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[bitter_crimson]

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Fill: Wordless - 3/?

[anonymous]

The conversation veers off onto the topic of schoolwork, which successfully repels the awkward silence that is just waiting to descend on the two of them. At last, they reach Junta’s room. Still discussing the pros and cons of buying assessment books, they enter the room, and the pitcher closes the door behind them.

Riou only has the time to deposit his bag on the floor before Junta slides his arms around his waist. The catcher twists around to face him. In the stark, unforgiving fluorescent light outside in the school grounds, Junta’s deep blue eyes glow with desperate hunger.

The first time he had seen that look in Junta’s eyes, Riou had intended to hug his friend. Just a hug, to hopefully comfort and soothe the pain that was evident beneath the hunger. But the pitcher had turned his head and caught his lips in a kiss. Their first kiss, and the door that had led to so much more.

Now, unlike that first time, it is Riou who leans in to claim the lips that are parted in a silent plea. Junta slides his tongue across the younger boy’s lower lip on his way into his mouth, making a soft sound of appreciation when Riou sucks briefly on the lithe muscle. The copper-haired boy then explores the pitcher’s mouth as though he has never done so before, while their hands wander, first over, then under, each other’s clothes.

Three weeks is not nearly enough to temper Riou’s fascination with his new freedom to touch Junta. He is still awed that he is able to embrace his friend like this, as though they are lovers.

Riou doesn’t know if he is in love with Junta. Intrigued by, yes; obsession wouldn’t be too strong a word. But he isn’t even sure of what love is, what that strange passion that defies all reason is, because he’s never felt it before. He is almost certain, however, that Junta is in love Kazuki. The dark-haired boy, normally so detached and coolly objective, had been crying when they first kissed, that day when the coach had told them Kazuki had officially retired from baseball. It was only after that that Riou started to see that wild, irrational need in Junta’s eyes.

Yet when Junta looks at him with so much desire, the truth doesn’t seem to matter; he can trick himself into believing an illusion of love.

Hardness presses against his leg. Junta’s face is flushed; his arms circle Riou’s neck as he rocks slowly into the catcher’s thigh. Fuck me, his actions demand, but what comes from his lips are only harsh breaths. Riou ducks his head to capture Junta’s lips again in a swift kiss before maneuvering them to the bed. It’s not that they’ve never had sex against a wall or on the floor; it’s just that a bed is undeniably more comfortable, even if it does mean more laundry the next day.

They are naked by the time they reach the bed, though Riou cannot remember when exactly they had discarded their clothes. Junta refuses to let go of the younger boy even after lying down, so Riou trails his lips on the pitcher’s jaw, ears, neck, collarbones. On impulse, he sinks his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder, making sure it is on Junta’s left so that his pitching arm was unaffected. Junta gasps and twists under him, his hands scrabbling against Riou’s back. But he still does not voice a coherent word.

Riou licks and sucks at the bite, determined to leave a mark. He isn’t sure why it’s so important. Junta isn’t likely to be happy with it, but Riou finds he doesn’t care as long as he brands Junta as his.

The pitcher’s body arches ecstatically as Riou brushes aroused nipples with teasing fingers. Junta wraps his legs around the younger boy’s waist, forcing their erections together. Involuntary moans escape them both, and Junta rocks his hips again, insistently. Hurry up and fuck me.

Tonight, for some reason, Riou is feeling oddly rebellious. He doesn’t want to just obey, as much pleasure as obeying these orders is. A part of him is demanding that he take the initiative for once. It’s been clamoring for the past few days. This time he gives in.