Hah, look at you, blushing," he scoffs. "Hypocrite. I bet you can't wait."
And isn't that the truth?
***
The fourteenth doesn't dawn sweet and soft and warm. There's no lips kissing him awake, or a hand over his cock, coaxing it to life. Nor is there the simple beauty of curling up against his boyfriend, feeling for the line of his body and then drawing them closer together, their skin one long unbroken line.
None of that.
Ohtori wakes up because the light switch is flicked on mercilessly, flooding the dark room with harsh light. Which is an awful manner to wake up from all by itself, but Ohtori's inner clock lets him know he hasn't nearly had enough sleep. Like hunger, the lack of sleep yawns in his torso, fuzzy and itchy.
His watch confirms as much.
Four thirty in the morning.
Ohtori groans.
"Wake up, Choutarou!" Shishido says, poking the back of his head. "If you're not out of bed within ten minutes, I'm pouring cold water over you."
Ohtori groans some more, burrowing deep into the duvet.
Why is it that someone with a fuse as short as Shishido's can be such an incorrigible morning person? Peeping from his warm fortress, he watches Shishido dig around in the wardrobe, making a right mess of all the crisply stacked garments Ohtori spends so much time ironing and folding. The message seems to be: dress warm. Shishido dons a t-shirt that actually fits, showing the slender cut of his torso, tucks it into his jeans to keep the cold from nipping at any carelessly exposed skin. Then he adds a turtle-neck, baggy and thick, and tops it off with a hoodie that belongs to Ohtori, one that that has wool lining in the hood. Two pairs of socks. Finally he digs up a positively huge woolen scarf; the kind that wraps three or four times around your neck.
"Cold place we're going?" Ohtori asks.
"There'll be snow," Shishido says, walking over to him. He perches on the bed and Ohtori edges closer until he's cupped around the dent where Shishido sits, his face pressed against the rough denim of the jeans. Shishido smiles, touches his hair. "Happy birthday," he murmurs.
"Hm," Ohtori goes. "That's nice. Can I go back to sleep?"
"No."
"You could take all those clothes off again and crawl in with me."
"I suppose," Shishido allows. "And then what?"
"You know what," Ohtori says, looking at him.
Shishido gazes down on him, eyes darkening as they linger on the bare curve of Ohtori's shoulder, the slice of his collarbone. His eyes shine, his lips quirk into a smile. It's the familiar fierce gentleness that usually suggests Ohtori will be moaning and begging and coming hard enough to make the world fade white before he'll know it. Which is only confirmed when Shishido's hand slips up towards the edge of the duvet, and then under. Ohtori's body is humming, lazy and aroused, aching to feel that touch on him.
Shishido does.
He splays his hand wide, palm pressing flush against Ohtori's belly.
His hand is freezing cold.
Ohtori yelps, lurches away from it, and topples out of bed.
Groaning, he lies in ridiculous tumble on the ground, his legs on the bed still, the rest of him hanging out of it crooked, tangled with the duvet. The bed creaks as Shishido crawls across it. His face appears above him.
"Alright?"
Ohtori glares at him. Which makes Shishido smirk.
"Get dressed," he says, "It's a long drive."
Approximately half an hour later Ohtori is, while not exactly ready to go, dressed. Shishido has loaded up the car, having taken a rather logical approach to stacking the bags, cooling boxes and random junk he's decided to take with, instead of just dumping it randomly as he usually does. Even their suits, pressed and zipped up in their protective bags, are laid out carefully to avoid creases.
"Where are we going?" Ohtori asks, seeing the amount of food Shishido's packed.
"You'll see," Shishido answers vaguely, bend over into the car as he rummages around.
Ohtori puts a hand on the small of his back.
There's a grunt. Shishido straightens up and moves a little closer into the circle of his arms, tiptoes. It's early enough for them to do this in the middle of the street. It's still dark, a Sunday and Valentine's day, so nobody in their right mind would be up and about at five in the morning. Unless your name is Shishido Ryou and you're kidnapping your best-friend-come-lover to have your wicked way with him God knows where.
The whole 'kidnapping' theme is only underscored when Shishido mutters indistinctly into their kiss, "Leave your mobile home."
Ohtori knows he should be worried.
But he isn't.
Alright, it might have something to do with how Shishido smells and feels, pressed up against him like that, because it is difficult to be worried when the only thing he can think about is how he might try to convince Shishido to have sex in the car. And why not, it's one of the few places they haven't, erm, christened yet.
Mid-kiss, Ohtori has to yawn.
Shishido rolls his eyes, "Right. Maybe next time you won't insist on having sex at two in the morning, even though I told you we'd be getting up early."
"I wasn't insisting," Ohtori exclaims, indignant.
There's a pointed glance at his crotch. "Of course not," he says rather sarcastically. "I'm sure that that was a flashlight poking me in the leg. Or the handle of a tennis racket. Anyway, why don't you lie down in the backseat, get some rest."
"Wait," Ohtori manages, suppressing a wave of unease. "You're driving?"
Demonstratively, Shishido twirls the car keys around his index finger. "I am. Problem?"
Uh, yes. Ohtori doesn't say this, though, he just gapes and imitates a fish.
"Deal with it," Shishido says, as he walks over to the right side of the car. "You haven't got any idea where we're going, how do figure we'd get anywhere with you driving? Plus, you drive like an old lady. At your pace we'd get there, psst, next Sunday maybe? If we're lucky."
Alright. Now he's getting worried.
"Ryou-"
"Choutarou," Shishido mimics, "I'm waiting."
"I just-"
This is a phenomenally bad idea. It's an unspoken rule between the two of them: if they have to go anywhere by car, together, Ohtori drives. The last time they went anywhere with Shishido behind the wheel they'd had such a spectacular fight that Shishido went off in a huff and slept at Jiroh's for a few nights. It's not that Shishido is a bad driver. If anything, he's a better driver than Ohtori is, probably. His reflexes are sharper, quicker, and he's more aware of his surroundings and of the tomfoolery of other mobilists than Ohtori is. Which means that to make up for the lack, Ohtori drives very, very carefully. Shishido drives like he, himself, moves. Sharp and quick and abrupt, confident in his abilities. This leads to Ohtori yelling 'watch out' and 'slow down' and 'careful' and 'do you want to kill us both?' when Shishido drives.
So. Bad, baaaaad idea.
"Ryou," Ohtori says again.
"It'll be fine," Shishido counters. "Choutarou. C'mon. It's me."
Yes. It's him. Like he would ever jeopardize Ohtori's safe-being, risk his safety. Shishido would, without a thought, put himself between any danger and Ohtori.
It's him.
"Alright," Ohtori whispers. "Let me just get my bag."
***
Ohtori turns out to be lucky.
By the time he wakes up hours have passed. Besides the crick in his back, he feels rested and good. As an extra, they're driving through the middle of nowhere, it seems, so there's not much Ohtori can worry about, no messed up traffic rules to pay attention to, no other idiots breaking those said rules. There's just trees and fields overgrown with wild grasses and shrubs and the sky overhead, white-blue and endless when he peeks out of the window.
Shishido is sipping from an energizing drink, one of many, judging by the amount of cans piled up around the dashboard.
Despite the slightly dark smudges under his eyes, he is alert and rather cheerful, tapping his index finger on the wheel in time to the beat of the song on the radio. It's rock-music -loud english voices and an overdoses of guitar solos- likely one of those imported CDs of his.
"Good afternoon," he says, seeing Ohtori stir in the rear-view mirror. "There's a gas station in about five miles. I'm making a short stop there. Unless you need to go, or something, you're staying in the car. Don't talk to anyone. Preferably I'd like you to close your eyes."
Ohtori blinks. "What?"
"Just do it," Shishido murmurs. "Please, it's part of the plan."
So Ohtori sits with his eyes closed for about ten minutes when Shishido fills up the car and goes to buy them coffee in the station. Part of him doesn't understand what Shishido is trying to achieve, but he seems so serious he can't help but do as asked.
At about three in the afternoon, when they're moving along pot-holed roads crisscrossing the countryside and steadily climbing up towards a more mountained landscape, Ohtori realizes that Shishido must be dead on his feet. He doesn't seem like it, his eyes are wide and sharp-edged. But when he starts counting, Shishido might've barely caught three, maybe four hours of sleep at most.
He touches his shoulder, the back of his neck. Shishido attention doesn't waver, but the caresses brings a tiny, lop-sided smile to his face.
"Tired?" Ohtori asks.
Shishido chuckles, "I've got a six-pack of energy drinks in me, rest assured, I'm wide awake."
Taking him on his word, Ohtori relaxes and gazes out of the window. The view is nothing short of amazing. It's nature, endlessly stretching on in all directions. Pine forests, planes of tawny grasses waving in the wind, thorny shrubs and birds circling against a backdrop of pale blue. Clean, untouched, but for the poorly kept concrete road they're speeding over. Just the sight of it is enough to ease some tense knots in his shoulders, to make him smile.
Behind the wheel, Shishido barely covers a huge yawn. Ohtori hopes they'll arrive, wherever it is, soon.
...on to part 2!
Comment on part 2, please.
Writer: Everlind
Artist: namae_nashi
Wordcount: 14 563
Pairing: Ohtori/Shishido (Silver Pair)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: You'll need to see a dentist after this.
Summary: The fourteenth of February is Valentine's day. But it is also Ohtori's birthday.
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This story is based on characters and the universe of The Prince of Tennis, no money is being made from it.The works of art belong to namae_nashi, as stated under the art itself.
Author's Notes: This story is a collaboration between everlind and namae_nashi for Ohtori Choutarou's birthday.
*Special:* Number 096 'Valentine's Day' for the Big Table of Doom
The Essence of Valentine's Day
There's a thump and clatter as Shishido shoulders open the door, spilling into the hallway with his arms full. Ohtori is waiting for him, having been alerted by the roar of the engine. He relieves Shishido of his motorcycle helmet and the bag of groceries before he succeeds in breaking a leg, or worse, his neck.
"Thanks," Shishido says, kicking the door closed behind him.
Ohtori peers into the grocery bag. Arches an eyebrow.
"What?" Shishido demands, dropping his rucksack carelessly to the ground. It strains at the seams, which give a worrying creak at the impact.
He digs out a packet of mint gum and then a bag of crisps. "You couldn't have gotten something a bit more… nutritious?"
"There's apples in it," Shishido answers.
"I'm making apples for dinner?" Ohtori bounces back. "I think I can handle that."
Shishido hops on one leg, pulls off a shoe, sends it flying. From somewhere in the living room Pancake lets out a yowl. He frowns. "What happened to the leftovers I- Ah. Fuck. It was Yuushi, wasn't it? Goddammit. Hang on." Producing his mobile phone from the pocket of his jeans, Shishido flips it open and calls up a number. Waits for a moment as the dial tone engages. A static crackle of greeting. Shishido yells: "Stop raiding our fridge, you fucker!" and hangs up.
Ohtori winces. "Take-out?" he ventures.
"Yeah," Shishido agrees. "Kawamura?"
Sushi. Hmm.
"I'll call," Ohtori says, grinning, and receives an answering quirk of lips in return.
***
Later that evening finds them both tucked together on the couch, satiated and lazy from too much good food. Shishido is squeezed between the back of the couch and Ohtori's body, fast asleep. His skin is hot and a little damp where Shishido breathes against his collarbone.
The movie on the TV is far from being Ohtori's genre, but he's too lethargic to stretch out his arm and reach for the remote. Plus the fit of their bodies is just perfect right now, the slightest shift might get Shishido's hipbones to dig into his thigh again, or the hard knots of his knees to grind against his own. Shishido's arm is draped over his midsection, slack and lifeless but for the occasional twitch in his fingers as he dreams.
Well into the movie Shishido huffs and stirs, realizes he's fallen asleep on Ohtori again. "Oh, look elves," he slurs, attempting to feign having paid attention so far.
On screen the gremlins go: "Gizmo… kaka!"
"Uhm," Shishido says.
"Welcome back," Ohtori says, grinning. "It's not Lord of the Rings."
"Gremlins, orcs, elves, same damn difference," Shishido grunts and shifts. His right hipbone pokes into Ohtori's side. "How long was I out?"
"An hour or so," Ohtori tells him and leans up a little to kiss him. Shishido's lips are soft and disoriented, still half-asleep. "Bed?"
Shishido presses into the kiss, nods once.
By the time Shishido has managed to roll off the couch and head for the bathroom to start brushing his teeth, Ohtori is slipping under the sheets, naked. It's become a habit after these years. They have sex nearly every day of the week and both of them are characteristically too lazy to do something as completely pointless as putting their pajamas on again after. Besides, Ohtori likes Shishido completely bare and warm and wonderful against him. So why put them on, for about half an hour tops, to only take them off and ignore them until the day after?
Waste of time.
Shishido footsteps come closer and he appears in the doorway, wearing only boxers. Then he leans against the frame, his fingers restless. Ohtori can see the fingers of his right hand play with the ring on his left, turning it, or slipping it up to the first knuckle.
It's hard to suppress the sudden smirk that threatens to break through.
Finally.
He's been waiting for this.
Too bad for Shishido he can read him so well.
"Saa, Choutarou," Shishido says, his tone obviously forced into casualness.
"Hmm-mm?" Ohtori goes, brimming with glee. No doubt Shishido has stalled so long to ask this, knowing, just knowing what Ohtori's answer was going to be.
"It's like, er, the first week of the month…"
"Is it?" Ohtori asks, making a show of propping himself on an elbow to fluff up his pillow. Shishido continues to lounge against the doorframe. A muscle near his left eye jumps. "Yes?" he prompts.
"And it is February."
"That's what usually comes after January, I suppose," Ohtori points out.
"Oh you- Fuck, alright," Shishido explodes. "Alright, here: what do you want for your birthday? There, happy now? Don't- no don't you dare-"
"Sex," Ohtori yells, loud and clear over Shishido protests and dissolves into laughter.
"Goddamnit, you little-" Shishido howls and leaps on the bed, grabbing a pillow to throttle Ohtori with.
"Payback! Paaaay-ouch-BACK!"
"You're supposed to be the nice one!" Shishido accuses him, straddling his midriff and pummeling Ohtori hard with the pillow.
"I am the nice one!" Ohtori laughs, and struggles up to snatch the other end of the pillow. "But this was too easy, I had to. I had to!"
"You're evil!" Shishido says, yanking, and snarls in frustration as Ohtori hangs on. "I mean, I really didn't know what I wanted, not like it's my fault- Dammit, Choutarou, you gave me a dinosaur. How the hell am I supposed to top that?"
"Sex."
"ARGH! Just tell me-"
"Sex. Sex. Sex. Seee-ouch-eeeex!"
"Evil little-"
"Sex!"
Shishido pulls, hard, and Ohtori hangs on, hard. The pillow explodes with a crack of a rip and a burst of feathers. Like firework they bloom open, until there's feathers everywhere, from which Shishido accidentally inhales some and proceeds with choking on them. Ohtori is rubbing his back, wry, as Shishido catches his breath. Feathers drift down like snow all around them. They're everywhere, piled high on the bed, but also as far as to heap up against the wardrobe.
by Namae_nashi
Eventually Shishido spits out the last feather and glares at him.
Ohtori is sheepish.
"I suppose you could get me a new pillow?" he suggests.
Shishido whacks him over the head. With his hand.
***
"Here's that folder you asked for," Oshitari says.
Ohtori looks at it. "No, it isn't," he answers. "And I didn't ask for one either."
"I know," Oshitari replies and perches his butt against Ohtori desk, casual as you may please. "I just needed an excuse to get out of my office."
Of course.
"Is Ryou going to kill me?" Oshitari asks, vaguely amused and not the least bit repentant. "You made me wait. I was going to starve."
"You had to wait for ten minutes, Oshitari-san," Ohtori points out and saves the document he was working on, before turning fully towards his colleague.
Oshitari shrugs. "It was a case of life and death. I'm too young to die. Think of all the young beautiful ladies who will never get to know the wonder that is me. It would be an outrage."
Chin in his hand, Ohtori just blinks at Oshitari.
"Also, Gakuto can't cook. I was hungry," Oshitari amends, then adds, "sorry."
"What are you here for, Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, anxious to get him out of his office again before their manager decides to make his rounds. What Oshitari does (or rather doesn't) behind his desk is his choice, but Ohtori doesn't want to leave a bad impression. And he was kind of hoping for a promotion, soon. He's been working hard.
"It's Valentine's soon," Oshitari says.
Ohtori just looks at him.
"What are the two of you going to do?"
Ohtori keeps staring.
"I see," Oshitari says. "So, what I wanted to ask is where you got Ryou's ring. I'm thinking of getting Gakuto something similar. Do you mind…?"
"Oh," Ohtori goes, not having expected that, and smiles. "It's just around the corner here, really," he tells him, as he writes down the address. "Here."
"Thank you," Oshitari says, returning the smile, and hops off the desk.
The door closes, discreetly. Ohtori feels like he's missing something, but can't quite put his finger on it. After a minute of dissecting the exchange he dismisses it and re-opens his document.
***
Shishido is in the kitchen, talking on the phone when he comes home.
"Tadaima," he mouths.
"-er-yeah, I gotta go, Yuushi. Bye," he hangs up and allows Ohtori to kiss him.
Their mouths meet, soft and clinging, somewhat longer than a quick peck.
"Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, surprised, when he pulls back.
Turning towards the rice-cooker, away from Ohtori, Shishido answers, "To apologize."
"Wow," Ohtori says, suitably impressed. "That's a first."
"Hm," Shishido hums, noncommittally. "Feed your cat, will you? She's driving me nuts."
Pancake glowers. She's still angry about the shoe from yesterday. Actually she always glowers, or looks as though she is, because of her squashed face. Ohtori knows he should never have agreed to Shishido's bargain (okay, if you want to keep the damn animal, then fine, but I get to give it a name). That's another something he needs to pay Shishido back for.
After dinner Ohtori watches some TV, while Shishido prepares a class for tomorrow, leafing through a textbook as big as Ohtori's wrist is wide and which details only one certain event in history. As always he starts out in his room, then moves to spread his work out over the dinner table and when that surface is covered, moves to sit on the ground. Before long there's a flood of papers all around the couch, along with some stray feathers the both of them keep finding everywhere. Shishido puts sticky notes between the pages, clacks away on his laptop, runs hands absentmindedly through his hair.
Pancake makes it a point to plant her fat fluffy butt on each paper Shishido is about to reach for. Shishido will poke her off it with his pen and she'll move on to the next.
"Choutarou," Shishido speaks up after a while.
"Yes?"
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"Sex," Ohtori answers.
"Yes, ha ha ha, you got me," Shishido grumbles. "Seriously though."
On the TV commercial after commercial is filled with suggestions for Valentine's day; massages, spas, chocolatiers, perfumes, restaurants. The media milks it. Even during the news at eight there's hearts-shaped decoration dangling discreetly at the edges of the set. Ohtori sighs, annoyed. The TV goes out with static zip. He edges closer so he can watch Shishido work, propping his chin on the arm of the couch.
"Make it not be Valentine's day?" Ohtori asks.
Shishido peers up from where he's pawing through some maps. "Nice one. Thanks. And how am I supposed to do that?"
"I got you a dinosaur," Ohtori points out, enjoying this a little too much.
"Bah," Shishido throws a ball of paper at him. "Besides, you had to go and be born on Valentine's day, didn't you? Not the thirteenth, not the fifteenth, nope, right smack dab in-between. Valentine's day. Seriously."
Ohtori throws it back, hits Shishido on the crown of the head. "Not like I had much choice," it comes out sourer than he intends to.
"Girls think it's cute," Shishido soothes him. "Not the end of the world, Choutarou, jeez."
"Sure. Of course. It's not your birthday that concedes with the one day of the year that has hearts and pink and awful love-songs. Remember last year? When my mother-"
A hand slips over his mouth, shushes him. Shishido kisses his forehead. "Yeah, I know. That was pretty lame of her," he murmurs.
Ohtori nods, loops his arms around Shishido and drags him onto the couch. It takes some shifting, limbs knocking and tangling to make room for them both, but Ohtori manages to maneuver himself on top of Shishido, spreading his weight to keep from smothering him. Where his cheek rests on Shishido's chest, there's the steady beat of his heart. With just that to guide him, Ohtori can feel tension he didn't know had him strung up, drain away, until his heart beats the same cadence.
"You don't need to get me anything," Ohtori murmurs, sincere. "Isn't that what you said? No more presents."
Shishido's hand moves from the back of his neck towards his mouth, the pad of his thumb following the curve of Ohtori's lips. He's lying lower than usual to spare Shishido, and he can feel him grow hard and aroused against his solar plexus. Smiling, Ohtori takes the finger between his lips, licks it.
Shishido's breath stutters for a moment, but then he says quite evenly, "Yeah, I did. But only after your birthday, ne? It's not fair that I got to have a party and presents and you nothing. After yours, we're even."
"I don't really want anything," Ohtori replies. "It's a Sunday. I'd rather just sleep in, have sex, stay home, have dinner."
"Your parents will want-"
"I don't." Ohtori says, hard and final. "Not after last year."
Shishido says nothing, just draws his hands in complicated patterns over Ohtori's face, between his shoulder blades.
When Ohtori's anger ebbs, Shishido speaks up, his voice soft, "You usually don't make such a big deal out of it."
"Sorry," he says and hitches himself up higher, to match their hips together. Both of them gasp. "It's only that, well… it's always Valentine's day. Not just my birthday," he tries to explain.
Shishido's eyes are dark and a little hurt.
"Not you," Ohtori tells him quickly. "You're always great with it. It's just the rest of the world. My parents and colleagues and friends. My birthday cards have hearts on them, sometimes."
"I know," Shishido says, and kisses him hard. Hard and deep until Ohtori's lips go soft from arousal, allowing Shishido to curl his tongue warm and wet against his. Hard and sweet until Ohtori forgets anything but the feeling of the person underneath him, who gives him such stability and manages to right all wrongs by just kissing him, until it becomes silly, insignificant, especially compared to the rising tide of the sexual energy between them.
Barely five minutes and Ohtori is on his back, numb with emotion, while Shishido sits on his thighs, unbuckles his belt. He aches with need, his cock painfully hard and trapped at an awkward angle in his pants.
"I'll fix it," Shishido says, tugging the last remains of the clothing down Ohtori's legs.
It isn't until after, when they both try to catch their breath, skin slipping together, that Ohtori realizes that Shishido wasn't talking about his erection.
***
While Shishido doesn't bother to make a secret out of it, but he doesn't outright tell Ohtori what he's planning either. Besides, it would be hard to keep it a secret when he needs to ask Ohtori to take a few days off.
"It's me," Shishido says.
"Hey," Ohtori says, smiling into his tea at the rough familiarity of his partner's voice.
"So, did you get the fifteenth and sixteenth off?" he asks.
"Uh-huh, I'm ahead of schedule anyway," Ohtori answers. And he still had to take up some vacation, mostly accumulated by working over-time.
"Good," Shishido says, sounding faintly relieved.
"You already booked it, didn't you?" Ohtori says, laughing. "What if I couldn't get away?"
"I'd have kidnapped you," Shishido says a little too seriously. "I gotta go, Choutarou. Later!"
He hangs up.
Ohtori stares at the receiver for a moment and wonders if he should start being worried about this.
***
The closer the calendar creeps towards towards the fourteenth, the more obnoxious the whole hype becomes. Hearts pop up everywhere, plastering the windows of any shop imaginable, even those which really don't offer any suitable merchandise for the occasion. The menus of restaurants are replaced with fanciful frivolities, and if not that, change the names of even the most common dish to something involving 'love' or 'passion' or 'piquant' or 'tender'.
The television programmation switches out the action-packed movies to romances and after midnight to tasteful porn, on some channels.
Shishido starts to get riled up about the general idiocy that sweeps over his students; the moon-eyed gazing, the notes being passed around, the endless giggling, the skirts that go from knee-length to barely long enough to cover even their buttocks. In retaliation Ohtori witnesses him come up with cruelly difficult pop-quizzes or assignments that would cause even the most work-hardened student to groan.
People around him start talking about how they plan to spend the day, the gifts they plan on buying for their significant others.
Oshitari revels in it. Plan after plan he comes up with (which, for some reason, he feels the need to explain in great detail to Ohtori), each new one more extravagant than the former. One of them is to buy Gakuto a bouquet of as many roses as the times they've had sex. But seeing as they've even been longer together than Shishido and he, the number is so mind-boggling that Oshitari has to concede he can't possibly afford it. Ohtori mostly can't believe Oshitari counts it. Who does that?
He learns from Kabaji that Atobe has bought a star and named it after his wife.
Bought. a. star.
Seriously.
Hiyoshi is the only one who is rather rational. But then he always has been.
"We're leaving Yasuo at my parents'," he tells Ohtori and Kabaji as they grab a quick bite during lunch together. "We're going hiking, away from all the madness."
"Hiking?" Ohtori exclaims, chopsticks raised half-way to his mouth. "It's freezing cold!"
"You get warm when you walk," Hiyoshi says with a shrug. "We just want to spend a quiet day together."
Ohtori nods. Understandable, after having focussed for more than half a year on your newborn son.
"What about you?" Hiyoshi asks Kabaji.
When Kabaji goes bright, bright red, Hiyoshi and he exchange a grin.
"Now you've get to tell us," Ohtori says, teasing him.
Kabaji has been seeing his girlfriend for just about three weeks. He met her at Atobe's New Year's soiree and they got on from the first. She's a former super-model and absolutely beautiful.
"I wrote her a poem," Kabaji admits after some mild pestering.
"Wow," Hiyoshi says, eyebrows rising.
"That's… kind of sweet, actually," Ohtori tells him, rather touched. For all of Kabaji's lack of them vocally, he actually has a way with words on paper. His writing is simple, but pure and fresh because of it.
Kabaji slurps the broth of his noodles and doesn't say a thing.
When Hiyoshi asks him what he plans to do for his birthday, Ohtori feels a sharp surge of gratitude towards him. Birthday, not Valentine's.
"Honestly? I have no idea," Ohtori admits, feeling his stomach glow warm and surprisingly fluttery. "Ryou's plotting something."
"Oh God," Hiyoshi groans. "Run while you still can."
"His plans aren't all that bad," Ohtori says defensively.
"No, of course not," Hiyoshi says, sarcasm crammed into every single syllable. "There was that thing with the traffic cones-"
"Yes, but-"
"-and that one time with the rice crackers-"
"Sure, that was rather-"
"-not to forget when he locked Jiroh into the girl's bathroom wearing only-"
"Which was entirely-"
"Not to mention the chalk incident-"
"That was mostly Mukahi-senpai-"
"-after which he came up with that glue and popcorn thing-"
"… alright, that was kind of extreme," Ohtori admits, wincing at the mere memory of it.
"Choutarou," Hiyoshi says, exasperated. "He always operates on extremes. There's no middle ground for Shishido."
Ohtori thinks about this, meeting Hiyoshi and Kabaji's silent and frankly worried gazes and realizes that, yes, he should be worried.
Oh shit.
***
As he's toeing off his shoes, Ohtori resolves that he will corner Shishido and wrangle the secret from him, before mayhem happens.
Thing is, Shishido doesn't hear him coming in. He's on the phone in the kitchen and Ohtori intents to sneak up and startle him. Right up until he catches a snippet from the voice on the other side of the connection.
It's his father. He'd know that tone, that attitude, no matter where and when. Even if it is filtered thinly through the receiver of a phone he isn't even holding.
His hearts stops.
Shishido leans hipshot against the counter, expression vacant. "Yes, I understand," he says, as though he's had to say it a hundred times already. "But he needs to take up those days anyway, what better time than his birthday?" That, too, sounds as though it is an argument he's repeated a hundred times.
"Yes, yes, I understand," Shishido says, "but Choutarou is perfectly capable of deciding that for himself."
The nasal natter increases, almost loud that Ohtori can actually understand what his father is nearly yelling at Shishido.
"Of course. I understand," Shishido answers. "But believe me when I say that there's nothing I could do to force him. Your son is perfectly capable of defending himself."
The tone changes, goes low and dangerous.
Shishido starts to frown. "He's turning twenty-four, Choutarou's hardly a child. Besides if he wants to celebrate his birthday with his parents, he's free to do so."
More low jabbering, sharper and sharper as the explanation goes on. From some of the noises that filter through Ohtori knows his father is trying to overwhelm Shishido with expensive sounding lexicon.
"I know it is on Valentine's day-"
The voice of his father starts to thunder from the receiver.
"-I just want to-" Shishido tries, but is drowned out.
Shishido begins, to Ohtori's puzzlement, to rummage in a cupboard. He takes out the bag of crisps he bought last week.
"Yes, I understand," Shishido repeats, but now his voice is flat and empty. The packet is pressed against the phone, but not opened. "Oh, wait, oh hell, I think the signal is going-" he starts to mangle to packet between his hands. "Ohtori-san? Can you hear me?" he exclaims, feigning confusion, "Ohtori-san?" More crumpling. "Can you hear-" and then he hangs up.
Shishido glares at the phone, before tossing it tiredly onto the table with a great sigh.
"Resourceful," Ohtori says, stepping into the kitchen.
Shishido jumps about a mile and bangs his elbow into a cabinet.
"Ow fuck," he groans. Blood wells up where the skin is burst. "Er, I, uh."
Plucking some tissues from a box on the counter, Ohtori presses it against the cut. The white bleeds into red, brighter than the horror movies always make the color out to be.
Shishido is close to him, hair tickling Ohtori's neck. His cheeks are flushed.
"I don't suppose you'll believe me when I say it was a salesman?" he asks, trying to make light of the situation.
Dabbing away some more blood, Ohtori tugs him closer with his free-hand, hugging him. "How long has this been going on?"
Shishido rests against him, pries at his tie. "Now and then. Depends on the situation."
Closing his eyes, Ohtori swallows agains the sudden crop of emotion swelling in his throat. "Ryou."
"Don't," Shishido says, voice gentle but backed up with steel. "I can deal. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter-" Ohtori explodes, irrationally unsettled.
Before he can get any further than that, Shishido crushes their mouths brutally together. It's full of determination and pain and love. "It's worth it," Shishido growls, low, eyes boring into Ohtori's until his knees go weak. "This is worth it."
Ohtori looks at him, frightened for something he can't even begin to comprehend, fear that evaporates when Shishido, still kissing him, eyes wide open, whispers against his lips, "Trust me."
And he always has.
"I do," he answers, because the world ceases to exist, pales to nothing when Shishido looks at him like that.
"I know," Shishido murmurs and kisses him more carefully. "Alright?"
"Alright."
And it is.
***
The cards start to arrive on Friday. Out of five, one of them is Valentine themed. From an aunt, no less. Ohtori tries not to let it bother him, but it stings a little anyway. Why is it so difficult to just get him a normal birthday card? Part of him understands why they all think it 'cute' that he's born on Valentine's, but he's twenty-four (in two day's time) and a man, so isn't it sort of a given that he'd rather not see hearts and angels on his cards? For a second he deliberates 'accidentally' tossing it away with rest of the paper and carton waste. Then he feels guilty for being so ungrateful and he tacks it onto the board with the rest.
Shishido comes home lugging a bag full of chocolate over his shoulder.
"Even though I'm their goddamn teacher," he says, dumping the haul on the table.
"More than last year," Ohtori says, amazed that the girls still haven't taken a hint what with the volley of horrific tests and assignments. Not to mention that Shishido always has been a very stern, and on some occasions, terrifying teacher in the first place.
"At least they're smart enough not to sign it," Shishido mutters as he digs around in a pocket of his sweater. "Here, from my family and Jiroh," he gives him two cards.
Both of them are birthday cards.
Jiroh's says:
Happy Birthday Choutarou ^_^
You should come over sometime next week, Bunta will bake a cake for you! Drool-free, I promise!
I hope you have a nice party!
It's signed with his name, and Marui's.
The other, from Shishido's family says:
Happy 24th Choutarou!
I hope you have a wonderful vacation, just relax and enjoy yourself. Make sure Ryou packs a suit!
Our best wishes and love,
Again, signed with their names.
"Where are we going?" Ohtori asks out loud, starting to smile.
Shishido peeks over his arm. "Aw, hell, way to go and give everything away, okaa-san," he grumbles to himself.
"Do you even still have a suit?" Ohtori says, remembering with a surge of arousal the last time he saw Shishido wear a suit. Actually he mostly remembers taking it off from him, every single article but for his tie. The memory alone is enough to make his blood run like fire. This whole 'trip' is going to turn out to be either a very good thing, or a very bad one.
"Somewhere," Shishido responds, clearly annoyed at having been tattled on. "Same one I wore at Atobe's wedding."
Oh dear. Yes, that'd be the one.
"Ryou, where are we going?" Ohtori asks again, following Shishido into the bedroom.
"Disneyland," Shishido deadpans.
Ohtori rolls his eyes, but doesn't press. "Who'll look after Pancake?"
"Aniki will come to feed her in the mornings, Jiroh in the evenings," Shishido says, as he rummages around for another t-shirt. "Don't worry. I've thought of everything."
"Alright," Ohtori allows and sits down on the bed, folding his legs under him. "So you'll be wearing a suit at one point?"
Shishido is in the progress of pulling off his shirt, the fabric a wad around his head and shoulders when he starts to laugh. It's rather comical, the way he stands there with his torso bared, arms helpless above his head, laughing. Then he nearly walks into the bed, so Ohtori gets up to free him. When he lets it drop to the ground, Shishido is grinning, shaking his head a little. Arms sling low around Ohtori's waist, pull him closer.
"Trust you to focus on that," Shishido chuckles, warm and low against his chest. "Do you remember-"
Ohtori claps a hand over his mouth. Against his palm, Shishido's lips quirk into a smug curve.
Of course he remembers. He doesn't think he's ever gone as berserk from pent-up want and sheer frustration as he had then. It had been terrible. Shishido's teasing, no, tormenting, when he realized what kind of effect the suit had on Ohtori, and really mind-blowing after, when he finally got to shove Shishido up against a wall. It had been rough, hard, leaving them both with bruises. Shishido had been so damned pleased with himself for making Ohtori snap like that. In public, no less. On Atobe's wedding party. Because they hadn't even made it home.
His cheeks start to burn, embarrassed, even though nobody ever found out. "You're not going to-"
Shishido smirks, rather evilly. "Hah, look at you, blushing," he scoffs. "Hypocrite. I bet you can't wait."
And isn't that the truth?
***
The fourteenth doesn't dawn sweet and soft and warm. There's no lips kissing him awake, or a hand over his cock, coaxing it to life. Nor is there the simple beauty of curling up against his boyfriend, feeling for the line of his body and then drawing them closer together, their skin one long unbroken line.
None of that.
Ohtori wakes up because the light switch is flicked on mercilessly, flooding the dark room with harsh light. Which is an awful manner to wake up from all by itself, but Ohtori's inner clock lets him know he hasn't nearly had enough sleep. Like hunger, the lack of sleep yawns in his torso, fuzzy and itchy.
His watch confirms as much.
Four thirty in the morning.
Ohtori groans.
"Wake up, Choutarou!" Shishido says, poking the back of his head. "If you're not out of bed within ten minutes, I'm pouring cold water over you."
Ohtori groans some more, burrowing deep into the duvet.
Why is it that someone with a fuse as short as Shishido's can be such an incorrigible morning person? Peeping from his warm fortress, he watches Shishido dig around in the wardrobe, making a right mess of all the crisply stacked garments Ohtori spends so much time ironing and folding. The message seems to be: dress warm. Shishido dons a t-shirt that actually fits, showing the slender cut of his torso, tucks it into his jeans to keep the cold from nipping at any carelessly exposed skin. Then he adds a turtle-neck, baggy and thick, and tops it off with a hoodie that belongs to Ohtori, one that that has wool lining in the hood. Two pairs of socks. Finally he digs up a positively huge woolen scarf; the kind that wraps three or four times around your neck.
"Cold place we're going?" Ohtori asks.
"There'll be snow," Shishido says, walking over to him. He perches on the bed and Ohtori edges closer until he's cupped around the dent where Shishido sits, his face pressed against the rough denim of the jeans. Shishido smiles, touches his hair. "Happy birthday," he murmurs.
"Hm," Ohtori goes. "That's nice. Can I go back to sleep?"
"No."
"You could take all those clothes off again and crawl in with me."
"I suppose," Shishido allows. "And then what?"
"You know what," Ohtori says, looking at him.
Shishido gazes down on him, eyes darkening as they linger on the bare curve of Ohtori's shoulder, the slice of his collarbone. His eyes shine, his lips quirk into a smile. It's the familiar fierce gentleness that usually suggests Ohtori will be moaning and begging and coming hard enough to make the world fade white before he'll know it. Which is only confirmed when Shishido's hand slips up towards the edge of the duvet, and then under. Ohtori's body is humming, lazy and aroused, aching to feel that touch on him.
Shishido does.
He splays his hand wide, palm pressing flush against Ohtori's belly.
His hand is freezing cold.
Ohtori yelps, lurches away from it, and topples out of bed.
Groaning, he lies in ridiculous tumble on the ground, his legs on the bed still, the rest of him hanging out of it crooked, tangled with the duvet. The bed creaks as Shishido crawls across it. His face appears above him.
"Alright?"
Ohtori glares at him. Which makes Shishido smirk.
"Get dressed," he says, "It's a long drive."
Approximately half an hour later Ohtori is, while not exactly ready to go, dressed. Shishido has loaded up the car, having taken a rather logical approach to stacking the bags, cooling boxes and random junk he's decided to take with, instead of just dumping it randomly as he usually does. Even their suits, pressed and zipped up in their protective bags, are laid out carefully to avoid creases.
"Where are we going?" Ohtori asks, seeing the amount of food Shishido's packed.
"You'll see," Shishido answers vaguely, bend over into the car as he rummages around.
Ohtori puts a hand on the small of his back.
There's a grunt. Shishido straightens up and moves a little closer into the circle of his arms, tiptoes. It's early enough for them to do this in the middle of the street. It's still dark, a Sunday and Valentine's day, so nobody in their right mind would be up and about at five in the morning. Unless your name is Shishido Ryou and you're kidnapping your best-friend-come-lover to have your wicked way with him God knows where.
The whole 'kidnapping' theme is only underscored when Shishido mutters indistinctly into their kiss, "Leave your mobile home."
Ohtori knows he should be worried.
But he isn't.
Alright, it might have something to do with how Shishido smells and feels, pressed up against him like that, because it is difficult to be worried when the only thing he can think about is how he might try to convince Shishido to have sex in the car. And why not, it's one of the few places they haven't, erm, christened yet.
Mid-kiss, Ohtori has to yawn.
Shishido rolls his eyes, "Right. Maybe next time you won't insist on having sex at two in the morning, even though I told you we'd be getting up early."
"I wasn't insisting," Ohtori exclaims, indignant.
There's a pointed glance at his crotch. "Of course not," he says rather sarcastically. "I'm sure that that was a flashlight poking me in the leg. Or the handle of a tennis racket. Anyway, why don't you lie down in the backseat, get some rest."
"Wait," Ohtori manages, suppressing a wave of unease. "You're driving?"
Demonstratively, Shishido twirls the car keys around his index finger. "I am. Problem?"
Uh, yes. Ohtori doesn't say this, though, he just gapes and imitates a fish.
"Deal with it," Shishido says, as he walks over to the right side of the car. "You haven't got any idea where we're going, how do figure we'd get anywhere with you driving? Plus, you drive like an old lady. At your pace we'd get there, psst, next Sunday maybe? If we're lucky."
Alright. Now he's getting worried.
"Ryou-"
"Choutarou," Shishido mimics, "I'm waiting."
"I just-"
This is a phenomenally bad idea. It's an unspoken rule between the two of them: if they have to go anywhere by car, together, Ohtori drives. The last time they went anywhere with Shishido behind the wheel they'd had such a spectacular fight that Shishido went off in a huff and slept at Jiroh's for a few nights. It's not that Shishido is a bad driver. If anything, he's a better driver than Ohtori is, probably. His reflexes are sharper, quicker, and he's more aware of his surroundings and of the tomfoolery of other mobilists than Ohtori is. Which means that to make up for the lack, Ohtori drives very, very carefully. Shishido drives like he, himself, moves. Sharp and quick and abrupt, confident in his abilities. This leads to Ohtori yelling 'watch out' and 'slow down' and 'careful' and 'do you want to kill us both?' when Shishido drives.
So. Bad, baaaaad idea.
"Ryou," Ohtori says again.
"It'll be fine," Shishido counters. "Choutarou. C'mon. It's me."
Yes. It's him. Like he would ever jeopardize Ohtori's safe-being, risk his safety. Shishido would, without a thought, put himself between any danger and Ohtori.
It's him.
"Alright," Ohtori whispers. "Let me just get my bag."
***
Ohtori turns out to be lucky.
By the time he wakes up hours have passed. Besides the crick in his back, he feels rested and good. As an extra, they're driving through the middle of nowhere, it seems, so there's not much Ohtori can worry about, no messed up traffic rules to pay attention to, no other idiots breaking those said rules. There's just trees and fields overgrown with wild grasses and shrubs and the sky overhead, white-blue and endless when he peeks out of the window.
Shishido is sipping from an energizing drink, one of many, judging by the amount of cans piled up around the dashboard.
Despite the slightly dark smudges under his eyes, he is alert and rather cheerful, tapping his index finger on the wheel in time to the beat of the song on the radio. It's rock-music -loud english voices and an overdoses of guitar solos- likely one of those imported CDs of his.
"Good afternoon," he says, seeing Ohtori stir in the rear-view mirror. "There's a gas station in about five miles. I'm making a short stop there. Unless you need to go, or something, you're staying in the car. Don't talk to anyone. Preferably I'd like you to close your eyes."
Ohtori blinks. "What?"
"Just do it," Shishido murmurs. "Please, it's part of the plan."
So Ohtori sits with his eyes closed for about ten minutes when Shishido fills up the car and goes to buy them coffee in the station. Part of him doesn't understand what Shishido is trying to achieve, but he seems so serious he can't help but do as asked.
At about three in the afternoon, when they're moving along pot-holed roads crisscrossing the countryside and steadily climbing up towards a more mountained landscape, Ohtori realizes that Shishido must be dead on his feet. He doesn't seem like it, his eyes are wide and sharp-edged. But when he starts counting, Shishido might've barely caught three, maybe four hours of sleep at most.
He touches his shoulder, the back of his neck. Shishido attention doesn't waver, but the caresses brings a tiny, lop-sided smile to his face.
"Tired?" Ohtori asks.
Shishido chuckles, "I've got a six-pack of energy drinks in me, rest assured, I'm wide awake."
Taking him on his word, Ohtori relaxes and gazes out of the window. The view is nothing short of amazing. It's nature, endlessly stretching on in all directions. Pine forests, planes of tawny grasses waving in the wind, thorny shrubs and birds circling against a backdrop of pale blue. Clean, untouched, but for the poorly kept concrete road they're speeding over. Just the sight of it is enough to ease some tense knots in his shoulders, to make him smile.
Behind the wheel, Shishido barely covers a huge yawn. Ohtori hopes they'll arrive, wherever it is, soon.
...on to part 2!
Comment on part 2, please.