Oofuri, "Walk Me Home," Mihashi/Abe(?), NC-17
Tenth commission for shirono! It's a companion piece to Dirty, which was another commissioned piece. The request was to have the same story written from Mihashi's perspective.
... which, as it turns out, was really kind of hard. I may or may not be obsessed with Abe, so everything I know about Mihashi I know from Abe's point of view, which means I know a lot of Abe's misconceptions about Mihashi, and far less about Mihashi himself. I struggled with this story, had a few false starts on it. Ended up telling shirono out of frustration that it might be a lost cause ... and then last night in the shower, I got hit with inspiration for how the story ended and was able to write the whole thing in one go. Didn't even end up using the inspirational ending. Ha! Funny ol' place, my brain, isn't it?
Anyway, I hope you're happy with it, shirono! I'm rather happy with it, to be honest. :)
The prompt: "Again, from Mihashi's perspective. GIVE ME SOME GUILTY JERKING OFF, woman. I want the fearful moment of giving in, smelling the shirt, cumming, and then getting caught after. A whole bunch of Mihashi 'oh god what am I doing, Abe is going to hate me if he finds out I'm doing this.'"
Walk Me Home
by mistr3ss Quickly
This isn't the first time he's done it.
Won't be the last.
Not by a long shot.
It is, however, the first time he's done it with help.
Well. Kind of.
It's not help that was offered, like when Abe offered to play catch with him to help him build up strength in his pitching arm. Not help that was forced onto him, like when Abe told him to practice pitching to Tajima after The Incident That Took Abe Out Of The Game. Not even help like he kind of thought he needed but didn't know how to ask for, like when Abe started coming over every other weekend to help him study for exams, though it's nice like that, makes him feel good.
This is new. Exciting. Probably dirty and wrong and not at all permitted, but then again, what he's doing in the first place isn't really something he'd want the others to know about either, so he figures it's more of less okay, or equally not okay.
Something like that. He's not really sure.
He is sure that it feels good. Makes his heart beat a little faster, kind of like it does whenever he's on the mound and Abe's looking at him, right at him. Only at him. Sending him signs for pitches he knows Mihashi can throw, pitches he's ready to catch. Pitches he might praise Mihashi for later on, if Mihashi does them well enough and they win the game.
This feels like winning. Kind of.
Like being praised by Abe-kun. Kind of.
He lifts Abe's jersey to his face, breathes in the smell of sweat and dirt and deodorant, maybe a hint of the oil Abe uses on his mitt to keep the leather smooth and supple. Eyes closed, he can almost feel the breeze against his face, the mound under his feet. He curls his fingers tight around his cock, remembering the feel of the ball in his hand, the thrill of Abe catching it, still gripping it like he was ready to throw it back when the umpire called the third strike, ending the game with Nishiura victorious, one step closer to Koushien-
His cock's wet, precome slicking his fingers. Abe was wet that day, sweaty and warm and grinning a little when he put his arm around Mihashi, joining in on the big group-hug in the middle of the field after the team's victory was announced to the crowd. He smelled almost like his jersey smells now. Looked amazing, flushed and dirty and happy. Praising Mihashi. Catching him when the adrenaline of the game wore off and left Mihashi to slump onto him, grateful for the help he honestly needed, just to get to his mom's car for the ride home.
Mihashi shudders and twists his hand around the head of his cock, stroking harder at the memory. His catcher helped undress him in the back seat of the car that day. Just his cleats and socks, but still. Wearing his jersey, sweaty and dirty as he helped Mihashi undress. As he stripped him. Right there in front of everyone.
He's not going to last long. Which is weird-he usually lasts longer when he does this, fear of getting caught and weariness from practice slowing him down. But not today. Not with Abe's jersey in his lap, Abe's jersey brushing against his wrist, his hand. His cock. Streaked with dirt from the field and damp with Abe's sweat, not warm from Abe's body but warm enough that Mihashi can pretend that it is, his imagination giving him the mental image of Abe stripping out of his jersey and tossing it to Mihashi, that dark grin on his face as he reaches for his belt, his cock stiff and pressing at the front of his uniform, a promise of things to come-
The sound of the door opening doesn't figure into Mihashi's fantasy, but that's all right because the sheer amount of adrenaline that floods his system doesn't figure into his fantasy, either. It shreds his fantasy, instead, leaves nothing of it behind but a fast-softening erection and a cooling smear of precome on the jersey that belongs to the worse person possible to catch Mihashi quite literally red-handed, the glare on Abe's face enough to make Mihashi wish he were as invisible to his Nishiura teammates sometimes as he was to the guys at Mihoshi.
"What are you doing here?" Abe says. His voice is loud in the empty room. Commanding. Maybe even a little bit scary, though Mihashi's not really scared of his catcher. Mostly. "It's late. You should be home already. Need your rest if you're going to pitch well."
Mihashi nods jerkily. "S-sorry," he says. "I'll g-go soon."
He will, too. Just as soon as he's got his pants zipped up, his catcher's jersey hidden. Cleaned, too. So Abe won't see what he did to it. In it. Because Abe's smart. He'll know what it is if he sees the mess Mihashi's made.
The thought of him finding out is just as terrifying as it is arousing, Mihashi's cock twitching under the weight of the jersey covering it.
Terror wins out when Abe's glare intensifies, his shoulders squared as he starts across the room, coming close enough that Mihashi gives up any hope of getting away with what he was doing unnoticed or unscolded. "Are you hurt?" Abe says. "Sick? Do you need me to walk home with you? Get you something to drink? Eat?"
So genuinely concerned that it takes Mihashi a few tries to shake his head, the motion still awkward to him whenever his catcher's around, even though he's learned to shake his head at the guy on the field. Sometimes. "I'm f-fine," he says. "J-just getting ready to go h-home."
Not entirely a lie. His bag's at his feet, zipped up and everything. He's got his jacket on. School uniform on underneath.
And it works, Abe relaxing a little, running a hand through his hair. "I'll walk with you," he says. "Let me grab my jersey and we'll go."
Fuck.
Panic takes over, Mihashi's brain freezing up, leaving him with nothing but the calm of a creature who has faced his doom and accepted the inevitability of things. He sits and waits. Watches Abe look around. Watches Abe's gaze settle on his lap. On the jersey covering his lap. Covering his penis.
Abe's face sinks into a frown. Not good.
"I'm s-sorry," Mihashi says, quickly, before his catcher can start in on him. Which he's welcome to do, but. Apologies first. "I was g-going to wash it afterwards, I p-promise!"
Abe glares at him. "Afterwards?" he says.
Which is stupid, Mihashi realizes, means he just confessed that he was planning to come on his catcher's jersey, his catcher's jersey. The one thing that identifies him indisputably as a member of the team, as Nishiura's catcher. Not just some fan in a Nishiura T-shirt and cap. He tries to apologize for that, tries to get his mouth to explain to Abe that it's not something he's ever done before, not something he'll ever do again, but all that comes out is a squeaking noise, his throat closing up, making it hard to swallow.
Words are hard. Always have been. So he tries to show Abe instead, gets busy trying to fold his catcher's jersey, but his penis is still out-he can feel Abe's jersey brushing against it, rough and damp-heavy from the rain-so he folds it badly, can't lift it up enough to fold it better without exposing himself, right there were Abe will see, and-
He jumps when Abe takes the jersey away from him. Hates himself for it, certain that his catcher's taken the jersey away because he can't stand the thought of Mihashi touching it, so sure that Abe's going to tell him that he's disgusting, that he won't catch for him anymore-that he's going to tell Momokan to kick him off the team, not let him pitch anymore because he's slow and weird and bothersome and a pervert-that he doesn't notice Abe folding the jersey himself. Doing a much better job of it. Glaring at him less.
"There," Abe says, once the jersey's folded. "Now. Let's get going before the rain-"
He stops. Stares. Right at Mihashi's penis.
Time stops. Mihashi feels it stop. Feels it take all of the air with it.
He waits.
"Oh," Abe says, lifting his gaze after a very, very long time. "You, um."
Not glaring. Not yelling. Mihashi tries to swallow. Only kind of succeeds.
"You shouldn't do that here," his catcher says after another long, airless pause. Not softly, but not loudly. Almost gently. Gently for Abe. "It's cold and damp in here, you might catch cold. And don't do it into dirty clothes, you might get sick."
Mihashi takes a breath. Something squirms inside his chest. Feels like whatever happens whenever Abe touches his hand before a game. Kind of like it felt the day they lost their first shot at Koushien and Abe hugged him. Right there in front of everyone on the team. Everyone in the stands.
"I d-didn't-it's not m-messy," Mihashi says when his catcher stops looking at him and looks down at the jersey, hesitating just a bit before stuffing the thing into his schoolbag. "B-but I'll wash it for you. I-If you want."
Abe clears his throat. He's blushing. Mihashi's chest squirms again. "I'll take care of it," he says. "Needed to wash it anyway." He puts his hand under Mihashi's elbow, pulls until Mihashi gets the idea and stands, stooping a little to pick up his bag and zip up his pants. His hand's cold. Mihashi worries about that a little. Wonders if it means his catcher's worried about something or upset. If maybe he should put his hands around Abe's, warm them up like Abe does for-
"-ella?"
Mihashi freezes. He hates it when he misses what his catcher says, hates asking Abe to repeat himself. Hasn't even gotten his mouth open to ask Abe for a repeat before Abe sighs and shifts his bag on his shoulder.
"Nevermind, I have one, come on, we can share," he says. "Walk close to me, I don't want you getting sick."
An umbrella, then, that's what he was asking about. Mihashi opens his mouth to tell his catcher he's got his own, a compact umbrella his mom got for him to carry around in his schoolbag. That he grabbed it before leaving home, brought it with him so he'd have it after practice and wouldn't get sick if it rained like the man on the weather report said it might. Just like Abe told him to at the start of the rainy season.
But Abe's not sticking around to hear him explain things and Mihashi doesn't want to risk upsetting his catcher by taking too long to explain, not when the guy was so nice about what he was doing to his jersey. So he nods and follows Abe out of the locker-room, ducks close to his catcher once they're outside in the rain together. Sucks in a sharp breath when Abe responds by wrapping an arm around him, keeping him close.
His catcher smells like sweat and earth and rain, nothing like shampoo or deodorant or fabric softener. His school uniform's damp, feels heavy, coarse. Nothing like the soft cotton of his jersey, the warmth of his skin.
Mihashi leans close and enjoys it. Memorizes it, in case it's the last time Abe's willing to put up with him messing up. Tries to convince himself that it means something when he feels Abe's fingers tightening on his side as they wait together at a red light, almost like he's being stroked. Petted. Held.
This isn't the first time he's done something stupid and needed Abe to help him make it better afterwards. Won't be the last.
Especially if Abe's willing to walk him home afterwards. That, Mihashi's pretty sure, he could get used to.
Word-count: 2,015 words
... which, as it turns out, was really kind of hard. I may or may not be obsessed with Abe, so everything I know about Mihashi I know from Abe's point of view, which means I know a lot of Abe's misconceptions about Mihashi, and far less about Mihashi himself. I struggled with this story, had a few false starts on it. Ended up telling shirono out of frustration that it might be a lost cause ... and then last night in the shower, I got hit with inspiration for how the story ended and was able to write the whole thing in one go. Didn't even end up using the inspirational ending. Ha! Funny ol' place, my brain, isn't it?
Anyway, I hope you're happy with it, shirono! I'm rather happy with it, to be honest. :)
The prompt: "Again, from Mihashi's perspective. GIVE ME SOME GUILTY JERKING OFF, woman. I want the fearful moment of giving in, smelling the shirt, cumming, and then getting caught after. A whole bunch of Mihashi 'oh god what am I doing, Abe is going to hate me if he finds out I'm doing this.'"
Walk Me Home
by mistr3ss Quickly
This isn't the first time he's done it.
Won't be the last.
Not by a long shot.
It is, however, the first time he's done it with help.
Well. Kind of.
It's not help that was offered, like when Abe offered to play catch with him to help him build up strength in his pitching arm. Not help that was forced onto him, like when Abe told him to practice pitching to Tajima after The Incident That Took Abe Out Of The Game. Not even help like he kind of thought he needed but didn't know how to ask for, like when Abe started coming over every other weekend to help him study for exams, though it's nice like that, makes him feel good.
This is new. Exciting. Probably dirty and wrong and not at all permitted, but then again, what he's doing in the first place isn't really something he'd want the others to know about either, so he figures it's more of less okay, or equally not okay.
Something like that. He's not really sure.
He is sure that it feels good. Makes his heart beat a little faster, kind of like it does whenever he's on the mound and Abe's looking at him, right at him. Only at him. Sending him signs for pitches he knows Mihashi can throw, pitches he's ready to catch. Pitches he might praise Mihashi for later on, if Mihashi does them well enough and they win the game.
This feels like winning. Kind of.
Like being praised by Abe-kun. Kind of.
He lifts Abe's jersey to his face, breathes in the smell of sweat and dirt and deodorant, maybe a hint of the oil Abe uses on his mitt to keep the leather smooth and supple. Eyes closed, he can almost feel the breeze against his face, the mound under his feet. He curls his fingers tight around his cock, remembering the feel of the ball in his hand, the thrill of Abe catching it, still gripping it like he was ready to throw it back when the umpire called the third strike, ending the game with Nishiura victorious, one step closer to Koushien-
His cock's wet, precome slicking his fingers. Abe was wet that day, sweaty and warm and grinning a little when he put his arm around Mihashi, joining in on the big group-hug in the middle of the field after the team's victory was announced to the crowd. He smelled almost like his jersey smells now. Looked amazing, flushed and dirty and happy. Praising Mihashi. Catching him when the adrenaline of the game wore off and left Mihashi to slump onto him, grateful for the help he honestly needed, just to get to his mom's car for the ride home.
Mihashi shudders and twists his hand around the head of his cock, stroking harder at the memory. His catcher helped undress him in the back seat of the car that day. Just his cleats and socks, but still. Wearing his jersey, sweaty and dirty as he helped Mihashi undress. As he stripped him. Right there in front of everyone.
He's not going to last long. Which is weird-he usually lasts longer when he does this, fear of getting caught and weariness from practice slowing him down. But not today. Not with Abe's jersey in his lap, Abe's jersey brushing against his wrist, his hand. His cock. Streaked with dirt from the field and damp with Abe's sweat, not warm from Abe's body but warm enough that Mihashi can pretend that it is, his imagination giving him the mental image of Abe stripping out of his jersey and tossing it to Mihashi, that dark grin on his face as he reaches for his belt, his cock stiff and pressing at the front of his uniform, a promise of things to come-
The sound of the door opening doesn't figure into Mihashi's fantasy, but that's all right because the sheer amount of adrenaline that floods his system doesn't figure into his fantasy, either. It shreds his fantasy, instead, leaves nothing of it behind but a fast-softening erection and a cooling smear of precome on the jersey that belongs to the worse person possible to catch Mihashi quite literally red-handed, the glare on Abe's face enough to make Mihashi wish he were as invisible to his Nishiura teammates sometimes as he was to the guys at Mihoshi.
"What are you doing here?" Abe says. His voice is loud in the empty room. Commanding. Maybe even a little bit scary, though Mihashi's not really scared of his catcher. Mostly. "It's late. You should be home already. Need your rest if you're going to pitch well."
Mihashi nods jerkily. "S-sorry," he says. "I'll g-go soon."
He will, too. Just as soon as he's got his pants zipped up, his catcher's jersey hidden. Cleaned, too. So Abe won't see what he did to it. In it. Because Abe's smart. He'll know what it is if he sees the mess Mihashi's made.
The thought of him finding out is just as terrifying as it is arousing, Mihashi's cock twitching under the weight of the jersey covering it.
Terror wins out when Abe's glare intensifies, his shoulders squared as he starts across the room, coming close enough that Mihashi gives up any hope of getting away with what he was doing unnoticed or unscolded. "Are you hurt?" Abe says. "Sick? Do you need me to walk home with you? Get you something to drink? Eat?"
So genuinely concerned that it takes Mihashi a few tries to shake his head, the motion still awkward to him whenever his catcher's around, even though he's learned to shake his head at the guy on the field. Sometimes. "I'm f-fine," he says. "J-just getting ready to go h-home."
Not entirely a lie. His bag's at his feet, zipped up and everything. He's got his jacket on. School uniform on underneath.
And it works, Abe relaxing a little, running a hand through his hair. "I'll walk with you," he says. "Let me grab my jersey and we'll go."
Fuck.
Panic takes over, Mihashi's brain freezing up, leaving him with nothing but the calm of a creature who has faced his doom and accepted the inevitability of things. He sits and waits. Watches Abe look around. Watches Abe's gaze settle on his lap. On the jersey covering his lap. Covering his penis.
Abe's face sinks into a frown. Not good.
"I'm s-sorry," Mihashi says, quickly, before his catcher can start in on him. Which he's welcome to do, but. Apologies first. "I was g-going to wash it afterwards, I p-promise!"
Abe glares at him. "Afterwards?" he says.
Which is stupid, Mihashi realizes, means he just confessed that he was planning to come on his catcher's jersey, his catcher's jersey. The one thing that identifies him indisputably as a member of the team, as Nishiura's catcher. Not just some fan in a Nishiura T-shirt and cap. He tries to apologize for that, tries to get his mouth to explain to Abe that it's not something he's ever done before, not something he'll ever do again, but all that comes out is a squeaking noise, his throat closing up, making it hard to swallow.
Words are hard. Always have been. So he tries to show Abe instead, gets busy trying to fold his catcher's jersey, but his penis is still out-he can feel Abe's jersey brushing against it, rough and damp-heavy from the rain-so he folds it badly, can't lift it up enough to fold it better without exposing himself, right there were Abe will see, and-
He jumps when Abe takes the jersey away from him. Hates himself for it, certain that his catcher's taken the jersey away because he can't stand the thought of Mihashi touching it, so sure that Abe's going to tell him that he's disgusting, that he won't catch for him anymore-that he's going to tell Momokan to kick him off the team, not let him pitch anymore because he's slow and weird and bothersome and a pervert-that he doesn't notice Abe folding the jersey himself. Doing a much better job of it. Glaring at him less.
"There," Abe says, once the jersey's folded. "Now. Let's get going before the rain-"
He stops. Stares. Right at Mihashi's penis.
Time stops. Mihashi feels it stop. Feels it take all of the air with it.
He waits.
"Oh," Abe says, lifting his gaze after a very, very long time. "You, um."
Not glaring. Not yelling. Mihashi tries to swallow. Only kind of succeeds.
"You shouldn't do that here," his catcher says after another long, airless pause. Not softly, but not loudly. Almost gently. Gently for Abe. "It's cold and damp in here, you might catch cold. And don't do it into dirty clothes, you might get sick."
Mihashi takes a breath. Something squirms inside his chest. Feels like whatever happens whenever Abe touches his hand before a game. Kind of like it felt the day they lost their first shot at Koushien and Abe hugged him. Right there in front of everyone on the team. Everyone in the stands.
"I d-didn't-it's not m-messy," Mihashi says when his catcher stops looking at him and looks down at the jersey, hesitating just a bit before stuffing the thing into his schoolbag. "B-but I'll wash it for you. I-If you want."
Abe clears his throat. He's blushing. Mihashi's chest squirms again. "I'll take care of it," he says. "Needed to wash it anyway." He puts his hand under Mihashi's elbow, pulls until Mihashi gets the idea and stands, stooping a little to pick up his bag and zip up his pants. His hand's cold. Mihashi worries about that a little. Wonders if it means his catcher's worried about something or upset. If maybe he should put his hands around Abe's, warm them up like Abe does for-
"-ella?"
Mihashi freezes. He hates it when he misses what his catcher says, hates asking Abe to repeat himself. Hasn't even gotten his mouth open to ask Abe for a repeat before Abe sighs and shifts his bag on his shoulder.
"Nevermind, I have one, come on, we can share," he says. "Walk close to me, I don't want you getting sick."
An umbrella, then, that's what he was asking about. Mihashi opens his mouth to tell his catcher he's got his own, a compact umbrella his mom got for him to carry around in his schoolbag. That he grabbed it before leaving home, brought it with him so he'd have it after practice and wouldn't get sick if it rained like the man on the weather report said it might. Just like Abe told him to at the start of the rainy season.
But Abe's not sticking around to hear him explain things and Mihashi doesn't want to risk upsetting his catcher by taking too long to explain, not when the guy was so nice about what he was doing to his jersey. So he nods and follows Abe out of the locker-room, ducks close to his catcher once they're outside in the rain together. Sucks in a sharp breath when Abe responds by wrapping an arm around him, keeping him close.
His catcher smells like sweat and earth and rain, nothing like shampoo or deodorant or fabric softener. His school uniform's damp, feels heavy, coarse. Nothing like the soft cotton of his jersey, the warmth of his skin.
Mihashi leans close and enjoys it. Memorizes it, in case it's the last time Abe's willing to put up with him messing up. Tries to convince himself that it means something when he feels Abe's fingers tightening on his side as they wait together at a red light, almost like he's being stroked. Petted. Held.
This isn't the first time he's done something stupid and needed Abe to help him make it better afterwards. Won't be the last.
Especially if Abe's willing to walk him home afterwards. That, Mihashi's pretty sure, he could get used to.
Word-count: 2,015 words