FIC: Helping Hand, Niou/Sanada, NC17
Title: Helping Hand
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Niou/Sanada
Wordcount: 1635
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Sometimes, you need a friendly helping hand.
Author's notes: Not related to anything. Nothing serious. Just felt like writing it.
The tension was rising.
Niou was all coiled up like a spring, and ready to shoot. Walking to the stadium bathrooms, there was nothing but throngs of people everywhere: spectators, support teams, even a few scouts and photographers. They saw his jersey and yelled out his school name. Niou ignored them. His neck ached. He was covered in a film of sweat that wasn't just from the stifling heat. His limbs, his arms needed to be shook out-if he held his racket now, it'd be a death grip.
Behind the food vendors and around the corner, not too far past the G section entrance, Niou saw the sign for the toilets. It smelled faintly like piss and popcorn and grease and sweat down the corridor. The lights flickered, gasping their last breath of fluorescent lighting as he passed underneath. Niou pushed the door open and was greeted with a blast of unclean bathroom. He swallowed the gag and walked in.
"Yo," he said.
Sanada was there, bent over the sink, hair dripping wet and face flushed. He took a moment to react to Niou walking up to him. Niou slapped a hand down on Sanada's shoulder and he could feel the tension there too, all hard and stiff like his own body. He dugs his nails in and Sanada yelled.
"What's up, big man?" he asked.
Sanada grunted. He shut off the dripping tap and turned around. Niou wanted peace and quiet and a moment to reflect and think about his game plan, but Sanada was in the way. Like always. He was used to it, he told himself.
Maybe Sanada felt the same thing, the same thickness in his chest, the same knots in his belly and the blurred thoughts. One loss in the season was tough: the Nationals was a whole other level.
"The games will start soon," Sanada said. He rubbed the back of his neck and Niou could see Sanada wiping sweat onto the hem of his shorts. It left a wet stain. He nodded and cranked the tap on for himself. Garbage clung to the corners of the bathroom. The rubbish bin was overflowing with dirty paper towels and festering shit, attracting flies and the smell of overripe fruit. The air was tinged with gritty motes of dust, scum, nerves.
Niou bent down to stuff his head under the tap, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sanada's shaking knees. His eyes rose and settled on Sanada's crotch. His dick was hard.
So was Niou's.
He sucked his stomach in and lifted his head. Sanada's eyes widened. His mouth dropped a bit. Niou smirked. His balls ached. No one else was around. Reaching out, he flicked the brim of Sanada's cap and it knocked to the floor with a single, hollow noise.
"Need a hand?" Niou murmured.
Sanada sputtered. Niou had said a hundred, thousand things before this and he'd seen Sanada blink and choke a hundred, thousand times before. Practical jokes and water guns, chides about Yukimura and stolen bentos. It was nothing serious, all light, lame things.
His body was so heavy. His body would up around a screw, twisted and begging to be set loose. His shoulders were in knots, he couldn't concentrate on game making right now anyway.
"It's okay," Niou said. He took a step closer to Sanada and splayed his hand over Sanada's chest. A heart beat frantic underneath, all doki doki thumping against Sanada's ribcage. Niou's pulse rushed into his ears. "Nothing serious, just a hand," he offered.
And to Niou's surprise, Sanada nodded. Just once, but it was enough.
Guys did this sort of thing, in the locker room, in the showers, behind the storage shed when the coach goes off for a smoke-except, they never talked about it, right? Niou leaned forward and pressed his palm to the least grimy part of the wall above Sanada's shoulders. Sanada backed up into the sink. For a moment, Niou almost expected him to shove Niou off and slap his face. He cringed. Sanada cringed. But as his other hand settled over the front of Sanada's shorts, Sanada just let out a shuddered gasp.
Sanada opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Niou smirked-or he would have, if it wasn't for the growing nausea in his belly, flooding his stomach and throat with acrid bile. He swallowed and fumbled with the waistband of Sanada's shorts. His skin was hot. His stomach sucked in when Niou's fingertips brushed the top of his underpants. Niou's cock throbbed. The sounds of the stadium echoed outside: hundreds of footsteps overhead, the hum of flickering lights casting a sickly green glow over their bodies, even the insects in the festering garbage.
It was a disgusting place. It made Niou want to heave. There were brown smears on the stall doorways and stains on the floor under their sneakers, sticky when Niou pushed his body on Sanada's. He shook and Sanada shivered as their bodies melded, hot and clammy and tight. Sanada's Adam's Apple bobbed. "I thought you said just a hand…" he grumbled.
"Yeah," Niou said. He reached up to flick the brim of Sanada's cap. It lifted off his head and landed on the floor with a soft popping noise. His hair was messy and wet as Niou touched it, weaved his fingers through. He smushed their bodies closer, rubbing his hand down inside Sanada's underpants, feeling damp, crinkly pubes and a hot, hard dick.
"I'm so tense," Niou said. He breathed hard in Sanada's ear. The lights flickered. The tap dripped. Sanada's hand slipped down the wall with a sticky squeak, then it settled on Niou's hip. Niou grunted when Sanada's fingers dug into his hip. "Fuck!" he gasped.
His balls were going to explode. His lungs were going to explode, too, from the pent-up anticipation of the games to come. Niou clenched his jaw and took Sanada's hand, cupping his balls with it. He rubbed against it and moaned. It felt dirty-the sound echoed in the cement walls around them. Sanada squeezed his eyes closed as Niou pumped his dick.
"Come on," he said, "you gotta do it too." Niou guided the hand to his waistband, pushing it down as he inhaled sharply. Through his teeth, he muttered, "Recipro-cation!"
Sanada's hand was tight and tense around his dick, slick with sweat and water and his own pre-come. Niou closed his eyes and laid his cheek on Sanada's chest, humping and thrusting into the hand. Vaguely, he remembered to unclench and twist and pull at Sanada's dick, too. It was bigger than his-and wider-but he must have been doing something right. Sanada panted and bucked. His back arched, then slapped back down against the sink. They shuddered and groaned: one, then the other. Hands squeezed and pumped and rubbed and their sneaks peeled off the floor as their legs shifted, trying to get closer, trying to get that right position for the sweetest satisfaction.
Niou's eyes rolled back. His balls were on fire. His dick was numb, squeezed so tight that he couldn't think straight. He said something. Sanada said his name-or maybe Yukimura's, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was riding that crested wave of coiled tension, tight, tighter, tighter. Niou's belly swelled with delicious, tense pleasure. "God," he muttered. He licked his lips. Sanada's hand pumped faster. His hand dug in sharp at the base of Sanada's cock. He pulled. Sanada yelped.
And then Sanada thrust forward. His face was splotched red and his eyes fluttered. He mewled as he came, hot and heavy in Niou's clenched hand. The high-pitched sounds ricocheted. His body clung to Niou, his arm was a vice on Niou's band and his hand slipped. A thumb bumped the head, just where he needed and Niou shivered, too. He came with a grunt-none of Sanada's dramatics, just a long, shuddered sigh as the tension spilled over the edge in a rush.
On shaking legs, they pulled apart. Sanada didn't look Niou in the eye when he turned the tap on and stuffed his hands under the water. Mist sprayed onto Niou's arm, cool and damp. His heart pounded and his blood rushed, but the spring had released and Niou nearly tripped over his jellied legs. He sniffed his fingertips-Sanada's come smelled like his own, musky and heady. With Sanada's back turned, he pressed a fingertip to his lips and tested it with his tongue.
It tasted the same, too. Mostly. Niou grimaced.
The bathroom wasn't peace and quiet, but the sound of Sanada washing his hands was soothing. Maybe it was just a delayed reaction to orgasm, but Niou slid down a little further on the wall. He wiped his hand on the hem of his shorts. It still smelled like come.
"The game's going to start soon," Sanada grumbled. He bent down to pick up his cap, but Niou was quicker. He held it out for Sanada, but he brushed the dust off the brim first. Sanada snatched it away. He plunked it down on his head. Black eyes glared out from under the shade, but the edges were softer, the creases less harsh.
Niou flashed him a sideways smile.
Sanada stomped off toward the doorway and flung the door open. Niou took a deep breath and hunched his shoulders up. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and pushed himself off the wall. Sanada, though, lingered. A waft of stadium air blew inside and rustled the rubbish in the bin. Insects swarmed up. Niou's mole itched.
Sanada snorted. And then his mouth twitched. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Niou, flashing him a lop-sided smirk.
"Thanks for the hand."
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Niou/Sanada
Wordcount: 1635
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Sometimes, you need a friendly helping hand.
Author's notes: Not related to anything. Nothing serious. Just felt like writing it.
The tension was rising.
Niou was all coiled up like a spring, and ready to shoot. Walking to the stadium bathrooms, there was nothing but throngs of people everywhere: spectators, support teams, even a few scouts and photographers. They saw his jersey and yelled out his school name. Niou ignored them. His neck ached. He was covered in a film of sweat that wasn't just from the stifling heat. His limbs, his arms needed to be shook out-if he held his racket now, it'd be a death grip.
Behind the food vendors and around the corner, not too far past the G section entrance, Niou saw the sign for the toilets. It smelled faintly like piss and popcorn and grease and sweat down the corridor. The lights flickered, gasping their last breath of fluorescent lighting as he passed underneath. Niou pushed the door open and was greeted with a blast of unclean bathroom. He swallowed the gag and walked in.
"Yo," he said.
Sanada was there, bent over the sink, hair dripping wet and face flushed. He took a moment to react to Niou walking up to him. Niou slapped a hand down on Sanada's shoulder and he could feel the tension there too, all hard and stiff like his own body. He dugs his nails in and Sanada yelled.
"What's up, big man?" he asked.
Sanada grunted. He shut off the dripping tap and turned around. Niou wanted peace and quiet and a moment to reflect and think about his game plan, but Sanada was in the way. Like always. He was used to it, he told himself.
Maybe Sanada felt the same thing, the same thickness in his chest, the same knots in his belly and the blurred thoughts. One loss in the season was tough: the Nationals was a whole other level.
"The games will start soon," Sanada said. He rubbed the back of his neck and Niou could see Sanada wiping sweat onto the hem of his shorts. It left a wet stain. He nodded and cranked the tap on for himself. Garbage clung to the corners of the bathroom. The rubbish bin was overflowing with dirty paper towels and festering shit, attracting flies and the smell of overripe fruit. The air was tinged with gritty motes of dust, scum, nerves.
Niou bent down to stuff his head under the tap, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sanada's shaking knees. His eyes rose and settled on Sanada's crotch. His dick was hard.
So was Niou's.
He sucked his stomach in and lifted his head. Sanada's eyes widened. His mouth dropped a bit. Niou smirked. His balls ached. No one else was around. Reaching out, he flicked the brim of Sanada's cap and it knocked to the floor with a single, hollow noise.
"Need a hand?" Niou murmured.
Sanada sputtered. Niou had said a hundred, thousand things before this and he'd seen Sanada blink and choke a hundred, thousand times before. Practical jokes and water guns, chides about Yukimura and stolen bentos. It was nothing serious, all light, lame things.
His body was so heavy. His body would up around a screw, twisted and begging to be set loose. His shoulders were in knots, he couldn't concentrate on game making right now anyway.
"It's okay," Niou said. He took a step closer to Sanada and splayed his hand over Sanada's chest. A heart beat frantic underneath, all doki doki thumping against Sanada's ribcage. Niou's pulse rushed into his ears. "Nothing serious, just a hand," he offered.
And to Niou's surprise, Sanada nodded. Just once, but it was enough.
Guys did this sort of thing, in the locker room, in the showers, behind the storage shed when the coach goes off for a smoke-except, they never talked about it, right? Niou leaned forward and pressed his palm to the least grimy part of the wall above Sanada's shoulders. Sanada backed up into the sink. For a moment, Niou almost expected him to shove Niou off and slap his face. He cringed. Sanada cringed. But as his other hand settled over the front of Sanada's shorts, Sanada just let out a shuddered gasp.
Sanada opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Niou smirked-or he would have, if it wasn't for the growing nausea in his belly, flooding his stomach and throat with acrid bile. He swallowed and fumbled with the waistband of Sanada's shorts. His skin was hot. His stomach sucked in when Niou's fingertips brushed the top of his underpants. Niou's cock throbbed. The sounds of the stadium echoed outside: hundreds of footsteps overhead, the hum of flickering lights casting a sickly green glow over their bodies, even the insects in the festering garbage.
It was a disgusting place. It made Niou want to heave. There were brown smears on the stall doorways and stains on the floor under their sneakers, sticky when Niou pushed his body on Sanada's. He shook and Sanada shivered as their bodies melded, hot and clammy and tight. Sanada's Adam's Apple bobbed. "I thought you said just a hand…" he grumbled.
"Yeah," Niou said. He reached up to flick the brim of Sanada's cap. It lifted off his head and landed on the floor with a soft popping noise. His hair was messy and wet as Niou touched it, weaved his fingers through. He smushed their bodies closer, rubbing his hand down inside Sanada's underpants, feeling damp, crinkly pubes and a hot, hard dick.
"I'm so tense," Niou said. He breathed hard in Sanada's ear. The lights flickered. The tap dripped. Sanada's hand slipped down the wall with a sticky squeak, then it settled on Niou's hip. Niou grunted when Sanada's fingers dug into his hip. "Fuck!" he gasped.
His balls were going to explode. His lungs were going to explode, too, from the pent-up anticipation of the games to come. Niou clenched his jaw and took Sanada's hand, cupping his balls with it. He rubbed against it and moaned. It felt dirty-the sound echoed in the cement walls around them. Sanada squeezed his eyes closed as Niou pumped his dick.
"Come on," he said, "you gotta do it too." Niou guided the hand to his waistband, pushing it down as he inhaled sharply. Through his teeth, he muttered, "Recipro-cation!"
Sanada's hand was tight and tense around his dick, slick with sweat and water and his own pre-come. Niou closed his eyes and laid his cheek on Sanada's chest, humping and thrusting into the hand. Vaguely, he remembered to unclench and twist and pull at Sanada's dick, too. It was bigger than his-and wider-but he must have been doing something right. Sanada panted and bucked. His back arched, then slapped back down against the sink. They shuddered and groaned: one, then the other. Hands squeezed and pumped and rubbed and their sneaks peeled off the floor as their legs shifted, trying to get closer, trying to get that right position for the sweetest satisfaction.
Niou's eyes rolled back. His balls were on fire. His dick was numb, squeezed so tight that he couldn't think straight. He said something. Sanada said his name-or maybe Yukimura's, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was riding that crested wave of coiled tension, tight, tighter, tighter. Niou's belly swelled with delicious, tense pleasure. "God," he muttered. He licked his lips. Sanada's hand pumped faster. His hand dug in sharp at the base of Sanada's cock. He pulled. Sanada yelped.
And then Sanada thrust forward. His face was splotched red and his eyes fluttered. He mewled as he came, hot and heavy in Niou's clenched hand. The high-pitched sounds ricocheted. His body clung to Niou, his arm was a vice on Niou's band and his hand slipped. A thumb bumped the head, just where he needed and Niou shivered, too. He came with a grunt-none of Sanada's dramatics, just a long, shuddered sigh as the tension spilled over the edge in a rush.
On shaking legs, they pulled apart. Sanada didn't look Niou in the eye when he turned the tap on and stuffed his hands under the water. Mist sprayed onto Niou's arm, cool and damp. His heart pounded and his blood rushed, but the spring had released and Niou nearly tripped over his jellied legs. He sniffed his fingertips-Sanada's come smelled like his own, musky and heady. With Sanada's back turned, he pressed a fingertip to his lips and tested it with his tongue.
It tasted the same, too. Mostly. Niou grimaced.
The bathroom wasn't peace and quiet, but the sound of Sanada washing his hands was soothing. Maybe it was just a delayed reaction to orgasm, but Niou slid down a little further on the wall. He wiped his hand on the hem of his shorts. It still smelled like come.
"The game's going to start soon," Sanada grumbled. He bent down to pick up his cap, but Niou was quicker. He held it out for Sanada, but he brushed the dust off the brim first. Sanada snatched it away. He plunked it down on his head. Black eyes glared out from under the shade, but the edges were softer, the creases less harsh.
Niou flashed him a sideways smile.
Sanada stomped off toward the doorway and flung the door open. Niou took a deep breath and hunched his shoulders up. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and pushed himself off the wall. Sanada, though, lingered. A waft of stadium air blew inside and rustled the rubbish in the bin. Insects swarmed up. Niou's mole itched.
Sanada snorted. And then his mouth twitched. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Niou, flashing him a lop-sided smirk.
"Thanks for the hand."