Ookiku Furikabutte, "Physical, part iii," Abe/Mihashi, NC-17
A commissioned piece written for a commissioner who prefers to remain anonymous! His request: Mihashi needs a physical. Abe's there to help.
Enjoy!
You can find the entire story here: part i • part ii • part iii
And the Mihashi-POV sequel here: part i • part ii • part iii
Physical
part iii
by mistr3ss Quickly
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Isn't like this in any of his fantasies. In his fantasies, he's in control, knows what he's doing. Knows that Mihashi knows what he's doing, too, and more importantly wants what he's doing. It's not some twisted doctor roleplay fantasy, not Abe taking advantage of his pitcher's trust, his pitcher's naivety. Certainly not Abe getting cold feet while Mihashi apparently takes advantage of him, though the thought of Mihashi manipulating him into fingering his ass makes Abe's cock jerk inappropriately hard in his boxers.
Stop it, he tells himself, scowling at his reflection as he collects the petroleum jelly from the cabinet over the sink. He's just going with the flow, thinks this is how a doctor's visit goes. It has nothing to do with you or your sick perversions. Now go in there and act like a professional. You promised him you would. He won't pitch to you at Koushien if you don't.
The thought of not having Mihashi pitching at Koushien helps to put things back into perspective. Abe tightens his grip on the petroleum jelly. Turns and marches back to his bedroom.
Mihashi's bent over his bed, hands holding the open back of the hospital gown tightly closed over his backside. He gives Abe a worried look when Abe opens the door, fidgeting with the cotton in his hands.
"Relax," Abe says. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know," Mihashi says. Gives Abe the kind of tiny smile that makes Abe want to pat him on the head or something else equally ridiculous.
Abe clears his throat. "All right," he says. "I'm going to lubricate my finger and check you for, ah-for signs of drug use. It might feel a little awkward, but it won't hurt. Try to relax. Tell me if anything hurts."
A nod. Abe takes a deep breath. Opens the petroleum jelly.
It feels different through the gloves than it feels on his bare skin, more slippery and less greasy. Better, definitely, though the mental note Abe catches himself making to wear gloves the next time he finger-fucks himself to orgasm makes him blush. Gets him hard, too, his cock swelling from half-hard to fully erect, nevermind that he's not alone, that his teammate-his pitcher-is lying not twenty centimeters from him. Trusting him to be professional about what they're doing. To not take advantage of him.
Which is a bit easier when he looks down at his pitcher's backside-something he's thought about plenty and done his best to not look at too much over the past two years-and finds it still covered by the hospital gown, Mihashi's hands-strong and calloused from pitching, knuckles white where he's gripping the fabric so tightly-holding it in place. He sets the jar of petroleum jelly aside. Frowns.
"Please open your gown," he says, just as calmly and professionally as he's heard nurses say please roll up your sleeve whenever he goes to the doctor for a shot or bloodwork. "And spread your legs. Just a bit. Feet shoulder-width apart will be just fine."
Mihashi hesitates. Obeys before Abe can remind him that they don't actually have to do this. That the real doctor probably won't have any interest at all in sticking his fingers up Mihashi's butt, just to let the guy pitch at Koushien.
He looks-
Abe swallows hard, his cock aching.
His backside is smooth, pale. Dusted with light blonde hair between the cheeks. It pinks straight away when Mihashi reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart, shamelessly exposing himself. The pucker of his asshole clenches a little. His balls draw up tight, shifting in the chill of the room.
Abe has fantasies that start like that. Fantasies that end with his fingers and tongue working his pitcher open, Mihashi begging breathlessly to be fucked, harder and rougher than Abe would ever actually treat him. Fantasies that start out almost exactly like the reality is going to have to go, if Abe's going to do what his pitcher is so determined to have him do. Which really, Abe thinks, shouldn't be as uncomfortable as it is, but.
"I'm going to start the exam now," he says, his voice coming out mostly steady. Steady enough, anyway. "Take a deep breath. Relax. Tell me if anything hurts. It shouldn't-" never does when I do it to myself, he doesn't say "-so if it does, that means there's something wrong. Okay?"
Mihashi nods, his hair scrubbing against the bedspread. He tightens his grip on his own ass. Pulls it tight enough that his hole gapes a little, the sensitive pink skin inside just barely visible.
Abe's cock jerks, leaking in his briefs. He takes a steadying breath and reaches for the one part of his pitcher he was pretty certain he'd never, ever get to touch. He rests the thumb and forefinger of the hand not slick with lube to either side of his pitcher's asshole, spreading it open just a bit more. Touches the tip of his slicked middle finger against the center of the pucker, feels the heat even through the layer of jelly and rubber between him and his pitcher. Pushes inside.
It's warm. Tight. Clenches around him when he tries to go in deeper, squeezing at his knuckle when he stops. Sucking his finger in, just like his own body does when he fingers himself.
"There," he says, once he's gotten his knuckle inside, the sight of his own hand so close to another man's ass-one of his own fingers buried inside another man's ass-making him feel light-headed, his cock twitching steadily in his underwear, making a mess. "That's as far as I'll need to go. Is it okay? Doesn't hurt?"
Mihashi shakes his head. Squirms a little. His ass clamps down tight-god so tight-when he moves like he's trying to get away. Spasms faintly around Abe's finger when he pushes back, taking Abe's finger all the way in again.
"F-feels okay," he says.
It feels more than okay. Feels amazing. Abe twists his hand, the temptation to make it last just a little longer winning out over the guilt twisting in his gut, reminding him that he's supposed to be comforting his pitcher, helping him overcome his fears. Not fingering him like some pervert who can't keep his hands to himself.
He tells himself that it's not just for his own enjoyment, manages to convince himself (mostly) when he gets up the nerve to push in just a little deeper and rub, finding his pitcher's prostate without too much trouble. It's easier than finding his own, strains his wrist less when he pushes in and out, just enough to rub the thing. Gets a lot more noise out of his pitcher than he's expecting, Mihashi moaning softly and constantly into the bedspread, his hands gripping hard, holding him open. Welcoming Abe's touch.
"Mihashi," he says, moving his hand just a little more, almost kind of finger-fucking the guy. "Is this okay?"
Mihashi whines. "Y-yes." A moment. His ass clenches. "I l-like it. A lot."
Abe swallows around the noise that tries to come up his throat, at that. Heart pounding, he leans forward, his cock rubbing against Mihashi's ass hard enough that Mihashi can probably (definitely) tell that he's hard, but it doesn't matter, not when Abe reaches between his pitcher and his bed and finds Mihashi's cock fully erect, obviously wet, even though the cotton of his hospital gown. He makes a soft, submissive sound when Abe fumbles with the gown, shoving it out of the way. Lets go of his own ass and whispers y-yes when Abe wraps his hand around his cock, stroking him, the mess of precome easing the motion.
His ass tightens down when Abe leans over his back and growls his name against the shell of his ear. Spasms hard when Abe finger-fucks him faster, the swell of his knuckle sliding in and out of him on every push.
"A-Abe-kun," Mihashi gasps, fingers scrabbling desperately at the mattress. "I'm-"
"Yeah," Abe says, stroking him faster, his grip just as tight as he likes it when he brings himself off, imagining his pitcher's hand in place of his own. "I know. Go on. It's okay."
More than okay, Mihashi's ass clamping down tight around Abe's finger just before he cries out brokenly and starts to come, his hips jerking spastically, fucking Abe's hand while Abe's finger fucks him, his whole body tense and trembling and hot and so much more than Abe had imagined, even in his filthiest, most detailed fantasies that Abe can't help but rub against him, humping the guy through his orgasm, his vision blurring as he reaches for his own.
He pulls his finger out of his pitcher when it's over. Rubs the length of it over Mihashi's hole while he rubs himself against the guy's ass, his other hand wet with Mihashi's semen when he slides it over to Mihashi's hip, holding him still to be humped. It's nothing like he'd imagined his first time with a guy would be, certainly nothing like how he'd imagined his first time with Mihashi might be, but it's good just the same, the heat of Mihashi's body and the blinding arousal of knowing that he just made Mihashi come combining into a sudden and powerful orgasm of his own, his entire body singing with the rush of completion, from the pounding of his heart to the pulse and shudder of his cock, his toes curling against the floor as he pushes through the last waves of it, messing his briefs and scrubs and the bare, friction-pinked skin of his pitcher's ass.
He's dizzy, afterwards. Tips his head forward, resting his forehead against his pitcher's shoulder. His cock's starting to go soft, shrinking back in the wet sludge of semen going cold against it. His hands are sweaty in the gloves. Sticky where they're touching Mihashi.
Oh god, what have I done?
Stomach twisting, he pushes himself away from his pitcher, tries not to notice the way Mihashi's backside is red where he rubbed himself against the guy, the way Mihashi's asshole is dark pink where he was too rough, fingering him. Can't quite bring himself to meet Mihashi's big brown eyes when Mihashi turns and looks at him, all of his usual worry and anxiety coming right back.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking down. A mistake: he can see the front of his scrubs, the sea-green fabric dark where his semen soaked through, wrinkled where he was pressed up against his pitcher. "That's not-I shouldn't have done that to you. Your doctor won't do that. It's illegal, it's wrong. I'm-I'm sorry."
"I d-don't mind," Mihashi says. "Because it's Abe-kun."
Which makes it even worse. Abe peels off the gloves, semen and petroleum jelly and sweat making them completely disgusting when he pitches them into the trash. Does his best not to fidget, once his hands are bare, the skin hyper-sensitive and cool once they're exposed to the air.
"You can clean up first, if you want," he says. "The bathroom's across the hall. I'll get you a towel."
Mihashi nods, obedient as ever. Gathers his clothes-still folded neatly on Abe's desk-and follows Abe across the hall, his gaze lingering just a little too long on the mess Abe made of the scrub-pants, lips parted like he has something to say when he steps into the bathing room.
He closes the door without saying anything. Abe doesn't much mind.
He goes back to his bedroom and puts away the things he bought, the stethoscope and tongue depressors and gloves and blood pressure cuff. Strips out of the scrubs, leaves them in a heap on the floor, kicks them under the bed as he reaches for tissues to clean up the mess he made of himself. There's semen everywhere, smeared from his lower belly down to his balls, the stubborn stuff clinging to his pubic hair, sticky enough that the tissues do little more than shred and pill, adding to the mess. He gets himself mopped up as best he can, puts on a clean pair of underwear. Figures he'll take a proper bath once Mihashi's gone home, get himself completely cleaned up then.
Maybe drown himself in the bath, afterwards. Maybe. Even though that doesn't seem like enough to quell the embarrassment he feels hanging over him like a haze.
He's working out an apology in his head when Mihashi comes back from the bathing room, dressed in his usual clothes and holding the hospital gown like it's a precious relic or something. Manages only to say I'm sorry again when Mihashi offers him the gown. Catches himself frowning when Mihashi tries to tell him it's okay.
"I s-should go," Mihashi says, when Abe doesn't have anything else to say to him, too embarrassed to say I'm sorry again. "Thank you. For helping me."
Abe would laugh at him, were the situation not so absolutely awful. He nods instead. Sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll, uh. See you tomorrow."
~*~*~*~
The following day, for the first time since joining the baseball team his first year of junior high school, Abe almost doesn't go to practice.
He starts to make up a story about having a headache when he comes downstairs for breakfast that morning, mostly because he figures it's the best way to get out of going to practice-or to school in general-without a fever, but partly because it's true, his head does hurt, mostly because he didn't sleep much the night before, didn't sleep well even when he did manage to sleep.
His father's accusations that he's just saying that because he's nervous about Koushien and wants to get out of catching in such a high-stakes game piss him off enough that he shuts up about his head hurting, eats his breakfast fast enough that his mother fusses at him to chew. Gets him out of the house half an hour earlier than usual, his temper still boiling as he bikes to school.
Do it for the team, he tells himself when the temptation to keep pedaling instead of turning off at the school gate starts to strengthen. Go in there and face him and catch for him and suck it up for your team's sake, it's not their fault you're a pervert and let things get out of hand yesterday.
Doesn't make him feel much better. Gets him to slow down and turn where he's supposed to turn, though, his skin prickling as he locks up his bike and trudges over to the practice field.
Mr. Shiga's there already, reading a book in the dugout. Momokan, too, standing with her back to Abe when he steps onto the field. They turn and answer his morning greeting, Momokan giving him the kind of grin that usually makes Abe feel ill. He shifts his bag on his shoulder, makes his way over to them. Feels his stomach drop to his shoes when he sees Mihashi standing in Momokan's shadow, hunched in on himself and fidgeting as usual, his cheeks warming a little at the sight of Abe.
"It seems we owe you our gratitude," Momokan says.
Abe blinks at her. "Ma'am?"
"For helping Mihashi with his physical," she says. Pats Mihashi on the shoulder with her free hand, hard enough that Mihashi stumbles a little. "Once we have his-and yours and Izumi's, but I'm sure that won't be a problem-we're cleared for Koushien."
"Wha-when-"
"T-this afternoon," Mihashi says. "My mom made the appointment. Yesterday." A moment. "While I was studying. With you."
Probably thought she'd have to trick him into going, Abe thinks. Which probably would have worked. Means he didn't have to do what he did. Any of what he did. Especially not the bit he shouldn't've done.
"Oh," he says. "That's-that's good. I'm glad to hear it. Thank you."
Mihashi gives him a shy little smile. Fidgets some. "It's t-thanks to Abe-kun," he says. "For helping me."
"You're good for each other," Momokan says before Abe has a chance to dispel that particular incongruity. "And you'd be even better if you were stretching together. Go on. We're going to Koushien in a week, this is no time for slacking. Stretch, then play catch some. I want to see you working on your wind-up today, Mihashi. Abe, work with him for the first bit, then I want you on batting. Hurry up, get some work in before the others get here for meditation."
Abe nods, his yes ma'am mostly obscuring what he assumes is the same from Mihashi. He drops his bag in the dugout and jogs out onto the field with his pitcher, tries not to think too hard about anything but baseball as he kneels down to help Mihashi stretch.
They're going to Koushien, he reminds himself. He's going to Koushien. Taking his pitcher with him, the best damn pitcher he's ever met. If it means a little discomfort on his part, if it means sincerely apologizing to the guy after the excitement of the competition has passed ...
Well worth it, he thinks, even as the usual curls of embarrassment rise in his gut, making him squirm. And if apologizing doesn't work, if he's still sick with the memory of touching Mihashi, making him come-of stroking him, inside and out-well. That's what alcohol's for. Just enough to dull the memory, maybe to erase it from Mihashi's mind.
Not from Abe's, though. Embarrassing as it is, it's one memory Abe's certain he'll want to keep.
<< part ii
see it from Mihashi's POV >>
Enjoy!
You can find the entire story here: part i • part ii • part iii
And the Mihashi-POV sequel here: part i • part ii • part iii
Physical
part iii
by mistr3ss Quickly
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Isn't like this in any of his fantasies. In his fantasies, he's in control, knows what he's doing. Knows that Mihashi knows what he's doing, too, and more importantly wants what he's doing. It's not some twisted doctor roleplay fantasy, not Abe taking advantage of his pitcher's trust, his pitcher's naivety. Certainly not Abe getting cold feet while Mihashi apparently takes advantage of him, though the thought of Mihashi manipulating him into fingering his ass makes Abe's cock jerk inappropriately hard in his boxers.
Stop it, he tells himself, scowling at his reflection as he collects the petroleum jelly from the cabinet over the sink. He's just going with the flow, thinks this is how a doctor's visit goes. It has nothing to do with you or your sick perversions. Now go in there and act like a professional. You promised him you would. He won't pitch to you at Koushien if you don't.
The thought of not having Mihashi pitching at Koushien helps to put things back into perspective. Abe tightens his grip on the petroleum jelly. Turns and marches back to his bedroom.
Mihashi's bent over his bed, hands holding the open back of the hospital gown tightly closed over his backside. He gives Abe a worried look when Abe opens the door, fidgeting with the cotton in his hands.
"Relax," Abe says. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"I know," Mihashi says. Gives Abe the kind of tiny smile that makes Abe want to pat him on the head or something else equally ridiculous.
Abe clears his throat. "All right," he says. "I'm going to lubricate my finger and check you for, ah-for signs of drug use. It might feel a little awkward, but it won't hurt. Try to relax. Tell me if anything hurts."
A nod. Abe takes a deep breath. Opens the petroleum jelly.
It feels different through the gloves than it feels on his bare skin, more slippery and less greasy. Better, definitely, though the mental note Abe catches himself making to wear gloves the next time he finger-fucks himself to orgasm makes him blush. Gets him hard, too, his cock swelling from half-hard to fully erect, nevermind that he's not alone, that his teammate-his pitcher-is lying not twenty centimeters from him. Trusting him to be professional about what they're doing. To not take advantage of him.
Which is a bit easier when he looks down at his pitcher's backside-something he's thought about plenty and done his best to not look at too much over the past two years-and finds it still covered by the hospital gown, Mihashi's hands-strong and calloused from pitching, knuckles white where he's gripping the fabric so tightly-holding it in place. He sets the jar of petroleum jelly aside. Frowns.
"Please open your gown," he says, just as calmly and professionally as he's heard nurses say please roll up your sleeve whenever he goes to the doctor for a shot or bloodwork. "And spread your legs. Just a bit. Feet shoulder-width apart will be just fine."
Mihashi hesitates. Obeys before Abe can remind him that they don't actually have to do this. That the real doctor probably won't have any interest at all in sticking his fingers up Mihashi's butt, just to let the guy pitch at Koushien.
He looks-
Abe swallows hard, his cock aching.
His backside is smooth, pale. Dusted with light blonde hair between the cheeks. It pinks straight away when Mihashi reaches back and pulls his cheeks apart, shamelessly exposing himself. The pucker of his asshole clenches a little. His balls draw up tight, shifting in the chill of the room.
Abe has fantasies that start like that. Fantasies that end with his fingers and tongue working his pitcher open, Mihashi begging breathlessly to be fucked, harder and rougher than Abe would ever actually treat him. Fantasies that start out almost exactly like the reality is going to have to go, if Abe's going to do what his pitcher is so determined to have him do. Which really, Abe thinks, shouldn't be as uncomfortable as it is, but.
"I'm going to start the exam now," he says, his voice coming out mostly steady. Steady enough, anyway. "Take a deep breath. Relax. Tell me if anything hurts. It shouldn't-" never does when I do it to myself, he doesn't say "-so if it does, that means there's something wrong. Okay?"
Mihashi nods, his hair scrubbing against the bedspread. He tightens his grip on his own ass. Pulls it tight enough that his hole gapes a little, the sensitive pink skin inside just barely visible.
Abe's cock jerks, leaking in his briefs. He takes a steadying breath and reaches for the one part of his pitcher he was pretty certain he'd never, ever get to touch. He rests the thumb and forefinger of the hand not slick with lube to either side of his pitcher's asshole, spreading it open just a bit more. Touches the tip of his slicked middle finger against the center of the pucker, feels the heat even through the layer of jelly and rubber between him and his pitcher. Pushes inside.
It's warm. Tight. Clenches around him when he tries to go in deeper, squeezing at his knuckle when he stops. Sucking his finger in, just like his own body does when he fingers himself.
"There," he says, once he's gotten his knuckle inside, the sight of his own hand so close to another man's ass-one of his own fingers buried inside another man's ass-making him feel light-headed, his cock twitching steadily in his underwear, making a mess. "That's as far as I'll need to go. Is it okay? Doesn't hurt?"
Mihashi shakes his head. Squirms a little. His ass clamps down tight-god so tight-when he moves like he's trying to get away. Spasms faintly around Abe's finger when he pushes back, taking Abe's finger all the way in again.
"F-feels okay," he says.
It feels more than okay. Feels amazing. Abe twists his hand, the temptation to make it last just a little longer winning out over the guilt twisting in his gut, reminding him that he's supposed to be comforting his pitcher, helping him overcome his fears. Not fingering him like some pervert who can't keep his hands to himself.
He tells himself that it's not just for his own enjoyment, manages to convince himself (mostly) when he gets up the nerve to push in just a little deeper and rub, finding his pitcher's prostate without too much trouble. It's easier than finding his own, strains his wrist less when he pushes in and out, just enough to rub the thing. Gets a lot more noise out of his pitcher than he's expecting, Mihashi moaning softly and constantly into the bedspread, his hands gripping hard, holding him open. Welcoming Abe's touch.
"Mihashi," he says, moving his hand just a little more, almost kind of finger-fucking the guy. "Is this okay?"
Mihashi whines. "Y-yes." A moment. His ass clenches. "I l-like it. A lot."
Abe swallows around the noise that tries to come up his throat, at that. Heart pounding, he leans forward, his cock rubbing against Mihashi's ass hard enough that Mihashi can probably (definitely) tell that he's hard, but it doesn't matter, not when Abe reaches between his pitcher and his bed and finds Mihashi's cock fully erect, obviously wet, even though the cotton of his hospital gown. He makes a soft, submissive sound when Abe fumbles with the gown, shoving it out of the way. Lets go of his own ass and whispers y-yes when Abe wraps his hand around his cock, stroking him, the mess of precome easing the motion.
His ass tightens down when Abe leans over his back and growls his name against the shell of his ear. Spasms hard when Abe finger-fucks him faster, the swell of his knuckle sliding in and out of him on every push.
"A-Abe-kun," Mihashi gasps, fingers scrabbling desperately at the mattress. "I'm-"
"Yeah," Abe says, stroking him faster, his grip just as tight as he likes it when he brings himself off, imagining his pitcher's hand in place of his own. "I know. Go on. It's okay."
More than okay, Mihashi's ass clamping down tight around Abe's finger just before he cries out brokenly and starts to come, his hips jerking spastically, fucking Abe's hand while Abe's finger fucks him, his whole body tense and trembling and hot and so much more than Abe had imagined, even in his filthiest, most detailed fantasies that Abe can't help but rub against him, humping the guy through his orgasm, his vision blurring as he reaches for his own.
He pulls his finger out of his pitcher when it's over. Rubs the length of it over Mihashi's hole while he rubs himself against the guy's ass, his other hand wet with Mihashi's semen when he slides it over to Mihashi's hip, holding him still to be humped. It's nothing like he'd imagined his first time with a guy would be, certainly nothing like how he'd imagined his first time with Mihashi might be, but it's good just the same, the heat of Mihashi's body and the blinding arousal of knowing that he just made Mihashi come combining into a sudden and powerful orgasm of his own, his entire body singing with the rush of completion, from the pounding of his heart to the pulse and shudder of his cock, his toes curling against the floor as he pushes through the last waves of it, messing his briefs and scrubs and the bare, friction-pinked skin of his pitcher's ass.
He's dizzy, afterwards. Tips his head forward, resting his forehead against his pitcher's shoulder. His cock's starting to go soft, shrinking back in the wet sludge of semen going cold against it. His hands are sweaty in the gloves. Sticky where they're touching Mihashi.
Oh god, what have I done?
Stomach twisting, he pushes himself away from his pitcher, tries not to notice the way Mihashi's backside is red where he rubbed himself against the guy, the way Mihashi's asshole is dark pink where he was too rough, fingering him. Can't quite bring himself to meet Mihashi's big brown eyes when Mihashi turns and looks at him, all of his usual worry and anxiety coming right back.
"I'm sorry," he says, looking down. A mistake: he can see the front of his scrubs, the sea-green fabric dark where his semen soaked through, wrinkled where he was pressed up against his pitcher. "That's not-I shouldn't have done that to you. Your doctor won't do that. It's illegal, it's wrong. I'm-I'm sorry."
"I d-don't mind," Mihashi says. "Because it's Abe-kun."
Which makes it even worse. Abe peels off the gloves, semen and petroleum jelly and sweat making them completely disgusting when he pitches them into the trash. Does his best not to fidget, once his hands are bare, the skin hyper-sensitive and cool once they're exposed to the air.
"You can clean up first, if you want," he says. "The bathroom's across the hall. I'll get you a towel."
Mihashi nods, obedient as ever. Gathers his clothes-still folded neatly on Abe's desk-and follows Abe across the hall, his gaze lingering just a little too long on the mess Abe made of the scrub-pants, lips parted like he has something to say when he steps into the bathing room.
He closes the door without saying anything. Abe doesn't much mind.
He goes back to his bedroom and puts away the things he bought, the stethoscope and tongue depressors and gloves and blood pressure cuff. Strips out of the scrubs, leaves them in a heap on the floor, kicks them under the bed as he reaches for tissues to clean up the mess he made of himself. There's semen everywhere, smeared from his lower belly down to his balls, the stubborn stuff clinging to his pubic hair, sticky enough that the tissues do little more than shred and pill, adding to the mess. He gets himself mopped up as best he can, puts on a clean pair of underwear. Figures he'll take a proper bath once Mihashi's gone home, get himself completely cleaned up then.
Maybe drown himself in the bath, afterwards. Maybe. Even though that doesn't seem like enough to quell the embarrassment he feels hanging over him like a haze.
He's working out an apology in his head when Mihashi comes back from the bathing room, dressed in his usual clothes and holding the hospital gown like it's a precious relic or something. Manages only to say I'm sorry again when Mihashi offers him the gown. Catches himself frowning when Mihashi tries to tell him it's okay.
"I s-should go," Mihashi says, when Abe doesn't have anything else to say to him, too embarrassed to say I'm sorry again. "Thank you. For helping me."
Abe would laugh at him, were the situation not so absolutely awful. He nods instead. Sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Yeah," he says. "I'll, uh. See you tomorrow."
~*~*~*~
The following day, for the first time since joining the baseball team his first year of junior high school, Abe almost doesn't go to practice.
He starts to make up a story about having a headache when he comes downstairs for breakfast that morning, mostly because he figures it's the best way to get out of going to practice-or to school in general-without a fever, but partly because it's true, his head does hurt, mostly because he didn't sleep much the night before, didn't sleep well even when he did manage to sleep.
His father's accusations that he's just saying that because he's nervous about Koushien and wants to get out of catching in such a high-stakes game piss him off enough that he shuts up about his head hurting, eats his breakfast fast enough that his mother fusses at him to chew. Gets him out of the house half an hour earlier than usual, his temper still boiling as he bikes to school.
Do it for the team, he tells himself when the temptation to keep pedaling instead of turning off at the school gate starts to strengthen. Go in there and face him and catch for him and suck it up for your team's sake, it's not their fault you're a pervert and let things get out of hand yesterday.
Doesn't make him feel much better. Gets him to slow down and turn where he's supposed to turn, though, his skin prickling as he locks up his bike and trudges over to the practice field.
Mr. Shiga's there already, reading a book in the dugout. Momokan, too, standing with her back to Abe when he steps onto the field. They turn and answer his morning greeting, Momokan giving him the kind of grin that usually makes Abe feel ill. He shifts his bag on his shoulder, makes his way over to them. Feels his stomach drop to his shoes when he sees Mihashi standing in Momokan's shadow, hunched in on himself and fidgeting as usual, his cheeks warming a little at the sight of Abe.
"It seems we owe you our gratitude," Momokan says.
Abe blinks at her. "Ma'am?"
"For helping Mihashi with his physical," she says. Pats Mihashi on the shoulder with her free hand, hard enough that Mihashi stumbles a little. "Once we have his-and yours and Izumi's, but I'm sure that won't be a problem-we're cleared for Koushien."
"Wha-when-"
"T-this afternoon," Mihashi says. "My mom made the appointment. Yesterday." A moment. "While I was studying. With you."
Probably thought she'd have to trick him into going, Abe thinks. Which probably would have worked. Means he didn't have to do what he did. Any of what he did. Especially not the bit he shouldn't've done.
"Oh," he says. "That's-that's good. I'm glad to hear it. Thank you."
Mihashi gives him a shy little smile. Fidgets some. "It's t-thanks to Abe-kun," he says. "For helping me."
"You're good for each other," Momokan says before Abe has a chance to dispel that particular incongruity. "And you'd be even better if you were stretching together. Go on. We're going to Koushien in a week, this is no time for slacking. Stretch, then play catch some. I want to see you working on your wind-up today, Mihashi. Abe, work with him for the first bit, then I want you on batting. Hurry up, get some work in before the others get here for meditation."
Abe nods, his yes ma'am mostly obscuring what he assumes is the same from Mihashi. He drops his bag in the dugout and jogs out onto the field with his pitcher, tries not to think too hard about anything but baseball as he kneels down to help Mihashi stretch.
They're going to Koushien, he reminds himself. He's going to Koushien. Taking his pitcher with him, the best damn pitcher he's ever met. If it means a little discomfort on his part, if it means sincerely apologizing to the guy after the excitement of the competition has passed ...
Well worth it, he thinks, even as the usual curls of embarrassment rise in his gut, making him squirm. And if apologizing doesn't work, if he's still sick with the memory of touching Mihashi, making him come-of stroking him, inside and out-well. That's what alcohol's for. Just enough to dull the memory, maybe to erase it from Mihashi's mind.
Not from Abe's, though. Embarrassing as it is, it's one memory Abe's certain he'll want to keep.
<< part ii
see it from Mihashi's POV >>