FIC: Control Issues (Shishido/Ootori, NC-17)

[anjenue]

Title: Control Issues
Author: Anj (anjenue)
Pairing: Shishido/Ootori
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,300
Summary: The problem with being able to read each other's minds is that words spoken aloud don't always mean what you want them to.
A/N: Thanks muchly to longleggedgit and lelek for the encouragement and betaing! ♥


'...need to work on your defense play, Gakuto,' Atobe-san was saying, eyeing a very irritated Mukahi-senpai. 'Your net play is quite good, but when an opponent like Momoshiro attacks with that much power, your wrist won't be able to handle it; you have to be able to pick the balls up at the baseline.'

Choutarou sighed, running a hand through his messy silver hair, then toying with his cross, tugging it yet again to make sure the chain would hold. He knew they were up here in the mountains to practise, but did Atobe really have to lecture them continually?

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Shishido-san was looking about as irritated as Mukahi, blue eyes narrowed in displeasure and arms crossed in front of his chest as he scowled. If he'd been giving Atobe that face, he would've gotten punished, but fortunately for him, Atobe's attention was focussed fully on the not-so-fortunate Mukahi.

Leaning over, Choutarou gave Shishido-san a small smile, their shoulders bumping together. 'This is getting a bit old, wouldn't you say, Shishido-san?' he whispered.

Shishido-san rolled his eyes, folding his arms tighter. 'Lame,' he agreed in a low growl.

'Super-lame,' Choutarou said, and then smiled as Shishido-san started a bit. He was still spooked from earlier, and for some reason, it pleased Choutarou tremendously. There was something...satisfying about seeing Shishido-san off-balance once in awhile. Not when he'd been defeated and was slowly going mad, like he had been when he got dropped from the Regulars, but just little things like this.

'Shishido.'

Choutarou blinked, dragging his attention back to Atobe, who was looking straight at both of them now. His cheeks flushed a bit, but he held his head high as he looked back, waiting expectantly for their chastisements.

'I don't know what made you end the match in the middle like that, especially when you had the upper hand.'

Choutarou chewed the inside of his lip, looking at Shishido-san out of the corner of his eye; as expected, Shishido-san wasn't giving an inch, though his glare had changed to something at least respectful. Just because they were childhood friends didn't mean they were any less hard on each other; in fact, Atobe was probably harder on Shishido-san than on anyone else, because he liked him so much.

'It was a good decision.'

'Eh?' The other team members all looked shocked, staring between Atobe and Shishido-san. Atobe rarely gave compliments, and when he did, they were often disguised as insults, which rewarded without granting a false sense of security. He was very good at pushing each and every one of them, giving them exactly the sort of feedback they needed to grow, but nevertheless it was extremely rare for him to give a compliment of any sort in front of everyone.

Maybe losing to Echizen-kun addled his brain, Choutarou thought, eyes wide and mouth open as he dragged his attention away from Atobe to look at Shishido. His senpai was just as shocked as everyone else, the whites of his eyes visible all the way round and his eyebrows climbing almost to his hairline; he recovered faster than the rest of them though, and bowed his head.

'Thank you,' he replied, quietly.

Choutarou looked back up at Atobe, who watched Shishido-san for a long, silent moment, an enigmatic smile playing around the corners of his mouth, then turned his head, meeting Choutarou's gaze head on.

'Ootori.'

'Hai!' Choutarou sat up straighter, scrubbing the surprise from his face, both anticipating and dreading the next words out of Atobe's mouth.

'Your recovery time is not quick enough. Seigaku's Kawamura is very strong, true, but he's not the strongest you will meet, not by far. You have to be prepared for the eventuality of someone returning your serves, and you have to be able to match them. Lower your centre of gravity, and use the natural power of your body to absorb and return. Add three sets of squats to your workout, and do fifty racquet twists before and after every practice, to work on your abs and lower back.'

Choutarou nodded, trying not to seem either disappointed by Atobe's cold recitation of his weaknesses or too eager to accept whatever help his buchou doled out. 'Hai,' he replied, bowing his head.

'Ootori-kun. About your serve...'

Choutarou's hands fisted tight against his thighs, but he looked up again, chewing on his tongue to keep from asking what's wrong with it?! He and Shishido-san had practised it for hours, aiming at that same hole until Choutarou's eyes had hurt from staring at it, until his muscles turned to jelly and his legs threatened to give out. But Shishido-san had kept pushing him, shouting sharp-edged encouragements, his determination and perseverance infecting Choutarou until the thought of stopping before he'd perfected it left his mind completely.

'Well done.'

Choutarou's mouth dropped open, the realisation that this was probably a first - for Atobe to give two compliments at once - barely registering in his conscious mind. He could feel a triumphant, excited smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes shone as he bowed his head again to hide it, thanking Atobe with heartfelt appreciation.

'Yuushi.'

As Atobe moved on, Choutarou took a moment to compose himself, wiping the idiotic grin off his face, before he looked over at Shishido-san. And gasped. Shishido-san's eyes were glowing, perhaps more blue than Choutarou had ever seen them, and fixed on Choutarou as if looking into him. The pride shining on Shishido-san's face was for both of them, Choutarou knew, same as the pride he was sure was on his own face. Choutarou felt light, lighter than air, muscles quivering with excitement and the reappearing grin threatening to split his face in two. Anyone who didn't understand Hyotei's tennis club might have thought they were overreacting, but only those who didn't understand.

Choutarou was fired up, energy prickling in his fingertips and hand twitching with the desire to pick up his racquet again and go back on the courts, play ten games, channel this excitement into something productive; from the look on Shishido-san's face, he felt the same way.

'That's all,' Atobe said finally, looking away from Oshitari and facing them all again. He held up one hand, then arched a brow and extended two fingers. 'Itteyoshi.'

'Oh, honestly, Atobe.' Oshitari looked disgusted, like he wanted nothing more than to grab Atobe by his arrogantly squared shoulders and shake him until his perfect hair mussed. Hiyoshi was glaring too, muttering something about being much less of a prick when he took Atobe's captaincy, and Mukahi was bouncing about trying to get an irate word in edgewise.

'Choutarou.'

Choutarou jumped in his chair as Shishido-san's hand descended on his shoulder, sending electricity crackling through his body to pool hot and furious in the pit of his belly. 'Shishido-san!' he said, and leaped up as Shishido-san gave him a secret smile and turned to head out of the room.

'Are we going to practise?' Choutarou hurried to keep up with Shishido-san, who was still faster despite Choutarou's longer legs. Their equipment was back in the room they were sharing, which was roughly the direction they were headed, and Choutarou was eager to get his racquet and hit the courts before even one iota of this energy dissipated. The season may have been over for them, for now, but he was going to perfect his serve, and next year, they were going to go all the way to the top. There was no better time to get started than now.

Shishido-san didn't answer him though, the only sign that he'd heard the quickening of his pace, and Choutarou practically wriggled with excitement even though he was almost fourteen and far too old for wriggling. Tennis was the only thing that could get him worked up like this, and the only place where he didn't really care how much of an eager idiot he looked. It wasn't like violin and piano, where he had to be perfectly poised, the stage persona at all times because that's what his parents expected; tennis was all him, and the only place where he could really just be himself.

It seemed like hours by the time they finally reached their room, Choutarou keeping his mind occupied by replaying the match with Kawamura in his head, trying to find holes, trying to figure out where he needed improvement and how he could get there; his focus had sharpened to a single purpose, tunnel vision directing him to his tennis bag across the room, which was why he was completely shocked when Shishido-san spun on his heel and slammed Choutarou back against the door, knocking it shut and forcing the air from Choutarou's lungs. Before Choutarou could even ask, Shishido-san was kissing him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to drag Choutarou's head down, pressing him back against the hard wood of the door.

Choutarou gasped in surprise as he struggled for air, and Shishido-san took that as an invitation, shoving his tongue into Choutarou's mouth. Choutarou's knees went wobbly; this wasn't the first time they'd kissed, far from it, but it always made him shaky, breathless, heat flooding through his body and pulse pounding in his head as he held on because that's all he knew how to do. Shishido-san kissed him like he wanted to devour Choutarou whole, biting at his lips and sucking on Choutarou's tongue until Choutarou ached in places that were decidedly not his mouth.

This time, Shishido-san was being even more aggressive than he usually was, one hand bunching the fabric of Choutarou's shirt as he pulled him down hard against him, making Choutarou lose his balance and stumble forward, clutching at Shishido-san's arms. Shishido-san made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and let go, rolling his shoulders until Choutarou's hands slipped free, then grabbed his wrists and slammed them back against the wood, pinning him there. It was more like a fight than a kiss, Shishido-san throwing all his weight forward to crush Choutarou against the door, hipbones pressing hard against the tops of Choutarou's thighs, and it made Choutarou's stomach churn, his muscles turning to water as warmth lanced up his spine and burned in his cheeks, making him dizzy and lightheaded. Then Shishido-san shifted, and Choutarou's breath caught painfully in his throat at the unmistakable press of Shishido-san's prick against his thigh.

That was something they definitely hadn't done before - forward as Shishido-san always was whenever they'd done anything like this, he'd always kept it...above the belt, as it were. Choutarou supposed that had been for his benefit, since he knew it wasn't like Shishido-san was...innocent, exactly, whereas he was nothing but. But apparently, Shishido-san had decided to lift the moratorium on inappropriate touching in a big way, judging from the way he was rocking firmly against Choutarou's thigh. Suddenly, his pelvis twisted, and Choutarou's knees almost gave out as his cock slid against the hard cut of Shishido-san's abdominal muscles. It was nothing like the soft give of his mattress, or the tight grip of his hand, and he moaned before he could stop himself, shuddering against the onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue and body.

'Choutarou...' Shishido-san hissed, releasing Choutarou's mouth at last, and Choutarou gasped for air, and then again, breath strangling in his throat as the liquid heat of Shishido-san's mouth slid across his jaw and closed on the sensitive skin of his neck. He felt the damp drag of Shishido-san's lips as they curved into a smile, and then a hitched cry tore from his throat, hips bucking forward as Shishido-san's teeth sank sharply into the juncture of neck and shoulder.

'Sh-Shishido-san,' he choked out, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making more embarrassing noises. No amount of fantasising about exactly this had been able to prepare him for actually feeling it, the delicious suction as Shishido-san mouthed at his throat, nudging his collar aside to scrape teeth over his collarbone, the bruising grip circling his wrists where they were pressed hard against the door, the shift of muscle as every forward press of Shishido-san's hips flexed his muscles against Choutarou's prick; he felt overwhelmed, his thoughts racing a million miles a minute, his body responding of its own accord even as he struggled to wrap his mind around what was happening. He'd wanted this for longer than he could say, since before Shishido-san even knew his name, and his body wanted nothing more than to just surrender and let Shishido-san do whatever he wanted. But even as he arched into Shishido-san's touches, thrilling at the hungry moans spilling against his skin and the twitch of Shishido-san's cock against his thigh, the part of him that needed that control, that sense of still being contained even when he let go, that nerve that Shishido-san had tapped that night in the warehouse, knew that he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if his first time doing...this, especially with Shishido-san, existed as a formless blur in the back of his consciousness.

'Shishido...san,' he gasped again, twisting his wrists in Shishido-san's grip; Shishido-san gave a pleased growl against his throat, sending a shiver down his spine, and gripped harder, surging forward and rubbing faster against him like a giant wildcat. Choutarou closed his eyes against the sparkles blurring his vision, licking dry lips as he fought back the urge to demand more harder now please, and then took a deep breath, twisting against Shishido-san in a gentle attempt to disengage himself. 'Shishido-sa--aah!' he gasped as Shishido-san twisted back, rolling his hips until his muscles rippled and Choutarou forgot how to formulate coherent thoughts. He was shaking, tension wound tight in the pit of his belly, and oh god he wanted...

...he wanted...

All of a sudden, Shishido-san let go of one of his wrists and pressed the heel of his hand hard against the front of Choutarou's shorts, and Choutarou bit down on his tongue, hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Even as his hips snapped forward, demanding, pleading, the pain sliced through his weakening resolve, and he wrenched his body, the momentum of his movement shoving Shishido-san back and off him.

Choutarou gasped for breath, eyes wide and tear-blurred as he stared at Shishido-san, who was panting, face flushed and lips swollen and looking so goddamn hot that Choutarou wanted to tackle him down to the floor. But the distance between them, however small, was helping to clear his head, and he knew he needed to say this now or else he was going to regret it.

'Choutarou...' Shishido-san looked confused, like he didn't have any idea what had just happened, and when Choutarou hesitated, trying to find the right words, Shishido-san took a step forward, clearly intending to pick right back up where he left off. Instinctively, Choutarou took a step back, and licked his lips nervously as Shishido-san stopped dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing as he stared at Choutarou.

'Shishido-san...' Choutarou managed, voice hoarse and breathy and just a bit desperate. 'I...I don't...'

'It's okay, Choutarou.' Shishido-san gave him a smile, albeit a slightly dazed and rather predatory one, contrasting with the soothing note in his tone that...wasn't really very soothing, truth be told. 'Relax and just let me--'

'Stop!'

Both Shishido-san and Choutarou himself blinked in shock at the violent outburst, Shishido-san halting his forward movement again as Choutarou flattened himself against the wall behind him. They stared at each other for a long moment, Choutarou struggling to string words together in a way that would make sense when he finally managed to get them out, but before he could open his mouth, Shishido-san straightened, hand going to his cap and tugging it back into place.

'I see,' he said, and Choutarou drew in a sharp breath at the sudden ice threaded through Shishido-san's voice. His face was shuttered, eyes looking at a spot over Choutarou's left shoulder, and Choutarou got the awful feeling that Shishido-san was about to have one of his infamous and very ugly mood swings.

'I'm sorry,' he said quickly, reaching out a hand, but Shishido-san only took a step back, the fire in his eyes turned dark now, violent anger twisting his features.

'Don't,' he spat, and before Choutarou could say another word, Shishido-san stomped to the door, yanked it open, and stormed out, leaving Choutarou staring after him, hand still outstretched and mind reeling. What had he...

'Shishido-san!' he shouted, body snapping into action and hurrying after him, but Shishido-san didn't stop, didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge Choutarou as he stalked down the hallway and disappeared into the foyer.

Choutarou stopped, standing alone in the middle of the hallway, confused and hurt and still hopelessly turned on, though the shock was taking care of that pretty quickly. 'What did I do?' he said aloud, biting his lip. That wasn't how their first time was supposed to go either, but somehow, he was unsurprised that he'd managed to screw it all up.

+

It would have been too much to ask to hope that the next time he saw Shishido-san, everything would be okay, but he certainly hadn't expected this either.

'Shishido-san, are...'

Shishido-san gave a very pointed, and very fake, snore, and Choutarou sighed, rolling over onto his side and tugging his blankets tighter around himself as he stared at the wall. Dinner had been miserable, with Shishido-san saying not a word and turning the other way whenever Choutarou tried to make conversation; if the others had noticed anything, which they must have, they hadn't said anything, though Choutarou felt somewhat disturbed by the way Hiyoshi had been eyeing him during dessert. Atobe had sent them all to bed early, saying that they would be having double practice the next day to make up for their Seigaku defeats, and any thoughts Choutarou had had of using some of that extra alone time with Shishido-san to try to patch things up had fizzled when Shishido-san had locked himself in the bathroom the moment they got back, and stayed in there for the better part of an hour, something he hadn't done since before he cut off his hair.

Choutarou still couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong - maybe stopping Shishido-san hadn't been nice of him, considering how...into it Shishido-san had been, but it wasn't like he'd wanted to stop completely. He'd just wanted Shishido-san to slow down a bit, give him a chance to actually experience it rather than sort of having it whizz by him with all the speed and force of his best Scud Serve. Of course, every time he tried explaining that to Shishido-san, he made it very clear that he didn't want to hear it. It was frustrating beyond all belief, but worse, it made Choutarou feel like a complete ass for having said anything in the first place. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do, but in retrospect, he wondered if it would have been so bad to just let Shishido-san have his way, and hope that the second time would be less...frantic. Or no, that wasn't even it. He liked the frantic, the I-need-you-now feeling that left him dizzy and hungry in a way nothing else could inspire, not even tennis -- he just...he had so much of a disadvantage already with Shishido-san, by virtue of the fact that all Shishido-san had to do was look at him and Choutarou was done for, and as much as he wanted the feeling of being so caught up in each other that nothing mattered, especially not waiting, he wanted to at least be able to participate. And right now...

I may be an innocent, Choutarou said to himself, bitterness creeping into his thoughts, but I'm not a blushing maiden begging to be ravished. If that's what Shishido-san wanted, if that was the reason he'd kept things between them so...

But that wasn't Shishido-san. He'd never treated Choutarou like a child, even when Choutarou had been one, a doe-eyed freshman who watched in worshipful amazement at that first match between Shishido-san and Atobe, the one that had secured Shishido-san's position on the regulars for the following year...still, Shishido-san hadn't babied him. He wouldn't do that.

Would he?

Shishido-san was snoring for real, quietly and evenly, before Choutarou was able to quell his thoughts enough to drift off to sleep.

+

'Game, Yuushi-Gakuto. Five games to love. Change court.'

Choutarou gripped his racquet tighter as he headed for the other side of the court, holding his head high and trying to ignore the half-confused half-triumphant smile from Mukahi-senpai and the little knowing smirk from Oshitari-senpai, and the burning gaze from Hiyoshi-kun directed at the back of his head. Shishido-san still hadn't said a word to him, hadn't even looked at him, and they knew each other's games well enough that they could function, but even so, they were barely managing that, Choutarou too unsettled and Shishido-san too...something for them to put up any sort of a fight.

It was his serve again, and Choutarou took a deep breath, remembering how the Scud had felt yesterday, when facing Kawamura, how his muscles had bunched and flexed just exactly right, the now-familiar feeling of a perfectly controlled serve with all his soul in it...the proud look in Shishido-san's eyes when he'd gotten that serve in without twisting his wrist...

'Fault!'

Choutarou winced. He had to stop thinking about Shishido-san and just focus on the game, or they were going to lose, and fast. Of course, the problem with that was that Shishido-san was his game, and so not thinking about him was kind of impossible. Even with tunnel vision, he could still see the sunlight shining on Shishido-san's hair where it spilled out of his cap, turning it a glossy chocolate brown, could see the outline of his spine through the thin fabric of his jersey, could remember how it felt under his hands when he--

'Double fault! Love-fifteen!'

'Dammit!' Choutarou gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance and staring across the net at Oshitari-senpai. He was still smirking, but he looked almost sympathetic now, just by the little shift of his eyebrows, and that made Choutarou far angrier than it should have. He didn't want pity, or patronising, or solidarity - he just wanted to finish the damn game, and then he wanted to corner Shishido-san and make him talk to him. And maybe--

'Fault!'

'Oi, Ootori-kun!' called Mukahi-senpai from across the court. 'It might help if you pay attention to the ball that's in play.'

Choutarou saw red, and he didn't just mean Mukahi-senpai's hair. But before he could say anything, he heard a clatter and a crunch, and then Mukahi-senpai was howling, holding a hand to his nose and waving his other hand in Shishido-san's face, which was far closer than it had been before, and oh god had Shishido-san just...

'Shishido! Gakuto! Over here, now.'

Choutarou flinched, some of the anger draining from him to be replaced by terror at the icy fury dripping from Atobe-san's tone. He didn't get really angry very often, but when he did, it was not a pretty sight. The desire to go stand up for Shishido-san, to apologise for him and maybe take some of the punishment onto his own head, was outweighed by the knowledge that that would probably only make Shishido-san angrier with him - he believed in loyalty, same as Choutarou, but he was proud, and he wouldn't take kindly to being treated as weak. Instead, Choutarou walked over to where Shishido-san had dropped his racquet, picking it up and staring at it blankly.

'What did you say to him?'

Choutarou looked up to see Oshitari-senpai looking at him curiously, mouth pressed into a firm line, probably out of concern for Mukahi-senpai, but otherwise careless of everything else going on around them, attention fixed wholly on Choutarou. Choutarou felt a blush rising to his cheeks, but he fought it down, giving what he hoped was a casual shrug. 'It's nothing, really.'

Of course he should have known that wouldn't work on Oshitari. Before he could take his leave, Oshitari had seized him by the elbow and was dragging him to the opposite side of the court, away from where Atobe was giving Shishido-san and Mukahi a fierce dressing-down, much to the delight of Hiyoshi-kun.

'Don't be coy with me, Choutarou,' Oshitari hissed, pushing him up against the fence; Choutarou winced, cringing away from Oshitari's piercing gaze, the proximity of his body, the heat radiating off him in waves, and struggled to fight down the lump forming in his throat.

'I...I just...it wasn't...I mean, it's not anything to--'

Oshitari rolled his eyes. 'Choutarou. We are all aware of the...nature of the relationship between you and Shishido. Stop dancing around and just out with it.'

Choutarou blushed even more fiercely, and Oshitari sighed. 'Look,' he said. 'We aren't going to judge you. We'd be hypocrites if we did. Yes, Choutarou, all of us,' he said before Choutarou could interrupt, even though the falling open of his mouth had had nothing at all to do with wanting to say something. 'We're tennis players, and what's more, we're teenage boys. We spend all of our time together anyway - locker rooms, hours and hours of practice running into the night...it's just...natural. Sometimes we even have meetings, discuss sex tips-- oh, calm down, Choutarou, it was a joke.'

Choutarou swallowed hard and relaxed his attempts to wrench away from Oshitari's grasp and run away screaming rape or some such. The truth of the matter was, what unsettled him the most was how...not-unpleasant it was to be pinned against the fence by Oshitari, the faint hint of his cologne mingled with the heady musk of sweat and summertime permeating his senses, the low, rich drawl of his voice against his ear...

'So it's not lack of willingness then,' Oshitari purred (and yes, that was most definitely a purr), and Choutarou jumped, biting down on his tongue.

'It...no,' he admitted when he realised there was no way of denying it, slumping against the fence in defeat. 'It isn't.'

'Hmmm,' Oshitari said, thoughtfully eyeing Choutarou in such a way that made him want to check to make sure he was still in fact clothed. 'Lack of...experience, maybe?'

Choutarou bit his tongue harder, but Oshitari laughed anyway, and Choutarou cursed his complexion not for the first time, averting his eyes as he tried once again to gain control of himself.

'That's quite attractive actually,' Oshitari said, and now he was smirking, and once again standing a bit too close for comfort. 'If you weren't already spoken for, I might be tempted to...well, no matter. And stop looking at me like that, Choutarou - I'm not going to bite. Unless you ask very nicely.'

Choutarou blushed even more, clenching his hands into fists. 'It's not that...I don't want...' No matter what Hyotei's policy about senpais always helping out their kouhais, no matter with what, Choutarou didn't know that he'd ever be comfortable discussing this with anyone, and especially not Oshitari-senpai. He took a deep breath, steeling himself and fighting the urge to steal a glance down to the other end of the court. 'It's just that...well, I haven't, obviously, and he...and he was just going so...and I just wanted him to slow down.'

Realising that those last two words had been rather louder than was acceptable for any sort of private conversation, Choutarou shut his mouth hurriedly, cheeks flaming, and studied Oshitari, wondering what new terror he'd brought forth upon his head by his confession. But Oshitari just looked...sympathetic, and almost a little bit sad, maybe. He looked like he understood at least, which was either comforting or unsettling, Choutarou wasn't quite sure.

To his immense surprise, Oshitari curved a hand around his shoulder, squeezing as he looked straight at Choutarou, expression deadly serious. 'Shishido...hasn't had as much experience as you might think,' said Oshitari without a trace of malice or teasing. 'More than you, I would imagine, but...that's not always a good thing.'

Choutarou's brow furrowed and he stared at Oshitari in confusion. He could tell that Oshitari was trying to impart some great and important knowledge, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

After a few moments of his trying to puzzle it out, Oshitari sighed, though he was still smiling when he slipped a companionable arm around Choutarou's back. 'There's such a thing as negative reinforcement, Choutarou,' he murmured. 'Shishido hasn't...had much opportunity for positive reinforcement, where this is concerned. He's not used to someone like you. Someone who actually cares about him,' he clarified before Choutarou could ask. 'Someone who doesn't just want...'

He trailed off, giving Choutarou a meaningful look, but Choutarou had gotten it this time without the look, and he was horrified, both at the revelation that Shishido-san had had, in a word, a shitty record with such things, and at the knowledge that he might have just inadvertently reinforced it. He must have looked truly pained, because Oshitari patted him on the back in a manner Choutarou gathered was meant to be comforting, but that was rather too close to his ass to be taken as such.

'I'm sure that whatever you did was meant well,' he said. 'But it's unlikely he took it the way you'd intended.'

Choutarou nodded, and, when he gathered Oshitari-senpai was done speaking, thanked him absently, too distracted to object when Oshitari gave him another pat, this time actually on the ass, before withdrawing. A quick glance down the court showed him that Mukahi-senpai had been bandaged up and was now running laps; it looked like Shishido-san had been running them for some time already, and Choutarou flinched, wondering how much of his conversation with Oshitari-senpai Shishido-san had overheard. Shishido-san still wasn't looking at him, so Choutarou had no way of knowing if he was angrier now than he had been before, or what.

Sighing, he collected both his and Shishido-san's racquets from where he'd dropped them after being cornered by Oshitari-senpai, crossing to their bags and stowing them carefully before hoisting both bags onto his shoulder and heading back toward the house. It looked like Shishido-san would be running laps for a long time, judging by how upset Atobe had seemed, and the least he could do after all the trouble he'd caused was make sure Shishido-san didn't have to haul his heavy tennis bag around afterward.

'Ootori.'

Choutarou bit his lip at the sharpness of Atobe's tone, slowly turning his head. Oshitari-senpai was standing next to him, arms crossed, face impassive, and Choutarou felt that damned blush threatening to overwhelm him again, but Atobe's expression was nothing if not strictly professional, gaze stony and mouth stern in that I am your buchou and you will obey me way that every member of the team knew so well.

'Hai, buchou?'

Instead of answering him, Atobe turned his head, looking at a point over Choutarou's right shoulder. 'Shishido. Come here.'

Choutarou whipped his head around as Shishido-san came jogging over, face gleaming with sweat and scowl darker than ever as he glared at Atobe, not even sparing a glance for Choutarou.

Atobe looked between the two of them for a long, silent moment, appraising them, and then turned. 'Follow me.'

+

Shishido-san still wasn't looking at him.

It wasn't like there were a lot of other places to look. They'd been staying there nearly a week now, and while it was as elegant as one might expect from an Atobe property, it was still just a generic bedroom. It hadn't usually been a problem, since the only significant amount of time they'd spent in that room was when they were sleeping, but it was the middle of the afternoon this time and sleeping wasn't going to be possible, especially with the tension in the room, so thick it made breathing difficult.

Choutarou wondered if, when Atobe had told them to "work it out" before locking them in the room and saying he wouldn't let them out until he had his doubles team back to normal, he'd considered the fact that Shishido-san was as stubborn as a mule and much less pleasant when he was in a bad mood. Choutarou was usually able to coax a smile, or at least a lessening of the glower, but then, he'd never been the one Shishido-san was angry with before. Moreover, he didn't even know what he would say. What did you say to your best friend after he tried to stick his hand down your pants and you shoved him off? Choutarou didn't suppose "once more with feeling" would cut it.

He sighed, pulling his knees into his chest like he used to do all the time before he hit his growth spurt, back when he still looked cute when he did that, instead of gangly and awkward. He really couldn't pass for cute and little anymore, and that only made...all of this adult stuff more difficult. He knew he was supposed to be able to hold his own, as a Hyotei student, and moreover as an almost-adult, and that only made the fact that he couldn't handle this that much more frustrating. He thought about what Oshitari-senpai had said, about how it was appealing, for him to be young and innocent and such, but he hated the fact that it left him so uncertain. He wasn't uncertain with Shishido-san about anything else. This shouldn't have been any different. Only it was different, because they didn't seem to be on the same page at all. It felt like when they'd first started playing doubles, back when Shishido-san had been exclusively a singles player, and Choutarou had tried so hard to adjust to Shishido-san's habits, but they hadn't quite trusted each other, and they'd collided and smacked each other with the ball and been at each other's throats on more than one occasion, until they'd...

...sat down and talked about it.

Choutarou lifted his chin from his knees, blinking slowly. He'd been nursing a ball-shaped bruise after one practice, frustrated and hopeless and hating himself for not being able to adjust properly, when Shishido-san had come in, hands shoved deep into his pockets, scowl twisting his features, and mumbled something about how Atobe needed them to work it out so they wouldn't let the team down. He'd been sullen, awkward, easily provoked and thoroughly impatient, but Choutarou had gradually relaxed enough to explain his doubles game, and how to concentrate wholly on the ball while still being aware of your partner. He'd felt presumptuous saying any of it, because Shishido-san was a year older and a whole lot better, but Shishido-san had gradually started to listen, nodding occasionally in understanding, and the next time they'd hit the courts, they'd managed to beat Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai. Choutarou could still remember the look on Shishido-san's face when they'd scored that last point, the triumph in his eyes tempered with something very like respect, and the next day, he'd surprised Choutarou out of his mind by sitting down next to him with his bento, not even bothering to ask, partly because that was just Shishido-san, but partly because he knew he didn't have to.

That time, it had been Shishido-san who'd made the first move, albeit after being forced to by Atobe, but this time it was obvious he wasn't going to, which meant it was up to Choutarou. The difference, of course, was that this time, Choutarou didn't know the first thing about what he was doing, whereas then, he'd been the one with the know-how and just hadn't had enough courage to bring it up. Then again...

Experience isn't always a good thing, Oshitari-senpai's voice echoed in Choutarou's head, and he blew out a breath, letting go of his knees and letting his legs slip off the edge of the bed. Before he could think too hard about it, he let their momentum pick him up off the mattress, and then he was standing, fists clenched by his sides and gaze intent on Shishido-san's back.

'Shishido-san.'

No response, but then, Choutarou had come to expect that. Pushing the idea from his mind that Shishido-san might deck him if he got close enough, Choutarou walked slowly forward, moving around the other bed until he was standing directly in Shishido-san's line of vision. Shishido-san didn't acknowledge him, but he didn't turn away either.

'You can't ignore me forever, Shishido-san.'

A tightening of Shishido-san's jaw was the only acknowledgment Choutarou got that he'd even heard, but at least that was something. Choutarou took another deep breath, and unclenched one hand, reaching it out toward Shishido-san's shoulder.

'Better not touch me.' Shishido-san's voice was bitter, dripping with sarcasm, and clearly intended to wound as much as the fact that he still wasn't looking at Choutarou, despite the sharp-edged words. 'I might try to take advantage of you again and we wouldn't want that.'

The ice in Shishido-san's voice was physically painful, but Choutarou wasn't a child, and he wasn't a girl, and he sure as hell wasn't going to back down when at least he'd managed to get Shishido-san to talk. That was an improvement already. Focussing on that, he sat down on Shishido-san's bed, pulling one knee up and twisting to look into Shishido-san's face. 'Says who?' he asked, tone as neutral as he could make it.

'Says you,' Shishido-san returned, now staring at the opposite wall. 'Or had you forgotten? Or maybe,' he added, tone dripping with something very like jealousy, 'Oshitari exerted his considerable influence on you too.'

'Oshitari-senpai had nothing to do with it,' Choutarou returned evenly, even though that wasn't entirely true. 'And I never said I didn't want you to take advantage of me.'

Shishido-san's jaw clenched tighter, and then he turned, slowly, blazing blue eyes fixing on Choutarou's face with such a tangible glare that Choutarou almost flinched away. 'So you didn't mean it when you screamed stop! at me? Because you seemed pretty sure about it then.'

'I didn't want you to stop altogether.' Choutarou shifted a bit closer, but when he reached out a hand again, Shishido-san stared at it like he wanted nothing more than to bite it off, and Choutarou aborted that movement right away, twisting his fingers in the coverlet instead. 'I just...'

'I get it, Choutarou.' Shishido-san's glare hadn't dissipated, nor had his tone softened, but he was meeting Choutarou's gaze now, and the corners of his mouth were quirked into a wry, acerbic smile. 'It's not the first time.'

Negative reinforcement, thought Choutarou, noting the self-deprecation in Shishido-san's tone, something he'd gotten used to when Shishido-san had been dropped from the regulars. The worst of it was that Shishido-san didn't look upset, just resigned, and maybe a bit weary. It made his heart ache, and he reached out again without thinking about it, resting a hand on Shishido-san's foot. 'No,' he said with surprising calm. 'No, I don't think you do.'

Shishido-san actually stared at him for a moment, startled, then his jaw set and he yanked his foot out of Choutarou's reach. 'Stop it,' he hissed, furious. 'I'm done playing games, Choutarou. Either you want me or you don't. I will not be party to any more kiss whoring.'

Choutarou blinked, biting his lip at the defensive anger twisting his senpai's face. He didn't know what kiss whoring was, exactly, but the name left little to the imagination. He'd heard Hiyoshi talking about it too, something about teases and the invisible line that was impossible to cross; he hadn't really gotten it then either, but the implications were starting to make his stomach churn with something other than nervousness.

'I'm not a kiss whore,' he said, voice low and firm and maybe a little bit sharp. Shishido-san only snorted though, tossing his head in a way that might have had more effect had he not lopped off all his hair.

'Could have fooled me,' he muttered, staring out the window in clear dismissal. But Choutarou had had more than enough of being dismissed, and that snide utterance was the last straw. He was far more patient than Shishido-san, and much less likely to snap, but even he had his limits. Taking full advantage of his greater size, he lunged, tackling a stunned Shishido-san down onto the mattress and pinning him there, catching hold of his wrists so he wouldn't get punched. To his credit, Shishido-san only struggled for a moment, and then, when he realised he wasn't going to get the upper hand, he went still, wrists relaxing in Choutarou's grasp, though the stony expression didn't shift one bit.

'Get off me.'

'No.' Choutarou narrowed his eyes, lifting his head just enough so he could see Shishido-san's face clearly. He was flushed, breath a bit faster than usual despite the rigid press of his mouth and the tension in his jaw, and he was avoiding Choutarou's gaze, staring instead at Choutarou's shoulder.

'Get. Off.'

'No.'

Shishido-san turned his head, eyes dark and dangerous. 'Choutarou, get off me now or I will knee you in the fucking balls.'

'Why do you always go straight for the throat?'

Shishido-san blinked, fury replaced momentarily by blank confusion. 'What...'

Choutarou gave him a wan smile, pressing his wrists harder against the mattress as he lifted his torso, curving his back over so he could look straight down into Shishido-san's face. 'There are intermediates, you know. You don't always have to bring out the big guns right away.'

If it hadn't been so deadly serious in there, between the tension and the hanging threat of a knee to the groin, Choutarou might have laughed at the discombobulation on Shishido-san's face. It only lasted a second though, and then Shishido-san was back to looking murderous, glaring at Choutarou in a way that said clearly, you are going to regret this.

'I don't know what your deal is,' he hissed, 'but I've had enough of it. I did warn you.'

He had, so Choutarou was ready for the knee that came slamming up against him; shifting his body, he caught Shishido-san's leg between his own, squeezing his thighs together and ignoring Shishido-san's invectives and resumed attempts to dislodge him. He gritted his teeth as one particularly vicious wrench of Shishido-san's body pressed his thigh up against Choutarou's rapidly hardening cock, but instead of pulling away, he rocked downward again, pinning him more securely. Shishido-san went still beneath him, eyes wide as he stared up at Choutarou.

'Are you going to listen to me now?' Choutarou murmured as he lifted his head, tone gentle despite the embarrassment-slash-arousal clenched in his throat. Shishido-san only hesitated a moment before jerking his chin in some semblance of a nod, lips pressed together into a thin line.

Choutarou sighed, relaxing his grip on Shishido-san's wrists. 'You said that...that either I want you or I don't. Well...I do. Very much. Too much, maybe - I can't...function properly when you're kissing me, and...it's good, really good, but I didn't want...' He licked his lips, too agitated to notice the way Shishido-san's gaze darted to his mouth. 'I didn't want it to be so fast. I wanted to...be able to...'

He trailed off, blushing fiercely, but Shishido-san was still staring at him silently as though seeing him for the first time. Choutarou felt a tendril of heat curl through his belly, and drew in another deep breath. 'I just wanted you to slow down,' he said in a small, sheepish voice. 'That's all.'

'Why?' Shishido-san's voice was hoarse, tight, threaded through with confusion and suspicion, and he looked so lost that Choutarou wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go. Instead, he smiled, tilting his head until his lips brushed the corner of Shishido-san's mouth. Shishido-san shivered, but didn't pull back, tendons flexing against Choutarou's fingertips and body trembling the slightest bit. 'Why?' he asked again, lips moving against Choutarou's in a way that made Choutarou shiver as well. 'It's not...not like it was your first time or anyth...'

He trailed off as Choutarou lifted his head, eyes going wide in shock and understanding. 'Oh...Choutarou, I didn't...I'm...shit.' His mouth twisted and he turned his head, eyes sliding shut. Choutarou chased him though, slanting his mouth against Shishido-san's again so he could feel his smile.

'It's okay,' he murmured. 'I never...I just assumed you knew and that's why you were always so...'

'No!' Shishido-san's eyes snapped open again. 'I didn't. I just...didn't want to rush you into...that because I didn't want you to think that's all it was. But I never thought that you...'

Choutarou blushed again, grimacing. 'Yeah, rub it in, why don't you.'

Shishido-san froze, blinking, and then began to shake with silent laughter, then not-so-silent laughter, until he was gasping and wheezing against Choutarou's shoulder while Choutarou tried not to feel insulted, or to pay too much attention to the way Shishido-san's fit of hysterics was affecting certain parts of his anatomy.

'I'm sorry,' Shishido-san said between gulps of air. 'You just...you sounded so grumpy, and...' He set himself off again, and Choutarou rolled his eyes, though his relief was at least as profound as Shishido-san's, if not manifesting itself in such a blatant fashion. He let go of Shishido-san's wrist, bringing his hand up awkwardly to rake his hair back from his face; as a result, he was completely unprepared when Shishido-san bucked up against him, knocking the breath from Choutarou's lungs as he flipped them over and came up astride Choutarou's hips, laughter dissolving completely in the face of something much more predatory.

'So,' he growled with that little smirk that made girls (and boys) everywhere go a bit weak in the knees. Choutarou was not excluded from that group, which was why he was very glad to be lying down. The fact that this position put him at Shishido-san's mercy was perhaps a concern, but he wasn't about to argue, not when Shishido-san was finally looking at him like that again. He hadn't apologised, but then, that was just Shishido-san. Besides, he knew by now that he didn't have to.

'So. You're not a kiss whore then, Choutarou. And you are...' He shifted, dragging a gasp from Choutarou's throat, and then smirked wider. '...definitely not a girl, which I assume means you'd actually like me to take care of that.'

Choutarou blinked heavy eyelids, curling his hands around Shishido-san's hips, and then moaned in surprise as those hips moved, pressing him back against the mattress and twisting slowly until Choutarou's prick pressed up against--

--oh.

Shishido-san was looking very pleased with himself, though his eyes were dark with want and the smirk had faded somewhat. 'There,' he breathed, voice rough-edged and hoarse. 'Now you don't have to worry about reciprocating.'

Before Choutarou could protest that that hadn't quite been the issue at stake, Shishido-san was kissing him again, hard, teeth sinking into Choutarou's lip and soft snarling moans spilling against his mouth. After an entire day of not speaking to each other, the relief at having any sort of contact again made Choutarou as dizzy as the kiss itself, his hands clutching at Shishido-san's back of their own accord and his lips parting for Shishido-san's tongue, letting a moan of his own break free into Shishido-san's mouth. It felt just as good as it had the day before - better, even, with the soft mattress beneath his back and Shishido-san's hands in his hair and Shishido-san's hips moving against his in a steady writhe - and Choutarou felt his coherence fading into nothingness again, body responding without his say-so and oxygen fleeing from his lungs until he was gasping helplessly, trying to drink his air from Shishido-san's mouth. Shishido-san didn't even let up long enough to let him suck in a breath, bracing one hand on the mattress and clutching at Choutarou's hair with the other as he moved faster, harder, until Choutarou could have sworn there were fireworks going off in his stomach. There was no way he was going to last more than a few seconds at this rate, and while his body couldn't care less, his mind still did.

With a sudden burst of resolve, he pushed off the mattress, dislodging Shishido-san and flipping them over until he was on top, pinning Shishido-san again and lifting his hips just enough to allow some of the blood to rush back to his head. Blinking hard, he looked down at Shishido-san, who was once again looking murderous, though Choutarou noted frustration there as the basis rather than anger this time.

'Choutarou, what the fuck...'

Choutarou took a deep breath, licking his lips. 'You're still going too fast,' he said, and was surprised when it came out stern. Not as surprised as Shishido-san though, judging by the look on his face; it wasn't the first time Choutarou had told him off, but usually he was much less...direct about it, using negotiation rather than command, because it still felt wrong to be chastising a senpai, no matter how much he might need it. But Shishido-san was listening this time, albeit impatiently, and Choutarou didn't expect he'd get a second chance at this first time if he didn't talk fast.

'Don't you ever just...take your time?' Choutarou bit his lip, ignoring his blush in favour of studying Shishido-san's face. He was still listening, though he looked unimpressed now and maybe a little bit irritated, and maybe this was a time when just talking wasn't going to do it. Shifting his weight a bit, he braced one hand on the pillow beside Shishido-san's head and worked the other beneath the hem of his jersey, tracing the definition of musculature he'd become so intimately familiar with the day before. He did this to himself sometimes, lying in bed after lights out, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to stay quiet while he teased himself, but by the surprise on Shishido-san's face, he knew that Shishido-san couldn't say the same.

Careful not to touch so gently that he tickled, he swept his fingertips over Shishido-san's ribs, stroking the groove beneath them, which became more pronounced as Shishido-san sucked in a breath, then moved them down and between their bodies, trailing them through the sparse hairs that led to Shishido-san's shallow navel.

'Ch--Choutarou,' Shishido-san breathed hoarsely, and Choutarou gave him a small smile, following the trail of hairs down to the waistband of his shorts.

'See?' he murmured, breath curling against Shishido-san's mouth as he spoke. 'It doesn't all have to be fast and rough and over before it's started.' He slipped his tongue out, just touching the dip in Shishido-san's lower lip, as his fingers slid beneath the elastic and across, thumb sweeping the sharp crest of Shishido-san's hipbone.

'Ngh!' Shishido-san grunted, bucking his hips up, and when Choutarou moved his hips back and out of reach, Shishido-san glared up at him, eyes flashing fire. 'Goddamn it, Choutarou, get on with it.'

Choutarou blinked at the demand in Shishido-san's tone, and then slowly, deliberately, removed his hand altogether. Shishido-san growled, twisting against the restraint of Choutarou's legs, but Choutarou just looked at him, not willing to acquiesce, not this time.

'I think,' he said after a moment, 'that we need to work on your control, Shishido-san.'

Shishido-san stopped thrashing and Looked at him. Choutarou swallowed, but bravely held his gaze, allowing a hint of challenge to flicker in his eyes. 'After all, doing it and doing it well are two very different things.'

He held his breath, wondering if Shishido-san would be insulted or if he'd take it the way Choutarou had intended, that is as an echo of what Shishido-san had once said to him; when it didn't look like Shishido-san was going to punch him, Choutarou relaxed, and then did something extraordinary.

He smirked.

'Good,' he breathed, memorising the off-balance look on Shishido-san's face with no small amount of pleasure, and then leaned back, bracing his knees on either side of Shishido-san's thighs and pulling himself half-upright so he could catch hold of the hem of Shishido-san's jersey and ease it slowly up his sides. Shishido-san moved with surprising obedience, lifting his arms so Choutarou could tug the jersey off, but Choutarou had other ideas. Sliding it up over Shishido-san's head, he stopped halfway, the neck stretched across the bridge of Shishido-san's nose, and grinned as he bent to kiss Shishido-san. Remembering what Shishido-san had always done to him, or as best as he could anyway, he nibbled at that full lower lip, tracing it with the tip of his tongue, and then opened his mouth against Shishido-san's, pushing his tongue between his teeth and sliding it alongside Shishido-san's with a soft sigh. The jersey kept Shishido-san from lowering his arms to grab hold of Choutarou and take control of the kiss, and Choutarou took full advantage of having the upper hand, exploring Shishido-san's mouth with slow thoroughness, learning the ridges of his palate, the softness of his cheeks, the shape and sharpness of his teeth, the sounds Shishido-san made when he let go of the jersey with one hand to slide it down Shishido-san's side. When he broke away at last, Shishido-san was gasping, struggling with the jersey, and Choutarou tugged it up further, releasing Shishido-san's head, but pinning his arms over his head, twisting the stretchy cloth tighter around his wrists and holding them there with one hand.

'Choutarou...' Shishido-san was trying for a warning tone, but the word came out sounding shaky, pleading, and Choutarou smiled wider as Shishido-san actually blushed, bending to kiss him again and only drawing back when Shishido-san was moaning against his mouth, shifting restlessly beneath him.

'Keep your hands over your head,' Choutarou murmured against Shishido-san's mouth; Shishido-san made an angry noise in the back of his throat, but obeyed when Choutarou let go. Choutarou rewarded him with another kiss, deep and slow and searing, and then trailed his tongue down Shishido-san's jaw to his throat, mouthing at the fluttering vein, following it down to his shoulder, teeth scraping gently across salt-sweaty skin as his hand slid down Shishido-san's arms to the back of his other shoulder, fingers curving to dig his blunt nails gently into the bunched muscle.

'God, Choutarou...' Shishido-san was shaking now, muscles rippling beneath Choutarou's hands, breaths coming fast and uneven, and Choutarou had to pause for a moment to compose himself because Shishido-san looked so hot that he could come in his pants just from this. After a few deep breaths, though, he resumed his explorations, mouthing Shishido-san's collarbone, then licking the dip at the base of his throat before trailing his tongue down the centre of Shishido-san's chest, tracing the hard ridge of his sternum. Shishido-san made a sound that was half-growl half-whimper, and now it was Choutarou's turn to shiver as he rested his cheek against Shishido-san's chest, just listening to the little hitches in his breath. One hand slid up from his waist, tracing the line of one rib across, then flattened against his pectoral muscle, the vee between thumb and forefinger resting just shy of Shishido-san's nipple. As Choutarou watched, entranced, it hardened to a stiff peak without him even having to touch, the muscle beneath it trembling in anticipation as Choutarou slowly, slowly moved his hand those last few millimetres and ran his thumb across the puckered skin.

Shishido-san shouted, hips bucking and diaphragm jumping beneath Choutarou's lips. Choutarou allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction, and then turned his head, pressing his nose against the base of Shishido-san's sternum and brushing a kiss across the quivering muscle of Shishido-san's belly, matching the touch to Shishido-san's other nipple and thrilling as it too stiffened against the pad of his thumb. He let his hands wander down Shishido-san's sides again, past the taut muscles of his hips, and then paused, hooking them around the tops of his thighs just beneath the bottom hem of his shorts as he slid his tongue out to trace the rim of Shishido-san's navel. Shishido-san choked, writhing in Choutarou's grip, but Choutarou held his body away, bending his head further to compensate as he tongued the sensitive skin, then followed the trail of hairs down to the waistband of Shishido-san's shorts.

And then withdrew altogether.

Shishido-san snarled, lifting his head, but before he could say a word, Choutarou sank his teeth into the hard muscle of Shishido-san's calf and his protest turned into a surprised yelp, then a shaky moan as Choutarou licked his way up to the back of Shishido-san's knee, mirroring the touches with his hand on Shishido-san's other leg. Shishido-san squirmed, thighs falling further apart as Choutarou made his way up Shishido-san's legs, but he was in no hurry, switching hand and mouth at a leisurely pace and continuing up the inside of Shishido-san's other thigh, relishing the taste of salt and sweat and the sharp musky scent of Shishido-san's arousal. He was definitely going to remember this now, the feel of Shishido-san arching against his hands and mouth, the crescendoing cries spilling from between parted lips, the tense tremble of Shishido-san's body beneath his as he disengaged again to draw himself up the mattress until he was looking into Shishido-san's face, the dip of Shishido-san's eyelids as he lifted one hand to tangle in the short spikes of hair, the choked moan of surrender and hunger and want as he finally pressed his lips against Shishido-san's again, letting Shishido-san plunder his mouth this time as he slid his hands up Shishido-san's arms to his wrists, tugging the jersey free and letting it fall.

To his immense surprise (and pleasure), once Shishido-san's hands were free, instead of seizing Choutarou and manhandling him into position again, he simply wrapped his arms around his back, clutching at Choutarou like his life depended on it and moaning into Choutarou's mouth, giving himself over completely. Choutarou shuddered, fisting his hands in the pillowcase for a moment, and then relaxed, smiling, moving into Shishido-san's touches as he lowered one hand and worked it between their bodies, curving his fingers around the outline of Shishido-san's cock.

Shishido-san howled, head falling back against the pillow and spine snapping into an arch as he reared up against Choutarou's hand, fingers twisting in Choutarou's jersey and clenching until they shook as he came in short, sharp jerks against Choutarou's palm. The look on his face, wild and open and alive, was almost enough to push Choutarou over the edge as well; he was so hard it was painful, just from Shishido-san's reactions, and his neglected prick throbbed against the snug fabric of his shorts as he watched Shishido-san shake for a few moments more before collapsing against the mattress, flushed and sweaty and breathless and so gorgeous that Choutarou wanted to lick him all over, starting with that droplet of sweat gleaming at the base of his throat.

Shishido-san moaned softly as Choutarou touched his tongue to Shishido-san's skin, one limp hand resting on the back of his head and tugging at his hair; when Choutarou lifted his head, Shishido-san was smiling dazedly at him, eyes barely visible beneath slitted lids. 'No way you haven't done that before,' he rasped, going for wounded but only managing well-nigh chuffed, and Choutarou blushed, ducking his head.

'Just to myself,' he admitted to Shishido-san's shoulder. 'With my hands, I mean.'

When Shishido-san didn't say anything, he looked up again, and there was that now-familiar gleam of respect, and maybe almost a little bit of wonder. 'I shouldn't be surprised,' he said after a long moment. 'That you'd play your body like you play your violin, I mean.'

Choutarou blushed harder, turning his face away, but Shishido-san caught hold of his chin, looking straight at him. 'I like it,' he said in a low, rough voice that made Choutarou's spine turn to water. 'It suits you.' He paused for a moment, studying Choutarou's face while Choutarou tried not to pass out from all the blood rushing to his head, and then grinned, white teeth gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. 'But now it's my turn.'

Choutarou was on his back before he realised what Shishido-san meant, breathless and dizzy and disoriented from the sudden change in scenery, but then Shishido-san's mouth was on his again, demanding and relentless and perfect, and Choutarou groaned and surrendered to it this time because he'd gotten what he wanted really and the rest of it was just the coda. Or at least, that's what he thought until Shishido-san's teeth sank into his throat and oh god Shishido-san's hand worked its way down the front of his shorts to wrap around his prick, and Shishido-san was as forceful about this as he was about everything else, callused grip tight and hot, strokes fast and rough and unyielding and so completely unlike anything Choutarou had ever felt that it only took about a second before he was choking on Shishido-san's name, body jerking half off the bed and eyes squeezing shut as he came so hard he saw stars.

When the pounding in his head had subsided enough for him to risk opening his eyes, the first thing he caught sight of was an extremely smug Shishido-san sprawled half on top of him and meticulously sucking on each finger one by one like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Choutarou doubted that, but it didn't stop his spent cock from twitching in response.

'You've done that before,' he said, throat aching and voice barely intelligible, but it was enough for Shishido-san to understand, and he smiled, giving his middle finger a lascivious lick before responding.

'Just to myself.'

Choutarou moaned before he could stop himself, already-overloaded brain reeling at the thought of Shishido-san jerking off like that and then licking his hand clean afterward, maybe even thinking about Choutarou while he did it, and he needed to stop thinking now or else he was going to embarrass himself. Again.

Shishido-san smirked at him, quirking a brow in an I-know-what-you're-thinking sort of way, and then leaned in, nipping Choutarou's swollen lower lip. 'Maybe next time we can demonstrate for each other instead, hm? We are here for another three days, after all, and I imagine my control needs a lot more work, wouldn't you say?'

Choutarou shuddered.

Shishido-san grinned.

And outside the door, Oshitari adjusted his glasses with a smug smile. 'Two hours. I win.'

Atobe rolled his eyes and shoved a wad of bills into Oshitari's outstretched hand.