FIC: I'll Bring The Porn.
Title: I'll Bring The Porn.
Author: kenboy
Genre: PoT
Summary: For storyteller's tenipurifantasy request: Najiroh/Ryoma. Oh, God, I don't care. Just write Nanjiroh/Ryoma and I will be happy. And it's only one day late!
Pairing: Um. Nanjiro/Ryoma, sort of. Ryoma/Tezuka, a little. Nanako/Nanjiro, actually, in ways you might not want to know about.
Words: 2,530. Seriously.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Yeaaaaaah. Um. Echizencest, kind of. Chan, sort of. Present tense. Me posting fic that uses the word "cock." Discussion of wanking. Do you really want to read this?
Notes: I think I need a shower.
Disclaimer: I may be on crack.
Nanjiro Echizen knows quite a lot of things, actually.
Aside from the tennis, of course, he’s also, for reasons even he can’t explain, the bearer of a near-encyclopedic knowledge of Japanese baseball statistics. He knows a good number of monk-related things as well, many dealing with specialized skills such as ringing one’s bell at the proper times and tying the proper knots in one’s belt. Also, bicycle repair. He knows a lot about bicycle repair.
On the other hand, he gets his share of things wrong, as well.
Ryoma isn’t having sex with that short girl, or with the girl’s loud friend, or with anyone, actually, including both girls at the same time, no matter how interesting (and possible) that might be. (Nanjiro also has no idea how right he is about the “possible” part on that one, especially where the loud one is concerned.) The “pair” in “golden pair” doesn’t actually mean they’re a couple (at least, not yet), and acting as if they are tends to cause offense. The hissing boy with the headband doesn’t speak Parseltongue. Or, if he does, he’s not admitting it. (He doesn’t, seeing as it’s fucking imaginary, but he knows full well what it is, despite his claims of ignorance. He also ships Harry with Draco, but he’d die before admitting that, too.)
In any case, one of Nanjiro’s more annoying personality traits is the way he always insists he’s right. Especially when he’s not. Ryoma knows all about this, which makes it no less frustrating when his father is waiting for him outside the bathroom door at 8:30 am on Tuesday morning.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” he intones knowingly, looking for all the world like Eric Idle in the midst of his “nudge nudge, wink wink” routine.
Ryoma sighs. “What?”
“You were in there a long time!”
“So?”
If Nanjiro’s smile were any wider, his lip would split open. “So, I bet I know what you were doing in there!”
Ryoma rolls his eyes. “I’m late,” he says, as he pushes past his father and out the door.
Nanjiro watches him go. “My little boy is finally becoming a man!” he tells the door.
If the door had eyes, it would roll them as well.
Out on the street, Ryoma tries to figure out what his father was on about. He sees his reflection in the window of a store and adjusts his hair. Half an hour in front of the bathroom mirror and it still isn’t right, he sighs to himself. How does Tezuka keep his so perfect all the time? And why does his father always have to be so strange? Ryoma sighs and walks more quickly. He’s going to be late again.
*****
After school, Ryoma loses to Fuji in some insane drill of Inui’s creation that requires playing simultaneously with two racquets, one in each hand. Losing to Fuji is always extra-aggravating, seeing as he’s the one player who doesn’t mind drinking Inui’s concoctions. Today’s, “Abnormali-tea,” is especially foul. It is worse than the omnipresent “Ubiqui-tea,” but much less disgusting than the thick, sticky, “Viscosi-tea” they’d had last week. Momo had accused Inui of putting motor oil in the drink; Inui hadn’t denied it. Then Kaidoh said it was probably actual “Inui juice,” which got a nervous chuckle and groans from everyone and made Inui blush bright red and oh my God, suddenly Ryoma realizes what Nanjiro was talking about before he left for school. Ryoma considers running away from home entirely and staying with Momo for a few weeks or possibly years, but he figures he’ll have to deal with it eventually and finally just decides to walk home. Slowly.
*****
Nanjiro is waiting when Ryoma walks in the door, still grinning ear-to-ear like he was ten hours earlier. Ryoma tries to make it unmolested to his room, but Nanjiro follows.
“So.” God, will he ever lose the grin?
“What?”
“So, what were you doing in the bathroom for so long this morning?”
Ryoma notices the magazine tucked under his father’s arm and frantically wishes himself dead. This doesn’t work. Outwardly, he maintains his usual stoic appearance. “My hair.”
“Come on! You can tell me! You think I don’t know?”
This is getting more uncomfortable by the second. “It’s not what you think.”
“Sure it is! You’re jerking of!”
“Dad!”
“Wanking!”
“DAD!”
“Polishing the silver! Waxing the dolphin! Saying hello to your little friend!”
“I AM NOT!” Ryoma pulls his hat lower on his face and crosses his arms.
“Of course you are! You’re a healthy 12 year-old boy!”
“I’ve never done it, OK?”
Nanjiro raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yes!”
“But when I was your age, I was doing it all the time!”
Ryoma hadn’t needed that particular piece of information. “Congratulations,” he manages.
Nanjiro crosses the room and closes the door. This can’t possibly be good, thinks Ryoma.
“So, do you even know how?”
Ryoma can’t believe this is actually happening. “I’m not answering that.”
Nanjiro, displaying his typical level of maturity, laughs at him. “You don’t know! Haven’t you ever even wanted to?”
“Eh. Not really.”
Nanjiro doubles over with laughter, holding his stomach, and barely manages to croak it out: “Mada … mada … dane?”
“Get out.”
********
Ryoma spends the next three days going to and returning from school via his bedroom window. On Saturday, he takes his chances and sleeps in. Bad idea, he quickly realizes, as he shuffles to the kitchen for breakfast and realizes his mother and Nanako have left him alone with his father, who appears to be napping on the sofa. Ryoma figures he can still tiptoe into the kitchen and get something to eat without awakening Nanjiro. He, of course, is wrong.
“Good, you’re up!”
“…”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing.” Shit. His reflexive answer was going to be the wrong answer, wasn’t it?
“Good! We’re going to the lake.”
It definitely had been the wrong answer. “Er. Wait. I have a practice.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. The prefectural tournament is coming up.”
“Wasn’t it last month?”
Fuck. “Er. It got rained out. This is the make-up.”
“Interesting. You know, Sumire didn’t mention that when I called her yesterday to check. Go pack a bag.”
Ryoma huffs off to his room. Nanjiro calls after him, “Bring your racquet!”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.
“I’ll bring the porn!”
Oh, God.
******
The ride to the lake is uneventful; Nanjiro talks too much, and Ryoma feigns sleep. Eventually, it turns into actual sleep.
Ryoma awakens groggy and stiff, which doesn’t prevent Nanjiro from insisting on a quick match on the grass court. Ryoma holds his own, but loses 7-5.
After, there is swimming in the lake. Ryoma is wary, but relieved when the conversation focuses on tennis, and, later, after fish is caught and cooked, on Zen and the art of bicycle maintenance. His father is odd, but every now and then, he has his moments.
When dinner is through, Nanjiro digs out a bottle of Suntory from the cabinet and offers Ryoma a sip. He shrugs, puts down his Ponta, and gives it a try. He shudders.
“Mada mada dane?”
“Stop saying that. It tastes like gasoline.”
“It’s an acquired taste. I didn’t like it until I was thirty.”
Ryoma takes a swig of Ponta to get the taste out his mouth. “Why does alcohol always taste so awful?”
Nanjiro shrugs and takes a long sip of his whisky. “You get used to it. Beer is always good.”
“Eh.”
“Sake?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“What did you used to drink?” Ryoma drains his can of soda.
“What, when I was your age?”
“Yeah.”
“Um. Ponta, actually.”
“No.”
“Seriously. Usually orange, though.”
“Ew.”
Nanjiro shrugs and pours himself a refill.
“Did you get drunk?”
“What, when I was your age?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Ryoma raises an eyebrow.
“Ponta with vodka, actually.” Nanjiro thinks for a moment. “You know, we have some, I think.” He starts to get up. “You want to try?”
Ryoma shrugs his assent, and Nanjiro rummages around in a few different cabinets before finding a half-full, dusty bottle of Stolichnaya. Ryoma opens a fresh can of Ponta - grape, of course - and takes a quick sip, leaving room for Nanjiro to pour in some vodka. He does, and covers the hole with his thumb so he can shake the can to mix the drink. He hands it back to his son, who takes an experimental sip.
“How is it?”
“Eh.” Ryoma isn’t thrilled, but it’s drinkable. He takes a larger sip.
“That’s my boy.”
Ryoma rolls his eyes.
*****
It’s an hour and a half later when Nanjiro takes out the magazines. Ryoma hasn’t had that much to drink, but he also doesn’t weigh all that much, and he’s not sure exactly when his ears started to turn numb. He probably shouldn’t have another drink, he decides, but another part of him disagrees and thinks one more would be an excellent idea. Especially if he’s going to have to look at these things with his father. Ryoma pretty quickly realizes these aren’t the swimsuit and lingerie magazines that his father usually looks at.
“Hey, she’s taking her top off?” He makes himself another Ponta-and-Vodka.
“Turn the page.”
“Wow.” Ryoma’s not an idiot, and he’s had internet access for years, but for whatever reason, he’d never really bothered paying attention to everything that was out there. His world seems to be shifting, he dimly realizes as he turns another page. “You don’t look at these around the house.”
“Your mother would kill me.”
“Nanako, too.” Ryoma has a certain … stirring when he mentions her name, but he decides to not pay too much attention to that minor inconvenience.
“You’d be surprised.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Ryoma stares at his father, who blushes.
“Tell.”
Nanjiro sighs. “It’s just that she … well, she doesn’t always close her door all the way.”
“Old man! You’re kind of a pervert, you know?”
Nanjiro rises unsteadily to his feet. “Hey! That’s besides the point! She does it on purpose, is what I’m saying.”
“What?”
“If no one else is home but the two of us, she’ll go out of her way to tease me sometimes.”
“You’re imagining this.” Despite himself, Ryoma is intrigued. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch and sips from his can.
“Once, she ‘forgot’ her towel and had to go from the shower to her room naked.”
Ryoma shifts again. This is going to be noticeable soon, he worries. “And you were conveniently, what, sitting outside the bathroom door when this happened?”
Nanjiro blushes again. “Not that ti-no, I was not. I was outside. On the other side of the house. She opened the bathroom window and yelled to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said she needed me in the house; I went in and called down the hallway to her. She said, ‘Uncle, I needed to warn you that I forgot my towel, and I’m going to have to run naked to my bedroom, so I thought I should warn you to not be in the hallway!’”
Ryoma’s jaw is agape. His hand semi-casually falls into his lap and he turns another page. Wow.
Nanjiro pretends not to notice. “I thanked her for warning me.”
“And hid in the hallway closet?”
“No! What kind of a pervert do you think I am?”
Ryoma waits.
Nanjiro sighs. “I went around the corner into the kitchen!” Nanjiro pauses to take another sip of whisky. He realizes his glass is actually empty and instead chews an ice cube.
“And then you peeked around the corner as soon as you heard the door open.” Ryoma rubs himself through his shorts a little. God, that feels good.
“Of course I did! Who wouldn’t?”
“…”
“So, she came out, and she immediately faced away from the kitchen and took a couple steps toward her room.”
“She didn’t run.”
“No.”
Maybe his father wouldn’t notice if he unbuttoned his shorts and scratched a little down there. Everyone scratches, right?
“She took two steps, stopped, and stretched.”
Ryoma’s jaw drops again. “You’re kidding.”
Nanjiro grins and shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Then what happened?” Ryoma somehow thinks Nanjiro doesn’t see where his hand has gone, or that it’s more a squeezing motion than a scratching one.
“She pretended she’d spotted something on the floor and bent over to pick it up.” Nanjiro reaches in front of Ryoma and points at a picture in the magazine. “Looked a lot like that, only, not pixilated.”
Ryoma has no words, and in any case, doesn’t want to talk.
“She took her time picking up the thing that didn’t exist. Then she walked - as slowly as possible - to her room.”
He visualizes this and squeezes harder. “She knew you were watching?”
“She turned around and blew me a kiss before she went in.”
“What did you DO?”
“What do you think? Same thing you’re doing now.”
Ryoma’s hand comes out of his shorts. “Um.”
“I told you!”
“…”
“It’s good, yeah?” Nanjiro can see that while his hand might not be there any longer, Ryoma’s legs are rhythmically opening and closing, creating some friction between his thigh and his cock. Nanjiro has done this enough times himself to know exactly what’s going on, and he’s got to admit, he’s finding it kind of hot.
Ryoma turns red again. “I don’t even know what I’m doing!”
“Yeah, you do.” He’s grinning, of course. “It’s not like you need a book. Just keep doing the thing with your hand. Or take it out and use some spit.” He makes the classic gesture.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Eh. You do what you have to.” Nanjiro pauses for a moment. “You know, I’ve almost had enough to drink to be willing to give a demonstration…”
“Good night, old man.”
“Yeah.” Nanjiro knocks back the rest of his drink. “Night.”
Ryoma gets up awkwardly and takes the magazine - and a couple of others - with him as he walks to his room. His father calls over his shoulder.
“Hey! Keep a sock or something handy.”
Ryoma has no idea. “Why?”
Nanjiro laughs. “You’ll figure it out.”
Ryoma shrugs and closes his bedroom door behind him. He shakes his head at the sock comment, whatever that was supposed to mean, and gets changed for bed. He’s not really sure if he should have said anything else, or if he’s going to look at the magazines or not. Actually, come to think of it, he’s not really sure if the room is really spinning or not. Either way, leaving the room now was probably a really good idea. He gets under the covers and briefly wonders if any of the other Seigaku regulars do this, and what they look at if - when - they do. He smirks at mental images of Momoshiro lustily looking at a fast food advertisement and Inui doing something unnatural with a pen, a notebook, and a test tube. Then he forms a mental picture of Tezuka, and he blushes it away before he can decide what the captain would be looking at, or who he’d be thinking of.
Hmm.
Maybe he’d use that magazine after all…
Author: kenboy
Genre: PoT
Summary: For storyteller's tenipurifantasy request: Najiroh/Ryoma. Oh, God, I don't care. Just write Nanjiroh/Ryoma and I will be happy. And it's only one day late!
Pairing: Um. Nanjiro/Ryoma, sort of. Ryoma/Tezuka, a little. Nanako/Nanjiro, actually, in ways you might not want to know about.
Words: 2,530. Seriously.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Yeaaaaaah. Um. Echizencest, kind of. Chan, sort of. Present tense. Me posting fic that uses the word "cock." Discussion of wanking. Do you really want to read this?
Notes: I think I need a shower.
Disclaimer: I may be on crack.
Nanjiro Echizen knows quite a lot of things, actually.
Aside from the tennis, of course, he’s also, for reasons even he can’t explain, the bearer of a near-encyclopedic knowledge of Japanese baseball statistics. He knows a good number of monk-related things as well, many dealing with specialized skills such as ringing one’s bell at the proper times and tying the proper knots in one’s belt. Also, bicycle repair. He knows a lot about bicycle repair.
On the other hand, he gets his share of things wrong, as well.
Ryoma isn’t having sex with that short girl, or with the girl’s loud friend, or with anyone, actually, including both girls at the same time, no matter how interesting (and possible) that might be. (Nanjiro also has no idea how right he is about the “possible” part on that one, especially where the loud one is concerned.) The “pair” in “golden pair” doesn’t actually mean they’re a couple (at least, not yet), and acting as if they are tends to cause offense. The hissing boy with the headband doesn’t speak Parseltongue. Or, if he does, he’s not admitting it. (He doesn’t, seeing as it’s fucking imaginary, but he knows full well what it is, despite his claims of ignorance. He also ships Harry with Draco, but he’d die before admitting that, too.)
In any case, one of Nanjiro’s more annoying personality traits is the way he always insists he’s right. Especially when he’s not. Ryoma knows all about this, which makes it no less frustrating when his father is waiting for him outside the bathroom door at 8:30 am on Tuesday morning.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” he intones knowingly, looking for all the world like Eric Idle in the midst of his “nudge nudge, wink wink” routine.
Ryoma sighs. “What?”
“You were in there a long time!”
“So?”
If Nanjiro’s smile were any wider, his lip would split open. “So, I bet I know what you were doing in there!”
Ryoma rolls his eyes. “I’m late,” he says, as he pushes past his father and out the door.
Nanjiro watches him go. “My little boy is finally becoming a man!” he tells the door.
If the door had eyes, it would roll them as well.
Out on the street, Ryoma tries to figure out what his father was on about. He sees his reflection in the window of a store and adjusts his hair. Half an hour in front of the bathroom mirror and it still isn’t right, he sighs to himself. How does Tezuka keep his so perfect all the time? And why does his father always have to be so strange? Ryoma sighs and walks more quickly. He’s going to be late again.
*****
After school, Ryoma loses to Fuji in some insane drill of Inui’s creation that requires playing simultaneously with two racquets, one in each hand. Losing to Fuji is always extra-aggravating, seeing as he’s the one player who doesn’t mind drinking Inui’s concoctions. Today’s, “Abnormali-tea,” is especially foul. It is worse than the omnipresent “Ubiqui-tea,” but much less disgusting than the thick, sticky, “Viscosi-tea” they’d had last week. Momo had accused Inui of putting motor oil in the drink; Inui hadn’t denied it. Then Kaidoh said it was probably actual “Inui juice,” which got a nervous chuckle and groans from everyone and made Inui blush bright red and oh my God, suddenly Ryoma realizes what Nanjiro was talking about before he left for school. Ryoma considers running away from home entirely and staying with Momo for a few weeks or possibly years, but he figures he’ll have to deal with it eventually and finally just decides to walk home. Slowly.
*****
Nanjiro is waiting when Ryoma walks in the door, still grinning ear-to-ear like he was ten hours earlier. Ryoma tries to make it unmolested to his room, but Nanjiro follows.
“So.” God, will he ever lose the grin?
“What?”
“So, what were you doing in the bathroom for so long this morning?”
Ryoma notices the magazine tucked under his father’s arm and frantically wishes himself dead. This doesn’t work. Outwardly, he maintains his usual stoic appearance. “My hair.”
“Come on! You can tell me! You think I don’t know?”
This is getting more uncomfortable by the second. “It’s not what you think.”
“Sure it is! You’re jerking of!”
“Dad!”
“Wanking!”
“DAD!”
“Polishing the silver! Waxing the dolphin! Saying hello to your little friend!”
“I AM NOT!” Ryoma pulls his hat lower on his face and crosses his arms.
“Of course you are! You’re a healthy 12 year-old boy!”
“I’ve never done it, OK?”
Nanjiro raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yes!”
“But when I was your age, I was doing it all the time!”
Ryoma hadn’t needed that particular piece of information. “Congratulations,” he manages.
Nanjiro crosses the room and closes the door. This can’t possibly be good, thinks Ryoma.
“So, do you even know how?”
Ryoma can’t believe this is actually happening. “I’m not answering that.”
Nanjiro, displaying his typical level of maturity, laughs at him. “You don’t know! Haven’t you ever even wanted to?”
“Eh. Not really.”
Nanjiro doubles over with laughter, holding his stomach, and barely manages to croak it out: “Mada … mada … dane?”
“Get out.”
********
Ryoma spends the next three days going to and returning from school via his bedroom window. On Saturday, he takes his chances and sleeps in. Bad idea, he quickly realizes, as he shuffles to the kitchen for breakfast and realizes his mother and Nanako have left him alone with his father, who appears to be napping on the sofa. Ryoma figures he can still tiptoe into the kitchen and get something to eat without awakening Nanjiro. He, of course, is wrong.
“Good, you’re up!”
“…”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing.” Shit. His reflexive answer was going to be the wrong answer, wasn’t it?
“Good! We’re going to the lake.”
It definitely had been the wrong answer. “Er. Wait. I have a practice.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. The prefectural tournament is coming up.”
“Wasn’t it last month?”
Fuck. “Er. It got rained out. This is the make-up.”
“Interesting. You know, Sumire didn’t mention that when I called her yesterday to check. Go pack a bag.”
Ryoma huffs off to his room. Nanjiro calls after him, “Bring your racquet!”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.
“I’ll bring the porn!”
Oh, God.
******
The ride to the lake is uneventful; Nanjiro talks too much, and Ryoma feigns sleep. Eventually, it turns into actual sleep.
Ryoma awakens groggy and stiff, which doesn’t prevent Nanjiro from insisting on a quick match on the grass court. Ryoma holds his own, but loses 7-5.
After, there is swimming in the lake. Ryoma is wary, but relieved when the conversation focuses on tennis, and, later, after fish is caught and cooked, on Zen and the art of bicycle maintenance. His father is odd, but every now and then, he has his moments.
When dinner is through, Nanjiro digs out a bottle of Suntory from the cabinet and offers Ryoma a sip. He shrugs, puts down his Ponta, and gives it a try. He shudders.
“Mada mada dane?”
“Stop saying that. It tastes like gasoline.”
“It’s an acquired taste. I didn’t like it until I was thirty.”
Ryoma takes a swig of Ponta to get the taste out his mouth. “Why does alcohol always taste so awful?”
Nanjiro shrugs and takes a long sip of his whisky. “You get used to it. Beer is always good.”
“Eh.”
“Sake?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“What did you used to drink?” Ryoma drains his can of soda.
“What, when I was your age?”
“Yeah.”
“Um. Ponta, actually.”
“No.”
“Seriously. Usually orange, though.”
“Ew.”
Nanjiro shrugs and pours himself a refill.
“Did you get drunk?”
“What, when I was your age?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Ryoma raises an eyebrow.
“Ponta with vodka, actually.” Nanjiro thinks for a moment. “You know, we have some, I think.” He starts to get up. “You want to try?”
Ryoma shrugs his assent, and Nanjiro rummages around in a few different cabinets before finding a half-full, dusty bottle of Stolichnaya. Ryoma opens a fresh can of Ponta - grape, of course - and takes a quick sip, leaving room for Nanjiro to pour in some vodka. He does, and covers the hole with his thumb so he can shake the can to mix the drink. He hands it back to his son, who takes an experimental sip.
“How is it?”
“Eh.” Ryoma isn’t thrilled, but it’s drinkable. He takes a larger sip.
“That’s my boy.”
Ryoma rolls his eyes.
*****
It’s an hour and a half later when Nanjiro takes out the magazines. Ryoma hasn’t had that much to drink, but he also doesn’t weigh all that much, and he’s not sure exactly when his ears started to turn numb. He probably shouldn’t have another drink, he decides, but another part of him disagrees and thinks one more would be an excellent idea. Especially if he’s going to have to look at these things with his father. Ryoma pretty quickly realizes these aren’t the swimsuit and lingerie magazines that his father usually looks at.
“Hey, she’s taking her top off?” He makes himself another Ponta-and-Vodka.
“Turn the page.”
“Wow.” Ryoma’s not an idiot, and he’s had internet access for years, but for whatever reason, he’d never really bothered paying attention to everything that was out there. His world seems to be shifting, he dimly realizes as he turns another page. “You don’t look at these around the house.”
“Your mother would kill me.”
“Nanako, too.” Ryoma has a certain … stirring when he mentions her name, but he decides to not pay too much attention to that minor inconvenience.
“You’d be surprised.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Ryoma stares at his father, who blushes.
“Tell.”
Nanjiro sighs. “It’s just that she … well, she doesn’t always close her door all the way.”
“Old man! You’re kind of a pervert, you know?”
Nanjiro rises unsteadily to his feet. “Hey! That’s besides the point! She does it on purpose, is what I’m saying.”
“What?”
“If no one else is home but the two of us, she’ll go out of her way to tease me sometimes.”
“You’re imagining this.” Despite himself, Ryoma is intrigued. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch and sips from his can.
“Once, she ‘forgot’ her towel and had to go from the shower to her room naked.”
Ryoma shifts again. This is going to be noticeable soon, he worries. “And you were conveniently, what, sitting outside the bathroom door when this happened?”
Nanjiro blushes again. “Not that ti-no, I was not. I was outside. On the other side of the house. She opened the bathroom window and yelled to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said she needed me in the house; I went in and called down the hallway to her. She said, ‘Uncle, I needed to warn you that I forgot my towel, and I’m going to have to run naked to my bedroom, so I thought I should warn you to not be in the hallway!’”
Ryoma’s jaw is agape. His hand semi-casually falls into his lap and he turns another page. Wow.
Nanjiro pretends not to notice. “I thanked her for warning me.”
“And hid in the hallway closet?”
“No! What kind of a pervert do you think I am?”
Ryoma waits.
Nanjiro sighs. “I went around the corner into the kitchen!” Nanjiro pauses to take another sip of whisky. He realizes his glass is actually empty and instead chews an ice cube.
“And then you peeked around the corner as soon as you heard the door open.” Ryoma rubs himself through his shorts a little. God, that feels good.
“Of course I did! Who wouldn’t?”
“…”
“So, she came out, and she immediately faced away from the kitchen and took a couple steps toward her room.”
“She didn’t run.”
“No.”
Maybe his father wouldn’t notice if he unbuttoned his shorts and scratched a little down there. Everyone scratches, right?
“She took two steps, stopped, and stretched.”
Ryoma’s jaw drops again. “You’re kidding.”
Nanjiro grins and shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Then what happened?” Ryoma somehow thinks Nanjiro doesn’t see where his hand has gone, or that it’s more a squeezing motion than a scratching one.
“She pretended she’d spotted something on the floor and bent over to pick it up.” Nanjiro reaches in front of Ryoma and points at a picture in the magazine. “Looked a lot like that, only, not pixilated.”
Ryoma has no words, and in any case, doesn’t want to talk.
“She took her time picking up the thing that didn’t exist. Then she walked - as slowly as possible - to her room.”
He visualizes this and squeezes harder. “She knew you were watching?”
“She turned around and blew me a kiss before she went in.”
“What did you DO?”
“What do you think? Same thing you’re doing now.”
Ryoma’s hand comes out of his shorts. “Um.”
“I told you!”
“…”
“It’s good, yeah?” Nanjiro can see that while his hand might not be there any longer, Ryoma’s legs are rhythmically opening and closing, creating some friction between his thigh and his cock. Nanjiro has done this enough times himself to know exactly what’s going on, and he’s got to admit, he’s finding it kind of hot.
Ryoma turns red again. “I don’t even know what I’m doing!”
“Yeah, you do.” He’s grinning, of course. “It’s not like you need a book. Just keep doing the thing with your hand. Or take it out and use some spit.” He makes the classic gesture.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Eh. You do what you have to.” Nanjiro pauses for a moment. “You know, I’ve almost had enough to drink to be willing to give a demonstration…”
“Good night, old man.”
“Yeah.” Nanjiro knocks back the rest of his drink. “Night.”
Ryoma gets up awkwardly and takes the magazine - and a couple of others - with him as he walks to his room. His father calls over his shoulder.
“Hey! Keep a sock or something handy.”
Ryoma has no idea. “Why?”
Nanjiro laughs. “You’ll figure it out.”
Ryoma shrugs and closes his bedroom door behind him. He shakes his head at the sock comment, whatever that was supposed to mean, and gets changed for bed. He’s not really sure if he should have said anything else, or if he’s going to look at the magazines or not. Actually, come to think of it, he’s not really sure if the room is really spinning or not. Either way, leaving the room now was probably a really good idea. He gets under the covers and briefly wonders if any of the other Seigaku regulars do this, and what they look at if - when - they do. He smirks at mental images of Momoshiro lustily looking at a fast food advertisement and Inui doing something unnatural with a pen, a notebook, and a test tube. Then he forms a mental picture of Tezuka, and he blushes it away before he can decide what the captain would be looking at, or who he’d be thinking of.
Hmm.
Maybe he’d use that magazine after all…